BY JAZMIN BANAL
GOMBURZA — shown in cinemas nationwide through the Metro Manila Film Festival — is, as screenwriter Ricky Lee said, magnificent. The ending of the film was particularly moving, and it became an inspiration for this short piece, a story about sacrifice and love of country.
It was during the 35th birthday of my older brother, Pepe, when I started to feel dizzy. He noticed it after he handed over a slice of mango cake.
“Are you okay, Trinny?”
“I’m not sure. I think I’ll rest for a bit.”
Our parents’ house was crowded because of our big family. Nine daughters, two sons. Kuya Pepe also invited a few friends from the media company where he worked. Everyone was busy, talking excitedly, drinking margarita and craft beer. I walked over to the garden and sat down on a bench by the tree.
I began to think about Kuya Pepe. He had just been convicted of libel along with his publisher. Years ago, he wrote an article about corruption in the Philippines, and it stirred strong emotions among college students even a few businessmen. Other similarly explosive stories followed. As a result, he had been red-tagged and sued, the libel case among others. We were worried about him, but he was undaunted. He explained that it was his duty to expose the abuses of those in power. “Just don’t forget to visit me in prison, especially you, Trinny,” he often said to lighten the mood.
It was warm outside, and it wasn’t long before I fell asleep. When I woke up, it seemed everybody had already left. I went inside and found our mother, Teodora, in the kitchen, washing the dishes.
“How are you feeling, Trinny?”
“I was just tired, I guess.”
“Hmm. You still look pale. Let’s go to the Philippine General Hospital tomorrow. I’ll call Dr. Lopez.”
So it was that I found myself in the hospital a few times for the next six months. After a series of tests, Dr. Lopez asked me to see him. His tone over the phone sounded serious. “Have Pepe drive you to my clinic and please don’t be late,” he added.
Traffic in Manila was terrible. It was worse with the Christmas season. We arrived before the clinic was about to close. I was sweating by the time I sat down in front of Dr. Lopez.
“I’m sorry to take you out of your holiday celebration, Trinny. But this is urgent. I hope you’ll excuse me if I go directly to the point.”
I could only nod in silence.
“Your case left me confused. After consulting my colleagues and revisiting every scenario, the consensus is that there’s brain damage …”
My heart skipped a beat.
“… and I’m sorry — this will be difficult to hear — there’s not much time left …”
Kuya Pepe reached for my hand and held it with such tenderness. I stared at Dr. Lopez until I could no longer hear his words. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes, willing myself to drown out everything.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a dark place. There wasn’t any lighting except for some candles. How strange. I looked around to get my bearings, and eventually I saw a man. He was hunched over a desk, writing on a piece of paper. I began to shudder although there was no breeze.
I felt movement beside me. As I turned my head, I saw five women and a boy. An old woman cried out, “Pepe,” her voice quivering. Beside her, the others wept.
The man stopped writing and folded the paper. Then he stood up. His body blocked the view of his desk, and I couldn’t see what he did with the paper. To my surprise, he walked towards me.
“Trinidad, listen carefully.” Looking at an oil lamp on his desk, he whispered, “There is something inside. The alcohol stove.” He pressed my hand. “Paalam.”
Before I could respond, a voice from afar suddenly shouted, “That’s enough!” There was a creaking metal sound, followed by footsteps. A bearded man, wearing an outfit that seemed outdated, pushed us out of the room.
“What will happen to him?” I couldn’t believe I was screaming those words.
He looked at me in confusion. He answered, “Your brother, Jose Rizal, will be executed tomorrow before a firing squad at Bagumbayan. By order of the court martial on charges of sedition. Now leave, please.” He shoved the old woman who was behind me, bumping me in the process and I fell on my knees, my face almost touching the ground.
“As I was saying, Trinny, there’s not much time left. I believe though — despite concerns from my colleagues — that we have a shot at beating this thing, a slim shot, that is. But we must do it now or it will be too late. Let me explain …” Dr. Lopez was, once again, talking to me.
I felt lightheaded, the walls around me spinning. It would’ve continued that way if it weren’t for someone who embraced me. Kuya Pepe. He’s always had a way of making me feel protected. We didn’t move until I heard Dr. Lopez clearing his throat. I pulled back, held Pepe’s face with my hands, and searched his eyes. Am I going crazy?
“I’m here for you, Trinny,” he whispered.
Minutes passed. Someone knocked on the door.
“We’re not yet done here,” Dr. Lopez said.
A man replied, “Magpapaalam lang po sana ako, sir.”
I knew then what I had to do.
“I appreciate what you’ve done, Dr. Lopez. But I’m sorry, I’m needed elsewhere.”
I must go back and get that paper./PN
