Short Story: No Ducks Allowed

By: LESTER TAGA CAPAS

The sound of thunder echoes throughout the mountains as Tata Manuel struggles to fortify the roof of his house.

"Rodel, get me more ropes!" He yells as his eldest helps him. "Accursed radio! They didn't say anything about incoming storms!" He curses as he struggles to climb the bamboo stairs.

Image credit: en.wikipedia.org

He wobbles, trying to balance himself with all the ropes he brought. His footing is slightly unstable but it rocks the weak stairs.

He reaches the top tiers when it collapses under his weight. He falls 10 feet onto a pile of firewood. The fall knocks him out and heavily damages his back and limbs.

The next morning he awakes, still dizzy. "Gem ge ge glass waarrr..." He struggles to speak but the fall seems to have damaged his central nervous system.

His wife cries beside him. "Manuel!.. Manuel! Oh Manuel! Where will we get the money to pay for your treatment Manuel!.." She sobs helplessly as she raises the glass of water to his lips. "Even if we sell the farm we won't have enough.... Manuel...what will we do now?"

Her Eight kids cry with her. The eldest sons volunteer to look for money but everywhere they looked, they just could not raise enough money.

News spread of the accident within the barrio when one day... "Knock knock! It's me Bong, let me in.."

"Answer the door marie." The mother says.

" Sylvia, what happened? Kumpare? What has happened to you??"Manuel struggles to speak but to no avail.

By this time he looked dry and helpless. "What will we do Bong? We don't have enough money to take him to the doctor and the nearest one is at least four days on carabao from here?"

Bong sat down in despair for a moment but then looked up with excitement. He holds Manuel's paralyzed leg and says "Kumpare, have you heard of Mang Teryo? Expert albularyo? He is only two days travel from here and he gets better results than any doctor can get you. Plus he is cheap!"

Manuel looks at his kumpare and shakes his head in affirmation. "Well then let us go! You will have your legs back kumpare! You will have your legs back!"

At the back of his mind " Good lord what have I gotten myself into now?" Manuel asks himself.

They take a two day trip on carabao going to the famed albularyo.

Bong looks at his kumpare and says "He moves from place to place and we are lucky that he is in town, he will be leaving again soon."

They reach an isolated place deep in the forest. The smell of incense suffocates the atmosphere and they see long chains of rat bones and small animals tied to the trees.

They see a small hut decorated with animal skulls and feathers fenced off with the long bones of cattle. "Albularyos do not have these in their homes? Are you sure we are in the right place Bong??"

Sylvia asks greatly irritatedly but then a small man with a Belly bigger than most of his body comes out of the hut.

He walks from side to side as if he were a Penguin. He is dressed in simple clothing and noticeably gasps for air from time to time.

"Mang Teryo?" Bong asks.

The figure lowers his eyeglasses and says "Yes".

"Bring the meal..I mean the patient in..".

Manuel's sons look at each other reluctantly but Bong ushers them to do as Mang Teryo says.

Inside the hut, there is a big table with beddings and Mang Teryo tells them to lay Manuel down on a prone position. He then scatters a foul smelling oil and some herbs all over Manuel.

"What is that for?" Rodel asks in a low voice.

"Oil , seasoning and dressing to prepare him for eati...relaxing.." Mang Teryo replies.

He orders the four boys to hold a limb each and stretch Manuel's body. They do as he says and he presses on the back causing it to crackle and he proceeds to push on the back of the neck.

Mang Teryo mumbles a little and then looks angry as he claims to have forgotten some words on the incantation. He grabs a bottle of brandy and gulps it down. He wobbles and approaches Manuel now fiercely reciting words that make no sense.

"He is speaking in latin." Bong tells Sylvia and she only looks on in a disturbed amazement.

"Where is the chicken?! " Mang Teryo yells in drunken rage.

They bring him a chicken and he snaps its neck pouring to blood into Manuel's open mouth. He tells them all to leave him and Manuel alone for the divination ritual which requires they be alone.

They leave and hear Manuel screaming in pain. They cannot see what is happening but Bong reassures them that it is all part of the curing process.

After half an hour or silence Sylvia can take no more and busts the door open to see Mang Teryo feasting on her husband. She screams in horror as the boys enter and restrain Mang Teryo.

His face has changed into a ghoulish figure. He easily overpowers them, when suddenly he is hit by a bag of salt and he falls melting to the ground.

The real Mang Teryo appears looking little different from the monster he had just killed, "That was an evil spirit pretending to be me."

Sylvia cries as she stares at Manuel's bones devoid of flesh.

Mang Teryo then looks at them with pity and offers a 4 percent discount on any future medication they may require him. If they can find him. The real Mang Teryo then walks on into the night leaving the grieving family wishing they had just gone to see the doctor.

Bottoms Up

By: LESTER TAGA CAPAS
 

He takes the bottle to his mouth and sits on his favorite wooden chair. "A beautiful antique, isn't it? All these years and this chair is as beautiful as ever." 

He puts the bottle down and gently touches the arm-rests. "The same can't be said for me can it old friend?" 

He pulls his pet dog gently towards him. "All time ever did was turn these old bones brittle." The dog licks his cheek and he smiles sadly. 

"To think , nearly 45 years ago I told my mother this would be a waste of money. They don't make chair like these anymore. Born from hard labor and skill."

" Mr. Carbonel..Mr. Carbonel? " Knocks on the door "Mr. Carbonel?". He stands up to check on who it is. "Hello Karen how are you?" 

"Mr. Carbonel, can we borrow your bike?" He taps her head gently, of course you can. Be careful." He waves her goodbye when the girl's mother scolds her from afar. 

"Return that.." Her daughter argues but returns it. "Mr. Carbonel please, stay away from my children." "But ..Elle.." Without even looking at him she turns away.

He walks towards his chair slowly with a heavy heart.

Looking up he prevents the tears from further coming out and sits down. He gulps down a large portion of the vodka in his bottle. "At least..I have you..." 

He looks at the bottle with a miserable grin. He finishes the contents and blacks out. He unconsciously falls to the floor crying and laughing at the same time. 

"I shouldn't have moved here, I should have just let them live their life without me. They would have been happier.." 

He falls asleep on the floor until the next morning when someone knocks at his door. The man finds the door unlocked  " Mr. Carbonel are you alright?" 

He helps him up "We saw you from the window..Mr. Carbonel.." 

He sees the blood on the floor. "Mr. Carbonel you're bleeding!!" They rushed him to the hospital. He was accidentaly stabbed by the knife in his pocket when he collapsed on the floor. 

The wound is fatal, penetrating his stomach and intestines. 

The doctor holds his hand as she prays, knowing it's only a matter of time. "My fault, it was all my fault.." He whispers. "You should never keep knives in your pocket." 

The doctor whispers back. " I should have never have left them back then, now, even my grandchildren don't know who I am.".

 He looks at the doctor " I thought I was doing the right thing by following my heart. I couldn't bear her constant nagging I was weak." He whispers angrily at himself and the woman he was forced to marry. 

"I should have never gotten her pregnant." He frowns.

"We had children, we had children but I chose the woman I truly loved. I thought I was right I was right wasn't I??" 

The doctor shakes her head "I don't know sir, It was your life and your decision, I can't judge." He looks at her " I thought I was right, I guess the blues got the best of me after all. I saved the best of me for someone who's love I couldn't have. 

Instead of giving the woman who loved me a chance. She wasn't always bad, It's my doing, I was the reason she became the cold-hearted nagger she was before she.." He coughs up blood. The doctor wipes his cheeks.

"Now, here I am dying with a complete stranger." The doctor looks him in the eyes. "Surely you must have done some things right in your life?" The doctor inquired. " Not that I can remember, all I did was sit Idly in that chair thinking of my mistakes never solving them. I'm going to die anyway. Please do me a favor doctor." 

He writes down a number on a sheet of paper. "Please tell my children that I'm sorry for taking their mother from them, It was the spur of the moment when she caught me with the .."

The doctor stands up. "I'll lend you a phone, you can use your dying breaths to apologize and say goodbye." " No! They might hang up if they recognize my voice, but for a stranger it would be easier." 

The doctor looks at him . "I am not a doctor nor am I a stranger, you have known me all your life." 

The old man is confused. " I was there whenever you beat your wife and kids, whenever you fell asleep in church, I was even there when you killed your wife. You had so many chances to atone for your sins but did not, all you did was reason your conscience away, you did me a favor." She laughs. 

The old man stares gasping for air. When suddenly his breathing stabilizes. The lady is gone and he touches the bed sides but they are red hot. 

Stung by the heat he recoils when the surroundings burst into flames and a voice is heard. "I have known you all your life, but now, you will know me, that I am real and that all sins must be paid by fire.." 

The old man sees a vision of him dying that afternoon, and screams...

Coffee Connection

By: Camille Santos

Him

Here she comes – a regular customer – this time she’s got a backpack. I bet she’s bringing her leather-bound, dog-eared notebook again; she does so every other day. It’s hard not to notice her because she comes in during the afternoon when there aren’t many customers around, and besides, she always orders the same beverage – iced café mocha, double espresso – and sits at the same table every single time she comes here.

Her

Oh great! He’s behind the counter today. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him all week. I think he’s cool – I used to see him at school a year ago, I think he was taking up arts – but then he disappeared. I used to wonder where he went, because I think he is awesome, and it would be such a waste if he can’t complete his education – anyway. I found him here at the start of the new semester.
I better place my order now, though.

Him

Okay, here we go!
[Sighs]

I take her order. She goes to her usual seat at the far corner of the café. Something’s up with her today - her hair, maybe? Nah. I busy myself with preparing her drink. Business is quite slow today, though. No one has come in since lunchtime except her. Maybe it’s the weather.

Should I call out her name? Maybe – but hey, she looks busy. I wonder what she’s writing in that notebook. A poem? A story, perhaps? Or maybe she’s doodling in it, like I used to.

Okay. So maybe I should just approach her. Save her the trouble of fetching her drink from here.
[Chuckles uncomfortably]

Her

My goodness. Is it just me, or is he walking towards me with my drink in hand?
I should probably be concentrating on my writing. I. Must. Look. Casual.

I put my notebook down and pretend to flex my fingers a bit, which, I realized, is pathetic – I haven’t been doing a lot of writing since I sat on this stool a few minutes ago. In any case, he places my drink on table with a generic “here you go”.

Oh. He’s just being nice.

Him

And now I wait, hoping she comes across the note I have written on one of the table napkins.

Her

Seriously, what the heck?! I spilled some of my drink onto my notebook. I must look like a total klutz to that guy at the register – not that he’s looking at me or anything… but still.

Him

Okaaaaay… she spilled her drink.
[Clears throat]

Oh good, she’s grabbing some table napkins! I hope she won’t use the one I wrote my note on.

Her

Good thing he gave me lots of table napkins. He must’ve anticipated this – is he psychic or something?
[Smiles to herself]

I should write about this sometime. Psychic barista! He knows your orders before you place ‘em!

What’s this?

“You have skin woven from the fibers
Of shooting stars and a voice that
Sounds like iambic pentameter
Sonnets in the summertime.
You are beautiful.
Keep smiling.”

Him

Looks like she spotted my note. It’s a lame attempt at poetry, really. She’s looking around.
Look at me, look at me…

Her

He’s looking at me expectantly from behind the pastry display shelf.

Our eyes meet.

He smiles a sheepish, somewhat goofy smile.

Him

She raises her glass and smiles at me.

A Journey Into the Unknown

(Due to inevitable reasons, the story "The Wanderer.." will continue next week. In the meantime, here is what I can offer in its place.)

It was the first day in school and everyone was eager to start the year. The students were excitedly updating each other with their latest escapades. There were a few of them lost in their own world, nevertheless, the air was charged with great expectancy and adventure.

I stood there at the entrance taking all of these in. My pulses quickened, and I can feel my heart do a flip. It was my very first exposure to teaching and I was apprehensive and nervous as how it would turn out to be. I reminded myself that I have made all the necessary preparations so I assumed it should proceed like a breeze. But looking at them now, I didn't expect a college class to be as "rowdy" as this one. I had expected to walk into an organized, attentive class, with all of them seated in their designated places.

Someone noticed me and turned to his classmates, "Sshhhh, she's here..." The din inside the classroom slowly diminished - as one by one - they went back to their seats. Then there was complete silence, I could hear a pin drop. I was amazed at how the ambiance changed in just a few minutes. I walked in and assumed the sternest face I could muster.

I introduced myself, gave a brief summary of the course, have their class cards accomplished and distributed their syllabus. During all these processes, I spoke in firm tones and never smiled. My hands however, were shaking behind my back, and my knees were wobbly. If they only knew how nervous I was, they may have come after me like a pack of wolves.

My first lesson was about endocrinology. I have reviewed the material thoroughly so I went on like an automaton trying to impress them with my cognitive abilities. One brave student asked several questions trying to test the waters. I was acutely aware of that, and it made me wary.

I went on to explain about the functions of the endocrine glands, the hormones they produced, the assays applicable to these hormones, and all pertinent information related to the topic.

Well, they listened and I survived my first day in college. Nothing disastrous happened. I was able to give a two-hour lecture without collapsing in the middle of my presentation. But after the class, I was like a deflated balloon, so relieved that I was able to make it through.

As days passed, I gained more experience. I came to realize that teaching is not just being able to deliver the lesson for the day. Teaching should also be an interactive process amidst a friendly atmosphere. It should promote an environment of respect and should provide enough freedom for students to be able to express themselves without fear of censure and sanction. They learn more in this set-up than in a rigid and straight-laced method.

I have also learned that adapting the "carrot method" (positive approach merits are awarded for good performances) encourages more student participation than the "stick method" (negative approach- sanctions are given for low performances)

A few of my students during my first year of exposure to college are now my colleagues in the University, and I take pride in stating that they had turned out to be very competent and effective instructors.

The Opening Salvo

Agnes didn’t want to fight back because she and her cousin were outnumbered. But they were closing in on them, getting ready for the kill and there was nowhere to run. They were like vicious predators bent on tearing their prey into minute pieces of useless flesh. There was a dozen of them, and they were only two. Agnes felt a raging anger in her that she never felt before. This was totally unacceptable and unfair! When she heard her cousin crying, Agnes was infuriated.

“Don’t cry Tasha,” she hissed into her cousin’s ears. “Let’s show them we’re stronger in spirit than all their physical strengths combined.”

The melee that happened next was a blur to Agnes. Numerous hands clawed at her face; someone was ripping her dress apart; several hands were haphazardly pulling her hair out of her skull.

The excruciating pain was all over her body but eventually, she felt numbed from it all. She threw punches everywhere, scratched anything that she met and kicked as hard as she could. She felt her wild kicks come in contact with soft and solid matter, but she didn’t care what they were. Even her sharp canines came into play when both her hands and feet were restrained. She would rather die fighting, than give up.

Suddenly, she felt hands easing their hold on her. She heard shouts from older voices. Then she was teetering on her toes. Someone was shaking her face: “Are you okay, child?” She blinked to see the face of her grandpa and she almost cried with relief, but she didn’t want to give in and eventually hear the whole village talk about her “weakness” - a story to gossip about in their evening bonfires.

She gave her “appo” (grandpa) a fierce look and nodded. Tasha! She brushed aside her appo’s gentle hand and shouted: “Tasha, where are you?”

Tasha was slumped in one corner of the plaza crying. There were bruises all over her body. Her face bore fingernail scratches and her dress was shredded to pieces. Her heart went out to her. It took a herculean effort not to wail too. She was aching all over but she dared not show it.

The school plaza was almost empty now, the children who have ganged up on them had disappeared like cloud dust into thin air.

“Have you seen what happened?” her appo was asking the few teenagers hanging out in the plaza, but no one wanted to answer.

“What happened? Let’s go home and treat your bruises. What have you been up to?” Her grandpa was worriedly scrutinizing them.

At home, Agnes cried her heart out. Her mother, Melinda, had been outraged and had forced her to name their attackers, and she did. She was thinking of Tasha, who had been an accidental victim of that malicious prank. She just came for a two-week stay and this was what she got.

When would they stop taunting and bullying her? When would they accept her as one of them? She bit her lip as more tears came and she stifled her sobs in the stillness of the night.

And she remembered how she first came to what she had imagined as a paradise then. ..

Photo by Pink Sherbet

“Go Home Yankees!” (Another Boy Story – A Replay)

By: JENA ISLE
My name is Pepe. I am 12 years old. People say nobody would read what I will write because I lack schooling and English is my second language but you see, I very much want to share with you the story of my friend Dave. I am confident that although I'm not really a writer, I hope I will be able to communicate the message I want to, through this story. My qualifications? I earned the "Best in English" in my grade six class. This is my story.

I met Dave one night in a bar. Right after I graduated from elementary, I worked as an errand boy for Paradise Bar. I wanted to earn to be able to continue my schooling the coming year.

Dave was not one of the "ugly Americans" as others call them. ("Go home, Yankees!" I often hear the cry of protesters in the streets.)

According to the women in the bar, he looked like Mel Gibson - the actor in Braveheart. (I watched that movie several times with them, and I had to agree.)

When the other airmen were noisily drinking, he was just in one corner, silently sipping his beer. He was also soft spoken and treated me kindly -unlike the other Americans. He always gave me a tip - not in coins but in paper- that was a lot for me.

Every night, he came to the bar, all by himself. The women would crowd around him and tried to talk to him, but in the end , he always preferred to be alone. One time when all the customers left and I was done gathering the empty bottles, he summoned me.

"What's your name?" he smiled.

"Pepe" I answered.

"Where do you live?"

"Gueco Street."

"Do you want to work for me?"

I was surprised, "What work?"

" A yard boy and someone to clean my house once a week," he continued smiling at me. "Lighter work, and more pay"

" Yes, " I nodded eagerly.

" You can start tomorrow."

I started working for Dave. He lived alone in a three - room apartment near their Military Base. I learned that he was a pilot - an officer - he had a "wing" symbol on his military uniform. At times when I was done cleaning the yard, he would talk to me about his family back in Wyoming. How he missed them. He said he had a younger brother my age. (Perhaps that was why he had helped me?)

He went less and less to the Paradise Bar as days went on. He allowed me to stay in the other room of his apartment. I went home during weekends to give money to "Nanay" (mother). I was earning more and I was able to save money too.

During evenings, we would barbecue at the backyard and just talk. He asked
me about my family and my plans. I told him about how I wanted to go to high school; that I was the eldest of 5 children and that my parents could not get good jobs because they were not able to go to college too.

I was not telling him this to ask for help. I was telling him because he was able to encourage me to talk and I didn't usually open up that easily. I think we were alike because we didn't talk openly about ourselves to other people.

One day when he came home;

" Myrna, this is Pepe, Pepe this is Myrna - my girlfriend."

I was shocked. I stared at her face and saw a smirk. I did not like her but I shook her hand anyway.

" Sige na, iwanan mo kami," (Go on, leave us alone) she said in the dialect, so I left them.

I could hear Myrna's laughter echoing in the house.

"You don't like her," Dave said when she left.

I did not reply.

"You'll like her when you'll get to know her better." he said and I nodded.

Everyday thereafter, Myrna came to the house even when Dave was not there. She ordered me around like she owned me. I am not new to this as bad people always do that to poor people like me.

"Pagkatapos mong gawin iyan, labhan mo ang damit ko!" (After you're done with that, wash my clothes!) She would bark the order at me.

I had no choice but to obey, she was my boss' girlfriend and I could see that Dave's happiness was complete with her around.

One day. when Dave was at work, Myrna came. She had a man with her. They went straight to Dave's room. I can hear her giggling.

" Eto, puede na ba ito? " (this one, is this okay?) She asked the man.

There was no reply and when they came out, she was carrying Dave's big camera in one hand.

"Ate," I asked " Saan po ninyo dadalhin iyan?" (Where will you bring that?)

"Wala ka na doon", (It's none of your business) she pouted at me.

I could not do anything when she walked past me. When evening came, Dave arrived and I waited for him to ask about the camera but he said nothing , so I presumed that everything was well.

During the days that followed however, I noticed that Myrna no longer came to the house. Dave went back to his usual silent moods. I tried to talk to him but he answered in monosyllables.

"If it's about the camera, .." I started.

"No, don't worry about that," he replied, and that was that.

He did not want to talk about Myrna and I did not dare ask. By then I knew that when Dave wanted me to know, he would tell me. As days passed, his mood improved.

We went back to cooking barbecue and talking about his experiences: how he had slipped into a pond because he was rushing to school; how he and his brother enjoyed their first rodeo and many others. These was all new to me so I listened with awe.

When it was my turn, I went on to talk too about how I enjoyed reading so much and my interest in poetry and writing. He gave me a box of pocketbooks to read the following day, "here, they are all yours." he said.

Several months later, I had saved enough money for enrollment but not enough to buy my school materials. That was good enough for me though, the rest can be remedied, I was sure.

It was after a few more months that Olive came into our lives. Unlike Myrna, I liked Olive immediately. She treated me like Dave did. Her kindness was from the heart, because even when no one was around she treated me like a younger brother. I came to know that she worked as a nurse in the Base hospital.

I can see that Dave was happier with Olive than with Myrna. They were so in love. I was not surprised when they told me they were getting married that coming June. I was happy for them! They assured me, I can stay with them for as long as I wanted.

But that was not what happened. Fate had more surprises for me - the following June, Mount Pinatubo erupted. Tons of ashes rained and all US bases (Subic and Clark) were abandoned by fleeing US soldiers.


I was home helping my parents take shelter when the order for the evacuation of the US bases was given. I knew Dave would be looking for me. I braved the ashfall and rushed to Dave's apartment... but he was gone. Olive was there, packing things in boxes.

"Nasaan siya?"(Where is he?) I asked her.

"Umalis na siya" (He's gone), she said with tears in her eyes.

I can't help but cry too. Dave was gone! I couldn't believe it. I had thought we would be together for long.

"Will you be okay?" I asked her , knowing she was feeling the same way, even much more perhaps.

"He promised to keep in touch," she assured me. "He left something for you."
She gave me a camera and an envelope... the camera ?

"It is brand new," Olive said when she saw the question on my face. " He knew about the first camera. It was Myrna. " she continued.

I opened the envelope. There was green money - enough for me to pursue my ambition of going back to school. I cried all the more, thinking how generous he was. You can always count on him - my Boss Dave - NO - my friend Dave!

One important lesson I have learned is that, no matter what race one belongs to, there will always be the bad and the good!



Photo 1 by echoforsberg
Photo 2 by Bob Jagendorf

Started Small

By: Jena Isle


Left!

Right!


Left!

Right!

I commanded my bare feet to keep running.

My footsteps echoed ominously in the deserted, asphalted street. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down my grimy face; down my eyes, marring my vision.

Just one more corner and I'll be safe. Please God, if you're really out there, just this once, help me!

"Over here," an angry voice startled me. I could hear their footsteps closing in, from the distance.

I made one, last turn and there it was - my sanctuary! I lifted the small window, wiggled my way through the small opening, and tumbled unceremoniously down the cold, damp floor below.

My sore muscles groaned as I rolled over to cushion the impact of my fall. I tried to catch my breath as I lay down there winded.

Just then, a voice above me thundered, "Where has he gone?"

"Go on, down the street, he might manage to escape."

There was a shuffle.

"Wait, there's an opened window here..."

I cringed as his voice came from the small opening where I had slipped in minutes ago.

" I can't see a thing, do you have a light?'

"Here,” I heard the second man speak in a guttural voice.

I held my breath and waited for the moment of discovery.

There was a tiny flicker of light above me. My teeth were chattering so badly, I was afraid they could hear it.

"How am I supposed to see with a lighter?' the first man was definitely irked.

"Hey, come on, he couldn't possibly slip in there, it's too dark and high. Can't you hear the rats scampering? He would be screaming in pain and fright right now, if he did."

I kept still with my head resting on the concrete, damp floor. I willed my body to stop trembling. The rats skittered around in confusion, disturbed by my intrusion.

"We have to be sure! These pesky snatchers should be given a lesson."

The man attempted to bring the lighter farther down the window, but it was extinguished before he could do so.

The man cursed and stomped his feet in frustration. "If I see that wee shite - I'm going to waste him."

"I don't think he's down there, c'mon," the younger voice called out.

These men were out to grind me into tiny morsels of useless meat, ready to cook and be gobbled up for their party.


There was a grunt as the second man finally stood up, and I could hear the sound of their running footsteps fading away in the stillness of the night.

I slumped in relief and would have laughed out loud if I had the strength, but I was like a deflated balloon.

I remained supine for a few minutes and basked in the feeling of freedom.


I should thank my "rat friends". They were as unruly as ever. They never bit me though; perhaps they recognized me by my smell. We share the same stink I believe, there was no water to be able to take a daily bath.

But I have an advantage over them; I took long luxurious baths in Armando’s bath tub, whenever I came up with a "find" (our code word for stolen goods), while they wallowed in this dilapidated room, day in and day out.

Armando was our big boss. We all reported to him whenever we had a "find".

"Use your eyes, " he would goad us. "There are many out there. Be sure you won't get caught!"

Sometimes, when one of us got unlucky, Armando would be in the police precinct in a jiffy. They called him "cap" in that police station and saluted him. I wonder why they did as he had never worn a police uniform.

Almost always they released whoever was caught; after Armando had a drinking spree with them.

My friends and I were scared of Armando because he was enormous and had an ugly, angry scar on his right cheek. The oldest of our group was 12, but he never challenged Armando. We all knew he was our savior! He provided us a roof over our heads and food when we didn't have any "find." I was the youngest of the lot at 9 and I was also the skinniest but the most voracious.

I don't know why my small stomach needed so much food, I was always hungry. Whenever I asked an additional piece of bread from Armando he would snap at me; "Sell more plastic bags and get your "find". When you do, you can eat up to your heart's content."

I chose my clients very well. Those overly-dressed people who scorned at me and cursed me; "Get away from me you stinking rat," and I was just asking for some spare change to buy food.

I had sold only five plastic bags today and what I earned, could only buy me a piece of candy. I and my friends would sniff "rugby" to forget our hunger pangs. People used rugby as a glue but we utilized it as a drug. We would pour small portions of it in a plastic bag and inhale it until we felt numb and no longer feel our stomachs growling.

It was during times like these, that mother's memories assailed me: "Always remember the Golden Rule," she had said and although I was skeptical of it, I tried hard to observe this tenet. It was harder to believe in it when mother passed away.

The pain of my loss had grown hazy now, just a dull gnawing stab of nostalgia whenever I recall my moments with her.

Mother died when a speeding truck hit her in the middle of the road. The heartless driver did not even bother to stop. Father died a month later, some helpful neighbors had helped me out with his burial.

The owner of the shack we were renting had asked me to vacate the place, right after I came from the cemetery. I pleaded with him to feed me and provide lodging and I would be his humble and loyal servant but, “I don't trust you a bit, go find somewhere else to stay," he snarled at me.

My neighbors were in the same miserable, indigent state as I was, so there was no help for food and lodging from that corner. Their shanties were not enough to house their own big families - much more to feed them.

So I sold whatever belongings were left and came up with a small amount to buy food for several days until it was gone, pffft...nada… and I was forced to join the street children.

Now my body has grown warmer. I would have to stay for the night here. Those men would still be scouring the streets.


I moved to the farthest corner of the room where I cannot be seen from the window and rested my head on a box.

Slowly I opened my hand to reveal the gleaming bracelet. It was an 18 carat gold! Armando would be proud of me!


Tomorrow, I will have a luxurious, warm bath in his tub and will be clean shaven.

Buying a new pair of slippers is a wonderful idea too, and clothes to match.

I'm certain no one would recognize me in my spanking new haircut, grease-free face, and respectable appearance.

I really look forward to tomorrow!

And by the way, my name is Miguelito!

Photo 1 by René Ehrhardt

This is reposted from an article published last January.
( I am thinking of expanding it to a novelette).