By Carlo Ibarra and Jes Clemente.
September 20, 2009. The air was crisp on a cloudy September morning promising more to come as the winds of Christmas give its benediction to each citizen. The grey light from outside somewhat painted the inner walls with the colors of melancholy for most of the prisoners there bar one: Mang Nestor. He was sure that this day will be the initial step to his freedom. He had a special reason in particular: he counted the days of his emancipation. He’ll be released from this hell in just a couple of days…
“Cabrera! Tawag ka ng head. ” the guard, a man on his late 30’s, called out as he opened the cell’s gate. Twenty seven heads all turned to the owner of the said name revealing an old man whose wrinkles proved to be aged with sorrow and over-fatigue, whose body no longer as strong as a horse but could only pass to live with the day’s simple demands of basic human survival, and whose eyes revealed in them the desire to have a good night’s sleep. Yes, this was Mang Nestor’s very lucky day.
“Bakit daw, tsip?” Mang Nestor asked innocently as he slowly struggled to free his way out from the rest of the prisoners in his cell. Unlike all the prisoners with their tough physique and ill-mannered attitudes, Mang Nestor was quite the opposite; whether he was really a timid man, or if this was something that developed throughout his more than a lifetime’s stay in the prison, nobody knew. All the other inmates knew was that Mang Nestor was a Prison legend, being one of the longest inmate that had stayed there. The old man had lived a typical prisoner’s life: did the usual yard work, made quite a number of friends, participated in the occasional brawls during his younger years, and suffered from the usual case of Prison-Tuberculosis and Old-Man-Arthritis.
“Basta. Tignan mo na lang.” teased the guard as he wriggled his eyebrows.
“Ikaw talagang bata ka. Palagi mo akong ‘di siniseryoso. Hay nako! Kapag ako makalaya, aba, lintik, humanda ka sa akin! ” laughed Mang Nestor as he punched the arm of the guard.
All the prisoners who heard what Mang Nestor said, including the guard, roared with laughter. Strong male voices reverberated the four walls of the cell.
Despite his health problems and his being in jail, Mang Nestor remained a good sense of humor and was faithful to the Lord. Most of his friends at the penitentiary always ask him how he manages to keep his strong faith to some unknown being above. He always answered it with the same calm tone, “Kasi wala akong dahilan para magalit sa Kanya. Ito kasi ang plano Niya para sa akin. Wala akong magagawa dun.”
“Aba, Mang Nestor! 73 ka na’t malakas pa rin ang mga suntok mo.” Said the guard as he assisted Mang Nestor to the Head’s office.
“Aba, syempre! Si Missis lang naman ang nagpapalakas sakin eh.”
As they travelled the narrow white and gray hallway, Mang Nestor could not help but think of the number of years he had spent here. Mangangalahati na pala sa susunod na linggo. The continuous rattle of the cells’ keys on the guard’s pocket were oddly a comfort to his partially deaf ears.
“Alam ko na yung mangyayari. Mawawala na ako rito.” Said Mang Nestor idly.
“Gago! Dinidibdib mo naman yung biro ko sa’yo. Wala ‘yon. Hindi ka pa mamamtay.”
“Sira! Hindi ‘yon yung ibig kong sabihin. Alam ko na na makakalaya na ako rito.” Laughed Mang Nestor.
“Ah…eh… pasensya na. Pano mo naman nasabi ‘yon?” the guard was curious. Mang Nestor waved the question away. He took a deep breath and eyed him seriously.
“Alam mo ba kung ano ang problema mo?” they were already halfway the narrow corridor when Santos, the guard, stopped. Mang Nestor assessed him. He was, he assumed, about half his age. The epitome of the man who thinks not with his mind, but with his mouth; who defines power with the expanse of his chest and the bunched muscles building up the human anatomy classified as the arms; and whose familiarity with patience is strongly and indubitably under par.
Santos considered the weight of his question. Matanda ito. Matanda ito. Matanda ito. Thought Santos repeatedly. “Ano ‘yon?”
“Hindi ka nag-iisip. Puro salita ka lang. Kailangan mong…makinig.” He said as he gave him the best smile he can give as Santos opened the door leading to the warden’s office. Santos suddenly became quiet and ushered Mang Nestor in.
As they entered the warden’s office, Mang Nestor immediately put into memory every detail in the room. He was positively sure that he’ll be leaving this place anytime soon, and sadistic as it may seem, he wanted to remember everything. The warden’s desk was of average size built of wood. His artificial gold nameplate stood proudly in front of him, and behind the block of wood was the bearer of the title. Behind the table stood four steel file cabinets, each labeled accordingly: NEW ENTRANTS, PAROLE, LIFE, and OUT. He had a strong gut-feel that his file was at the last drawer, along with all the rest of those whose suffering has come to an end.
“Sir, alam niyo ho ba kung bakit ko kayo pinatawag dito?” The warden asked proudly as he tapped his desk with his fingertips.
The old man gave him the best smile he could muster and said, “Ah…eh…chief, ano na? Makakalaya na ba ako rito? ”
The warden smiled quite pleased with Mang Nestor’s answer. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, struggling to get them free in the process because they were squeezed tightly between his pocket and his body. He offered a stick to Mang Nestor who in turn declined the offer.
“Tama ho yung sagot niyo. Sa pagkakaalam ko, pwede ka nang umalis dito sa…” he paused as he pulled out a tattered notebook from his desk’s drawer, “susunod na linggo. Bale…sa 27.” He said as he tapped the date of his release with his finger.
No words could explain the joy Mang Nestor felt as he realized that the time of his suffering was almost coming to an end. A huge smile lit his face immediately. He wanted to dance. He wanted to scream. He wanted to jump for joy, but all those wants vanished as soon as after he heard the news, he fell down on the floor and started coughing blood wildly. The warden stood from his chair and demanded that the guard help him up. His vision started to turn blurry. He was seeing two objects of the same kind separating then coming together again. Even his Waray blood couldn’t stop him from losing consciousness. Then he saw the guard’s face saying words he could not understand.
Black out.
̃̃
Mang Nestor woke up in his cell with the strong scent of urine, body odor, and the wild hurrahs of the prisoners. Normal. It was, he assumed, a little past eleven thirty given the large group comprising of majority of the inmates in the cell playing their nightly ritual card game of TongIts. He got up, earning the stares of the players.
“Yeeees! Buhay si Tanda!” a stout man wearing a sando bantered. The group joined in the cheering, “Buhay si Tanda! Buhay si Tanda! Buhay si Tanda!”
Mang Nestor simply laughed at the group.
One of them, a tall and skinny man that looked his 20s got up and went to Mang Nestor.
“Pass muna ako, mga pre,” he called out to the people he was playing with. The stout player called out to him, “Takte naman, pare o! Tinatakasan mo naman ata kami eh.”
“Anong tinatakasan? May utang ka pa nga sa’kin! Ulol!” shouted the man.
The stout man dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand.
The young man turned to Mang Nestor and the old man asked, “Kamusta ka na, Roel?”
From where Mang Nestor and the skinny man sat, they both heard one of the players say, “O, pano na ‘yan? Panalo nanaman ako sa pustahan. Sabi ko sa inyo eh, buhay ‘yan! Pantaya ko sa Lotto!” shouted the player. A collection of disappointed voices accented his victory.
Both Roel and Mang Nestor laughed.
The young man answered, “Ikaw nga dapat ang tatanungin ko niyan! Nakita ka naming binubuhat ng mga gwardya kanina eh. Pag ‘di kayo nag-ingat, baka hindi pa kayo umabot sa bente-siyete!”
“Ambilis naman kumalat ng balita!” wheezed the old man.
Roel laughed as well, replying, “Kahit ibang prisinto nga, alam eh. Sikat ka kasi.“ the young inmate was glad that Mang Nestor was finally getting out. He knew that if ever there is anyone who deserved to leave this hell-hole, it was Mang Nestor. Though, despite his happiness, his enthusiasm slowly disappeared replacing it with a look of uncertainty in the eyes of the old man. “O, anong iniisip mo?” asked Roel.
Mang Nestor had long given up keeping his thoughts to himself. There was no point in hiding the truth anymore, after all.
The old man slowly took in a deep breath and assessed everything he wanted to say. “Hindi ako sigurado na gusto kong umalis.”
“Ano!?” said Roel as he stood up in shock, knocking down some plastic drums, waking some of the sleeping inmates in the process. Roel, suddenly embarrassed, sat back down and spoke in a hushed voice, “Bakit naman? Ang labo mo, Mang Nestor!”
Mang Nestor let out a sof laugh, “Hindi mo lang kasi naiintindihan. Baguhan ka pa lang kasi rito. Dalawang taon ka pa lang dito, diba?” Roel nodded and the old man proceeded, “Fresh, kumbaga. Madami pang pangarap sa buhay, madami pang babalikan na kaibigan at pamilya. Pero ako, matanda na. Ang mga kaibigan ko, kung hindi pa patay, ayun, na sa ospital o sa mga retirement home. Ang mga pangarap ko, matagal ko nang itinaga sa mga pader ng bilangguang ito, kasi alam kong hanggang doon na lang ang mararating nila. Pamilya ko na lang ang naghihintay sa akin, pero kahit sila…” tears slowly rolled down the cheeks of the old man. He mentally cursed, then continued.
“Ang mga anak ko, wala na. Na sa Dubai si bunso, DH. Si panganay naman, ayun, na sa HongKong. Hindi ko alam kung ano na ang balita tungkol sa kanya. At kahit andito pa sila, hindi na din naman ako magiging parte ng kanilang buhay. Sino ba naman ang gustong ipakilala sa kanilang asawa ang isang ex-con na Ama? Ako nga mismo, kinakahiya ko ang sarili ko.”
The old man could not help himself. He was a seventy plus, wrinkled, old man, and now, he was acting like he was four. He was crying his eyes out, afraid of what was to happen to him once he got out of prison.
Roel was now trying to understand the position of the old man. “Eh, ano ba ang mas okay dito kay sa sa labas? Wala nga eh. Dito, ang buhay mo laging naghihingalo. Kung hindi ka mapatay ng isa sa mga in-mates mo, mamamatay ka naman sa TB o kung ano pa!”
Mang Nestor just smiled. He knew that Roel was simply too young to understand. The old man knew that if he died in the prison, then someone would care, someone would cry for him, someone would remember him, his stories, his character. But if he were to die outside of these walls…a dead, nameless old man, with no one to claim the body. Sure, it’ll make the news for around a couple of minutes, before immediately disappearing into the nothingess together with the hundreds of nameless Filipinos. Wala na.
Mang Nestor spoke, with tears falling carelessly to the cold pavement, “Hindi mo lang ako naiintindihan. Masyado ka pang bata.”
Roel did nothing. He didn’t know what to say anymore. he wanted to comfort the old man, because he knew that he was suffering from a fear of growing old alone, that he was feeling worse because of his illnesses. But he also wanted to knock some sense into his system. He was, after all, finally getting out of this prison. An empty life outside these walls were far better than being here, having no life at all. But he knew the old man didn’t need the stress, just the support. So he stayed there, forgetting his arrogance, forgetting to try and make Mang Nestor happy that he was getting out. Instead, he tried his best to comfort him. After all, to Roel, Mang Nestor wasn’t just a fellow inmate, he was a friend------
September 26, 2009. Present.
His heart was aching and beating rapidly as bubbles from his nose slowly took flight up into the openness of oxygen. His fists were balled up for concentration as the steady loudness of the water’s pressure penetrated his aging ears. Three minutes submerged in water filled with festering organisms and trash. Three minutes of control. Three minutes of holding his breath under the liquid hell. Three minutes. Three minutes. Three minutes.
But then, he was only human.
Air. The cold air basked his head as he speedily took in oxygen. Air. The realization that he was still alive. Air. The balm of the drowning.
It happened so fast. The rain was just a natural event. Something not beyond the ordinary. It started with a drizzle covering the pavements with its cool glory, but then the world had turned itself into a basin for the waters to rest, slowly filling every possible inch of human pathway with its waters, coalescing with the trash, with the dirt, and with everything capable of floating.
The flood first reached the ankles, and then it slowly crept its way up to the knees. Then, it dramatically increased to the thighs, eventually reaching the chins of the prisoners.
“Putang ina mo, Santos!” cried one of the prisoners, “pakawalan mo kami ritong hayop ka!” He was shaking the cell’s bars.
Similar insults were also being thrown away by the other inmates from across the man’s cell--- a useless form of attention-getter for the guard, Santos, was safely hidden within the temporarily dry confines of the second floor, sitting in a corner with his hands on his ears, crying and even praying to God to stop the torture of hearing people die slowly, waiting for their deaths to silence them forever. He was a coward. He was shaking.
When the floods started to rise to their necks, Santos immediately left shutting his ears from the pleading voices of the prisoners. Before he climbed the stairs, he saw Mang Nestor extend his arm to him as if asking for help. The old man muttered a silent, “Buksan mo,” to the guard, “maawa ka!” amidst the roaring voices of the prisoners. Santos just stared at him and hesitantly fled to the second floor leading us to…
“Tama na. Tama na. Maawa kayo sa’kin,” he said lulling himself gently, “Wala akong magagawa! Putang ina, tigilan niyo na ako!” But, it was useless. His scream was overpowered with the screams and moans of the prisoners. “Tigilan niyo na ako! Hindi ko kayo pwedeng pakawalan. Malalagot ako. Malalagot ako.”
The flood was already exhausting the feeble body of the old man. He was standing on his toes, struggling to grab every chance of breath before he submerges back under to rest. His chest was aching. His whole body shivering underwater and all his fingers and toes were almost numb…
He needed more air. When he emerged from the water, Roel was holding the cell’s bars, crying. When he saw the old man, staring up at him, he cried even harder and said, “Makakalaya ka. Alam ko ‘yon. Hindi pwedeng mangyari ‘to sa’yo.” He repeated that over and over again to calm himself. The water now reached the nose of the young man; however, to Mang Nestor, given his five feet and two inch height, this was his last opportunity to grab some air.
Mang Nestor was crying underwater because he could no longer stand up for oxygen. He couldn’t reach the top no longer and his body was too exhausted to cooperate. A large amount of bubbles escaped the cavern of his mouth as he cried. He was shaking...
1 minute. He was, so far, doing a good job of conserving his breath. After the terrible release of oxygen from crying, he now allowed only a few bubbles to escape. His eyes are still closed. He was relaxed. He could no longer move his body. He was too weak…
2 minutes. He felt Roel go underwater. His bones could no longer move now for the cold had enveloped his system. He is now old and too weak. He held his hand tightly for comfort and he tried to divert his attention from losing air to what Roel said, “Makakalaya ka. Alam ko ‘yon. Hindi pwedeng mangyari ‘to sa’yo.”…
3 minutes. His hands are shaking terribly now. His head is pounding wildly and his heart feels like bursting—every nerve caging the human flesh of life are now, one by one, being torn into pieces. He is almost out of breath. He squeezes Roel’s hand to make sure that he is still alive. The young man didn’t squeeze back. Mang Nestor was crying again, releasing the remainders of his stored breath letting water enter his system. The young man didn’t move…
4 minutes.
