SHOES OF THE TRAVELER

By Mauro Gia Samonte

BOOK ONE

THE ROAD TO THE TEMPLE OF GOD

PROLOGUE

IF HEAVEN had a voice, then it must be no God’s word when a thunderclap rent a section of the Diliman skyline that late afternoon in early August. A man’s  cry, as from agony, seemed to have risen out of the spires of the Iglesia ni Cristo temple as a sudden lightning bolt ripped through the sky. It was a cry you don’t always hear even from somebody who has gone through so much torture, but rather from a man who, having survived so much torture, is dealt with what is meant to be one final death blow but still refuses to die, and thus refusing, holds fast to his one last recourse, which is to cry out to God. So if that cry was for God’s help, why would God respond with a terrifying spectacle of lightning and thunder, and with that pall of gloom that all at once enveloped the surroundings?

            That was  a time of the year when in the peculiarity of Metro Manila weather, the hotter the air becomes, the wetter it’s going to be, and true enough, as the humidity seemed to reach its hottest, the blue sky suddenly turned overcast, always the unmistakable precursor for lightning bolts and thunderclaps that send in the rain.

            Ka Mao dropped to the pavement on his seat simultaneously with the fall of heavy raindrops.

“Aung!” he grunted just as terribly as the first cry that had filled the Diliman air.

He was gnashing his teeth hard.

Veins were nearly bursting on his neck and on his temples.

His hands were clutching his right leg as though the effort could  stem the pain running up from his foot, which had been impaled on something on the pavement. At the same time, he wanted to keep the foot steady in order to prevent it from being ripped apart, as he felt it would be if he made a wrong movement of his body.

            He had shoes on, all right. But some sharp thing had pierced through its sole and onto his right foot, impaling it deeply so that he could not remove his foot from it without causing such terrible pain. And so each effort he made to unstuck his foot must be in such a gingerly manner as he could do to prevent the foot from getting injured further.

            No matter that the longer it took to finish the effort, the more blood he would lose.

            And his foot was bleeding so profusely that you could clearly distinguish the red fluid from the rain that joined up with the fast-swelling water of the Marikina River.    

            Several people were on the Tumana Bridge at the time, but under the sudden heavy rain they all must hurry to seek shelter and none could care less for whatever agony Ka Mao was suffering.

Or was Ka Mao in such a strait that only God could give him succor? So if heaven had a voice, then those lightning bolts and thunderclaps were God’s own terrible aching at the misfortune that befell a dear creation…   

CHAPTER I

TUMANA BRIDGE is a narrow, low-lying bridge that spans the wide Marikina River, a short-cut way from Marikina City to Quezon City. For one from Antipolo City who has a car of his own, Tumana Bridge is the fastest way to the Diliman area if he wants to avoid the series of traffic choke points on Marcos Highway. Right after crossing the bridge, he drives through the winding road upward  and presto, he is in Balara. A few minutes more of driving, he outs into Commonwealth Avenue, taking the UP Campus roads, then u-turns at Tandang Sora intersection, and finally ends up in the INC Templo.

            For Ka Mao, who, though having no car of his own and thus must scrimp on transportation expenses, could hitch a ride from Antipolo to Marikina on a friendly school bus service, Tumana  was just  as advantageous in going to the INC temple. From the Marikina drop-off point, he spared a  7-peso senior citizen fare on a jeepney to the Tumana area, whence to make the foot journey to the INC temple. Giving a thirty-minute allowance, he made it to the temple in time for the 5 o’clock indoctrination session.

            A 7-peso cost for a journey from Antipolo to the INC Central Office! What a bargain.

            All this, of course, on non-rainy days. Any instance of heavy rain makes the Tumana travel very dangerous. The Marikina River swells up so quickly and you can never tell who among the bridge-takers could escape sudden torrents of the river, which has gained notoriety for carrying killer floods. Imagine the awesome water dropping on an entire section of the Sierra Madre mountain range spanning the provinces of Quezon, Aurora, Rizal and Bulacan and getting collected in a narrow spillway that is the Marikina River. Each time, what immediately transpires is a deluge no less catastrophic than biblical punishment.

It was in August last year when Ka Mao started trekking the Tumana way to the INC templo. It came about as a result of a meeting Ka Loren and Ka Rey had invited him to, a meeting supposedly meant for taking up a film project.

Ka Mao took the invitation quite excitedly, optimistically even.  Henry Sy had long caused the death of the Philippine movie industry, and to a filmmaker who had been hoping against hope to get a film assignment, the invitation was most welcome,

“Come, Direk,” said Ka Rey on the cellphone. “Pareng Loren will be there.”

“Ka” is a word appended to the name of a person you want to address with respect. Ka Mao had gone through no literature tracing the etymology of the word. The first time he encountered it was when he was engulped into the mainstream of the revolutionary movement in the late sixties and early seventies. Activists of the movement fondly called each other Kasama, Tagalog for “comrade” used in the tradition of the Communist movement in Europe, particularly the Soviet Union. To shorten Kasama, activists had grown used to addressing one another “Ka.”

In the particular circumstance of the Iglesia Ni Cristo, its members are called Kapatid, Tagalog for “brother” or “sister”, hence its shortening into “Ka”. At least in this context, the Communist movement and the INC find a harmonious agreement.

In the case of Ka Loren, the appendage is used with reverence and fondness by the lowly Obando folks who over the years have been beneficiaries of a variety of his philanthropic endeavors.

Ka Rey had been assistant director to Ka Mao in the movie “Halimuyak Ng Babae” and had grown accustomed to calling him “Direk”, short for “Director”, by which film directors are addressed with respect and affection by his subordinates in moviemaking. Over time, the term had taken on what Ka Mao thought to be an unpleasant connotation, which is that the one addressing is putting himself in submission to the one being addressed, so that Ka Mao would feel much unease at Ka Rey, actually a friend rather than a subordinate, doing it to him. As Ka Rey insisted to address him “Direk,” Ka Mao would shrug a shoulder to himself in some sort of consolation, “Oh, well, bad habits are hard to kill.”

The meeting was set at three o’clock in the afternoon, but going from Antipolo to Ka Rey’s place in Caloocan City. you count five ride transfers and three long walks, first a hitch-ride on a jeepney to the MRT Terminal Station in Santolan, Pasig City which entailed some half kilometer walk from the jeepney stop, up and across the overpass to the other side of Marcos Highway onto the sidewalk along the station building before entering the lobby and joining the queue to the ticket windows, then up the stairs, or the escalators when they are functioning, after which you end up on the ramp to board the train.  Aboard the train, you reach the LRT Recto Terminal Station, then walk approximately another half kilometer to the Doroteo Jose Station of the other railway line along Rizal Avenue, which you would take to Monumento and from there walk three blocks to board a jeepney going now to Ka Rey’s area near the Caloocan City Hall. But his house – actually a rented room – was not in the immediate environs but in Sitio Tulya. still a tricycle ride away or if you haven’t yet gotten  tired, choose to keep the twenty pesos cost of the tricycle ride and instead do a last one-kilometer walk. All that riding and walking Ka Mao estimated to finish in two hours so that he would arrive at the meeting just in time. But approaching the place of Ka Rey, he checked his cellphone for the time and saw it reading a quarter past three.

“It’s okay,” he told himself. “Filipino time.”

Ka Mao  had miscalculated two things. First, his travel time. He missed it by 15 minutes owing to the number of walks he hadn’t reckoned with.. Second, the discipline of the people whom he, Ka Loren and Ka Rey would be meeting.  Ka Mao would shortly know that the four guys waiting who were all strangers to him were members of the Iglesia ni Cristo, a religious congregation where three o’clock meant just that, three o‘clock. When he entered the open door of Ka Rey’s place, those four were seated on a sofa and chairs around the small center table in what served as sala; they were eating what looked like a heavy meal buffet style 

The section you stepped into right after entering through the door had a double-deck bed improvised from wood, occupying that end of the three-by-six-meter living quarters. Each deck of the bed could accommodate two average-size persons, which were  Ka Rey’s daughters, or three small kids, which were his youngest sons.

With the guests already in, the place was just too cramped and Ka Mao immediately noticed that there was no more available seat; one chair, which Ka Mao thought must have been meant for him, had been used for putting two Coca-Cola bottles and  several glasses on.

Ka Rey  kept his plate of food firm in his left hand as he immediately rose from his seat and with his right hand moved it a little by way of offering it to Ka Mao.

“Oh, Direk, come in,” said Ka Rey, then introduced him to the guests. “This is Direk Mao.”

The man in the middle of the group seated on the sofa acknowledged him first, instinctively offering his hand for a handshake. He realized his fingers were messy from handling food and he withdrew  his hand, smiling apologetically.

“How are you, Direk?”

The man was past fifty, with hair well intact but for a slight recession on the forehead. There was a faint hollow each on both his cheeks which would indicate to you that he didn’t have that much fondness for eating, corroborated by his lean, frail physique, though he seemed to belie all this as he partook of a leg of grilled chicken. When he smiled, his eyes gleamed, betraying an inner happy disposition, made happier still by the sight of one lower tooth missing. A black leather bag in the genre of portfolios of business executives but much worn out stuck to his side, bulging with its contents.

“Join us,” said the man to Ka Mao.

Ka Mao nodded with a smile.

“He is Ka Rading,” said Ka Rey. “Sit down, Direk.”

Ka Mao hesitated, seeing no chair left for Ka Rey, who quickly grabbed a stool on which he sat, while with a gentle push prompting Ka Mao to sit on the chair he had offered. 

“Ka Rading is a minister in Iglesia,” said Ka Rey, referring to Iglesia ni Cristo, INC for short, or Church of Christ in English. Iglesia is the Spanish term for church, which has been adapted into the Filipino language; the phenomenal growth of INC in the Philippines had come to a point where when you say “Iglesia” you are no longer referring to the Spanish word for church but to the INC religion.

Already there, too, was Ka Loren, and it was a matter of course. Himself a disciplinarian, Ka Loren always arrived at meetings a good quarter before the appointed hour. Had there been no others to meet, Ka Mao would have missed him, because Ka Loren didn’t have that much tolerance for late comers. As usual, Ka Loren wore that stoic look in his eyes  which made it difficult for anybody to say what’s going on in his mind. He threw a sullen stare at Ka Mao to acknowledge his arrival. In contrast, Ka Nilo, his driver Man Friday, who sat next to him, instantly flashed his characteristic wide grin which invariably reminded you of Joker, the fiendish but ever grinning villain of Batman.

“Eat, Direk,” said Ka Nilo. “We really set aside some grilled chicken for you.”

As usual, the guy was kidding, but none of the INC people got the joke.

Ka Rey got it and gave Ka Mao an assuring smile.

“Not so, Direk. We know you’re allergic to chicken. Lilia, do bring in the pork barbecue.”.

The woman Ka Rey gave instruction to had anticipated it and now entered, carrying a plate of barbecue.

“Will we ever forget what you like to eat?” said Lilia, flashing her winsome, wide smile. She was pretty, even exotic,  and must have been more so in her youth, which should attest to the amazing convincing power of Ka Rey; for him to have enamored such a beautiful darling,  he of that diminutive size, who etched the face of a Chinese every time he smiled because it made him chinky-eyed but that his complexion should throw him back to the Austronesians of pre-historic Philippines! Or it is true that big things do come in small packages. For not only had Ka Rey gone on to sire seven children with Lilia but had also continued to nurse the ambition of writing a truly great movie. He did get a chance to do such movie, one that dramatized the Iglesia theme of being the one true religion tasked with the salvation of mankind on the day of judgment. He aptly titled that production “Sa Mga Wakas ng Lupa”, the Tagalog translation of the biblical passage “at the ends of the earth.” He spent seven million pesos for the project but failed to finish it, because his financier ran out of funds. For all you know, the meeting had been arranged by him in fact in order to advance his filmic ambition, and he had the fortune of having a gracious wife helping him out in hosting the event.

Lilia offered Ka Mao a plate with fork and spoon. “Have a good fill, Direk. Merienda is just starting.”

“Thank you.”

“Call for anything needed,” said Lilia to Ka Rey as she headed for outside the room. “”I’ll just be in the kitchen boiling water for coffee.”

Ka Mao put rice into the plate together with  a piece of the broiled fish on which he poured soy sauce flavored with lemon. He took a stick of barbecue and munched on a piece of it.

“This is no merienda.”

”Iglesia brothers are so busy they often miss meals in having to keep their many appointments. This is not just merienda really but lunch as well,” said Ka Rey.

“Make it dinner, too,” said Ka Rading as he reached for another grilled chicken drumstick. Everybody got the joke and laughed..

.

 In the round seating formation, Ka Mao sat beside a man with a robust frame, broad-shouldered and good-looking. He was dapper in barong and with his grey, well-combed hair, he had the looks of a venerable solon, and he did speak with the flamboyance of a congressman engaged in empty braggadocio.

“I have made a story treatment,” the man said in-between munches at his own grilled chicken. “And I am trying to establish contacts with Hollywood directors. If we can get James Cameron, so much the better.”

Ka Mao just didn’t like what he heard; his reaction was impulsive. Ka Rey keenly noticed it and he thought that was opportune for him to introduce the speaker.

“Direk, this is Ka Art.”

“Hi.”

“We can work together in writing the script and when done, we  present it to Cameron. If Cameron accepts, then that’s it, we get the blessing from above. Financing won’t be a problem.”

All in all, what Ka Art seemed to be saying was that Ka Mao should be thankful for being made to co-write a script for directing by a Hollywood  director.  Indeed that was how Ka Mao took those words and he didn’t feel honored.

In fact, the words slighted him exceedingly. I wrote more than fifty screenplays, directed most of them. I won two best screenplay awards, one being for that grand winner “Burlesk Queen” in the 1970 Metro Manila Film Festival.  My movie “Mainit… Masarap… Parang Kaning Isusubo” outgrossed “Rocky V’ during their simultaneous first-run showing in Metro Manila. I launched – at least my movies did – the careers of many a superstar, a few of them eventually becoming top political figures, two vice governors and one congressman. Lito Lapid’s career got a  shot  in the arm at a time he needed it most with my directorial debut “Isla Sto. Nino” in 1982 and since then he soared to even greater heights in the movie firmament onward to becoming first vice governor, then governor and finally senator, which he is until now. And if it were not for Henry Sy I would not have stopped building stars and would have continued grooming them for lucrative political careers. Now you tell me, write, no, help write,  a script for direction by, oh, boy, James Cameron!  And you expect me to salaam, “Thank you…Thank you… Thank you…” Gosh, the guy couldn’t even come anywhere close to my output. In 1991 I was the topnotcher, with six movies written and directed. Can Cameron match even that year’s credits of  mine? “Titanic” was such a smash hit. So? So were all those six movies I made in 1991. Begin from “Bad Girl,” which catapulted Cristina Gonzales to stardom, then to her subsequent starrers “Katawan ni Sofia”and “Maiinit na Puso”, which established her as a box-office queen who went on to become the busiest star that year, making a staggering total of fifteen movies. But how ever much the grosses of those six movies could come up to, they would be just a tiny drop against the gross of “Titanic”. True, because “Titanic” had an international market, had been funded precisely to generate that much gross. But, as they say it in boxing, there is this you call pound-for-pound. Not one of those six movies cost more than seven million pesos including publicity, so the question should be, how many seven million pesos are there in the 200 million dollars budget of "Titanic"?   At forty pesos to a dollar, that’s roughly 120 times, or in other words 120 movies grossing an average of 15 million pesos per for one week showing alone in Metro Manila or a total of1,860 million pesos multiplied by two to include provincial gross, the figure comes up to 3,720 million. Divide that by 40 to convert the figure to dollars you get roughly 92 million. That’s for the Philippines alone, the size of just one state in the United States of America, meaning you get 3 states or a gross of 200 million, the cost of “Titanic”, you’re break even at least, thus the take from the 48 remaining states in the amount of 4,816 million is your windfall minus taxes. That’s in dollars and for just the United States. How about for the rest of the world!  Yet here you are asking me, a film director, to simply write a script for directing by someone to whom I must be superior pound-for-pound.

Ka Mao never got to say those words actually. He had gone past that stage in his life where he thought matters can be settled by debates, friendly or otherwise. People, he recognized now, are prisoners of their prejudices and there is no way to sway them away from those prejudices for the simple reason that it is they who had locked themselves in and had forever thrown away the key that could unlock the prison door.

“Count me out,” came Ka Mao’s words.

Ka Rading was agape. Ka Loren kept his stoic stare. Ka Nilo was unusually serious, eyeing Ka Mao as he finished his banana dessert. Ka Rey sensed Ka Mao was hurting or something. For want of something by which to divert Ka Ma’s mind, he poured Coca-Cola into a glass and offered it to Ka Mao.

“Coke, Direk.”

But even before Ka Mao could accept the offer, Ka Art forced the issue.

“What we are going to do is an international movie. We must have an international director.”

This time Ka Mao felt his temper bursting. It vexed him even more to hear that term “international movie”, a cliché coined by workers in the movie industry to refer to cheap film projects shot in the Philippines with obscure foreign stars and directors. To Ka Mao, the term connoted Filipino subservience to anything foreign; he had come to detest it, just as he simply detested the present topic of doing a film for direction by an international director.

“Count me out. I will have nothing to do with a movie that makes Filipino directors inferior to those of Hollywood. You bring Cameron here and make him do a movie for seven million pesos including promotion. Let’s see if he comes up to even half of what I have been doing.”

Poor Cameron, Ka Mao told himself. Getting clobbered for an offense he didn’t even know he did.  Ka Mao had seen “Titanic” and had admired its production value, particularly the stunt scenes , as well as its wealth of  human touches, like the spitting contest between lead stars Leonardo Di Carpio and Kate Winslet on the bow deck of the ship, otherwise a simple scene but made big and beautiful by a breathtaking camerawork that could only be a handiwork of a brilliant director. To have had the eye to glean innocent childishness in a mundane children’s game and highlight it as a signal scene in his movie just  smacks of genius. And the screenplay structure, though not new, had a charm and originality all its own. No, Ka Mao told himself, I have no quarrel with Cameron. What I have quarrel with is the thinking of people like this guy beside me who says Filipino directors are inferior to Cameron. That’s another thing and I doubt if Cameron himself would like it put that way. All directors believe they are good. Some may be afflicted with deep conceit to believe that they are better than others, but give that to them. After all, being better does not mean others are bad but rather those that they are better than are good. Besides those who dare say they are better than others usually keep it to themselves. They  would sound silly if  they stooped down just so they could proclaim their virtues by themselves.

In the case of Ka Mao, he would only go as far as proclaiming: “There are no bad directors; there are only bad producers.” 

Beside Ka Rading sat a man who had been quiet all along, listening, observing or just eating. He was past sixty, clean-cut, clean-shaven, hair neatly combed. He, too, looked dapper in polo barong but didn’t have any of the flamboyance of Ka Art or the showmanship of Ka Rading. With his cool, calm comportment and with his polished spectacles, about his face was the aura of an unpretentious religion pastor.

He cut in softly, “This is just a brainstorming.”

Ka Mao looked to the man, whom Ka Rey introduced..

“He is Ka Nestor.”

 “Let’s settle that matter about international director later,” said Ka Nestor.

That look from Ka Nestor told Ka Mao that they were on the same boat in the controversy. Ka Mao smiled.

Ka Rading realized he got the cue. He finished his Coca-Cola quick, wiped his mouth with a napkin which he used also to wipe his hands.

“Well…,” Ka Rading began, rubbing his hands together. “We are thinking of a film project to commemorate the 100^th  anniversary of Iglesia Ni Cristo. That will be in 2014…”

“It will be an epic,” butted in Ka Art. “You know, like ‘Ten Commandments’ perhaps.  So we need somebody to direct it like ‘Titanic’.”

There he goes again, Ka Mao twitted to  himself.

“I plan to title it ‘The Messenger’,” continued Ka Art. “It’s about Ka Felix Manalo, how on July 27, 1914 he answered the call of Lord God for him to perform what had been prophesied in the Bible.”

“What’s about that date?” asked Ka Mao.

“That was when Ka Felix registered Iglesia ni Cristo with the SEC.”

“SEC?”

“The Securities and Exchange Commission.”

“That was God’s call?” asked Ka Mao. “To register Iglesia with the SEC…”

“First thing first,” cut in Ka Loren. “Who will produce the movie?"

“We will be the producers,” said Ka Art, indicating everybody in the meeting.

“Where do we get the money?”

Ks Loren asked the question.  More than anybody else in the meeting, it was he who should be most concerned about financing. He was the only one in the group who had big money, but just in case the Iglesia people were thinking of asking him to finance the film project, he thought it better to clear it up early on that he was not inclined to do so. True that he had been liberal in granting financial assistance to friends and colleagues, and  even to complete strangers. who were in need, but only precisely for that purpose, financial assistance, not money making ventures. Going into such big undertakings as production of international movies was farthest from his mind.

Indeed, the speech stylist that Ka Rading was, he retorted to Ka Loren’s question, “We wouldn’t really mind if you funded the project.”

Ka Loren let out his all too rare smile, his shoulders slightly crouched as he scratched the back of his head. He always did that gesture each time he reacted with amusement, surprise or disbelief.

“I’m poor. I don’t own anything anymore.”

Ka Rey came to Ka Loren’s rescue. He said, “Pareng Loren had divested himself of all possessions. Divided them among his children.”

“You still own Bagong Tiktik,” said Ka Art, showing a copy of the tabloid.  “Your name is still here.”

“I’m the publisher. But my kids own it now.”

“How’s the paper doing?” asked Ka Rading.

“Good as ever. We’re in the top two.”

“How many copies?”

“One hundred sixty”

“Thousand?”

Ka Loren nodded. “And counting.”

“Big.”

“Bigger than the circulation of the broadsheet claiming to be number one.”

“You don’t have many ads.”

“I discourage them.”

“Oh…”

“Ads take away precious space for reading. So you lose readership. When the ads pull out, you’ve lost readers, too. Better you retain your big readership through and through. That’s better assurance of steady big income. That is, for tabloids which have very limited space.”

“Just recently we passed by your building on Paso de Blas. Business there looks good,” said Ka Art.

“Okay.”

“How’s the club in Bocaue?”

“Doing fine. I have stopped intervening in its operation. My children do it all.”

“Your townhouses doing okay, too?”

“My children know the details.”

What’s this, a CI? Ka Mao asked himself, seeing that the discussion is turning into some kind of a credit investigation.

“By the way, any progress in your treasure hunt?” asked Ka Art.

“You know that, too?”

“If God would bless us with the gold, why not?”

“We’ve gone to thirty feet deep and begun finding treasure signs. Stones the size of a  big saucer smoothly carved into discs. Carpet of leaves layered on top of one another and compressed as in a mattress. But the most encouraging is the head of a serpent carved in wood. According to treasure books the serpent head points to where the gold is. When the wet season ends, we’ll start digging toward where the serpent head points. We’re almost there.”

“I thought we’d get funding from above,” cut in Ka Nestor.

“Didn’t I say, if Cameron accepts, then financing from above won’t be a problem.”

“Some guy this Ka Art,” sighed Ka Mao to himself.

“Best thing to do is get the work done,” said Ka Rey, beginning to remove the things from the center table. “Lilia, help please.”

“Okay, let’s get it done.,” said Ka Rading. He began taking out three versions of the Bible and other literature from his bag while Lilia helped out Ka Rey in clearing the center table. Then rising, he said., “Lets stand to pray.”

Everybody rose after him. Ka Rading and his companions closed their eyes tight and hard, with Ka Rey hurrying to join in. Ka Loren and Nilo bowed their heads in apparent meditation, so  did Ka Mao.          

"Lord God, our dear Father…,” began Ka Rading,

“Yes,” chorused  Ka Art, Ka Nestor, Ka Rey and the other Iglesia man in Ka Rading’s group.

“…thank you very much for bringing us together this afternoon…”

“Yes.”

So that’s how prayers are done in Iglesia, Ka Mao concluded to himself. The leader does all the praying and the others just answer, “Yes… Yes… Yes…” He focused his mind on the pauses Ka Rading made and confirmed the “Yes” response at each pause.

“Though we have come from faraway places… you saw to it that each of us arrived in this place safe and in good health… ready to shoulder whatever task you may chose for us to do…”

Having confirmed where the “Yes” response were made, Ka Mao now felt confident in joining in the chorus.

“… so that thereby we may serve you… and glorify your holy name…”

“Yes,” uttered Ka Mao loud and certain.

“Amen,” chorused Ka Rey and the Iglesia people.

Ka Mao didn’t let his embarrassment show. He thought,  So that’s it, after a series of “Yes,”  you shift to  responding with “Amen.” He believed now he knew.

“Dear Lord God Father, we implore you..”

“Amen,” responded Ka Mao.

“Yes,” went the chorus.

“.. enlighten us in our discussion this afternoon|

“Amen,” responded Ka Mao.

“Yes,” went the chorus.

“…so that whatever decision we make…”

“Amen,” responded Ka Mao.

“Yes,” went the chorus.

Now Ka Mao realized he was doing it wrong. He resolved to correct it.

“…it is a decision guided by the glory of your wisdom.”

“Yes,” responded Ka Mao loud and certain.

“Amen,” went the chorus.

Ka Mao stole glaring glances at the Iglesia people, like saying,  “You’re playing smart on me, eh?”

He firmed up his stance, like bracing for a fight even as he clasped  his hands tight in front of him.

“Finally, Lord God, Dear Father… bless this house, bless Ka Rey, Ka Lilia and their children… bless all of us your chosen ones… shield us with your love and protect us with your divine power… all the way to the completion… of our journey  to the promised salvation…”

What Ka Mao did was play safe. While the Iglesia people responded with just “Yes” or “Amen” at appropriate pauses, Ka Mao responded with “Yes, Amen”, so that whatever the Iglesia people appropriately responded with, Ka Mao was always in perfect unison.

“All this we ask in the name of our great Savior Jesus Christ.” 

“Amen,” chorused the Iglesia people.

“Yes, Amen,” concluded Ka Mao, then eyed the Iglesia people with a triumphant smile.

“Ka Mao has got a beautiful smile,” said Ka Rading as he sat; everybody else sat, too. “Good omen of a successful orientation.”

“Orientation?” asked Ka Mao.

“Well…We’re making a film on Iglesia ni Cristo. We have to learn its history.”

What next transpired was nearly a one-man show of Ka Rading. He asked the questions, he gave the answers. But always, as he would stress time and again, the answer came from the Bible.

“People have the mistaken belief that Iglesia Ni Cristo was founded by Ka Felix Manalo. This is not true. Who founded Inglesia Ni Cristo?  Jesus Christ himself founded Iglesia Ni Cristo as written in the Holy Bible. Here in Matthew 16:18. It says, ‘And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church.’ Whose church? Christ said ‘My church.’ Therefore the Church of Christ. Iglesia Ni Cristo… For this reason, Iglesia Ni Cristo is the only church our Lord Jesus Christ built on earth. Iglesia Ni Cristo is the one and only true Church of Christ which every man should enter in order to have the right to salvation. That church however was totally apostatized by the Roman Catholic Church and, after that period of the Apostles, was dormant for close to 2,000 years until in fulfillment of a Biblical prophecy Ka Felix Manalo revived it at these, 'the ends of the earth.’”

Until then, Ka Mao had not known anything much about Iglesia. His impression of the congregation was that it was among many other churches professing to carry the teachings of Jesus Christ, aside from being a homebred religion in the Philippines.  To hear now that it was actually claiming to be the one true church built by Jesus Christ himself was astounding enough. But to hear that its formation had actually been prophesied in the Bible was mind-boggling, to say the least. So long as Ka Rading was limiting the discussion of biblical verses within their historical context, it was perfectly all right. Ka Mao had made cursory reading of the Bible at one time or another and his understanding of the scriptures had not gone beyond accepting them in the context of Israel in the biblical era. Whatever implications the scriptures had upon other areas of the world after that era were, to Ka Mao, to be taken as applied lessons. In other words, if the scriptures, though written strictly for Israel, did humanity good, why not? But to actually situate the Philippines in a context meant only for Israel was just absurd, and this was Ka Mao’s frame of mind when he intervened in Ka Rading’s otherwise one-man stand-up performance..

“How was the prophecy made?”

Ka Rading beamed with a smile, like a fisherman that got a fish tugging at his line.

Ka Rading leafed through the pages of one of the bibles in front of him while he said, “That’s what I always say. God blesses us with so many wonderful things and yet we don’t know it. Like the revival of the apostatized Church of Christ. God had seen to it that it took place in our midst and thereby blessed us with the opportunity to  enjoy salvation first.”

“The prophecy?” Ka Mao insisted.

Ka Rading came to a particular page of the bible he was browsing through.

           “Here it is. Revelation. 7, verse 2. ‘And I saw another angel ascending from the east, having the seal of the living God’. That angel was Ka Felix Manalo.”

            “How do we know?”

          “The Bible says it,” said Ka Rading as he quickly shifted to another page of the Bible.  "In Isaiah 41, verses 9 to 10, we read ‘Thou whom I have taken from the ends of the earth, and called thee from the chief men thereof, and said unto thee, Thou art my servant; I have chosen thee, and not cast thee away. Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ The prophecy goes on in Isaiah 43, verses 5 to 6 which state, ‘Fear not: for I am with thee: I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west. I will say to the north, Give up; and to the south, Keep not back: bring my sons from far, and my daughters from the ends of the earth.’”

“That ‘whom I have taken from the ends of the earth’ could be another man.” Ka Loren appeared like having just that thought, for when Ka Mao uttered the question, he faintly smiled, nodding his head.

“No,” said Ka Rading emphatically. “No other man preached the Church of Christ in the Philippines but Ka Felix. In fact, in the whole of Asia. What Ka Felix began in 1914 grew and expanded westward, beginning with the congregations in Hawaii and in California. Now we are all over Europe, including former communist Russia. Perfectly according to Christ’s own prophecy, ‘I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west… bring my sons from far and my daughters from the ends of the earth.” 

 “What proof do we have that the Philippines was the one being referred to in the Bible as the country where the Church of Christ would re-emerge after the apostasy  by the Roman Catholic Church?.”

“Let the Bible answer,” said Ka Rading as he leafed through the pages of the Bible again. Even before he could find the page, he said,  “In John 10:16 Jesus himself spoke, ’And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.’ Who are those “other sheep’ that Jesus said he had? We, the Iglesia ni Cristo.”

“By what virtue?”

 “By virtue of Christ’s own prophecy. He said that in John 10:16, ‘them also I must bring.’ And in Isaiah 43, verses 5 to 6  it says ‘I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west… bring my sons from far and my daughters from the ends of the earth.’ Where in the east we might ask? In Isaiah 41, verse 1 we read, ‘Keep silence before me, O islands; and let the people renew their strength: let them come near; then let them speak: let us come near together to judgment.’ In the Far East, there is no other country made up of islands but the Philippines.  Some other countries may have a few islands surrounding them, but only the Philippines is an archipelago, a country of islands. How many islands, Direk?”

“High tide or low tide?” asked Ka Mao, eliciting laughter from those who understood the joke, which was a recollection of the answer Charlene Gonzales gave in the Miss International contest years back The emcee, smarting at having handled the show well, walked up to Charlene in the line-up of five finalists, thinking he would be surprising her with the question: “How many islands does the Philippines have?” But instead of answering how many, Charlene shot back. “High tide, or low tide.” And the poor emcee was simply flabbergasted. Charlene quickly came to his rescue by answering something to this effect:  “At high tide, the number of islands visible is 7000, but at low tide 100 other islands come into view. And that’s my answer.” And for that, Charlene won the Miss International Title.,

“And that’s my answer, too,” Ka Mao said.

Everytbody laughed again.

“With 7,100 islands, the P)hilippines is definitely the country prophesied as the ‘islands’  site of the renewal of strength of the Church of Christ, that is  Iglesia ni Cristo.”

“The prophesy was made when man’s perception of the earth was that it was flat. Only far up to Galileo’s time did the idea come about that the earth was round. And with the discovery of the Philippines by Magellan in 1521, it was proven that indeed the earth was round. So where is that ‘ends of the earth’ prophesied in the Bible?”

Ka Rading beamed the satisfied feeling of a teacher who knew he had gotten a pupil ready to take his words at their face value.

“’Ends of the earth’ is not referring to geography,” he said. It was obvious by now that there was no question you could ask which he did not have a ready answer to.”Rather, it is an allegorical description of the day of judgment. Note in Isaiah 41, verse 1, it says ‘let us come near together to judgment.’ We are now in a period which we might call the eve of the second coming of Lord Jesus Christ, a period marked by natural disasters and man-made conflicts. We are at the ‘ends of the earth’ but not yet the end, because the end will come when Christ returns from the heaven to judge the living and the dead. For that second coming of the Lord, Iglesia ni Cristo was renewed not as a personal design of any mortal man but in fulfillment of God’s will as prophesied by Jesus Christ himself when he said in John 10, 16 ‘them also I will bring’ and in Isaiah 43, 5 to 6, ‘I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west… bring my sons from far and my daughters from the ends of the earth’. The ‘renewal of strength’ of the Church of Christ in the Philippines in the form of Igleia Ni Cristo happened in 1914 when World War I broke out, ‘nations against nations, kingdoms against kingdoms’, perfectly as prophesied in Ezekiel…”

Ka Mao enjoyed Ka Rading’s presentation seriously. He remembered his short stint at sales in the mid-sixties, underwriting life insurance and selling encyclopedia. He realized now that in both jobs, he was practically doing the work of a minister. With life insurance, he was selling benefits after death; with encyclopedia, truth. It appeared to Ka Mao now that the only difference was that, with life insurance and encyclopedia, the buyer pays money, with Ka Rading’s preaching, you pay with “Yes, yes, amen.” That was not too dear a paying.

Though with Ka Loren, the case didn’t seem quite so. The more or less one hour run down by Ka Rading of the basic Iglesia doctrines hardly made a dint on his mind. At past sixty, he didn’t seem to have outgrown  the tirelessness of his youth in seeking answers to many questions lurking in the deep recesses of his mind. For him, just saying “Yes, yes, amen” was a price too dear to pay.

Not even once did Ka Mao notice Ka Loren responding in the prayer.

His elocution over, Ka Rading propounded the question: “So, when do we schedule your indoctrination?”

No immediate response came.

            Ka Rading explained the procedure. 

            “It consists of 25 lessons, one lesson per session, each session lasting for thirty minutes, done four times a week, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Thursdays and Sundays are for attending worship.”

            “Where will the indoctrination be?” asked Ka Mao.

            “Let’s have it in the Central Office,” said Ka Rading. “On Wednesdays, we can proceed to worship in the temple afterward .”

            Ka Mao looked to Ka Loren. It looked like Ka Loren held the key. If he said, “Go,” that’s it. Ka Loren took a moment to decide then nodded his head.

            Ka Rey could not help doing a single clap of his hands. He was exceedingly glad.

            On the way out from Ka Rey’s place after the meeting, Ka Mao told Ka Rey, “We have not discussed any mechanics of actual production.”

            “We can take that up later. To have gotten Pareng Loren to agree to the indoctrination was achievement enough.”

            “He would appear in the Iglesia records as your fruit,” said Ka Nestor.

            “Let’s hope it helps facilitate your re-entry into the Iglesia,” said Ka Rading.

            “Why, re-entry?” asked Ka Mao.

            Ka Rey spoke hesitantly. “I’ve been expelled.”

            “Oh…”

            “I’d been married to a catholic before when I married Lilia in the Iglesia.”

            “So you’re no longer Iglesia?”

            “We call it, balik-loob, a returnee to the fold,” said Ka Nestor.

            “But that’s small matter,” said Ka Rading  with his characteristic brag. “We’ll work it out. After all, you had long been separated from your first wife when you married Lilia.”

            They reached the spot which served as plaza for the community. Here the van of Ka Loren and that of the Iglesia people were parked. It was not strictly a slums area, but many of the dwellings in the neighborhood made it look like one. Children playing here, men drinking there, women gossiping near a small stand where banana on a stick called banana cue was grilled. The spot was teeming with parked sedans, jeepneys and tricycles. The group shook hands with one another before boarding their vehicles.

             “So, we start the indoctrination Monday,” said Ka Rading as he shook hands with Ka Loren.

            Ka Loren nodded his head.

                       

CHAPTER II

THAT WEEKEND,  Ka Mao saw to it to visit Ka Loren and take up with him the matter of the indoctrination. Ka Loren had not been talkative during the orientation in Ka Rey’s place, a way of saying he did not agree with what Ka Rading was saying. But he had agreed to scheduling the indoctrination. Ka Mao felt this matter needed clearing up, but there was no way it could have been done in the previous meeting because after it ended, everybody went his way home.

            As usual, Ka Mao met up with Ka Rey at McDonald’s in Monumento where they took a bus to Valenzuela, then made nearly a kilometer walk to a tricycle terminal where they took a ride to Parada, the site of Ka Loren’s printing press as well as, farther  down the road to a subdivision, his residence.

            The house was a low-lying, austerely-designed split-level bungalow which reflected the meek character  of the man who owned it. Ka Loren abhorred ostentation. But for a wristwatch – precisely to make sure he kept his appointments on time – he didn’t wear any piece of jewelry on his body. He couldn’t understand why people should pay P200 for a cup of coffee at Starbucks when he could have it just as fine at the National Press Club canteen. And though his children had bought him an Expedition, he went around in his favorite Isuzu Carrybody.  And yet he wouldn’t hesitate donating thousands upon thousands of pesos for sustaining various livelihood programs of  Obando fishermen and other poor folks, and funding the schooling of indigent students.

            Beside the house was a bigger one consisting of two storeys. This was for the use of his daughter Guia and her family. She had taken the brunt of management of the estate of Ka Loren,

           The houses were inside a small compound that left little room for maneuver. All cars of the family were parked in the motor pool of  the printing press; the Carrybody, Ka Nilo brought home with him to Obando for parking overnight in a lot owned by Ka Loren, too, and for use again the next day in Ka Nilo’s  performing various errands for Ka Loren

`           Around the house was a solid concrete fence rising high and topped by steel phalanges done in the shape of a spear serving as columns for several layers of barbed wire. This, obviously, was to discourage burglars and some other such elements, coupled with the instant barking of a dog no sooner than you got near the fence. The gate was done in steel and solid, meaning you don’t see anybody in from outside nor anybody out from inside. And though there was a doorbell by the gate, it was out of order and it was the barking of the dog that indicated to those inside that there was somebody outside.

            “Who’s there?” asked the woman who rushed to the gate.

            “Rey and Mao, Rhea,” answered Ka Rey. He had recognized the voice.

            The name of Ka Rey had the effect of a password.  Instantly the gate door opened and revealed a fortyish lady simply clad in house duster, her hair, straight and long, partially done in a bun. She had a very fair complexion and her face made even more babyish by a chubbiness peculiar to her age appeared to shine with a brilliance reflecting an inner innocence when she smiled.

            “Hi, Rhea,” greeted Ka Mao.

            “Is Pare home?” asked Ka Rey.

            “Yes. Come in. I’ll tell him,” Rhea said.

            Rhea closed the gate door after the two then rushed ahead of them in going inside the house.  It had been routinary. Ka Rey and Ka Mao minded themselves while Rhea told Ka Loren they were around. And as usual, Ka Loren caught the two  taking their shoes off to leave them by the door before walking into the sala.

            “No, have your shoes on,” said Ka Loren.

            “Shoes are for walking on dirty streets of the world, not on shiny marble floors of nice, clean homes.”

            Ka Mao said that to himself as he set his shoes aside in the corner by the door inside the house. Kay Rey did as well.  Together with Ka Loren, they took seats on the sala set, about the only furnishing in the living room along with the television set opposite it. A divider separated the sala from the dining room, beyond which was the kitchen  and the servant’s quarters  occupying the other end of the house. A three-step stairs to the right led to the master’s bedroom from which Ka Loren had emerged.

            “How are you doing, Pare,” said Ka Rey.

            Ka Loren slightly threw his arms aside. “Is this okay?”

            He was in shorts, bare from waist up.

            Ka Mao stared at Ka Loren’s feet. They were clean, freshly-pedicured, and the tincture of iodine lining the edges of his toenails made them look like tiny  pinkish rosebuds. You’d never get to see Ka Loren without that cleanness of his hands and feet, and this was testimony to the meticulous care Rhea was giving him. If for many a woman, the best way to a man\s heart is his stomach, for Rhea it seemed it was the nails of Ka Loren’s hands and feet.

            There was nothing much Rhea could do about Ka Loren\s stomach. Doctors prescribed very limited food. Absolutely no meat. Little rice was allowed and vegetable. He was practically living on medicine and food supplement.

            Rhea was a very dutiful partner to Ka Loren. On occasions like now, she knew her routine. After setting on the sala center table the things for making coffee, she hied  off to Jollibee to order burger steak for lunch of Ka Mao and Ka Rey. That’s how long the discussions among the three would take place.

            “Your feet still swell, Pare,” observed Ka Mao as he tried to reach a cup for making himself coffee.

            “Let me, Direk,” said Ka Rey. He made coffee for the three of them.

            “What treatment do you do?”Ka Mao asked Ka Loren.

            “Massage. Whatever it can do to help.”

            “What's really ailing you?”

            “Damn those doctors. All they are after is money. Without checking you up, they order heart bypass. Why? Because I have  a heart ailment? No. Because that’s the real costly treatment.”

            “What’s heart bypass got to do with swollen feet?”

            “They postulate a blood clot. Which is why blood can’t circulate well. It gets choked on my feet and they swell.”

            “Then heart bypass is really needed.”

            “No, they have not studied me yet and already they order that operation. It’s the money they need. And especially because they know I’ve got it and my children will pay no matter how much they charge. Damn those doctors.”

            “Damn this world, Pare,” said Ka Rey as he placed before Ka Loren the coffee he had made for him. “Everybody’s rotten. Government official, police, judges, lawyers. And now you say, doctors. They are supposed to look after the people’s wellbeing yet they are the very ones causing people's misery. Indeed the world is nearing damnation.”

            “You said people’s wellbeing?” asked Ka Loren, then smiled, crouching his shoulders and scratching the back of his head. “The people themselves are corrupt. They are bringing damnation to themselves.”

            “That can be a theme in the film we’re going to make,” said Ka Mao.

            “Honestly, Pare,” said Ka Loren, “I don’t think they’re serious about it.”

            “They’re serious, Pare,” said Ka Rey.

            “Do they really think they can convince the Iglesia to produce that movie?”

            “Why not? What\s one hundred million pesos, just in case,  for dramatizing the history of Iglesia. From its humble beginnings to what it is today, not just a sect but a religion that has spread all over the world.”

            “What you have in mind is a movie they want.”

            Ka Rey stared wonderingly.

            “What we will do, if ever, is a movie we want.”

            Ka Rey now stared with a dawning.

            “That’s what I mean, will Iglesia finance that movie we want. Already in the meeting, we  raised issues questioning the validity of Iglesia claims. For instance, what was it that you asked, Pare? About Adam and Eve speaking like civilized people right at the time of creation…”

            “Those claims have a hard time reconciling with the facts of science and history,” said Ka Mao. “Man had got to undergo eons of primitive existence before learning the finery of culture, including language oral and written.”

            “I have all versions of the Bible here. I watch the major religious programs on television and listen to evangelists on radio, and I can say that the Bible makes no mention at all of a “far east” from where would take place the supposed re-emergence of the church of Christ. The “bird of prey” which Ka Rading preached as referring to Ka Felix Manalo was actually a reference to King Cyrus of Persia who caused the deliverance of Israelites back to Jerusalem. What we’re saying is that here we are, asked to do a movie that we want, we must do it putting these questions in the proper perspective, but asking the questions and answering them properly necessarily means running counter to the preachings of Iglesia,”said Ka Loren, crouching his shoulder and scratching the back of his head. “Will they allow it?”

            “We have to do it the way the Iglesia wants it done,” said Ka Rey, straining his speech in an effort to convince his listeners.

            Ka Mao saw that touch of irony in Ka Loren’s eyes as he suddenly grew silent, just staring at Ka Rey. He knew it. Ka Loren had always been that way. He’d argue with you endlessly in order to get you out of your wrong thinking, but when he realized there was no use arguing anymore, he would just stop talking. Like a doctor who would continue trying to get you out of your sickness and he would stop only when he realized you’re dead.

            “Free thought is our remaining wealth in life. Let us never surrender it.”

            Ka Rey cringed inside at Ka Mao’s words. Like Ka Mao, he had been into the revolutionary movement and had been steeped in principles of freedom and libertarian ideals. Within those ideals religion is bigotry. It was understandable that when Ka Rey must remind about the indoctrination scheduled to take place the coming Monday his words were measured, nearly tentative and touched with apologia. Much like the feeling of a quack doctor prescribing a concoction to a patient knowing only too well that what he is prescribing might be poison.

             “Your indoctrination had been set,” he said.

            Ka Mao looked to Ka Loren, who just stared back with that sullen, incomprehensible look in his eyes.

            “In my case, I’d take it all in the spirit of learning by practice. In Marxist dogma, that’s concrete analysis of concrete condition. Mao Zedong puts it quite simply: learn swimming by swimming, warfare through warfare. Hence, learn Iglesia ni Cristo by being Iglesia ni Cristo.”

            “Like I always say, there is a duality to a thing,” said Ka Loren.

            “Dialectics, Aristotle called it,” said Ka Mao.

            “What you are saying is a duality in a material.”

            “Dialectical materialism, according to Marx and Engels.”

           

            “Learning the theory of swimming by the practice of swimming”

            “Lenin said, you learn more about state fascism by spending a minute fighting the police out in the street than by spending a year just reading about it in books.”.

            “But what we have been scheduled to do is not something in the material but is in the spiritual. How do you learn the spiritual by practice in the material? The two just don’t jibe,”  Ka Loren said, crouching his shoulders and scratching the back of his head.

            “Unless duality is true only in the material  so that the spiritual does not have a duality in itself  but is itself just one aspect of a duality the other aspect of which is the material,” said Ka Mao, feeling he had scored a point.

            “No, Pare,” said Ka Loren. “If duality be universal, then it must be true through and through in all things material and spiritual. In things material, we don’t have any problem. They are there for us to see, hear, and feel, thereby completely subject to our most profound studies so as to arrive at correct scientific truths. It is in things spiritual where we have a great problem, because in themselves spiritual things are incapable of being restricted. They can take on any scope, size, shape and volume that metaphysics allows, and metaphysics allows us to dwell in infinitesimal improbable possibilities.”

            “That, Pare,” said Ka Mao, “was the same discovery made by Hegel when he pursued the dialectics of Aristotle. He realized that the antagonism between the thesis and antithesis of a contradiction resulted in a synthesis which in turn split into its own components of thesis and antithesis to produce its own synthesis, and so on and so forth all the way to infinity. The problem confronting your duality now is the same as the one that Hegel faced: Where is infinity?”

            The question excited Ka Loren. He grabbed a stick of his Marlboro and lit it with his lighter. That’s always the impulse of writers. They hit an idea but instead of pounding the typewriter immediately they light a cigarette first, as though the smoke that bellows from their mouths is the kind of charm that will cause the idea to flower. Knowing now that he was going to hear something nice, he took one good puff at his stick and blew the smoke before asking his question.

            “What did Hegel answer?”

            Ka Mao was silent for a while. He seriously worried about Ka Loren’s smoking.

            “Can’t you stop that, Pare?”

            Ka Loren took another hard puff at his cigarette, blew the smoke, and smiled.

            By force of habit, Ka Rey lit a stick of his own Marlboro. He said, “You used to smoke hard, too, Direk.”

            “Yes. Like you and Pareng Loren, Marlboro, too.”

             Why did you stop?”

            “I stopped liking the habit. I coughed endlessly. Every day, every night. It was pestering me. And one day I was shooting ‘Machete’, I coughed so hard that I just didn’t like it anymore. I threw the stick into the floor, ‘Enough!’, and crushed it with my shoes. That was the last time I ever smoked and didn’t crave for it ever since.”

            “I’d like to stop it if I could. I’ve been having that coughing spell lately. Trouble is, I couldn’t,” said Ka Rey.

            “Or maybe you haven’t had enough yet. How many packs you finish in a day.”

            “More or less one.”

            “Make it 2. No, 3. As in Ka Loren’s duality, the more you want to smoke, the more you would not want to anymore.”

            “So, what did Hegel find out?” cut in Ka Loren abruptly, smoke bellowing from his mouth. He looked impatient.

            For a moment, Ka Mao appeared stunned; he did forget about the question.

            “Oh, yes… Weir geist.”

            Ka Loren stared inquisitively.

            “That’s German for world spirit.”

            Ka Loren stared on, trying hard to make out in his mind the words uttered by Ka Mao. He could only take another hard puff at his cigarette.

            “Hegel at one time took pains to verbalize his idea of world spirit. He described it as something that had the form of a Napoleon Bonaparte garbed in immaculate regalia of conquest, astride a pure white steed galloping among the clouds up in the sky and hovering, hovering all over the world and beyond.”

            “That’s what I was saying, Pare.  You cannot practice the spiritual on the material plane. How can you verbalize the idea of a world spirit in the mere person of Napoleon Bonaparte?”

            “That was the most Hegel could do about his idea. At the time, Napoleon Bonaparte was god of all Europe and any concept of divinity at the time must be in the likes of his famous person. In the first place, how did the idea of divine providence come about but when it became necessary for kings and emperors to institutionalize their rule over the world?”

            “Poor Philippines, then,” said Rey.

            He got Ka Loren and Ka Mao staring.

            Ka Rey continued, “We would have a midget woman garbed in green and red superwoman costume complete with a cape which  sways with the wind as she stands victorious on top of a ballot box marked with ‘Garci’, the ballot box hovering, hovering all over the Philippines.”

            Ka Loren added, “I’d have that ballot box borne on top of a pyramid of lean and hungry Filipino people groaning as she yells in triumph, ‘Darna!’”

            “If FPJ had won, it would have been more in the likes of Napoleon Bonaparte, a swashbuckling ‘Panday’, mightily swishing his giant sword at the dark forces of imperialism, feudalism and bureaucrat capitalism,” said Ka Mao.

            “It would have been worst,” said Ka Loren. He crouched his shoulders and scratched the back of his head. “Imagine the Philippines ruled by a Carlo Caparas character.”

            They got a good laugh.

            ‘Ultimately, Hegel met up with the pitfall common to all philosophies.|”

            “Pitfall?”

            “Metaphysics. Philosophers always reach a dead end in their thinking. Once they do they seek an inevitable surrender to a supreme creator. When Hegel reached his own dead end, he concluded that the march of God in history is the cause of the existence of the state and that every state participates in the Divine essence."

            “And you call that pitfall?”

            “Yes. There’s no getting out of the pit once you fall.”

            “All the better for me. I’d stay in the arms of God.”

            “That’s as far as Hegel’s belief went.”

            “I believe so, too.”

            “Accept that every state participates in God’s essence.?”

            “That’s Hegel’s. Give that to him.”

            “And if it’s true what Lenin said that the state is the instrument of oppression used by one class against another, then it is in the essence of God that such oppression is committed against the multitudes of poor and hungry?”

            ”It is in the essence of Lenin.”

            “Pare, let’s be rational…?

            “Did God tell Hegel to make the man-made creation called state participate in his divine essence? And Lenin to turn that divine essence into an instrument of class oppression? That would be supreme blasphemy!”

            “All I’m saying, Pare, is that we’re free to think as long as we live. Think beyond God.”

            “God is where all my thinking ends.”

            Both Ka Mao and Ka Rey felt the strong resolve in Ka Loren’s words, though he kept the low, soft tone of his voice. His eyes spoke it, too, that he meant what he said.

     

            Just now entered Rhea, carrying two packs of Jollibee burger steak. She broke that moment of quiet. .

            “Have your lunch,” said Rhea. She put the food packs before Ka Mao and Ka Rey.

            “Thank you, Rhea,” said Ka Mao.

            “What a darling you are,” said Ka Rey.

            Rhea smiled and walked to the dining room.

            “How about you, Pare?” Ka Mao said to Ka Loren.

            “Go ahead.”

            Ka Loren looked toward the dining room where Rhea was hurrying with something she was doing.

            “How do you manage to stand it?” said Ka Mao.

            “Stand what?

            “Not eating enough rice. When it’s past mealtime and I haven’t had rice yet, my nerves are shaking. What did Patrick Henry say?  Give me rice or give me death.”

            Ka Loren smiled at the joke.

            Rhea walked back to the sala and gave Ka Loren his pills. He took them in his hand.

            “Man does not live by bread alone,” Ka Loren addressed Ka Mao then swallowed the pills one after another, each time drinking water to push them down his throat.

            “Man lives by medicine, too.”

            Ka Mao meant that as a jest, prompted by an impulsive tendency to make light something that is heavy. Otherwise he would have expressed his concern for Ka Loren’s health in serious medical terms which could gravely make matters worse. It is in the nature of the mind that what you do not know does not affect you, so never mind if you’re dying, so long as you don’t know it, you’d go on living.

            But Ka Loren attacked the topic in his characteristic philosophical fashion.

            “Pare, medicine is as material to man’s corporeal existence as bread and water. They all serve the same purpose, to make you go on living out the wretchedness of life in this world till you cannot go on living anymore.”

            “Why is it that, Pare?” cut in Ka Rey.

            Ka Loren stared.

            “We are born only to bear hardship and then die.”

            “Aristotle would tell us now,” said Ka Mao. “Why do you insist in knowing what you are better off not knowing at all, that you are nothing and that you should not have been born in the first place and  the next best thing for you to do is to die?”

            “By that logic, the best service you can do to a man is kill him at the very moment of his birth,” saud Ka Loren.

            “For that matter,” said Ka Rey, “abort him while still in its mother’s womb.”

            “Or best of all, don’t make babies,” kidded Ka Mao.

            Ka Loren crouched his shoulders and scratched the back of his head.

            “Pare, that’s another bread for the human flesh. I don’t know about you but that I cannot do without.”

            Ka Mao and Ka Rey amused at Ka Loren’s remark

CHAPTER III

           

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

              Happy birthday happy birthday

Happy birthday Tatay

THE STRAINS of the Happy Birthday song filled the air when Ka Mao arrived home that early evening. The cottage by the pool had been decorated with party timmings – balloons here, buntings there, a white cardboard on the wall bore the words: “Happy 69^th  Birthday, Tatay.” On the bamboo table was a small cake with the same dedication topped by a single big candle. Around the cake were plates containing food: spaghetti, sliced bread, grilled liempo and chicken. Singing the song were his sons Maoie, Paulo and Ogie and his five-year-old granddaughter Gia.

            “Oh, a party!” exclaimed Ka Mao.

            “Of course, Tatay,” said Maoie. “Paulo made the decoration and bought the cake. I spent for the food.”

            “And I for the drinks,” said Ogie, setting a big brandy bottle on the table. “Make the first shot, Tatay.”

            Ka Mao waved away the brandy bottle.

            “Wait,” said Paulo. “Blow the candle first.”

            “Yes, I blow the candle,” said Gia.

            “No, it’s Daddy who’s gonna blow the candle,” said Paulo.

            “No, me.” protested Gia.

            “It’s Daddy who’s got birthday.”

            “It’s my birthday,” insisted Gia.

            “What’s your birthday?”

            “August 7.”

            “What’s Daddy’s birthday>”

            “August…”

            “See? You don’t know.”

            “August 22!” exclaimed the girl, finally hitting the date in her mind.

            “Yes, today is August 22.”

            “No, it’s August 7, my birthday.” And Gia began showing irritation.

            “Okay, we blow together,” said Ka Mao, carrying Gia in his arms.

            “Okay,” agreed Gia.

            Paulo lit the candle and led in singing the Happy Birthday song.  Gia anticipated the ending of the song and beat Ka Mao in blowing to the candle. Actually Ka Mao just let her. And everybody applauded.

            Ka Mao put Gia down.

            “Ok, darling grandchild. We eat.”

            “I want that ” Gia said, pointing to the flower candy décor on the sides of the cake.

           

            “This one?”

            “No, the pink one.”

            “A, this one. Okay.”

            Ka Mao took the flower candy off the cake and gave it to Gia.

            “Want me to make you spaghetti, darling?”

            “No,” said Gia, licking the flower candy with her tongue.

            “Hey, Dad,” said Ogie, mimicking American slang. He put into Ka Mao;s hand the glass in which he had poured s shot of brandy. “You’re forgetting this.”.

            “No, no…”

            “Come on, Tatay. Just one little shot. To start the celebration.”

            Ka Mao eyed Ogie chidingly then took a sip at the brandy. He winced at the taste of the liquor, poured water in a glass and drank it.

            “Why did you have to spend. We can do without this.”

            “Aw, Tatay. This happens only once a year,” said Maoie as he turned to reach for something.

            “Stretch your earnings. I’m not sure when I could have another writing job. And whatever money we receive from Maripaz is just enough for Gia’s school expenses.”

            None among his sons seemed to bother about his words. Paulo played music by which he did some rap.

            “Ya wanna be happy

            Find yourself  a pappy

            A kind and nice daddy

            Though he got no money”

            Everybody laughed.

            “Daddy, no money,” kidded Gia, who looked prettiest whenever she smiled widely, her deep dimples appearing like cute punctuations on her cheeks.

            Maoie did his own rap as he faced again to offer Ka Mao  a gift-wrapped box.

            “One for the money

            Two for the show

            Three to get ready

            Now go cat go

            But don’t you

            Step on my… Open up, open up…”

            “And a gift to boot,” said Ka Mao, tearing off the gift wrapper and revealing what obviously was a shoe box.

            “Voila!”

            “My favorite Swatch.”

            “To replace the old shoes you got on.”

            “They’re Swatch, too, mind you.”

            “Yes, Tatay,” Paulo kidded, “But look, heels just as flat as the soles. Do you realize you keel heavily to your sides every time you step?”

            Paulo did a walking like he were stepping with lopsided heels. Gia did likewise, amusing at the antic together with Maoie and Ogie. Ka Mao checked the heels of his Swatch which had grown flat on the exterior sides.

            ‘Swatch might just sue you for that,” said  Maoie.

            “What’s the charge?”

            “Slander.”

            “Slander!”

            “You’re insulting the brand. Swatch is not for vagabonds. It is for wearing and walking like a king.”

`           CHAPTER IV

           

IT WAS SOMETIME past his 69th birth anniversary in August the year before when Ka Mao started attending the indoctrination sessions together with Ka Loren and Ka Nilo, with Ka Rey, Ka Nestor and Ka Art observing. Ka Rading ministered the sessions.

            That Monday Ka Mao still wore his worn down Swatch since they were still serviceable and he saw no reason to replace them already with the new ones Maoie gifted him with. But early on in the indoctrination, Ka Rading saw to it to orient his listeners on the proper way of dressing in the Iglesia.

            “We wear different clothes for different occasions. For sleeping, we wear pajamas. For gardening we wear overalls. Work uniforms in our jobs. And so for facing God in his temple, we should be dressed appropriately also. What does ‘appropriately dressed’ mean? The bible says, it should be pleasing to God. Coming in t-shirt, denim pants and rubber shoes is not appropriate. It is not pleasing to God. Come in well-pressed polo shirt, slacks and leather shoes. Barong or polo barong will be nice. If you can come in coat-and-tie, that’s best. For women, look your Sunday best. Don’t get your mini skirt too high and your neckline too low.”

            Ka Mao checked his get-up. Did he fit into the standard? He had t-shirt on, a yellow one that matched his black ukay-ukay denim pants.

            “This okay?” he asked.

            “It looks nice…”

            “It’s Lacoste.”

            “Lacoste also got polo shirts. They’re okay. Wear them.”

            “How about Swatch?”

            “Oh, Swatch. The best. But not the sneakers, which are fit only for casual wear. The formal style is okay for facing God.”

            Ka Mao did not ask anymore if keel-heeled though leather Swatch was okay. He lightly tapped his worn-down shoe on the floor under the table. “Just in time, Maoie,” said Ka Mao to himself.

            Wednesday, the third day of the indoctrination, Ka Mao was up and about preparing for the session as early as eleven o’clock. Just ironing his clothes would take more than half an hour, because he did it on Gia’s study table cushioned with a blanket; the family’s ironing board had broken down and no replacement had yet been bought. How do you press a polo shirt on a square board? It takes the perseverance of a stream in flattening  a rock over time. And Ka Mao would never be satisfied with an ironing job that left crumples on the clothes, no matter how little the creases were. He positioned each section of the polo shirt on the square board such that the adjacent sections didn’t get creased as he ran the iron over it. This method, Ka Mao did meticulously till the whole garment was well pressed. Actually he would be lucky if he finished ironing his shirt and pants in just thirty minutes. Only after the clothes were done would he hurry in cooking whatever there was to cook for lunch, otherwise take for lunch whatever food there was left over from dinner the night before. By the time all this routine was through, it was  past one o’clock, time for shower. Give thirty minutes for that including that for shaving the whiskers around his mouth and on his chin, and he would he putting on the clothes he had ironed. In usual times, he would spend another ten minutes shining his shoes before taking a bath. This time however, he was wearing Maoie’s gift for the first time and it didn’t require shining. Still in his brief, he put on a pair of white socks then got into his pants. Only then did he take out from the box his new pair of formal black Swatch. He essayed the shoes before his face, even lightly smelling its aroma of newness, the smell of clean leather, and smiled with confidence, “Surely with these shoes I’d be pleasing to God.”

             And Wednesday, a worship day in the INC, saw Ka Mao being regaled by what appeared to be a river of shoes, all formal and polished, many of them stylish, among them his own Swatch, streaming up the stairs of the footbridge across Commonwealth Avenue from the University of the Philippines side, down to the covered sidewalk leading to the Iglesia Central Temple which in that sunlit afternoon stood in magnificent, proud dominance. Across Central Avenue the river of shoes flowed on, joined in  from the west by another stream of shoes  and still by another from Tandang Sora on the north, and all of these streams converged in one mighty surge through the gates of the College of Evangelical Ministry, upward the road that wound the building, to the west of which was the main entrance of INC Templo.

            Early on, those undergoing indoctrination were required to attend worship, and the trio of Ka Mao, Ka Loren and Ka Nilo were treated to a vantage view of the worship from the lowest bench on the third floor balcony where they got nearly a bird’s eye view of the worship ceremony They were accompanied by Ka Rey and Ka Nestor, who made the arrangement with the jaconos so they got that good spot.  In ordinary cases, they would go the Iglesia way: fall in line.

            You take your seat as your turn comes. No overcrowding, no standing room. For this reason, Ka Mao would realize much later, Iglesia temples are big. The church will not tolerate unruly arrangement during worship. Men sit separately from the women, never mind if you are husbands and wives, or sweethearts; worships are not for mixing with romance. Full concentration on the songs, the biblical readings, and the prayers are required of every worshipper, and men and women sitting together offers a lot of temptation or at least distraction.

            The worship hall plan was in the shape of a cross. This was strange for a church that shuns worship of any man-made object done to symbolize deity; the cross, it would be taught in the indoctrination, was a sign practiced by Catholics and described in the scriptures as the devil’s sign. There were no images of any kind, no icons whatsoever be they sculptures or paintings. It was a bare hall but for the rows and rows of benches, each the length of the floor width  from the middle aisle to the side aisles on either side.

             Nevertheless the worship hall cross formation seemed the best that could be made to achieve a space for accommodating no less than 6000 worshippers at a time. The leg of the cross comprised the largest section of the hall; the cross bar, the auxiliary sections to the left and right; the intersection of the cross leg and the cross bar, the ministers’ stage; and the cross head, the choir stand. This stand was made with descending levels from the backmost section, each level corresponding to a row of singers; obviously this design was made so that each choir singer was uncovered from view of the worshippers. About the only choir member unseen by worshippers was the organ player who remained covered from view by the huge organ in the middle of the stand all throughout the ceremony.

            As though to compensate for the vast barrenness of the interior, large chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, which was of solid concrete and finished with pre-fabricated, intricately-fashioned, though unfamiliar, design  The walls around the stage and the choir stand were finished with wooden panel boards embossed with carvings of impressive intricate craftsmanship. But the figures in the carvings did not appear to manifest a congruity of style for achieving a religious ambiance. The boards were done in the shape of cylinders standing upright, flat at the bottom and pointed as in a projectile at the top, which was crowned with six square figures outlined in the shape of a diamond and placed together in a manner which made Ka Mao recall the symbols for atomic structure he used to write in his Chemistry class. Placed side by side with one another, the boards in turn pictured rows of missiles with the illustrations of the atomic structure as warheads. That image was framed at the edges of the boards by straight-line carvings. In the corners of this framing were carvings of what looked like larvae or cocoons or crawling worms, it was hard to tell.

            What was congruous was the uniformity of the designs on the ministers’ chairs, on the divider between the minister’s stage and the choir stand, on the front panel of the stage, on the podium and on the chest below it.

            It was this uniformity that betrayed a yearning to be like no other, and yet the carving designs, whenever they curved, cannot get away from the basics of Persian or Pakistani paisley art. Where the geometrical representations were done in straight lines, the motif was a combination of pagan Egyptian and Japanese and modern-day chemistry.

            The INC temple itself appeared like some showcase of Gothic and Byzantine architecture with its use of a dome for the roof interior of the main structure and steeples and spires as much for accent as for structural statement. About the only modification on Gothic and Byzantine in the design was that the spires instead of being cylindrical in shape and form  was four-cornered, tubular, though in either case sharply diminishing in their pointed thrust toward the sky, achieving an illusion of reaching for  endlessness.

            The ministers’ chairs were in the front section of the stage; the podium, in the middle of  the front edge of the stage. The large wooden chest positioned just below the podium was done in the shape of a pyramid.   What that chest was for, the three still had to find out.

            To one familiar with the amenities of a  Catholic church , the absence of physical objects of worship  like sculpted saints, the Crucifix and Virgin Mary, at once would instill a feeling of some kind of emptiness or of lack, made even more emphatic by the immense space of the worship hall.  The seating arrangement was three-tiered. On the ground floor was the main hall which by itself can accommodate no less than 3,000 worshippers. Rising on the sides were the second floor balconies, which occupied both wings of the cross bar plan. The design was reminiscent of balconies of classical  opera houses. While the third floor balcony, rising above the back portion of the main hall, was more in keeping with the tradition of modern-day auditoriums.

            Where they sat, Ka Mao, Ka Loren and Ka Rey were given specific instructions uttered in whisper by a jacono.

            “Take care not to touch that cable,” said the barong clad man, who indicated the cable running under the floor rug and attached to the video camera that was positioned near the three. “Its taking video of the ceremony.”

            Only now did Ka Mao realize that what was being projected on the large video screen set up above the stage was a shot of the empty podium. Because the worship hall was so large that the speaker would appear so small to the worshippers, it needed that high-tech set up to project the speaker close to those worshippers in distant seats. Then when the singers in their immaculate gowns rose to sing a hymn, Ka Mao realized  that that video screen actually served another purpose, to project the lyrics of the hyms for the worshippers to read clearly in doing their sing-along. In the locals – meaning, INC chapels in the localities – the lyrics are read from hymn books provided for every worshipper.

            A similar large video monitor hung above the empty stage of the worship hall at what actually was the first ground floor level called the sanctuario or sanctuary. Here, those in excess of the 6,000 worshippers that had filled the main hall and the balconies took positions.  With the monitor, all the transpirations on the stage in the main hall were beamed to the worshippers on this level and they participated in the ceremony with just as much pious demeanor.

            And the men and women of Iglesia worshipped in utter comfort: each nook of the templo, for all its awesome vastness, was air-conditioned.

            Some fifteen minutes lapsed with nothing taking place but the playing by the organist of  melodies meant to instill in the churchgoers an atmosphere of holy quiet. This period was devoted to pious meditation by worshippers, singers and church personnel as they sat on their benches. It is in this period that Iglesia worshippers are supposed to pour out to God all their concerns  in all aspects of their being, be it health and security, livelihood and finances, every aspect of life whatsoever over which, it is preached,  only God has the power to rule. Thus the soft, slow tempo of the organ music.

            The music, however, tended to be so soporific that quite a few worshippers, instead of falling into communion with God, dropped into sleep. One lady member of the choir was caught by the video camera visibly, if quite hazily, napping, waking up at each sharp drop of her head, whereupon resuming her stance of meditation.

            Then at the organ music assuming a loud and glorious tempo, actually the intro of a song, the singers rose as one with the music folders clipped in their arms, and at once opening the folders before their faces, they began their songs. 

            The music folders indicated that the singers were going by the notes, meaning they were all accomplished performers. Ka Mao had seen many other religious choirs. All of them sang from memory of the tunes. So far, outside of choirs he saw in movies or on TV shows, the INC choir was the first religious singing group Ka Mao personally watched singing from music folders.

            The hymns –  many of which were said to have been composed by Ka Pilar, sister of    Ka Erdie, son of Ka Felix Manalo and who had inherited from the latter the position of INC Executive Minister and then passed it on to Ka Eduardo Manalo, the present church head –   didn't exude much religiosity in terms of structure and ambiance. If not for the lyrics which riveted one's consciousness with endless  high praises to God, the Father, Jesus, the Savior, and the body of Christ which is the Iglesia, not necessarily in that order, the songs would fall more under the category of commonplace native kundiman, or even of oyayi, a genre of lullabies.

            Ka Loren and Ka Nilo didn’t appear attempting to follow the tune; the structure is so elementary that after listening to  a few bars, you would be able to get how the succeeding bars would sound. And no matter how numerous the stanzas are, the melody is the same for all stanzas, varying only for the choruses. So somebody with a keen ear for music needs only to memorize the tune of one stanza to be able to sing the succeeding ones.

            But they were all just beginning their initiation into the INC, and not even Ka Mao could get on the singing, though his lips were going through the motion of singing the words. Only Ka Rey and Ka Nestor sang along.

            One song followed another. At the end of each song, the singers clipped the folders in-between their right arms and their body sides in a brisk and orchestrated manner that reminded Ka Mao of military trainees doing drills with their rifles during a formation. And when they sat, they did it with similar military drill precision, not in random order but one row after another, from the bottom of the stand to the top. Once seated, they rested the music folders on their laps and threw in seeming trance as the organ music shifted once more to its soft, slow, soporific tempo. Till the music burst in glorious strains once again to do the routine once more, on and on this way.

            At the singing of one hymn, five ministers in western coat-and-tie emerged out of an unseen chamber through one of the boards at the left that opened up. They walked into the stage and took their seats on the ministers' chairs. The song would be over before one minister would walk up to the podium and make the customary announcement.

            “Brothers and sisters, we now have come to the start of our worship. We will continue with our singing led by our singers.”

            The minister then repaired back to his chair while the choir rose to sing another song.  Four or five more songs would follow, then at the middle of the singing of the last song, the main minister would come to the podium and enjoin everyone to rise.

            “Let's all rise.”

            Everybody stood even as they continued singing, finishing the song on their feet. At the end of the singing, the minister began his prayer and the worshippers responded at each appropriate pause by the minister in the prayer.

            “Dear God, our Lord Father…”

            “Yes,” went the mighty chorus from the throng.

            “Amen,” responded Ka Mao, instantly realizing he had committed a miscue. But who could care less. Against the powerful chorus of “Yes” by a throng of six thousand and more, Ka Mao’s “Amen” was a lonely response.

CHAPTER V

THUS IT HAPPENED that for twenty five days,  Maoie’s gift to Ka Mao bore the brunt of foot journey across Tumana, upward the winding road to Balara, onto the roads of UP Campus, down Commonwealth Avenue, up the overpass in the vicinity of Central Avenue, down the sidewalk to the INC Central Office where in one of its air-conditioned rooms Ka Rading preached the INC doctrines Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays.. And because the indoctrination process must include regular worship on Thursdays and Sundays, the shod meant for his feet came, in a manner of speaking,  handy, too, on those days. That gave the Swatch only Saturdays to be switched with Ka Mao’s keel-heeled shoes or with his similarly worn-down rubber sneakers.

            The trip back home was perhaps a hundred times less taxing for Maoie’s gift, since Ka Loren had always been  magnanimous in parting with a thousand-peso bill to each of Ka Mao and Ka Rey for transportation allowance.  From the INC Central Office, Ka Mao would take a bus to Cubao, alight at the Farmers Market area, and did just a little walking up the overpass, and onto the jeepney terminal on the P. Tuason side of the Araneta Center.

            Finally home from Cubao, after alighting from the jeepney on Sumulong Highway, the remaining walk Ka Mao needed to do was across  the front section of his 5,000-square-meter lot to his house on a spot that sloped to the creek adjoining the 10-hectare, walled Metropolitan Management Learning and Development Center otherwise known as the Meralco Training Center.

            Still, repeated 25 times that meant substantial additional aggregate wear-and-tear for Maoie’s gift.

            And, yes, all that on top of the daily wear-and-tear entailed by walking to and from Assumption School Antipolo to bring to and fetch Gia from kinder classes Mondays to Fridays. And lastly, the two-day a week walk from the tricycle parking area in the city proper to the INC Chapel behind the public market where he attended worship after that initial one at the INC Templo..

            For Ka Mao had a remarkable regard for fidelity, be it to people, places, and things. That’s why he was very choosy with friends, of whom he could count only two or three more outside of Ka Rey and Ka Loren.  The clothes he wore were those Robbie Tan gifted him with as far way back as 1993, in the decade when Ka Mao was churning out one movie hit after another for Seiko Films. Since he established permanent residence on his lot in Antipolo, he had never changed houses. Of course, he renovated his house endlessly accordingly as the family grew, from a very austere bamboo-and-nipa affair to a two-story concrete residence he loved to call four-houses-in-one for each of his four children to have a place they could call their homes.

            The point here was that Ka Mao was so loyal to his possessions that he wouldn’t swap them for anything. For the Swatch Maoie gave him, this proved disastrous. As he never changed shoes during the entire indoctrination process, toward its end the soles of the shoes were turning thin cardboard from sheer overuse, and he could feel the pinch on his sole every time he stepped on something edged, like gravel, or a bulge on the pavement.

            One evening he was rushing through the rain on the way home, he was surprised to feel his socks getting soaked. Stepping aside under a waiting shed, he checked his shoes and discovered that their soles already had cracks through which water could get inside.

            That same night, he complained to Maoie when he got home.

            “Are you sure this is genuine?” he asked, pointing to the soles of his Swatch.

            “Tatay, the label says it all,” said Maoie, indicating the stainless metal embossed with the Swatch brand name and tucked neatly in the crevice by the heel under the shoe. “Of course, it’s genuine. I won’t ever gift my dear father with something fake. How much did I buy that for? Five thousand!”

            “The last Swatch I bought cost me only one thousand and it never had cracks on their soles like these.”

            “The last Swatch you bought didn’t suffer as much torture as what you dealt my gift to you,” kidded Maoie.

            Ka Mao spent a moment essaying the underside of the shoes, folding it frontward to see how big the cracks on the soles were. He pressed his forefinger into the crack. It was going through, prompting him to draw his hand away, like fearing to damage it further.

            “Don’t you worry. Tatay. I’m trying hard to land a new job and  get some big pay again.”

            “Oh, nice to hear that. It’s been long ago since you gave me two thousand for pocket money.”

            “Just three months, Tatay,” said Maoie, giving Ka Mao his characteristic hug around the shoulders.

            “Three months!” gasped Ka Mao. “And three days without food can lead a man to his grave.”

            Maoie laughed at what he took as a joke.

            “Good thing I’ve got a few friends.”

            Maoie realized Ka Mao was not joking.

            “Loans from Pareng Loren have gone past half million,” Ka Mao said with a burden in his voice. “From your Ninong Diego, almost the same if you count the sums we got from him since way way back.”

            Maoie couldn’t help feeling that burden. Again he hugged Ka Mao around the shoulder.

            “I’ll buy you a new Swatch on your next birthday.”

            Next birthday was a long way off, Ka Mao said to himself as he pressed a smile to Maoie. It was only nearing Christmas and it turned out that he still got a lot of walking to do.

            For though the indoctrination was over, after that would follow the period of pre-screening called pagsubok, which consisted of weekly pulong panalangin or prayer meeting, done on a one-on-one basis with the INC Central Pastor or any of his subordinates. This would last for 15 weeks or three and a half months – that’s how long more his shoes would bear the punishment, because though the prayer meetings lasted no more than two minutes per session, the travels involved in attending them were exactly the same as in the indoctrination period.

            But the punishment for his shoes took a reprieve in the period from December to March for two reasons.

            First, it was agreed after the last session of the indoctrination in October that at least two sessions for inquiries would be held to clarify questions by the group, particularly Ka Loren. Those questions had been withheld for the time being just so the indoctrination sessions would proceed undisturbed; the questions would be discussed in special sessions after the indoctrination proper was over. Twice, the sessions for inquiries were scheduled and twice they were called off. Ka Loren and Ka Nilo decided to call off those sessions altogether – and whatever else would follow after. In short, forget it.

            Ka Mao, too, was unsettled by the postponements of the special sessions; he did have quite a number of serious questions that needed clarification before he finally decided to get baptized into the INC. But in his case, a mitigating factor intervened. That period from December to February was the time of the year he had been devoting to visiting with his mother, Nanay Puping. Aside from spending Christmas with her, he stayed with her in the modest Samonte residence in Calolbon, Catanduanes until after she had celebrated her birthday, which was on February 2. The venerable Samonte matriarch would be turning 95, and Ka Mao thought he had better took occasion to spend quality time with her as long as she was in this world. Only upon his return to Manila in March did Ka Mao get the chance to entertain the importuning of Ka Nestor for him to undergo the pre-screening, which normally would follow immediately after the indoctrination process.

            And undergo the pre-screening, Ka Mao did. Thus did after three and a half months, the soles of his shoes turn into pulps where the cracks had grown into holes.

            Still that was not the end of agony for his shoes. After the pulong panalangin, Ka Mao must attend the final screening where it would be determined if he would qualify for baptism. The final screening consisted of questions based on the lessons taken up during the indoctrination. If you had been attentive during the discussions of the lessons, there would be no doubt that you would be able to answer the question. And once you did, you would qualify for baptism. Ka Mao qualified.

            So Maoie’s gift could now take a rest?

            Not quite. After the pulong panalangin was the panata, where along with other candidates for baptism Ka Mao would attend another round of prayer meetings at the INC Central Office while being oriented on the details of the baptism. The prayer meetings would be held for five consecutive days, Monday to Friday, the final preparation for the baptism which would take place on the Saturday that immediately followed.

            It was on that Monday of the panata when walking the length of the Tumana Bridge Ka Mao noticed workers breaking the concrete pavement with a jack hammer.

            “Why break it up?” he asked as he walked by.

            “Repair,” quipped one worker.

            A sudden thunderclap following a flash of lightning astounded Ka Mao. The road workers glanced at the suddenly-darkening sky.

            “Okay, break. Do that tomorrow. It’s a heavy rain coming,” ordered one worker.

            “It’s nearly five anyway,” said another as he glanced at his watch..

            Hardly had they finished their words when rain fell, prompting the workers to seek shelter.

            Ka Mao himself rushed for cover. He stopped as he hurt from something he stepped on. It was a tiny piece of the broken concrete pavement. He slightly grimaced as he resumed his rush for the INC Templo whose spires held up to heaven in proud magnificence even in the rain-drenched skyline.

“FATHER, God in heaven, finally we implore you, that as you surround us with your great power and protection, fortify us with even more faith in your promised salvation that we may be worthy of finishing our journey to the baptism we will have at the end of this devotion. All this we ask in the name of Lord Jesus Christ, our great savior.”

            “Amen,” chorused the devotees praying inside a room in the INC Central Office, Ka Mao among them.

            Having concluded his prayer, the INC Minister conducting the session  took time to issue instructions to the group.

            “Let me remind you again.  You are into your five-day panata which you must faithfully do before your baptism scheduled on Saturday. You must never be absent. Therefore I caution you to be very careful of yourselves. Pray to the Father to keep you in good health and away from any harm so that you can complete the journey to your baptism. If anything happens to you such that you cannot complete this journey, that only means heaven does not want you to be baptized.”

            Ka Roy, the Minister, was a well-built fellow, with robust physique in the mold of  Franklin Drilon but ten times more good-looking. His voice had full modulation and he spoke with the authority of a military general.

            “God!” gushed Ka Mao to himself. “He could not be kidding.”

            Guys so high up in the echelon of the INC leadership cannot kid with things so sacred as baptism, Ka Mao worried endlessly on the way home that night. What if I had fever? Dengue is prevalent in Antipolo. Or an accident? The curve of Sumulong Highway just a block away from the house  has gained reputation for being a killer bend. Or a mere upset stomach, a very minor ailment which I frequently have, can stop me from coming to the Central on Saturday.

            And Ka Mao shuddered at the reverberation of Ka Roy’s voice.

            “God calls you only once. Either you answer or you don't.  He scheduled you for baptism

on Saturday, that’s it. Either you get baptized on Saturday or not at all.”

            For anybody who persevered in the indoctrination process, baptism is the pinnacle of  aspirations.

            For Ka Loren particularly, he would rather get baptized first after that period then undergo the pagsubok afterward. He had been concerned about his failing health and he would ask with a terrifying logic, “What if I die tomorrow, then I won’t be saved?”

            For, indeed, it had been stressed endlessly in the indoctrination  that for anybody to be saved, he should first enter the body of Christ, which time and again had been clarified to be the Church of  Christ or Iglesia ni Cristo.  And entering the body of Christ could not but be through baptism into “the church Christ had redeemed with his blood”.

            No ifs, no buts, nobody outside of Iglesia ni Cristo would be saved.

            Keeping in mind Ka Roy’s admonition, Ka Mao very cautiously did his usual  routine the following Tuesday. He used the pedestrian lane in crossing the highway on the way to Assumption School to bring Gia to class, brought an umbrella just in case it rained, and chose food that wouldn’t cause him a bum stomach. He continued to exercise caution when he fetched  Gia from school, even helping the driver of the tricycle they took in signaling to vehicles to give way as it crossed the highway to the gate of his compound.

            He found himself inwardly sighing with relief as he treaded the path to his house, carrying Gia in his arms. The rain had just stopped and he didn’t want the girl to dirty up her shoes with mud.

            The footpath was  made up of recycled smoothly finished concrete floor slabs so that in walking on it, you are actually stepping on wet floor.  One misstep and Ka Mao’s shoe slipped, nearly causing him to fall.

            “Ay, Daddy,” yelled Gia.

            Ka Mao managed to regain balance.

            “It’s okay, Darling,” said Ka Mao, resuming his steps cautiously.

            “You always say, ‘Careful, Darling.’ You be careful.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

            Ka Mao settled Gia in her room,

            “Fix your things, Darling. Daddy will have to attend to something important.”

            He quickly proceeded to change into an attire fit for the panata..

            “Ay,” complained the girl. “I’d be alone in my castle room.’

            “No. Mommy is just buying something at the store. She’ll join you shortly.”

            “Ah, okay.”

            Gia put her school bag aside then changed into house clothes.

            For a moment, Ka Mao stayed  gazing at the soles of his shoes, wondering if they could still stand the journey. Then making up his mind, he began putting the shoes on.

            “Together we live our faith and love our mission,” Gia spoke nonchalantly, not necessarily directing the words to Ka Mao, who stared in surprise.

            “Who taught you that?”

            “Teacher Kat. School theme, she said,” said Gia.

            “Oh, Teacher Kat must be good.”

            “Yes, Teacher Kat is good. Daddy is good. God is good!”

            “Teacher Kat also taught you that?”

            “What?”

            “God is good.”

            “No, you. Daddy. You said, ‘God is good.’” Gia put on a preacher’s mien.

            Ka Mao felt a gush of  nice, warm feeling inside him.

            “Now I can tell you a little secret.”

            “Secret? I like,” agreed Gia excitedly.

            “Do you know what your name means?”

            “Yes, Gia.”

            “Spell Gia.”

            “G-I-A.”

            “I means ‘Is’.”

            “I, ‘Is’,” repeated Gia.

            “A means ‘Answer’.”

            “A, ‘Answer’. But Daddy, G first. Listen, Gia. G-I-A. See? G first. What’s G?”

            “G means… ‘God’.”

            “Yes, God!” exclaimed the five-year-old, clapping her hands.

            “So your name means ‘God is the Answer’”.

            “That’s nice. Gia, God is the answer. I love that.”

            Ka Mao finished putting his shoes on

AND SO it was in that late afternoon of early August when Ka Mao, feeling he had survived any untoward incident that could bar his journey to the INC Central Office for the second day of his panata, confidently walked the length of the Tumana Bridge. Thirty minutes more and he would be at the INC, and there appeared to be no danger or any obstacles the rest of the way.

            The repair work had remained unfinished. Workers were done with piling up the debris of broken concrete on a side.

            “Enough. We rest,” one worker shouted.

            The workers hastily packed up. They passed Ka Mao as they walked away.

            Walking on, Ka Mao passed the pile of concrete debris, stepping somewhat toward the middle of the bridge. At precisely that moment, a car sped by behind him as if from nowhere so that he did not notice it coming. A loud honking of the car’s horn startled Ka Mao, causing him to  leap aside in order to avoid getting hit by the car.

            His right foot landed on the sharp tip of an upturned iron bar that was part of the steel matting for the damaged pavement.

            And the steel went through the sole of his shoe and deep onto the flesh of his foot as indicated by the strong gush of blood down the rusty iron bar.

            Thus did Ka Mao cry out heavenward with such exquisite pain that God must respond with his own grunt of wrathful sorrow.

            Thus did thunderclaps and lightning bolts depict the flaring of heavenly rage.

            Ka Mao continued to grunt in pain as he dropped to the pavement on his seat, trying hard to steady his foot impaled on the iron bar, He took much effort getting back up. Each move he made seemed to cause the bar to dig into his foot even deeper. Removing his foot from the bar was made even more difficult by the shoe itself, because the ring of the sole hole would catch on the grove of the iron bar.

            But once back up on his other foot, Ka Mao gritted his jaws and gave his right foot one mighty pull.

            Blood came out in spurts through the hole on the sole of his shoe.

            Ka Mao gave out one terrible cry skyward.