by Mr. Wordplay
With immeasurable rage seething through every inch of his body, with eyes blurred by anger yet focused on one direction, with every thump created by his footstep reverberating pure want for vengeance, this man approached and halted at the doorstep of one house, vigorously knocking at the door to the point that it would break and relentlessly calling out the father of the household.
Finally his voice is heeded. The person the angry Aeta was looking for reprimanded, “Why make all this ruckus!”
A brief moment of awkward and tensioned silence followed that seemed to last for an eternity. Putting all his effort to keep his composure and not break down to tears, the man replied in a firm and strong voice “Where is your son?”
The father sensing trouble asked in reply, “Why? What happened? What is your business with him? Now that you mentioned it, I haven’t seen him since this morning”.
“I want him dead.”
It seemed like the world stopped in that instant that the father heard those words. Must he have heard him wrong, he repeatedly asked himself. He wants his son dead, but why? Soon enough his head became the devil’s playground. It dawned to him the weight of the situation. This man wouldn’t come and make such a commotion to shame himself not unless...
An imagined wind chilled the father’s deepest core like one he never felt before. Numbness proliferated his entire body, cold sweats flowed from his forehead and his heart raced outlandishly.
The scene that followed was even more outlandish- the father bowed his head signalling submission to the gate crashers will. “I’ll look for him and deliver him to you”
The psychological torment was too much for him. He was just a child barely at puberty yet the burden he carried in him surpasses those well advanced in age. “Where do I go now?”, such a peculiar question to ask himself yet in that very question his very survival depended on. Utterly confused, like any child in his situation would be, he sought protection from persons he could trust the most- his relatives. What any other option does he have anyway? Well aware that he was now being hunted down and should his hunters track him down, he was as good as dead, he begged his uncle and auntie “Please, hide me, protect me I don’t want to die. I’m just a child. I’m innocent”. With reassuring faces, the two responded “Of course we will, we couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. You are our blood”. With that heartening reply, the child felt a huge yoke was lifted from him and that he was at the safest place he could possibly be. He made the right decision of not staying at home and confiding in his father for he felt that his father would even hand him to his trackers. He was not disappointed by his loving uncle and auntie who offered him the much needed refuge he sought.
Emotionally and psychologically in disarray, a tear fell from his eye which was soon followed by a river more. Still shaken from the flash of events that has transpired, his brain couldn’t just process at the pace at which the events are unfolding before him. He looked forward and he saw these old people wearing g-strings and soon realized that they are the well esteemed and respected elders their village Camias. He widened his gaze, looked around though his superfluously flowing tears hazed his vision, and saw the crowd of people circling him. Shortly, he recognized two familiar faces among the crowd as he tried to focus his vision even more, it was his uncle and aunt. Close by was what he quickly distinguished as his father who face was a straight as the way he stood, never moving a muscle. Finally, it struck him, in spite of his tortured psyche, the reason why he was crying from the very beginning. He was now at the first and most important tribal council he was involved in. The one that would decide his fate. His relatives not wanting to dip their fingers into trouble, gave him a false sense of security only to facilitate the betrayal of his trust. He was handed down to his would be killers just like that.
His clouded state of mind was alarmed by this voice roaring with righteous anger. He looks at the source of the voice. For a split second, he saw the bloody head of his playmate. Those eyes, that nose, those lips, that face- the man was an older replica of his friend. The man opened his lips to talk and like a jolt of lightning, silence suddenly devoured the landscape.
“Look at me boy”, the man started. How does it feel it to have the blood of my son staining your hands?!” he continued. But before he could continue his forceful speech, the boy whose hands were tied at his back squirmed uncontrollably and with a broken voice struggled to explain his side and convince others of his innocence.
“It was an accident! Believe me, I am not a killer. I could never kill someone. We were just playing and he slipped, knocked his head to a stone. I tried to wake him up but he did not respond. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid.”, the child repeatedly reasoned as he summoned up all his bravery to make the people understand him.
“Enough!” the dead child’s father retorted as his voice now crackled and seemed to break down. “I care not about your reasons, a life was taken from me, so should a life be given in return”.
He now turned to the elders and riposted “I could never see my son grow and have a family of his own. I could never even see him smile again. What pain it is to see your son’s lifeless body. His blood has turned the streams water red. I could hear him whisper, ‘father seek justice for my death’”.
The elders after convening decided that the rule of the Aeta should prevail.
An eye for an eye.
All the poor boy could do was to yell
“No! Father help me. Please have mercy on me.”
