Chapter 1
Sal found herself trapped inside a chest. She’s seen this before, but in a dream. A dream where the ground collapsed under her feet and she fell into the void below. That dream repeated over and over. Sometimes, twice in a week. The weeds would turn into giant teeth that burrowed into the ground, causing it to crack, or the raindrops turned into icy knives that punctured the earth. Other times, it was just like that, under the light of the sky, she’d look down and see the ground until suddenly, it was not there anymore. It disappears.
Pitch black, her feet and arms twisted over itself. The dust and the wooden grain of the chest rubbed against her skin. How long has it been? It felt like a few hours with the way her heart beat as if it was coming out of her body. It was hot. Her skin was sticky. Something smelled foul. She didn’t think she’d dislike this. Her hand pressed against the lid of the chest. Even with both of her hands, it was too heavy to lift.
She froze. She won’t be able to get out. What if Manang finds her there? It would be most dreadful. She’d be duly disappointed. She’d be angry. She’d give her a few choice words if she could. Next, she’d tell it to the Signor. No, they’d abandon the house. Maybe demolish it. And then she’d float out to the sea. But oh, how she wished that if it so happened, the Signor wouldn’t have to look at her.
But perhaps, by some miracle, by some grace of a prince who will rescue a princess, the chest would disappear around her and she’d be back in the sala.
Then, if she did. Manang would find her sprawled on the carpet of the sala. She’d tell her to sit on the chairs, for she’d just tidied up the place. But Sal would not mind, for she does not see what she sees. The chairs are kingdoms of old. She would not want to disturb them lest she incur their wrath, so she sits on the floor, free territory. She’d watch the ants building their nest through the cracks of the wooden chair. Sometimes, they brought their queen with them and they’d march. She’d hear their tunes and the Fleur de Lys on the ceiling would dance along if they liked the tunes and rain their blessings on the puny ants.
Sal would lay there on the carpet and reach out to the Fleur de Lys and the chandelier lights would turn into stars. She’d lay until they showered her down with their warm, affectionate light.
She’d thought of breakfast in the mornings.
“Do you want soup on your rice?” Manang was in front of her holding a bowl and a ladle. She furrowed her brows the way she did when she’d asked a question more than twice.
Sal quickly nodded. The oily liquid flooded the bowl, and the grains clustered into clumps like tiny villages.
“Is it good?” Manang asked.
The soup was salty, but she knew better than to say it was. Manang prided herself on her cooking. Sal knows it for the woman would not stop telling her about the bits of vegetables and meat she put in the food and how long she cooked each or how long she let each simmer. A fairy must have distracted her every time the food turned out to be salty. But then, soups were not this salty before.
“Yes, it is.” Sal swallowed a salty mound of rice.
Manang smiled, not the full-toothed,show-your-gums kind you’d expect out of such an expression, but the curve a tiny bit upwards on the edges of the mouth. Her tone lightened up a bit. Sal liked it when she does, for Manang then told her a bit about the people outside of the island. All swindlers, at least that’s what Manang said. They’ve been scamming her, selling her mediocre, disease-ridden vegetables for an unbelievable price.
Sal cared less about any of it. You’ve seen one coin and you’ve seen them all. All the same metals. But maybe they’re like ants, hardworking bits of metal that all look the same. It gets Manang talking so much.
“ Ayayay! Eat the sayote.” Manang pointed to chunks of green vegetables on the side of her plate. She’d spit them out earlier because they were fibrous and not soft this time.
“Those are hard to find in good quality. You should not waste food. Many people are starving and we are lucky to eat. You know those beggars in the street I told you about? Their eyes are bulging out and you can see their bones through their skin. That is because they don’t eat. You don’t want to be like them, do you?”
Sal shuddered at the picture and gulped the offending vegetables.
“Are there many of them?” Sal asked.
“Yes, hundreds of them on the street.” A particular emphasis at the hundred. Maybe there were really a hundred, maybe not. Sometimes, she thinks Manang tells so much tall tales, but she preferred tall tales than no tale at all.
“Why?”
“They have no money, or no parents to take care of them,” she paused.
Manang was silent afterwards. Sal did not know what else to say. Perhaps she was waiting for a reply, but none she can give to that.
Manang sat by the kitchen and made her salabat. She must have eaten breakfast before her. Sal barely saw her eat. She disappeared back into the rooms before coming back with a basket.Her hand rested on her hip.
“Were you staying in the sala again?” she asked.
Her hand was on her hip, her tone different. She’d scolded her over and over again about the carpets strewn out of place in the sofa. Manang did not notice them yesterday. Sal thought she’d forget about it. She sees it. Manang will say something, and then another, and then another. She will not get to do her duties because of her. And the Signor will visit. And then…
“Mhm” A noncommital answer.
“What do you say you don’t know?”
Sal fiddled in her seat. She scratched the back of her index finger with her thumb. She can’t lie. Manang would have seen through it. To tell her the truth would mean more angry words from her. She waited to hear the words, ‘ The Signor will hear of it, you’ve been a bad child’. But she closed her eyes and hoped this scene would just go away.
“Don’t stay in the sala, alright.” Manang went on to the steps out of the house. “I will be out again.” She went down.
Sal stayed in the house, peeking at her from the window.
“When will you be back?” Sal asked.
“Before sundown. Behave yourself. Don’t touch the stove and close all the doors. We don’t want critters in the house. If you want water, the water’s already fetched from the well. Just stay indoors till I come back.” She walked across the path and disappeared out of the gate.
Sal slumped on her seat, her back parallel to the ground and her neck bent and head against the board. Manang would roar at her to sit straight, but she can’t help herself.
There was so much to do around the house if only she can fix the aftermath to what Manang wanted. There wasn’t much to go to because she had already tidied up every part of the house. The house was smaller than the castles in fairy tales, but smaller than nipa huts. She’d heard Manang before mentioning that she’d like a house smaller than this, for it was hard to clean up by yourself. Sal had tried cleaning like Manang did, but it ended up in a bigger mess.
Most of the time, she’d stay in her room and peruse all the books there. There are a lot of books in their house than the books in ten houses combined, she’d been told. It does not feel that way. Sal’s room is on the side of the house left of the big stairs. Manang slept in a smaller room near hers. On the opposite side of the house, just across the stairs, was the Signor’s room. It was perpetually locked. There might be more books in that room, but she’d known better than to peek or, even worse, sneak inside. She might get to see it if the Signor comes, but then, the idea sours in her head.
She sat on the floor just behind the big door. Outside, through the small gap, It was sunny as usual. From where she lay, she cannot distinguish between which tree is which. Ten trees on the yard. Four mangos, three guavas. ( The sampalok tree, she was told, housed a giant monster who’d make you sick just by looking at it) She’d heard about children climbing the trees, or even throwing stones to get the fruits. She’d climbed one of these before. Though now, she can’t risk it less Manang sees a scratch on her skin or a stain on her skirt. She’s keen on those things.
When Manang began making trips to the mainland, more frequently than usual, Sal used to take a rug and slide across the floor that was just recently smoothed out with a coconut husk. Manang always told her off for not sitting on the chairs. The chairs were their own kingdom, and the floor was free territory.
Sometimes, Sal would peek through the slit and think she sees the people on the mainland from where she was. Manang would be standing in front of a vendor, haggling for the best prize. The children would be throwing a stone again at one of the big houseboats. Children swim in murky water. And some constables would be walking around, parting the crowd of people with their presence. They had big eyes, big bodies and sharp bolos strapped to their side.
‘It is very dangerous outside the island’ Manang always said.
So she’d get up, perhaps imagining what Manang would do if she caught her. It was not a good look, being scolded for that. She can’t afford to be scolded for more.
It was a mystery when it started. She just found herself taking a liking to wrapping herself with the carpet. She’d roll around and wrap it around herself. It was a small blanket of clouds there to give you an extra fluffy hug. It would be scratchy and sweaty after a few minutes. Then she’d take it off. The sensation will not leave her after a while.
It must be when Manang began noticing the carpet out of place, or so she says. She’d complain that it gets crumpled every time. Sal was forbidden then to lie on the carpet. It was dirty, she’d say.
The second floor was largely cleaned. Manang hated when she stepped over the clean floor, so Sal explored the lower floor.
Manang sometimes told her that there are monsters on the lower floor. Especially in the bodega. When she came down there, she almost believed there was. The lower floor was quiet and still but dotted with these large pieces of furniture that looked like statues waiting for her. Sacks of uncooked rice and other knickknacks filled the other side of the room.
Then, there it was. An open chest, bigger than the clothes’ chest. More like a crib, quite big for a box but small enough for a body to fit in. If an animal could fit in these, perhaps she could too. The panels of the box were thick with dust, but inside, it was relatively cleaner. The wood felt cool. She stuck herself inside, first standing to her full height with her bare feet on the chest, then she sat, knees curled up to herself before putting her whole body inside. It was a sensation that had almost become unfamiliar to her. The wood was cool against her skin even as she felt the back of her knees sticky from sweat. That was how it was like getting to sleep at the end of the bed with other people. She remembers it still. Five? Or maybe seven people stuck beside each other like this on a bed on a hot sunny afternoon.
She’d fallen asleep for a few minutes, forgetting it was not her own bed.
Then, she jolted awake, the way your body does when it felt guilty of doing something she should not. Manang would say this is childish, unbecoming. She called her name. Salice! The way she did when she’d told her off doing something she should not. Sal panicked. It got closer and closer. She kicked around like a drowning ant. Her body forgot how to move.
Then, the lid banged shut against the chest. A dull thud echoed. It was dark, like how it was in her dream. So black that the surface seemed to vanish around her. She’s floating in black space. She heard a distant sound of a cane. A skeletal jaw clenched. A head with a hat against the bright moon. Falling.
She reached out. Her arms having a mind of its own. She flailed some more even as her hands hurt.
Then it came. A yellow light, a head with a hat. Her eyes must have adjusted to it. His features looked clear, a head of hair with white streaks lining the sides and the top and a kind face that has the kindness of a mother and a strength of a father.
“Are you alright?” Thank goodness it was not the Signor.
Sal gasped. “N-no. No.” she repeated over and over as panic gave way to relief. She reached out her arms and he wrapped around her in what must be an embrace.
