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| THE LAST KAPAMPANGANS ON EARTH - PART II: A VIEW TO A KILL |
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| BY ERNIE C. TURLA |
Pampanguenos, Pangasinanes, Ilocanos, Bicolanos, Cebuanos,
Hiligaynons, Aklanons, Karay-as, Waray-warays, etc. -- we
all share the same dream, which is: to keep our languages
alive through eternity. We are dreamers of what is beautiful.
And that is why Beautiful Dreamer has been chosen for background
music in this sequel to Ernie Turla's fantastic tale of a journey
into the future. So please, make sure you raise the volume
of your set as you read this second episode. Thank you.
THE YEAR IS 2112. Linda and I have been on a time
machine that glided our way into the distant future or on a
time odyssey so to speak. The fast forward motion left us with no memory
on what transpired during our ride. For a couple of days now, we have been
"back" in our country at a different age. Targetted as prized specimen
that can provide the sought-after missing link in the history of language,
we have been chased around relentlessly by the government national police.
Now, in Manila, as our story unfolds, we find ourselves trapped
in a dead-end alley where there seems to be no way out.
But as we stand waiting for the police to hurl their nets on us,
the lid of the manhole on which we are standing unexpectedly
gives way, making us plunge into the large sewer beneath.
Wow, what a lucky break! Quickly, the current of water takes
us along a long underground tunnel and out into the open sea.
Then in the middle of what I think is Manila Bay we try to keep
ourselves afloat. I used to hear of shark incidents here when
I was growing up, so it is quite a relief to find the waters
placid and with no sign of any ocean predator. I don't know
how long we've been here with no life jackets even, but by
daybreak, we finally hear the roaring sound of an approaching
motorboat. We wave and yell at the top of our voices and
luckily, the homeward-bound fisherman notices us and quickly
takes us aboard. In about ten minutes we anchor in the port of
Batang. We stay on the wharf for awhile deciding on what to do
next. While there, it's such a delight watching the sunrise,
and the water as it beats upon the shore. Finally we decide
to just roam around, and maybe do some shopping.
While the place may be a part of Pampanga, I know
that it is now completely inhabited by Tagalogs.
In a bazaar that we happen to pass by, we buy new clothes
and just get rid of the tattered wet ones we've been wearing.
While Linda goes to a beauty parlor to have her dishevelled
hair done, I visit a barber shop. Upon my return I'm fascinated
to see Linda looking much prettier and younger, maybe the effect
of time travel. It is the same way with me in that I not only
look younger but also feel energized. After taking a stroll
at the embarcadero, we decide to go to a restaurant by the wharf
where we feasted on sumptuous lobster, crab and calamari.
Shortly afterwards, we buy a space-bug for more adventure
and fly it over Lubao, Guagua, Macabebe, Masantol and other
towns of Pampanga. We take our time and just hover in a leisurely
fashion, for it is a chance to get an aerial view of our province.
We see down below the golden fields planted to rice and sugar
cane. We see the Pampanga River as it meanders from way up
north and into its delta in the south. We just fly around and
around in circles within the perimeter of our province and trying
to guess what town we see down below. But as we get carried away
with what we are doing, we have not noticed the sky getting darker
and darker. Soon a thunderstorm starts to blow our craft westward
as has always been the case. In the ensuing natural phenomenon,
we become adrift, and are swept towards Mt. Pinatubo. The next
thing we know, our conveyance is nestled on the top of a grove
of coconut trees at the foot of the mountain. We climb our way
down as the downpour starts to subside. Then hand in hand we
trudge along a lonely rural road looking for a hut or cave or
just any shelter. Fortunately we meet a farmer heading for home
on his carabao-drawn cart which we call "gareta". Like most
barrio folks he is nice and picks us up. Linda has not rode a
gareta in life, and so this is quite a thrill to her despite
the drizzle and the wind. In my case, I remember having rode
on them lots of time during the Japanese occupation when we
evacuated in a place like this.
As we arrive at the farmer's house we are greeted by his
family of five daughters, plus him (Andro) and his wife,
Tess. I introduce myself as Ernie, and soon we all get to know
one another's name. Sensing that we don't have a place to stay
for the night and are "from Manila", they give us refuge in their
large bamboo house. By this time the weather has calmed down
but we are soaking wet and feeling so uncomfortable. So, once
inside we take turns using the bathroom. After taking a shower
and drying herself, Linda puts on the pair of light pajamas kindly
provided for by Tess. Unfortunately for me, none of Andro's
clothes fit me and he digs into a hope box from where he pulls
out a pair of slacks he says belonged to a cousin who has never
come back after setting out to sea one day. "I think trousers
are all you need just like me since it's going to be a very warm
night anyway," he says, adding that there is an ongoing heat wave.
As it is again nightfall, and being very much exhausted in our
escapade, we do not feel like taking supper anymore with the
family. Lying on opposite ends of the large living room extension,
we just both fall into a deep slumber.
I awake at the sound of roosters crowing under the house
early the next morning. I look around to see all the
children still fast asleep in the same living room although
farther down the hall. I tip-toe past all of them to the
"sala" and turn on the radio at a low volume just to find
out what's in the news, and I hear about a manhunt going on,
and upon which I quickly turn it off. We are in the news
and are fugitives wanted by the law! At this time, I find
out that Aida, the eldest of the siblings is already in the
kitchen preparing breakfast for everybody. "Gising na pala,
hali kayo kumain na po tayo," she says when she discovers
me standing and looking at myself in a mirror. I say, "Ay
naku, kakain na ba tayo? Napakaaga pa yata!"
"Ay, indi o, alas seis na, e," she says with a smile.
Then, one by one, her sisters who have to get ready for
school get up and come to the kitchen including their
parents who have just walked out of their bedroom. We all
start conversing with one another in Tagalog, with me being
extra careful not to let them know that I am a Kapampangan.
Being detected as so and then being reported to the
authorities still scares the daylight out of Linda especially!
Still asleep in the living room when I got up, she is now
awake as we all hear her sneezing. Tess asks me to go and
fetch her so she can have breakfast with us. When I get there
to call her she was already up and has changed back to her
clothes that have dried overnight. "Sinipun ku ata," she
mutters. (I must have caught a cold) Without paying any
attention to what she says, I say, "Mekeni, mangan na.
Manyaman ining lungganisa." In saying that, I quickly place
my hand over my mouth and hoping nobody has heard me speak.
It was a slip of the tongue! But alas, it is too late, they
all have heard us speak another language! Andro and Tess,
very much astounded to know that we are Kapampangans
suddenly burst into laughter, and one of them says,
"Kapampangan kayu naman kase?" To which I reply, "Wa,
Kapampangan kami!" "Ay, Kapampangan la pala!" the children
say in awe. Then we all start chatting in Kapampangan to one
another. They tell us that the families at Mt. Pinatubo are
all Kapampangan, speaking Tagalog only with strangers and
whenever they go to the lowland. Linda inquires how they and
their parents survived the ethnic holocaust and Andro recounts
in detail the story behind their survival:
"During a martial law when citizens lost freedom of expression
in both language and religion, our grandparents sought refuge on
this enchanted mountain long believed to be the abode of the god
known as Apung Mallari. Non-Kapampangans, according to legends,
go into a trance and lose their sanity and eventually dying of
"bangugut" whenever they came up here. The anthills that abound
here helped scare them away. Earlier, and often times in the past,
according to those before us, the mountain, being an active volcano,
erupted violently everytime the police ventured on an operation
to climb it in search of survivors. Having learned some lessons,
more and more people became afraid to go near it. Suffice it to
say, it became a forbidden mountain. Apung Mallari, the god of
Mt. Pinatubo, has always been our protector since then. And because
of our abiding love for our native tongue, we have chosen to live
here rather than in the lowlands where we can't use it freely.
The country has become totalitarian, prohibiting the use of any
language other than the national language. Those who indulged in
civil disobedience were incarcerated at Camp Olivas." I then ask him
how it was with the other people in the province and he says:
"Many preferred to stay behind where they earned a living,
including the farmers who could not leave their farms. They just
let themselves become Tagalog-speaking as they had no other choice.
Unless, of course, they left their land and came to live in this
sacred mountain like in our case and like our parents before us.
The language policy and ethnic cleansing really exacted a toll on
Kapampangan and on such other indigenous languages as Ilocano in the
north and Bisaya in the south."
Quite flabbergasted on why we don't seem to know all these
as though we haven't read any history book, Aida asked, "How in
the world didn't you get to know all these as students in Manila?
Haven't you heard of ethnic weeding? There were times in the past
when the government started imposing the study of only one language
to unite us all as Filipinos. As a result, all the other indigenous
languages withered and died. Then the worst thing came when people
happened to elect a government that was very downright repressive.
It was the dawn of an era where all languages and religions were
abolished except the official ones." Curiously, Alma, one of the
younger children asks, "How did you manage to survive in the city?"
To which I quickly say apologetically, "No, we're not actually from
Manila." And she says, "Well I'm sure you're not from the Pinatubo
area either! Where are you really from?" And Linda says, "We are from
right here in Pampanga but from another time." Then together we
explain everything to them much to their astonishment.
During all these, a neighbor who is on her way to town drops by.
She is a carbon copy of a former mentor of Linda, and she asks her if
she has any relation to her. She is surprised upon her telling her
and replies,"Oh yes, that is exactly the name of the woman I have
been cloned after. I remember my surrogate mother telling me this
though she herself never met her in person." Linda just can't believe
her eyes! She shudders at the thought of a clone of her favorite professor,
for it is just too eerie! Yet here she is, though with a different
mind! Introducing herself as Miss Soto, a retired history instructor
at Angeles University Foundation, she gives us a short lecture on some
erroneous historical accounts in current history books. She says,
"According to that book we used in my classes, the eight rays of
the sun in our flag stand for the 8 provinces that first joined
the revolution against Spain and that they were all Tagalog
provinces. Actually that is wrong, because Pampanga and Tarlac
were not Tagalog during that time, but Kapampangan. But there is
just no point anymore in trying to rectify that still since today
all of the country is now Tagalog. And by the way, we, who have
made Mt. Pinatubo our sanctuary, are the 'last of the Mohicans'"
Curiously I ask, "So are we the only major group that has
survived?" To which she says, "The government thinks that all
other major languages have been annihilated, but rumors has it
that there are others that have survived besides Kapampangan.
Their speakers just conceal their true identity and mix with the
cultural minorities with whom they are now virtually grouped.
I've heard of Ilocanos mixing in with the mountain people of
the Cordilleras."
Shortly after lunch Linda and I thank our good friends for all the help
they have given us and promise to contact them again someday.
Our eyes well with tears as we bid one another good bye.
Parting is such a sad thing but we have to move on. I put on my
polo jacket and then we slowly head towards our spacebug. We climb the
inclined coconut tree on where it is perched, get aboard and soon
we are on our way to the San Fernando metropolis.
In just a few minutes we land softly on the parking lot of a
cathedral we are familar with. Nothing has changed since the
last time we saw it when Fr. Aniceto was the archbishop there.
But the buildings around it have changed - and so with the
language! Walking incognito along the street that leads to Mexico
which is now Gloria Macapagal Arroyo Ave., we chance upon
Everybody's Cafe and go inside. We order delicious, crispy
camaro (fried mole crickets) which have been its specialty
perhaps since time immemorial. But while waiting for them
to be served, some breaking news is being transmitted on the
screen monitor inside. To our surprise, our pictures appear on it,
and there is an announced directive alerting all police units
to be on the look-out. We try to keep a low profile as we get up
so us not to call the attention of customers and walk out the door.
However, the waitress who apparently recognizes us, sees us,
and dials her space phone. We try to flee for safety, but in
less than a minute cops are all over the place. Then a wild goose
chase ensued as like daredevils in derring-do fashion we elude
and outrun them in all the streets of the city! Like Roger Moore
and Tanya Roberts amazingly making a lot of narrow escapes!
In a matter of minutes they lose track of us and we find ourselves
wandering around inside a mega-mall. While there, we take glimpses
of news headlines that carry reports on two fugitives at large.
We pass by a cinema showing in flickering neon lights a familiar
title, and starring the animated images of long-dead movie idols
of 20th century vintage. Next to it is a museum called The Rossetta
Project and we enter. We see dictionaries of all dead languages
in the Philippines and in fact, even find a copy of the Kapampangan
Dictionary which I wrote way back in 1999! Bergano's Vocabulario
de la Lengua Pampanga published in 1730 is here too. There are tapes
and discs that enable one to hear how every dead language sounded,
as they were recorded and preserved just before their last speakers
rode into the sunset! Disgusted, we come out with tears in our eyes
and feeling homesick. Having learned from Miss Soto the availability
of time machines in a nearby arcade dealership, we lose no time in
looking for it. We finally find the place where a few of them are
displayed on sale but commanding exorbitant prices only a few can
afford! So, together we pool our money to be able to purchase one
- the best of the three time machines on display. Along with the
machine, we each get a Star Trek outfit which makes us look like
space explorers! Now, as we sit on our time machine preparing
ourselves for take off, we review the operating instructions
inscribed on the panel in front of us. It says: "Once you start
running this conveyance, you will disappear from the view of the
people outside. Going on a journey into the future, you will be
able to remember the past. But going on a journey into the past,
you will lose all memories of the future but would still feel like
having been there. Good luck to you in all your time travels."
And then, a warning: "This system is self-destructive. If you go
back to your own time, this time machine will automatically
disintegrate upon reaching your destination." We now try to devise
a way by which we would be able to record our experiences. As we
bide more time, we both start scribbling our memoirs in some note
pads. Hopefully when we get back to the present,we would be able
to figure out where such writings came from and would take credence.
We do not relish what we have seen. We vow that upon our return,
we will start finding a solution to prevent a language genocide.
Maybe we can divert from the default path laid by fate and who knows,
with such strong determination we might yet be able to put ourselves
on another course. It may be that there are many courses to take and
we've just happened to be in the wrong one! Anyway, this has been an
odyssey that has given us some food for thought. And oh yes, I can
hardly wait to see my wife, Angela, who probably wouldn't even know
I have been away from her for a long time!
Now the final moment is here and we are all set to go.
But then Linda starts to feel a little hungry and it might be
a long journey into time, and so she asks me to go out and
buy some snack for ourselves. Without hesitation, I open
the cab, get out, and walk straight across the mall to a
Jollybee restaurant. But before I can order anything, four
tough-looking burly men in civilian clothes approach me
and order me to give myself up. "Oh, no way," I grumble,
and with lightning speed, I give one a flying kick to the
mid-section that sends him reeling and falling into a nearby
trash can. The guy behind me tries to grab me around the chest
to give me a deadly hold but I hit him in the stomach with my
elbow which makes him grimace with pain and then I just finish
him with an uppercut to the chin which makes him slam against
the wall and ricochet. Then my other assailant swings his fist
on me, but I dodge it ala James Bond, and promptly follow it
with a karate chop on the nape. The fourth one is not much of
a fighter and I just frolic my way around him with a volley of
jabs that causes him to stagger and fall on one of the others.
To the onlookers it must have been a display of swashbuckling
action seen only in movies! But then pandemonium breaks loose
on among everybody in the mall when a squad of commandos with
ray guns and armalites suddenly swing the glass door open.
Really some spy must have blown the whistle on us! Quite alarmed,
I dash back to the cab in a jiffy and jump in. The police are
clearly going after us as we see them running in our direction.
Quickly, I press the ignition button and pull the lever that
controls the time and off we go in full blast! In just one split
second the policemen vanish from view! What a relief, despite
the snack we are not able to have! To keep track of time, we lay
our eyes on the gauge that flashes the years passing by. But wait,
we seem to be going forward, so I just quickly put the stick gear
on reverse, and now we're really going backwards in time! It's
like travelling at the speed of light or maybe even faster with
the speed of time! At such a tremendous speed we could be back
home in just a few hours! We're both looking forward to it. I turn
on the CD stereophonic player to "waltz" the time away listening
to my favorite, "The Blue Danube" and recalling scenes from the
movie "2001 - A Space Odyssey". And as expected, we both start
to get drowsy and about to fall (yawn!) asleep. May we get back to
our own time safely. I just..can't...wait....to see.....my.....zzzzzzzzz
THE END 
For Part I: http://maxpages.com/rizal
Ernie C. Turla 
Prsident, Akademya ning Kapampanga |
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