Waiting for Sunrise Till Dusk

By Teofilo Echeverria

This book relates a wide range of interesting topics based on the experiences of the authors childhood memories, boyhood adventures, and his avid explanation of a scientific theory that most readers could easily understand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477241936

Book preview

BITTERSWEET CHILDHOOD IN SUMINIMSIM

I am writing this memoir about the horrible experience that

happened in my childhood during the Japanese occupation in the Philippines. It is not my intention to promote hatred and rancour but simply to pour out some of the bitter remembrance that has been lodged in my memory for years. The present Japanese generation should not in any way be linked to the horrible attitudes that were rampant during those times. I love and admire the Japanese people now, and I am willing to embrace them and hope they understand the need I have to expel this story. It is my hope that it can somehow help make the young generations understand how big a mistake it is not to do anything necessary to avoid indulgence in war. But will humankind ever learn?

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Figure 1: My mother and me

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Figure 2: My Father; To me he was so wonderful.

MY FIRST HERO

I was told that I was born in Panganiban (formerly Payo), Catanduanes, 13 May 1938, just three years before the Second World War Japanese invasion of the Philippines. Our family was very well accommodated, and I had almost everything I could possibly need: I had new clothes every day and was well fed and bathed and taken care of by several service maids. My father was a Spaniard from Pueyo, Navarra. He migrated to the Philippines at the age of seventeen when invited by his uncle, who at the time had a prosperous business there. He later married a Filipina much younger than he was and formed our big family with nine children at that time but finally ended up with twelve. Unfortunately, this is just what I was told, for my first childhood remembrance was completely different.

Due to the horrible aspect of it, the first event I remembered in my life was engraved in my mind forcefully and prematurely at the age of three years. I was in the street alone, supposedly in front of our house, crying disconsolately, terrified by the scenery all around me. There were many people running in all directions, without seeming to know where exactly to go. Bombs exploded in some indeterminate places so that no one really knew where a safe place was. But surely the people running to and fro in the street felt better than I did, for at least they were free to run to where they thought was safer, while I was standing there crying beside a fence, not knowing what to do in this unexpected situation. Not even a bit of survival instinct made me go for cover, not even in a nearby shrub. I was there left waiting for the mercy of I do not know what or who. In the midst of this chaotic pandemonium appeared someone who seemed to be the only one who knew exactly where to go and what to do. He was running directly towards me. I felt a great relief when I recognized Leoding, my brother who was nine years older. Before I could truly appreciate the luck I had, he grabbed my arm and hurried me away from the scene.

For the first few metres, that fast race with fate did not allow him any extra time to accommodate me gently, and I was pretty much hanging from him until we reached a covered secure place, where he was able to shift me securely in his arms as he continued running. We continued until we reached a secluded place outside of town, full of coconut and other tall trees, where many other people had come to avoid the bombs falling in the town. It was called Pamayang, which means safe place in the local dialect. It was a bit more relaxing there, this place although worry is visible on all the faces of the people around. Some calmer ones were trying to help calm down those who were more terrified. In fact, somebody offered me a bowl of water, but I was not capable of drinking. I was too pale and trembling. I did not even look for other members of the family because I did not have any reference of my existence. It was only me and that welcome personality whose earlier loving relationship with me must have guided my instinct to recognize that I was safe. I must have craved the presence of my mother, but as far as I can remember, there was no mother, father, sisters, or brothers. There was only that saviour angel and myself amidst all those terrified people.

The rest that I know about this incident is from what I was told. My next younger brother, Paquito, was the youngest then, and my parents must have been able to concentrate their attention on having him during the panic produced by the first bombings. Everyone must have thought that someone had taken care of me, but unfortunately, somehow I was left behind, outside the house. This could easily happen in a big group the size of our family, when each one may think that somebody else must have taken care of each of those who needed it until reaching a calmer situation, when they would suddenly realize that I was missing. This is when the protective instinct of Leoding made him go back as fast as he could to the bombing scene without any hesitation in order to save me. For a considerable gap of time after that, I did not remember any other event and not even the activities of our family when they left the town to hide on our secluded land.

My next memories were of being on our property, which was called Suminimsim. I did not have any idea how we transferred to this place, although the reason for our transfer was obvious. The Japanese soldiers occupied the towns, so the people had to flee to the mountains for their own survival, but I did not have any idea about it at that time. I just knew that we ended up on our hideaway land. It was big enough that it extended from the shoreline up to the mountaintop. We had a house on the beach and a hut some three kilometres from a small jungle on top. Thanks to this land, we had a stable place to stay while we hid from the Japanese. Unfortunately, food was scarce, so we had to survive by mostly eating broiled sweet potatoes, the root of a fast-growing creeping plant which was locally called camote. This was accompanied by gulay, composed of the camote leaves cooked with coconut milk, which we could only afford to eat once or maybe twice a day.

I did not suffer much this change in our way of life since I practically woke up to this lifestyle, thus assimilating it to be normal; but thinking of my parents, brothers, and sisters, who were accustomed to a much better lifestyle before, I just could imagine how they must have suffered in that situation. Even from my first memories on that land, I remember that our way of life was primitive. When I started to be conscious of the world around me, I saw that everybody had already adapted to the primitive way of life in which the situation forced us to live. All of us went around rugged and barefooted on the thorny land, including my father, who did not have any choice but to adapt to it. Wearing pants was a privilege only for those past the age of about eight, unless maybe on some special occasions, when the younger ones could dress up a bit more elegantly by wearing them, although I do not remember any such occasion. Being barefoot could have passed me unnoticed if not for the horrible experience that my father had when a big thorn stabbed him on the middle of his right foot. It swelled up to the size of a golf ball and ached terribly. I remembered how he cried out in pain when somebody finally decided to pierce it with a sharpened stick in order to let go the ever-increasing pressurized yellowish jelly-like liquid inside. All the content was forced out by pressing from all sides until blood started to flow out, which indicated the end of the yellow liquid flow. It was then covered by some chewed leaves which the natives considered medicine. Luckily, it healed after applying those same chewed leaves for sometime.

If not for some abnormal occurrences, we should have not suffered much due to scarcity of food, for we raised chickens and rabbits and even had a cornfield on top of the mountain in an open jungle area for this purpose. But occasionally, the Japanese sent out some troops to collect animals and harvests for their food supplies, and our place was one of those they visited often. The people always knew when they are going out to gather food supplies so they could flee in time and warn the others as they departed. Unfortunately, they could not bring their animals and crops with them, so it was easy for the Japanese to collect them. Aside from the Japanese, many kinds of snakes, especially the boa constrictor, visited our poultry house almost every night to claim their share in the food supply when we were fast asleep. Our cornfield in the mountain was harvested ahead of us by the monkeys since we couldn’t afford to keep watch of it all the time. All our efforts went to the benefit of the Japanese, the boa constrictors, and the monkeys, while the wild pigs did their part in destroying our camote plantation. We had to survive with what they left us, and that was the camotes. This wouldn’t have been too bad if it were for just a day or two, or maybe even for weeks or months, but for years the situation became chronic. Occasionally, we had access to some coarsely grounded corn, a decent substitute for rice in its absence, and this meant a feast for us. Rice was so rare that it always seemed to taste great, even plain. As I said, this was about I all knew and it seemed normal for me, but whenever I tried to imagine it as far as the rest of my family was concerned, I felt sad thinking how they must have suffered during that era, and how hard it must have been for my parents to provide for our big family (ten children by that time). I couldn’t help but curse all types of wars.

Among my brothers, Jimmy was the one I remembered guiding and caring for me most. He was a very responsible brother. He was the one in charge of taking the carabao to the pasturelands. One got lost once and did not go back to its night fence. He looked for it the entire night. This could be considered a normal action for an adult, but he was only eleven years old then. Still, he was already bravely roaming around the jungle armed only with his bolo. He accompanied me to our cornfield one day, where we had a small hut for watching. He left me there for a while since he was doing something in the depths of the jungle. I noticed that the monkeys started to gather in the nearby trees. They must have noticed that I was alone because they went into the cornfield and started picking corn, returning to the trees with the same calmness, not minding my shouts and cries as I called for my brother. The monkeys were already gone when he came back.

DELICIOUS BAIT

Although I have many more memories of being in that place during the Japanese occupation, I would like to skip to the last part of what I remember. When the Japanese were starting to leave their quarters in order to go to their concentration retreating places, they had the need for luggage carriers, as they had to march all the way up to their destination. One of the places where they stopped and captured some boys was in the barrio of Batohonan, which was on the beach on the other side of the mountain where we had our land. In fact, from our house on top, there was a place where we could see the barrio below. One of those boys captured was my brother Leoding.

I remember the moment when we were on that place overlooking the barrio with all the rest of the family and some people from the barrio who’d fled to our place to avoid the Japanese. They were the ones who told us that Leoding was captured, and we were trying to observe their movements. My mother was crying and so were the rest of the women who were with us, who must have had their sons captured also. We all stayed there watching the Japanese troop and captives marching away until they disappeared on the other mountainside.

I had an idea of how everything went on in this march, but it was nothing in comparison to what Leoding told me when he came here to Madrid for a visit sometime in 1995. He said that the Japanese could have not captured anybody if not for the bait they had. They offered chocolates to everybody in a friendly way, and the rare delicacy was simply an unavoidable temptation to whoever came to know about the offer without knowing what was behind that delicious bite. They only found out after that they were under the control of the Japanese, who had a double purpose for them. They were dressed in Japanese uniforms not only to carry loads but also to shield them from a possible ambush by some guerrillas on the way. There was a Japanese man behind each Filipino boy. The only difference between the two was that one carried the luggage while the other carried the rifle.

After a long march, while they were moving through a passage between two elevated terrains, open firing from the upper parts began, so everybody had to deploy. While the baggage boys took cover behind their baggage, the Japanese took cover behind the baggage and the Filipino boys. It was an ideal ambush location because the guerrillas were in a much more favourable position above the hill, but the Japanese were counting on a 50 per cent advantage that for every supposed two soldiers that the guerrillas could kill, at least one would be a Filipino boy. Fortunately, the guerrillas seemed to know the presence of the Filipino boys in the Japanese troop because their