Behold, I Am, Jesus Crisostomo: Playwright / Adtoy, Siak, Ni Jesus Crisostomo: Dramaturgo

By Lorenzo Garcia Tabin Sr.

The novel consists of 24 chapters with epigraphs from 12 renowned authors in the world and 12 from the Scriptures. It is contemporaneous and provocative in presenting the illness of society and that may awaken the lethargy of the readers. The response of the author with the remarks of the readers is included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664168404

Lorenzo Garcia Tabin Sr.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS Lorenzo Garcia Tabin, Sr. (b. May 22, 1944, San Juan, Ilocos Sur) and Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin (b. April 20, 1945, Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte) are longtime translators and interpreters of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; Lorenzo is currently a Temple Sealer at the Jordan River Utah Temple; and retired from the Church Office Building, and from the Deseret Bookstore in Salt Lake City, Utah. Lorenzo authored dozens of novels, short stories, poems, and a lot of feature articles published in magazines like the Bannawag, Rimat, TMI Journal, Asia Philippines Leader; garnered prestigious writing awards including UMPIL, the highest award given to a Filipino writer; Pedro Bucaneg award, a highest award given to an Ilokano writer; Palanca, ETTI, GRAAFIL, RFAAFIL, and other award giving bodies (for their writings, awards, etc. see their bibliography included in the book). He is a lifetime member of the GUMIL Metro Manila (Ilokano Writers Guild in Metro Manila, Philippines) for being a president of the organization for a term. He and Sinamar are co-founders with T. Gabriel Tugade, Cristino I. Inay, Sr. and Aurelio Solver Agcaoili, PhD. of the TMI Global (Guild of the Ilocano Writers Global). He graduated AB Journalism from the Manuel L. Quezon University and MA Literature from the University of the Philippines. Sinamar, likewise, authored dozens of short stories, novelettes, poems, and feature articles in the Bannawag magazine, was a writer of the Normalite Bulletin, the school organ of the Northern Luzon Teachers’ College where she graduated BSEEd; was Ilocano editor of the Ilocos Courier at Laoag City, won some awards, once a school organ editor of the Bangui Star, of the Bangui Provincial High School. She retired as grade school teacher. Lorenzo’s first book is ‘Pakpakawan, Berde! ken 21 a Sarita.’ They co-authored their book ‘Woven Strands of Roses / Naabel a Linabag ti Rosas’. X Libris, 2014. They were blessed with five living children: Loumarie Linglingay (Banking and Finance, and Business Administration), Lorenzo II (physicist and trainer), Naomi (accountant), Sinamar II (Interior Designer) and Marlo Bagnos (Master of Business Administration). They live at West Valley City, Utah 84120 USA.

Book preview

1

(ELIJAH, ELIJAH... Come join us. Junior and I missed you a lot.

It’s not yet time, Ana. I am not done typing the story of Jesus Crisostomo and Daniel Haggai I had written in longhand.

You cannot bring that with you, Elijah.

That’s true, Ana, but I can leave it behind ... I want to leave something for the people to remember me.

You have done a lot, Elijah. More than enough to keep them remembering you.

I will complete three dozen, Ana... Three dozen... don’t worry. It’s nearing its end, my good doctor told me. A little more bearing.

My empathy, Elijah. I can feel the pain wringing your brain. In your seventies, you have suffered a lot.

Time will come, Ana. I understand, the good Lord has given me this opportunity...I know He is not getting me yet...

Why, Sir Elijah? Why?

Maring? I dreamt of Ana and Junior again... Where is the bond paper?

It’s here, Sir Elijah... and your milk.

Thank you, Maring... Please put them down by the typewriter. I beg you not to interrupt me while I am typing. When I need you, I’ll let you know. Close the door when you go out, please.

Yes, Sir Elijah...)

I

In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth [which was] without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. [The] Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, let there be light... –Genesis 1:1-3.

A novel by Daniel Haggai—at last, this will be printed in the front cover of Sirmata and in the first pages of the magazine. Alongside his picture, this will also be read: twenty-five years old, one of those upbeat future writers today. A graduate in journalism from the University of the Philippines, here is his first novel that will unruffle together the nationwide and the present problems as well to awaken the slumbering spirits to investigate the foresight that needs to be concealed. Daniel Haggai is a left-over package in a perturbed calamity in our country during this era...

And encomiums will shower like rain from all over the country, and from all over the world, where Sirmata is circulated. Reviewers will sprout incessantly. They all will heap praise on him. His name will become pungent to Samuel Millan who is the editor of Sirmata. It will be translated into many languages and he will be distinguished all over the world. He will be awarded Pulitzer, and he will be the source of envious award-winning pieces of literature. He will be given an opportunity to be put alongside, even his name alone, to the famous authors in the world, like Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy, James Joyce, John Ernst Steinbeck, Joseph Conrad, William Makepeace Thackeray, and many more.

And he will become a genius in Philippine literature. First left-over that turns to be a genius!

Yes, Daniel Haggai. Daniel Haggai who is a left-over of perturbed calamities...

Left-over?

Daniel Haggai recalls Abbarit where he left his parents and his three siblings when he studied at the UP Diliman. Abbarit which was a village of all his relatives. It has a wide rice field. It has a Limas in the south which was a living branch of the river Parsua being used as trapping fish and swimming place for children. It has a Cabanayan where bountiful rice had been harvested. It has wide squared rice fields which was good to hawk freshwater catfish, mudfish, and eels, and where to fish hook blackfish and tilapia. And where to get long-tailed mollusk and escargot. And where to catch frogs. And where to get water vine. At the upland field, places where to pick blackberries, camachile, redberry... At the place where a lot of bamboo trees, be a place where to uproot mushrooms and bamboo shoots. There were a lot of uplas trees where to slingshot wild pigeon, oriole, turtledove, brown-plumaged, wild dove, and hummingbird. Yes, it was a paradise!

Until one late evening, a group of unknown wicked elements riddled with bullets the house where the lives of his loved ones were sacrificed because of accusation that they were helping both sides.

Huh, left-over. Left-over food on the dulang where house lizards take turns eating, Daniel Haggai reflected. Is that so?

How many left-overs? Who are they? How many are the possessors of the left-overs? Who are they? Who are the house lizards who are absorbers of the left-overs? How many are they? Who are those who won’t even notice the left-overs? Are there anybody thinking about those who are making them balloons, those Pontius Pilate run over? From the four corners of the country, who is mindful?

Huh, I will blend these in the novel I am going to write! A lot of scenario such as this played in the mind of Daniel Haggai.

He is cognizant: it needs a power to lean on; a power to defend on in realizing his plan.

He is aware: many do prefer to become wicked; he is mindful of some of them, influential as well as trivial people.

He is aware: some people lean on their own capability; they are desperate in climbing the mountains of their encumbrances. Others, like crabs scrabbling the back of their cohorts to put themselves atop.

And he, Daniel Haggai, he reflected: what was the liana he scrabbled upon? Or in other words, whom did he approach?

First was Samuel Millan: he looks like a bullfrog, mustachio, bald, his eyes obtruding, with a circumnavigated face. He is in his late forties, half-Filipino—he might have a drop of German blood.

But he never contacted anybody. He is certain that he had the ability to write—he had proven that when he was in college, where he had won many awards in writing competitions before entering the publishing industry, in newspapers and magazines. They met face to face with Samuel Millan in a writers’ conference, the Philippine Writers’ Association. The editor invited him to contribute to his magazine Sirmata.

He had contributed a lot of stories and feature articles.

But he is yet to write a novel. It has not come into his mind, or if he ever had, he did not give any importance because he was unsure if he is ready to spend a lot of time facing his typewriter.

Secondly, it was Senator Jonas Esau.

Like Samuel Millan, Daniel Haggai did not approach Senator Jonas Esau. Senator Esau invited Daniel Haggai when the latter was given an award by the Palanca. The senator handed Daniel Haggai a calling card.

Call me at once, coaxed Senator Jonas Esau before parting. His voice was imposing.

Aside from contributing to various publications, Daniel Haggai had no experience with office work, for he never intended to be restrained in his writing. But he was challenged to prove something under the influence of Senator Jonas Esau.

So, he contacted the senator.

Perfect, the senator exclaimed when they met together in his office. Let’s go straightforward. I like the way you write. I want you to be in my staff. Not a casual employee. I supposed you do not like to be tided-up. That’s why you are free... just report when you’re needed. In short, you are on call. The smile of the senator was elongated, in his egged-shape face.

Daniel Haggai observes the senator’s way of speaking. He sounds so certain; his long hair was in harmony with his broad temple.

I have a responsibility to my profession, Sir...

I know. That’s why I won’t oblige you to stay in the office. I’ll appoint you as PRO and ghost writer. You know, I’m so occupied and I don’t have enough time to face all my duties. Don’t you worry, I’ll supply you everything you need while working for me. Anything you need in your writing, Eva de la Cerna, my secretary, is always ready to help you... Eva...

Thus, Daniel Haggai was introduced to a gorgeous lady three years younger than him, by his best guess. She was holding a pencil and a pad paper when she entered the office. She smiles Daniel Haggai sideways, with two dimples, and with white, sparkling teeth.

Anything, Sir? her voice was sugar coated.

This is Daniel Haggai. He is a well-known writer. I’m hiring him as one of the employees... PRO and ghost writer. Help him... give him everything he needs.

Yes, Sir. Welcome to the fold, Mr. Haggai, Eva de la Cerna smiles at the man sideways.

He was also introduced to the senator’s other staff, Mila and Lina, both clerks.

He did not like the way Senator Jonas Esau speaks, but Daniel Haggai decided to try when the senator mentioned the salary—the amount was more than enough to start with, and the senator had him a telephone line connected, in his apartment, to make him effortless to call whenever he needs something. He also gave him an electric typewriter, and other office supplies he needed, not even thinking why it was so easy to produce all those things. His mind was travelling to other places.

And Daniel Haggai learned: the senator calls him whenever he needs something.

And came the proposal of Samuel Millan, one day when he submitted a story.

Are you yet exhausted writing stories? Samuel Millan asked him. He pointed the pencil’s eraser at his temple while looking candidly at Daniel Haggai. His swivel chair squeaked when he leaned back. He did not move his eyes away from Daniel Haggai’s elongated face. He noticed Daniel Haggai’s hallowed eyes close twice. The appearance of Daniel Haggai seemed brighter when he smiled.

Are you bored with my stories? he changes his position lightly from where he was sitting.

It shows in your writings a foresight of a great novel.

Novel?

Your stories are overflowing with forethought. I noticed that it is time for you to exhibit them in a wider perspective. I believe that you have a bright future in novel writing... Write the affliction of society. If needed, use your fiercest formula. Don’t you worry, I’m on your back.

Novel?

You can do it... most likely a masterpiece!

Novel!

He sensed his body full to bursting...

When he got up in this first dawn to set up the plot of his novel, events unceasingly appearing after the other. He does not know where to start. What or who the characters will be. Will it be Jonas Esau? Samuel Millan? What is the central idea of the novel? How could he intersperse all the events in the country and move them together in one accord? Like for instance, the autonomous or organic act in Cordillera and Mindanao, the military bases, the CARP, the Nuclear Plant, the YOU, RAM, NPA, the politicians, corruption in the government, electricity problem, peace and order, the prices of commodities, gasoline, and the pushers of marijuana, and many other things putting the society in dilemma. He wants to bundle these together and tie them like a bunch of flowers in a base nice to watch or cotton soft to embrace. He likes to be like that, but he knows that if he makes that way, he goes out of context of story writing, or novel. He is aware that a piece of writing needs to be trimmed accurately so that it will stand appealing. Sometimes he is uncertain. Could it stand that way in real life? Critiques say that there is a certain rule to be followed as a guiding light in analyzing. But there was a critique who said that an author needs not to be put in a box or guided by an old style, or his writing will remain unnoticed. What kind of box is it?

But there was a strong desire pushing Daniel Haggai to write a novel, not only for himself, for the critiques, or the readers, but for the citizenry. He adores to write something to awake and to change the system of society that had been entrenched upon like cancer in the brain and heart of the citizenry.

But how?

Daniel Haggai. Who are you, Daniel Haggai, to contest the wicked system? Novel? Novelist? A novel by Daniel Haggai, a PRO and ghost writer of Senator Jonas Esau... Who is Senator Jonas Esau?

What is the title? Who are the heroes? But there is only one hero. The unscrupulous? The crocodiles? Flaming blood? The powerful? Sprinkle with blood the withered abdomen of the world? Huh, kilometric title with a single-nailed goodness! But is love not the most important strand that will be considered in the story? Heart in the battlefield? But there is no strand of love in the novel. Gold in the valley? Blood in the desert? A novel by Daniel Haggai...

Daniel Haggai scribbled these on a paper. There should be a title before starting the plot. He could not start writing without first assigning a title.

What are the novels of prominent writers in the world that affected peace and order? What is pertinent to a topic he is planning to write? The War and Peace of Tolstoy? Who used the new form of writing? One of them is James Joyce who authored Ulysses. How did these writings become popular? Was it not because of the extraordinary form they used and not only by the messages they entwined?

Yes, that’s right. What if I introduce my novel in an experimental approach of attack? Daniel Haggai thought. Will Samuel Millan accept it? He may also think, like what he told the... who was that writer? He said the readers could not comprehend. To whom really is the published pieces intended for? But Samuel Millan himself urged me to write a novel. And if I indeed write, it needs to be significant. Something which is noticeable, or almost perfect, to those sharp-eyed critiques. One more thing, if I write something for commercialism, it may affect the modicum adornment of my name. But is this not some way of egocentrism? Am I not confused as a showoff, a smart-alecky? I may lose the trust of Samuel Millan, and he may blacklist me in the Sirmata. What then will I pursue? Will I write something against my will, or I write something that will go with the flow of my thinking and forget all about the critiques? Is this not the world of free agency for you could think freewheeling, and can write whatever you like?

Huh, Daniel Haggai, the first avantgarde, a genius novelist in the Philippines? Daniel Haggai, yeah!

Daniel Haggai stood up. He switched on the fluorescent on the ceiling above the desk where the electric typewriter sits, the one given to him by Senator Jonas Esau. Papers, books, ballpoints, etc. were scattered around. He sat at the swivel chair which was also provided by Senator Jonas Esau. He fed the typewriter with paper. He started typing...

He snatched the paper, crumpled it and threw it in the garbage basket at the corner. The paper missed the basket, and it was mixed with other garbage scattered on the floor.

He fed the typewriter another piece of paper: ...in the beginning, there was a thick darkness. Then stars appeared in the patch holed sky... [T]hey orbited in unison, until a light was formed in the middle of the dark like a big hole that little by little swallowed the tiny lights... [Suddenly] burst like a volcano, then flew a burning mud... like an extraordinary experiment of God... The clock rang. It was six o’clock. It was four when he woke up; he had been thinking for two hours. He read what he had written. His mind was blank. He closed his eyes tightly.

He was interrupted by the bell of the pan desal vendor outside. He stood up. He faced the mirror of his small cabinet. He combed his hair with his stiff fingers and went out.

It was still hushed outside. There was a horrible smell left by the rain last night. The small creek by the street was stinky.

"What’s news, lakay? he greeted his acquainted pan de sal vendor. Lots of problem, Boss, complained the vendor with deep eyes and gloomy face. He counted pieces of pan de sal that cost two pesos. He said, Three of my customers stopped their rationing... they’ll stop eating pan de sal, or any kind of bread. One of them was dismissed from his government job. One of them departed to the mountains. The husband of the third one was caught selling illegal drugs."

Okay, double the number of pieces of pan desal for me... and don’t worry, I will include the story of your experience in my novel.

Thank you, Boss.

Daniel Haggai had just boiled water when he heard the thud of a newspaper thrown in front of his door. He left the water boiling to pick up the newspaper. He threw it on the desk and went back in the kitchen. He poured hot water on a cup, put cofsoy and stirred the liquid. He was not a coffee or tea drinker; he preferred a soya bean or cofsoy. He put strawberry jam on a plate, where he dipped the pan de sal now and then while drinking cofsoy and reading the daily paper. The headline was the same as usual, it was all about nationwide problems.

Daniel Haggai thought: reporters wrote nothing except problems throttling the people. Things that he is also fond of, they are good materials of whatever he wants to write. Killings, arsons, backstabbing, corruption, politics, and whatever putrid news.

In the literary section, his eyes caught a news about Jesus Crisostomo, a playwright, written by a reporter named Matias Juan. Jesus Crisostomo? The playwright is not familiar with Daniel Haggai. Was it because he is not a theater aficionado?

He smiled heartlessly with Matias Juan’s paying respect with the play of Jesus Crisostomo performed at the Free Vision’s Theater. Daniel Haggai thought: who is this Jesus Crisostomo?

2

(MARING... Maring."

Sir Elijah... Do you want to have your breakfast now?

What do we have for viand?

"Your favorite leaves of bitter melon and jute tops. Do you want me to prepare tomatoes with salted fish mayubyob?"

Please.

You want me to bring it in, Sir Elijah?

Please.

I feel good today. I think I can still write a chapter. Or two. Hope the antagonist pain won’t recur.

Here is the food, Sir Elijah.

Please put on the table, Maring... any message from the doctor yet?

Nothing, Sir, Elijah.

Good... okay then.

A chapter or two before breakfast...)

II

Sometimes I have gone a whole day without food and a whole night without sleep, giving myself to thought. It was no use. It is better to learn... If a man withdraws his mind from the love of beauty, and applies it as sincerely to the love of the virtuous; if, in serving his parents, he can exert his utmost strength; ... he can devote his life; ... although men say that he has not learned, I will certainly say that he has. — Analects XV 30; I:3. Confucius (K’ung Fu-tse), Chinese, 551-479 B.C.

Daniel Haggai was contemplating: well and good that Jesus Crisostomo be given a chance... as well. Anyway, his forte is different from mine. Play writing. Let him write play. I am not interested in play writing, ever. Whatever corner of the world did he come from, let him build his own image...also, so that his acquaintances, or his countrymen, could learn something about him. That’s the objective of writers, right? If he writes because of self-indulgence... if that is the case, he is deceiving himself. He also writes to convey his message.

It is true what Matias Juan had written, that the pungency of the message in the play of Jesus Crisostomo was gentle, which was interspersed to what’s taking place in society? If that’s the case, then there’s also a bit in his head!

Daniel Haggai also presumed: if he stacked the illnesses of society in his play, then perhaps he still has something in mind to write about this. If that’s the case... the message of the novel he is planning to write will become inferior.

Jesus Crisostomo should never ever do something crazy!

But Daniel Haggai supposed as well: never mind, things have a lot of similarities—there is no old or new idea—they are only dissimilar in presentation, method or structure. Daniel Haggai, are you petrified? How many times have you been awarded in literary competitions? Don’t ever be self-centered. Even in the writing profession, it needs steadfastness. If there is something worthy to write but you failed to put it in writing until somebody had written before you, then blame yourself. If not, go ahead and put it on paper, but you need to change the form.

And Daniel Haggai advices himself: Daniel Haggai, that’s what happening in the society you are living. Be diligent. Remember that you are a left-over...

Left-over!

Once again here comes Abbarit, a village of all people who are related to each other. A wide rice fields. Limas. River. Dryland. Mushroom. Mudfish. Catfish. Blackfish. Wild dove. Tukling...

The murmurings of his father and some of their relatives in the evening when bad elements started prowling at night is still sharp in his mind.

"They attacked second cousin Purong in his house last night, Kayong," his late uncle Irid said.

"Really, Manong?" his father’s voice was perturbed.

They ransack all their money and jewelry. The worst thing, they raped his fifteen-year-old daughter Inanama.

What then Manong Purong did?

His daughter was right in front of him, but what could he do when a barrel of the gun was pointed at them?

Time is getting worse. The state is really frightening. Sometimes, I am thinking: I want to send Daniel to school but what will be his future? Right now, some unwanted elements are roaming around Abbarit.

Daniel Haggai felt bad when he recalled what happened to his parents.

Left-over...

He thought: are you still exist, Daniel Haggai, for the main reason of being a left-over? Are you letting yourself be consumed by a superfluous expression? And what if you are a left-over? You are not the only leftover. Remember that everybody is a left-over. If somebody says he is not a left-over, whack him! No, you hate reviling, like when you are woozy with cigarette smoke. Prove that you are dignified by showing your humility. Meekness. Not humbug, or hypocrite. You know, Daniel Haggai, that false piety is the reason why the whole nation is suffering...

What if the main character in the novel is a writer?

How many nights had you been sleepless thinking of it? You wake up very early in the morning. You recline. You stand up. Walk around. You get angry even the clucking of a house lizard before driven away by the approaching dawn. From time to time you could not even feel that you are starving for.

Daniel Haggai starts talking with himself: when did the last time you dreamt, Daniel Haggai, that you seem visiting a doctor for you were experiencing a shortness of breath? The doctor was facing a chess board at that time with another medical practitioner.

What do you need? the doctor asked you after letting him know that you were waiting for his action. He moved his piece.

You told him about your problem.

When did it start? the doctor moved his next piece.

You got irritated after his fifth move without even looking at you while asking you some questions. You were boiling that much inside and overly eager to whack his flat nose. It was only after the game was over when he entertained you.

And you are always depriving yourself enough sleep because of over thinking, Son? he said after checking your pulse rate. You have brain cancer.

What, Doc?

You have brain cancer, are you deaf!

But I never experience a bit of a headache.

Aside from that, your intestine is deteriorating. Are you not eating?

Sometimes, I miss a meal or two.

That’s the problem with writers like you ... yes, I forgot that you are a writer. Are you married?

Still a bachelor, Doc.

Good. It is better for you to abstain from marrying... Anyway, you are approaching your grave, so you better forget opposite sex; be merciful to a woman you are planning to marry. I am pretty sure that you do not have enough time to take a bite most of the time, and you could not leave any good future for that pitiful woman. Please, don’t bring a woman with you in your grave!"

Wait, Doc. How did you know all these things whilst in fact you have not done examining me... yet? Do you want me to hit your flat nose, Doc? But no, I would rather write about your wicked deed!

Stupid dream!

Pondering... Pondering! You get hold of a book... Is there still a book in the small shelf that you haven’t read... yet, to borrow some ideas? The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck is there, the Cancer Ward by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, the first modern library giant edition of Ulysses by James Hardy where he was criticized, and revered at the same time—it reached to court to clarify the accusation that the novel was filthy and criminal, but was unfettered by Judge John M. Woolsey who made a decision in his written explanation that the accusation was wrong, and so Ulysses became the masterpiece of Joyce—the distribution of the book was allowed; and other writers or novels. You had read those books. And yes, was Joyce’s Ulysses not one of the novels that attracted your attention, not only due to its message, but more so how it was presented? None of the books you had read attracted your interest more than it did, even books written by a Filipino. Avoid becoming a plagiarist, they say. But is it a way of plagiarizing if you use what you had read as your model?

Daniel Haggai... Daniel Haggai...

The telephone rang. He put down the daily paper which was opened at the page where the article about Jesus Crisostomo was written.

Daniel Haggai speaking... good morning...

Dan? a sweet voice.

Ah, Eva... is the Boss now in? Daniel Haggai sounded like out of his mind.

Is he the only one important? Eva de la Cerna’s voice was soothing.

When he arrives, tell him I am not coming today.

No way.

Why?

He had been looking for you since yesterday. Where have you been hiding? Probably you visited somebody, right?

Yes, you’re right.

A good looking?

What does the Boss want to know?

Is she beautiful?

Eva, it is a business... extension of my profession, Daniel Haggai got irritated. First, he presumes that Eva de la Cerna was seducing him. Secondly, the planning of his novel was interrupted. Thirdly, he does not like the unscheduled calling of Senator Jonas Esau.

Sorry, Dan... I am just kidding, okay? Don’t ever think otherwise, okay?

...But don’t ever forget to tell the Boss... understood?

It is urgent, Dan... First thing in the morning, he said.

I’ll be right there.

Daniel Haggai smacked lightly when he brought down the receiver. He brought some clothes with him when he went to take a shower. Water was hardly trickling at all. He needs to store water before taking a shower. He washed his dishes while waiting for the water. He arranged the books, papers, and other materials he needed beside the typewriter. He glanced at the paper where he wrote the first paragraph of the novel.....in the beginning, there was a thick darkness. Then stars appeared in the patch holed sky... like an extraordinary experiment of God...

And where he scribbled the titles: Gold in the deserted valley. Gold in the wasteland... Gold in the deserted valley, a novel by Daniel Haggai...?

He fixed his bed. He sweeps around using a buyboy.

Water. Power. Organic Act. Prices of commodities. Water. Power. Organic act. Prices of commodities. Water power organic act prices of commodities... Ambush, peace and order, assassinations, robbery, politics...

He blew his gusts of displeasure and closed his eyes then rested his arm on his forehead and dropped himself in the sofa. But he stood swiftly upon hearing the boiling water overflowing on the stove.

Water... Power... Robbery... Politics... all coming back and forth in sequence in his forehead while showering. How should he start?

Jonas Esau... Samuel Millan... Eva de la Cerna... Matias Juan... Jesus Crisostomo...

Jesus Crisostomo... Jesus Crisostomo...

It seems like all right to start with these individuals! Daniel Haggai wafted harder.

He changed his clothing. He went out.

He could take a taxi for he is allowed by Senator Jonas Esau—he could reimburse all his expenses with or without receipt for the senate house is not close from his apartment in Diego Silang at Project 4, but he could not stomach thinking about the source of the budget squandering by the staffs of Senator Jonas Esau. From the taxes of the citizens. He decided to take a jeepney. It does not matter if he changes rides several times.

But he regretted when he chanced upon a congested traffic. There were few traffic enforcers but seemed not bothered what is happening along the street. Seemed like motor vehicles were not moving. Some blowing horns incessantly. Some blaming the LTO. Some yelling or shouting when somebody overtakes by an over speeding from behind. Daniel Haggai got irritated, and used up with what is happening, but he really could not stomach the undisciplined attitude of drivers—self-help, they do not mind who Pontius Pilate is affected, for they have high-powered connection somewhere to solve any damage they incur.

Daniel Haggai noticed a white sedan, Nissan Sentra, as if it could not tolerate losing the black Mercedes Benz at the right-side front of the jeepney he was riding. He noticed when the window of the Mercedes Benz was opened and the passenger at the back spittle—he looks like a high-ranking army officer, accompanied by two soldiers in front.

When the Nissan Sentra was about the same length at the crossing rightward, it suddenly opened the door, and two armed men alighted, and machineguns resounded continuously targeting the black Mercedes Benz. There were screaming from the witnesses while the Nissan Sentra sped-upped.

Nobody survived from the Mercedes Benz.

That’s it! That’s what I am saying, Daniel Haggai thought. Where is peace in this corner of the world? They are slaughtering people in the middle of the day. As if killing a fledgling!

Who were those demigods? If not ABB, NPA... Or are they RAM? Or YOU?

He ignored those who assisted them. He thought: I am just a Daniel Haggai. He turned away from the scene and stops a taxicab.

He wiggled his head. And still wiggling even when alighting. He reflected: is it always like this? Every day?

Eva de la Cerna’s conveyed a honeyed smile when Daniel Haggai came in. Lina and Mila conveyed a welcoming smile.

The Senator had been waiting for you, said Eva de la Cerna. Just wait for a while... he got a visitor.

Daniel Haggai glanced the base of Eva de la Cerna’s bosom. The lady looks at him sideways smiling and covered her bosom.

Tempest, mumbles Daniel Haggai glancing Lina and Mila, then at the closed office of Senator Jonas Esau.

What did you say? Eva de la Cerna’s eyes twinkle.

You are beautiful.

Wow! exclaimed Lina and Mila simultaneously.

Eva de la Cerna glances around. Really?

You’re really an Eve!

Senator Jonas Esau’s visitor left at last. A potbellied Chinese... one of the senator’s clients.

Senator Jonas Esau summoned Daniel Haggai inside.

I’ve been asking you to come since yesterday. Where have you been galivanting? asked Senator Jonas Esau straightaway once Daniel Haggai took his seat.

Just went around, Sir, Daniel Haggai said insipidly. Hoping to gather something to write.

Are you writing a feature article?

A novel, Sir. I am gathering something relevant to incorporate in the novel.

A novel?

Yes, Sir.

And?

Not that much, Sir.

Senator Jonas Esau nodded.

"Are you writing for Sirmata?"

Yes, Sir.

So, you know Samuel Millan... is he your editor?

Right, Sir.

So, you are close to each other, right?

He is the editor, and he has the last say to every article...

I know.

He is a great editor. He suggested that I write a novel.

Senator Jonas Esau nodded once again. Is he a family man?

With five children. They are all in high school... and college.

And his wife?

A school teacher, Sir... in the grade school... according to Mr. Millan.

Senator Jonas Esau lit a cigar. Smoke engulfed the air-conditioned room. He glanced at Daniel Haggai.

How far have you gone writing your novel... I see, you’re about to start, right?

Right, Sir...

I want you to write something. A biography. It is not just a biography. A book. And it is not just a book. I mean, it is not just a brochure. One with more than two hundred pages... I mean, a big book.

Are you serious... Sir?

"About me. I want you to finish the book as soon as possible. I want it to be out from the press before the end of the year. Aside from that, tell Samuel Millan to serialize my biography in the Sirmata."

Daniel Haggai reflected: election is approaching.

All you need is Eva. Just ask her whatever you need... when I am not around.

It came to Daniel Haggai’s mind about his agreement with Samuel Millan. But his compromise to himself is far greater: his eagerness to become a novelist... to write a masterpiece.

A novel is a novel... not a mere biography, more so if it is Senator Jonas Esau’s biography. It’s beneficial... it will be tailored for the dignified people. To whom does he bestow his perseverance? To himself? To his superior? To his friends? For the exactitude? Is this not self-indulgence?

His long-gone parents came back to his mind. Nobody is better than his parents. Their patience and affection will remain in his mind forever.

And he felt the immensity of his forthcoming undertakings: crisscrossing things. He knows the traits of Senator Jonas Esau—he had written some articles about the senator... half of it is true. But he is his superior. He is surviving because of the senator’s affluence.

Surviving? Reflected Daniel Haggai.

He was thinking all of these when he left the office of the senator.

3

(DOCTOR, I think my health is improving."

I think so, Mr. de Dios. Your fighting spirit is extraordinary, despite your age of seventy. I will never forget you... I will never forget my patient named Elijah de Dios... How is your writing?

I have started editing. I hope the pain will not recur... often. I want to finish the story of Jesus Crisostomo... before the last day.

You have all the ability to do it... Elijah de Dios is the man of courage!

Help me pray, Doctor.

As long as you follow my instructions... Are you religiously taking the medication I prescribed?

I’m trying to.

A continuous medication is needed. If not, you may be confined to the hospital, to undergo chemotherapy... or cobalt treatment.

Thank you, Doctor. But time is short.)

III

And the Lord God said unto the woman, what is this that thou hast done? And the woman said, the serpent beguiled me... [The] Lord God said unto the serpent, [for] thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field... [And] I will put enmity between thee and the woman... it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel. —Genesis 3:13-15

Daniel Haggai developed a negative attitude: he could not articulate it to Senator Jonas Esau. Whatever the senator wanted him to do, he felt like he lost any effort to say no. He was like a carabao with a perforated nasal septum, or a blind-folded horse, going to where the owner commands him to go; or always power-driven by the senator. Knowingly or unknowingly, his freedom was slowly being suppressed by the senator.

Can he still deal with Samuel Millan and tell him what Senator Jonas Esau wants him to do? How could he let Samuel Millan know that he does not have enough time to write a novel, now that he needs to follow the desire of his boss?

Are you still the Daniel Haggai I knew?

What will his answer be?

Where are the ideologies that flickered in your pen?

What will his answer be?

Daniel Haggai, are you slumbering and hallucinating or have you been blinded?

What will his answer be?

Wake up, Daniel Haggai, and get out of bed!

Sure... Absolutely. Right away!

The black exhaust of the bus that Daniel Haggai halted for a ride made him snuffle and dizzy.

He decided to take the vacant seat in front, on the right side of the driver. The weather was humid that particular day in June for it has not rained for quite some time, and almost every means of transportation was jam-packed, emitting air pollutants.

Jonas Esau... Samuel Millan... Those who are blessed with abundant time, cross-legging in a room while attending a dull session... those hunchbacks and big bellied, with sleepy big eyes glued up the ceiling, and are at times mumbling, or blowing thick smoke while the keyboard is incessantly tapping the paper. The street people are not far from wriggling maggots... Rowdy demonstrators ramble in front of a building waving red placards, barking: Down with fascism! Down with imperialism! Hurl down the gluttonous businessmen! No place for the capitalists in paradise! The homeowners are not servants in their own houses! Hurl down the foreigners from the military bases!

Daniel Haggai closed his eyes tightly. He knurled his molars and shocked his head.

Ticket, please...

Sorry... he groped his wallet inside his pocket.

After paying his fare, his attention was again trapped by the surroundings. Then his mind flew away again to nowhere. Is there a perfect world to live in somewhere? In America? Is there also Tondo in America? In Japan, there is Yakuza. How about in Saudi Arabia? Iran? Kuwait? Iraq? There is a fire of inferno in the boundaries of Kuwait and Iraq. Seria? Afghanistan? Abu Dhabi? Oman? Singapore? Bahrain? Honolulu? Australia? Canada? Jerusalem? Why don’t you say: the whole world!

Bear with me, Brothers, for we need to stimulate your mindsets. The coming of Christ is fast approaching. But what are we doing? What is happening around? Brothers, the scriptures say in the New Testament... the clean-clothed speaks a-shouting when he climbs up."

Holy scriptures... Holy scriptures! the words tinkled in Daniel Haggai’s ears.

Somebody approached Daniel Haggai and offered a colored bag. The lady was smiling sweetly. Probably a cohort of the preacher.

Sorry...

It sounded in the temple of Daniel Haggai: Go to the house of God and meditate!

Oh, yes, these could be beneficial materials...

Daniel Haggai brought out a piece of paper from his briefcase, and started scribbling.

Of course, throbbed in the mind of Daniel Haggai. If there is only love in the soul of men... a perfect love!

The sting of the sun was parsimonious when Daniel Haggai reached the building of Sirmata. He felt better when freezing air swallowed the humidity that he brought inside. He beamed back at the security guard.

There were other writers visiting the office of Sirmata. He chatted with them while waiting for his chance to talk with Samuel Millan one on one.

How is your novel? Samuel Millan looked him up as he seemed to be swallowed by his swivel chair because of his goiter and bulging belly. Have a seat.

I’m in the process of structuring... Daniel Haggai took a seat.

When do you plan to submit?

Almost there.

Give me three chapters or two and we’ll start serializing it. Just give me a concept.

"I know... The problem is... how to jumble the ailments of the nation all together. If it is stalks of palay, I will bundle them together and like stalks of palay, put under the mid sun facing up to be