Everything you can imagine is real. - Pablo Picasso
At exactly 8 pm, the radio is turned on. In curious expectation, we crane our neck, some of us embracing a pillow to our knees. A voice comes like a serrated edge in the silence of the room. DZBB Super Radyo presents...
We wait for the ominous fanfare. The announcer lets out the breath he has been holding, then continues dramatically - The stories of Lola Basyang!
A wind has come up. No one is talking.
Noong.Unang.Panahon. Lola Basyang starts to speak through clenched teeth, coming to a full stop after each word. Once.Upon.A.Time. Her garrulous voice complements the scraping of the alagao branches against the house.
Tonight, the story is that of a half-man, half-horse. A tikbalang monster! we say, mesmerized. The air is brittle with silence as we cower in fear, dry-mouthed.
Lips curled in a sneer, it comes galloping with pounding hoofbeats in search of human prey. In his basket, frail women, already captured, peek furtively. Others, still on the ground, are running, but it is like being in a wet bog, their every step an effort. They're calling for help with fluttering voices, Saklolo!
What's going to happen? we ask breathlessly, swallowing hard. We try to catch our breath and slow our hearts thundering in panic.
Lola Basyang weaves the story on and on until the moon falls between the rooftops. On nights like this, it is said that the gods are asleep. We keep hoping they've changed their schedule this year and are awake, worrying about the children.
Then comes out the winged goddess. Serena! we say with a relieved grin. She battles the tikbalang. The warfare lights up the skies. The dreaded enemy is defeated, and the prisoners set free. We draw a deep breath and slowly exhale simultaneously.
Tune in tomorrow for another adventure in...
The stories of Lola Basyang!
The last notes of the program's musical theme hang in the air, as if God were saying an Amen.
Tulog na, Mum's voice drifts, enjoining us to sleep, as the radio dial is clicked off. We sound out a peal of disappointed groans as the fluorescent light is dimmed. We reluctantly pull down the side flaps of the mosquito nets and lie down. But in the half-light, we chatter determinedly on.
On the First Mat, Third Brother and I continue to talk in hushed tones. He pulls out a matchbox filled with 'piglet' bugs. No, let's not play with those, I protest, fearing they may crawl out. Basa na lang tayo. Let's just read, I suggest in a conspiratorial whisper. I pull a Pilipino komiks from behind my shorts pocket and start reading to him, squinting, our heads side by side.
On the Second Mat, we can hear raucous movements. Eldest Brother is tickling Second Brother. The latter protests, emitting a sharp, strained laugh, Stop it! I afterward hear them comparing shooter marbles from the small drawstring bag that they each carry around like a prized possession.
On the Third Mat, Fourth Brother wails for Mummie to lie down with him. I have to stay with Fifth Baby Brother, she answers from across the only bed in the adjacent room. Shh... Dadee shushes him, neatly tucking net flaps underneath. I'm right here with you, he says in a voice that sounds sleepy.
The secret whispers, private laughter, the babbling continue for a while, then fade away. Only a tranquil half-moon lights the dark sky. We're snuggled on the mats and sheltered under mosquito nets, surrounded by the prayers of the saints, safe from monsters hovering in the night.
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