A Halloween Special Nang Sergia

CEBU, Philippines - My mother has her encounters of the "strange kind" since she was about 10 years old. She had the impression that it was normal for a child to be seeing short men with fair skin and rotund bald heads circling around a coconut tree at 3 a.m., or getting upclose with the ugly creature "tambaloslos" hanging to a mature mangrove tree. Or even meeting on the road home an eight-footer Spanish mestizo at 11 p.m. who emerged from a grove of bamboos (believed to be "taw-an") near our house.

But her experience in May of 1980, however spine-tingling and mind-boggling till today, taught her to accept and deal with her very active sixth sense - an eye that sees another dimension, a picture of the afterlife. This is her story:

Nang Sergia used to deliver pineapples for us in Barangay Lutopan (we still prefer to call it that way even though it was renamed after Don Andres Soriano, founder of the mine site in Toledo City). Nang Sergia lived about two and a half kilometers on a hill from our house. Almost every day, she would deliver a variety of fruits for our table. Perhaps that bond she shared with my mother and my mother's nanay endeared her to them that it was not easy for her to bid farewell. She had to make her presence seen, not just felt!

My mother was at the DAS Public Market one day of May 1980. She saw Nang Sergia carrying like a backpack her empty wicker basket. Ah! Good for the woman, the fruits must have been sold out this early. Very good for a weary soul who still has the strength to carry the produce all the way to the market even at 80 years old! She saw her approach the jeepney parked for already 30 minutes while waiting to be filled.

"Uy, Nang! Sakay na Nang para makalarga na ta." Mama called on for her to get in the jeep so they could leave for Cantabaco, the next barangay, about four kilometers away. Cantabaco, which is now popular for having the very first San Pedro Calungsod Parish in Cebu, is where we source our potable water. Decades ago, Cantabaco assured us of refreshing water that never go dry even during the hot months. It was our oasis. It was the sight for public laundry, where the act transformed into an opportunity to socialize with people from as far as 15 kilometers away. So, we practically knew everybody then and even their kin.

"Uy, Day!" Nang Sergia greeted my mama, embarked on the jeepney and took the vacant seat across her, near the estribo (stepboard). Mama noticed nothing unusual. She was kind of glad that Nang Sergia wore the floral-printed dress she gave her as Christmas present. Nang Sergia also checked on the whereabouts of my grandma.

"She's here, Nang. She recently arrived (from Surigao). She was at Felix's house last night," mama said in the vernacular. Tiyo Felix is mama's younger brother.

While the jeepney was on its way to Cantabaco, mama saw Nang Sergia took the safety pin off the bandana tucked to the under-shoulder of her camisole. Elderly women then had this custom of wrapping their bills with their head-kerchief. Mama sensed Nang Sergia would be paying the fare, so she stopped her. "Ayaw Nang, ako ra!" Mama handed over P2.00 to the "konduktor." With that gesture, Nang Sergia tapped Mama on the lap gently and thanked her. As if to underscore how grateful she really was, Nang Sergia squeezed mama's knees and said "salamat gyod kaayo, 'day." 

As mama would still fetch potable water in Cantabaco, she asked my father beforehand to flag down the jeep on the way so she can swap the groceries with the seven-gallon water container. Afterwhich, the two women continued to chat. But while the jeep was maneuvering a bend past that hill where Nang Sergia's house was, the old woman didn't bother to stop the driver.

"Nalapas na ka, Nang," she reminded Nang Sergia that she was past her house. But the woman returned a calm look. "Ay! Nibalhin na ko 'day," she replied, informing my mother of her change of residence days ago.

Minutes after, Nang Sergia bid mama goodbye and requested that her 'hellos' may reach my grandma. "Suroy nya Nang sa amo aron magka-istorya mog balik ni Nanay," mother replied, inviting Nang Sergia to come over to our house to see her "pren" (that's the term of endearment she shared with my lola, a pidgin form of 'friend').

Mama saw her taking the road to that rice paddy down the public cemetery, balancing her stride on a muddy narrow dike. But she never entertained the strangeness of the old woman's presence that day and her new residence as a big deal till she arrived home.

"Nay, I was with Nang Sergia a while ago, she would be coming over to see you. I never knew she moved to a new residence," mother eagerly shared to lola the news.

Mama said that my lola gave her a bewildered look. Nonetheless, lola made sure she was up with the right name by asking again. "Ha? Kinsay moari?"

"Nang Sergia ba, the wife of Noy Genio gud!" My mom harked back, and began retelling how they were onboard the same passenger jeepney.

My lola shivered! She told mama it could not possibly be! Last night, she was with Tiyo Felix and from him learned it was the eight night of the prayer for the dead dedicated to the passing away of Nang Sergia.

It just wouldn't sink in at first for mama."It can't be, 'nay! How could she be dead when I saw her - skin and bones, she even tapped me, in gratitude, on the lap when I paid for her fare? She touched my knees. And we even had this long exchange, about you, onboard," mama had to make sense of that encounter.

"Well, if that's the case, she just can't go without seeing you then. Go to the big cross (at the cemetery) and light candles, she needs prayers," lola, in her composed disposition, instructed mama.

Mama would want to take the matter lightly, as some kind of joke, maybe. Though it was past April Fools' Day and a long way yet to the observance of Niños Inocentes, she reckoned someone could have just passed on a wrong story to lola. She proceeded to her chores. But while cooking she found out she forgot to purchase an important ingredient. This sent her quickly to a variety store in the neighborhood.

While approaching the store, she saw Noy Genio busy placing inside a sack items like mung beans, noodles, spices, condiments, and the like. Mama's heart raced and there was this squeezing sensation in her brain. Still she mustered courage to ask Noy Genio what the stuff are all for. "Is it somebody's birthday, Noy?" she asked.

"Uy, 'day! Ikaw man diay na. Ay wala 'day. Tapos na man gud sa pangadye para ni Nang Sergia nimo karon," Noy Genio answered that it was the last day of the novena for the passing away of his wife.

"She's already gone, 'day," Noy Genio underlined. His tone, though delivered in the melting manner, the very way that had profiled Noy Genio as the most shy and soft-spoken person in our neighborhood, sounded more like a sledgehammer thudding hard on mama's skull and then piercing her ears like a banshee's cry.

"Oh my God! Oh good Lord!" There was this brain-splitting whir in her head, a nasty curling sensation on her nape, a tight knot in the gut, dry air shrouding her, that disturbing wobbly feeling which seems to border between a prelude to a fainting spell and that of a state of panic.

She forgot what she was up to the store for! She turned around, made a mad dash home, not even knowing if her heels did strike the ground. (FREEMAN)