This is a story of how a dead fish made many members of my family alive. And how Charlotte Church contributed to this discovery of renewed happiness. In other words, this is a story of death and resurrection — of a fish.
It was only the evening of Palm Sunday yet it already felt, most especially for my mother, like Good Friday. That night, we arrived home late from attending the high school graduation rites of my 15-year-old niece Paopao. The happiness we felt after clapping for Paopao as she went up the stage to get her medal and her diploma was slowly replaced with sadness when my younger brother Odick broke the news that our pet fish at home, a four-year-old Flower Horn, died. Odick came from work and checked on our house when he discovered that the fish was already floating in its 50-gallon tank.
No one had the heart to look at the 12-inch dead fish floating in the aquarium. Odick explained the aerator of the tank was accidentally unplugged, leading to the demise of Fish, the name of our soft orange-colored Flower Horn with a bumpy “horn†the color of sunset splayed with the rosy tinge of bougainvillea. Nobody was home when the incident happened. Gabby, my 12-year-old niece, gathered her wits and announced: “Wala na tayong magagawa. Tanggapin na lamang natin ang katotohanan na wala na si Fish. (There’s nothing we can do anymore. We just have to accept the fact that Fish is dead).†She then made the sign of the cross. Everybody just accepted that Fish was gone. No investigation was needed.
Someone suggested that we hold a quick vigil for Fish. So, in the middle of the night, we gathered in the terrace of our humble home, where Fish’s tank was located. There was apparent panghihinayang in my elder brother Gadie’s tone when he spoke of how small Fish was the first time he bought it in 2009 from the neighborhood pet shop as a gift to his son Nikkelle, now 10 years old. Nikkelle was sad at first but precociously intimated that Fish was already in heaven with his elder sister Nikka. Somehow, in his heart, he knew his sister Nikka, who died at 10 years old in 2007, would take care of his pet fish.
Fish used to reside in Kuya Gadie and Ate Alma’s apartment. When they decided to transfer house mid last year, they “deposited†their pet — hook, line and sinker style, so to speak — in our abode in Gulod. So Fish found a new home amid my brother Rod’s mini garden at home. Somehow, Fish developed friendship with the flowers in the garden; moreso with the robust narra tree that had kept its company every day since its transfer. Fish must have delighted, as shown by its big hazel brown eyes with magenta eyelids, in the changing of seasons as demonstrated by our narra tree — lush during the rainy months, leafless in December and bedecked with little yellow flowers at the onset of summer.
Once, amid a shower of yellow narra flowers inside its tank, Fish showcased its hunting skills. Flies and insects hovering above its mighty tank landed in its mouth for Fish leapt out of its “water bed†like a whale making a splash in mid-air at sea. Fish had a 100-percent success rate in hunting, a skill it had perfected through time.
After eulogizing Fish, we all parted ways and slept through the night with a light heart. We welcomed the Holy Monday morning with anticipation but reality seeped in that Fish was gone when Yali, our trusty and jolly kasambahay reminded us that Fish was still floating in the tank.
For I didn’t want this to be a mournful day, I immediately gathered my senses and downloaded in my laptop the Ave Maria version of Charlotte Church. I looped the song in my MacBook.
“Bigyan natin ng marangyang libing ang isda (Let’s give the fish a decent burial)!†I announced to my nieces Paopao, Nikki, 17 and Alex, eight. My eldest nephew Nikko, 19, heard me but had a quizzical look on his face. He had scheduled an early meeting that day (he’s the SK chairman in our barrio) so he left the house but condoled with us before leaving. Nikkele wasn’t able to participate because he needed to be early in school for his recognition day. Gabby, who was scheduled to get her report card that morning, gave words that she wouldn’t be able to attend the burial but promised to visit Fish’s grave site ASAP.
From the terrace of our home, we formed a line. Yali was the pallbearer, carrying the plump body of Fish (still shining with the seemingly embossed “Chinese characters†that meant prosperity and long life — yes, Flower Horns are prized for the “Chinese characters†that appear on their scaly bodies) through an old ladle she found in the storeroom. Following Yali was I, carrying my laptop that had Charlotte Church singing the looped Ave Maria. After me was the soulful Alex. Followed by Nikki and Paopao, who were both in awe and wonder that such funeral was being held for Fish. At the end of the line was Nanay who picked flowers in the garden to offer at the grave site of Fish. In our backyard, my eldest brother Ronnie was waiting, a shovel in his soiled hands proved that he had dug Fish’s final resting place amid the shade of himbaba-o trees.
It was a quick two-minute procession from our terrace to the backyard.
I went up to a makeshift stage to deliver my eulogy for Fish.
“For the many nights you kept me company at our terrace in the middle of the night, my endless gratitude to you, Fish. For listening to me while I sang “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again†and “Pusong Bato,†thank you,†I said.
I almost broke into a song when I noticed Paopao and Nikki giggling in a corner. They were uncontrollable in their silent laughter that tears almost ran down their cheeks.
Little Alex then said her piece: “Thank you, Fish. Namatay ka para mabuhay ang iba (You died so others may live)!†We were blown away. Alex is an “original†when it comes to copying the conversation of older people. She heard that line from her lola and delivered it like her own.
“Maraming salamat sa konting panahon na pinagsamahan natin. Sa konting pagmamahal na ipinakita mo sa akin, napaligaya mo ako (Thank you very much for the short time that we shared. With the little love you showed me, you made me happy),†said Yali, still holding on to the old ladle that had the body of Fish.
“Salamat sa iyong isda ka. Maging maligaya ka sana habangbuhay (Thanks to you, Fish. May you be happy forever),†Nanay succinctly said.
“Handa na ang hukay. Ilibing na ang isda (The hole is ready. Let’s bury the fish),†Kuya Ronnie said.
Yali slowly brought the fish to the hole. The kids and I threw young leaves of himbaba-o into the hole. Kuya Ronnie covered it with earth. A cross was placed on top of the covered hole. Then Nanay placed flowers at the grave of the fish that kept her company many days and many nights. As all this was taking place, Charlotte Church was still singing Ave Maria in the background, effortless in hitting the high notes.
From then on, everybody moved on. With a smile.
Today is Easter Sunday — the day we remember the resurrection of Christ, whose tale is the greatest love story ever told. Now that Christ is risen, we don’t expect to see Fish alive again. By this time, Fish has already resurrected in fish heaven.
Even in its death, Fish was able to resurrect in us the faith that we should all keep all the time. Fish taught us that challenges — big and small — get light in the swim of things as long as we keep a joyful heart. It took the life and death of one fish to make us rediscover our renewed happiness.
Fish be with you, everyone. Happy Easter!
(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. I’m also on Twitter @bum_tenorio.)