How Pedong Became an Arbularyo

The power of an Arbularyo to heal sick people with a malady caused by either witchcraft or mischievous elementals is normally bequeathed to him by his ancestors. It is passed on from one generation to the next through a ritual performed before the demise of the expiring bearer. But for Pedong, his ancestors didn’t give on him such power. He became an Arbularyo through acuity and bravery.

Pedong struggled to make a living through fishing, particularly in a town seized up by the politicians’ personal interests in expanding their own wealth through corruption. In a day, he would earn only 100 pesos on average, significantly less than the 250 pesos daily minimum wage, and even that applied to workers who graduated from college. Unfortunately, Pedong didn’t even have time to enter high school because his parents were poor as church mice. One thing that helped him to sustain a living was his sideline—healing sick people. He was not a professional doctor, but he had effectively cured many who had not been remedied by science. Somehow he didn’t collect money. They paid him willingly, as they believed it would aid instantaneous recovery.

Pedong’s shabby house was anchored in a village near the seashore. The location of the village had made the villagers always thirsty for a coconut wine called tuba. They were like an OFW, looking insane for water under the scorching heat of the sun in the middle of the Saudi desert. The tuba-makers lived in the upland villages among dozens of thriving coconut trees, the sources of the bitter-sour wine. Even with that taste, the villagers down in the lowlands will trade a pail of catch with gallons of tuba just to indulge their desire. Not the desire of thirst, but the desire of fellowship and inebriation.

It was not forbidden to ask how Pedong healed the people who had gone to him for his service. But it became a custom not to ask an Arbularyo so that the cure would take effect. How they healed remained a mystery. Yet, Pedong’s story of becoming an Arbularyo was not totally a secret. Because the inebriation owing to the tuba had made him narrate how he became one.

It was a fine day. The green waves danced against the wooden hull of Pedong’s banca, a Filipino wooden boat, rocking him like an infant in an oscillating cradle. Ahead, a school of tuna jumped out from the surface in synchronized diving. Pedong tightened his grip on the oar and moved in the tuna's direction. He stopped, waited, and let the waves take his banca. He prepared the fishing nets and continued rowing slowly. His eyes fixed on the sea to look for them. When seen, he dropped the fishing nets as he kept on rowing in circles to imprison them. He waited patiently. The heat of the sun pricked his skin, but he was oblivious to it. After half an hour, he towed the fishing nets and felt the heft of the catch. He tugged it and was glad to see dozens of strangled tunas.

A dark-green long neck bottle, almost covered with moss, was also caught in the net. Pedong thought it contained a message from Samar Island meant for a recipient in his village. But when he picked it out, he thought it was a half full bottle of wine that was still drinkable, except that there was no label. He seized the cork and tried to open it. But a gigantic wave prevented him from doing it. He fell down in the banca and let go of the bottle. As he got up, he fell back to see sea kraits surrounding the banca. They seemed to bite and make holes in the hull. One sea krait flew into the banca and wrapped itself around the bottle with its head aimed at him. Shaking, he groped for the oar by his side and swung it. The snake was stunned, but swiftly rose again. As it tried to bite Pedong, he struck another blow and crushed its head with the edge of the oar.

Around the banca, more sea kraits came up. Another one made it to the banca and again curled around the bottle. Pedong realized they were after the bottle. He placed the edge of the oar under the bottle and scooped it out of the banca. The bottle and the snake plummeted into the sea. The sea kraits swam toward the bottle and thronged around it. He started rowing right away, but somehow couldn’t keep his eyes off the throng. When he was a few yards off, the sea kraits left the bottle floating on the waves. He stopped, looking for the spot where the bottle had rested earlier and smelled something like a lana, a concoction of oil and herbs. It was a scent he remembered from the time when an old Arbularyo cured him of extreme stomach pain caused by poison a witch had slyly mixed into a dish in a fiesta he attended a long time ago. The Arbularyo had applied it to his stomach to keep down the pain.

It was unusual that the sea kraits were following the bottle. But Pedong remembered a story told by his grandfather: If it’s guarded, it means it has something precious in it. A treasure or something else.

The bottle appeared to be following Pedong. The sea kraits were nowhere to be seen, but he knew they were under the sea and that anytime he would steal the bottle, they would show up to reclaim it. He oared in a counter-clockwise direction to turn back the banca to where the bottle was, his eyes rolling around the sea trying to spot their movement. When the bottle hit the side of the hull, he picked it up, threw it inside the banca, and hurried off to the shore.

The banca glided over the rippling sea as though it had a motor. Pedong’s arms were quicker than the motorboat engine he couldn’t pay for. Countless sea kraits; tiny, small, huge, as the Amazon’s anaconda swam along with the waves after him. The black and white stripes of their scales were visible in the dark-green color of the sea under the brightness of the sun. He rowed fast, making sure his breathing rhythmed with the movement of his arms.

The number of sea kraits had continually increased. Those under the sea had come out to join the chase. Some had clung to the bamboo outriggers, making the banca burdensome to propel. Although far ahead he could see the mountains of his island, he reckoned that his unceasing efforts were no match for the serpents’ unstoppable pursuit. He came to a halt, reached for the bottle, and tossed it into the sea. Those in the outriggers let go. Those following him changed direction to the bottle. And those in front of the banca got back under the water. And then the bottle vanished as the serpents crowded it, as if it were some addictive wine.

Pedong waited for a moment. He had an unwavering heart. He knew what he would get from that bottle. It might save him from drowning in poverty. After a few minutes, the sea kraits dispersed, abandoning the bottle again. An idea popped into his mind. He prepared a ten-yard-long thin rope and made a bowline knot. He adjusted the knot so that the neck of the bottle could go through it. He then rowed to the bottle. He stared down through the deep blue sea, trying to spot them. When he saw nothing, he grabbed the bottle and tied the knot quickly. A huge sea krait was about to come up, but before it did so, he had thrown the bottle back into the sea.

With triumph in his heart, Pedong went back to his village. Arriving at the seashore, he warily stepped into the seawater, afraid that a sea krait might be there to bite him. But it was just his thought. He looked at the bottle floating a few yards behind the banca. He dragged the banca to the sand and pulled the bottle to him. He thought the sea kraits would still go after the bottle, but he knew they couldn’t survive long enough on land. When he held the bottle, a group of sea krait came out of the water, but they struggled to move fast on land. He dashed to the seawalls and stopped by the steps. He looked at the sea kraits. They seemed to be saying ‘till we meet again’.

Pedong went home without a catch, but with a bottle of lana. Inside the bottle, a folded paper floated. He took it out and carefully opened it. It was a contract which the acceptance read:

“You solemnly vow to visit the cemetery every midnight on the first Fridays of the month before performing your task as an Arbularyo.”