The Drunkard

After the joyous banquet, the night sky had seemed like the perfect place to rejuvenate. Shining stars spread in the heavens, some glistened sporadically, others shone steadily, while a few shot across the sphere and vanished uncaught by the naked eye. Some nocturnal creatures, bats or owls, swiftly darted overhead. The moon, glowing aloft the cloudless, shone as no other heavenly body could. Its standing ovation lit the lively village of Cansa, where a wedding reception had just taken place.

The visitors were intoxicated, and as a result of inebriation, Dodie, who happened to be passing by, had been asked to join the party.

Dodie had accepted the thoughtful offer. He was a drunkard in his village; sober barely an hour a day. He could be found in his village cradling the newly fermented coconut wine and savoring its sweetness while disregarding its vertiginous effect. He was used to dizziness since he only had one hour of sobriety each day.

Dodie considered himself victorious among Cansaians. No one could beat him up. In every challenge of drinking the palatable yet insidious coconut wine, he was the one who remained animated; muttering or even babbling like a child for he thought that his adversaries were still awake and listening to his undistinguished tales. His triumph was evidenced by the mightiness of departing the arena; riding over in his muddy slippers across the village and showing up at his door, which seldom broke when he was vigorously dragged past it. He had savored the conquest; however, he was unconsciously deprived of temperance.

“Gracias amigos! Until the next wedding. Hik!” Dodie jumped up from the chair hiccupping. With a pretense of soberness, he crossed the bamboo gate and walked over the muddy and rocky road of Cansa.

During his journey on a moonlit roadway, he was chronically confronted with ambiguous ideas. The ideas of his sober other-self; his imaginary self, created by the elixir he had taken in.

It is best to promenade in this muddy roadway especially if the moon shines that way, he said to himself while peering at the moon.

No! I think the best place is Mada the next village since it’s not muddy, objected to his other-self.

No! Don’t consider the progress of the village. It’s the beauty of the moonlight that I’m talking about.

I disagree! How could you appreciate the beauty if the roadway is dizzy? asked his other-self.

It’s not the road. It’s you who feel dizzy.

There was silence for a moment which gave way to the murmurs of cicadas.

Dodie passed by a protuberant solid matter beside the road. It stimulated his foolish mind to ponder what it was. His probing thoughts did not urge him to examine it, instead, he continued walking ahead. A couple of minutes later his confounded mind began to think about the unusual substance. There was the mere question of whether it was soil or calf feces or, worse than that, human feces.

I don’t think it’s a calf or human feces, he said to himself. No! It is human feces.

I differ! Who would defecate there?

He continued walking vertiginously.

Passers-by! snapped his other-self.

What? You’re a fool. Do you think a passer-by would do that?

Yes! What if they were called by nature at the time they were passing through this muddy road?

I still disagree. Villagers are normal people, not animals, he declared.

Alright, for veracity we head back there and examine it!

Dodie turned around and trod towards where that protuberant solid matter stood proudly. After a few minutes of searching, he found it. It was similar to a replica of a mountain that twirled up; a tiny hill that top pointed up the moon.

He tilted his head down for a moment, perhaps waiting for it to speak to him; hey I’m mud or hey I’m feces. But his curiosity spurred him to stoop and then scoop it up barehanded. He sniffs it.

What the heck! I told you! Oh God! he cried, It’s human feces! I told you! I’m right it’s human feces! He jumped exultantly. He was triumphant. He rubbed his filthy palm aside his tattered pantaloons, and then he resumed his journey.

After about half a kilometer, his thoughts were dazzled by the glowing moon overhead.

What’s the real color of the moon? He asked himself.

He answered abruptly, I think it’s yellow.

No! It’s orange, spoke up his other-self.

How can it be orange? It’s not lighter than the sun. It’s just getting light from the sun, he expounded.

It’s nearer so it’s orange.

I don’t believe you. Look at it! He tilted up his heavy head while he walked in undulation.

It’s not orange! Are you blind? Look at it, wide-eyed! Can’t you see that we can look at it for a long time? That means it’s yellow. If it is orange then it would hurt our eyes.

After a couple of minutes of intrapersonal discourse, he stumbled by a bamboo fence where a drunkard was hunkering and leaning his head over his arms. This drunkard was possibly from the banquet too. Dodie stood up, without disturbing the placid figure of the drunkard, and resumed discussing the color of the moon… with himself.

Even if I gamble my hut, I would still deem it is yellow, he said.

Really? I don’t believe you! He shook his head. He looked down and continued walking.

He soon came upon his hut. His infirmity compelled him to couch on the bamboo bed. Hiccupping, the unusual thought of the moon stimulated his mind again.

I know it’s yellow, he mumbled.

Why don’t you stop arguing? I told you it is orange! If you don’t give up then we must ask the drunkard.

The man we passed by? Alright! Let’s go back there.

Dodie rose to his feet and headed for the drunkard.

The drunkard was unstirred in his position. Dodie shook him awake.

“Yes. Why?” the drunkard muttered.

“My friend, I just want to be sure. I need to prove it.” Dodie squatted in front of him.

“What is it?”

“What is the color of the moon?”

The drunkard looked up to the moon. “Where, pal? The moon on the right or the moon on the left?”