The Gift of Asul by May Navarro

A new set of gray clouds began to float towards us, suffusing the morning sky. My hands began to turn cold. The sea began to gather its own shade of gray as if the nimbus fleet wasn’t enough to cast an ominous mood. Meanwhile, the winds laps at our hair, scattering it to our faces. Where are you, Taytay? I thought. Dear Lord, I hope he’s okay. My grandfather has been missing in the enormous ocean, reduced to a speck in the vastness of it, alone in his beaten bangka. It has been three days. “The storm erupted suddenly, catching everyone by surprise” said one of the lucky fishermen who escaped the grasp of this temperamental monsoon.  But Taytay wasn’t so lucky, swept away by the furious winds, he still hasn’t made it back.

Naynay clutched her sand-crusted rosary beads and held her scarf tightly on her neck as she looks at the defiant ocean. Her duster mottled with sprays from the sea, the lashing waves threatening to get to us. I held on to my wilted umbrella as the wind tried to pull it away, adamantly refusing to give in to this tug-of-war. He will come back, I tell myself, he should. Because he can’t leave me like Asul did.

It is the summer I turned nine, the summer of 1985. I had been reading my Archie comic book in my room when I heard a familiar rumble and slid the curtains aside. It was Taytay revving his owner type jeep inside our subdivision, breaking the lull of monotonous silence in our place. After kissing my wary parents goodbye for the summer, I clambered up Taytay’s stainless steel jeepney and touched the old rosary that hanged in his rearview mirror. Naynay made sure that it was always here, swinging like a pendulum during the ride.  Taytay’s jeep was old and spartan, no fancy radio or contraption, only rolled black plastic covers on the side to protect us from the rain. I have always awaited his arrival, his presence a gift of momentary freedom, freedom from the suffocating house riddled with angry crashes and bitter ramblings, fights that was becoming intense as of late. But when my parents made up, it was as if they didn’t almost kill each other with my mother beaming at the baubles my father bribed as a peace offering. But the lull is achieved only for a time. Then the tempest rises again and I am at my room, listening to rants of a rock band on my headphones to mute their voices.

Taytay often whisked me away, his only apo to the coastal town of Laiya during vacations. Maybe he pitied me, an only child, an innocent civilian caught in the crossfire. I always felt welcomed in their home despite its bare conditions. They lived in an old nipa hut with slats of bamboo as floor and earthen jars to store water with. They ate with their hands, happily polishing the plastic plates that often had fish as viand. But their warmth more than compensated for these modest accommodations as Naynay would  hungrily gather me in her arms when I arrive. “My, you’ve grown up so fast Mina”, she often would exclaim, the lines of her face deepening with each grin. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe my mother grew up in a simple fishing village like this, even harder to comprehend how her red-tinted nails and fully-made up face  is a sharp contrast to Naynay’s rough, hands and weathered face. But I was nine years old and I didn’t think about it much, only the kind concern of my grandparents mattered and the sound of gentle waves washing away the numbness that trailed me from the city.

I wasn’t very fond of taguan and patintero, games some of the kids played in the village. I played for a time then settled to reading my Funny or Hiwaga komiks near the shore. I enjoyed watching the fishermen going out to sea as if embarking on a new adventure and going back before sunset with a heavy bounty. I wondered what kind of fish they caught and the sea creatures they saw. Did they wrestle a giant, hungry squid or dived with the sharks? I wondered. Then I looked at my freshly-brushed doll with a crudely sewn- fish tail courtesy of patches of cloth that fell from Naynay’s sewing machine. Did they see mermaids too?  Were they beautiful as regaled by books and had long, lustrous hair? Did they see their tails in the waves? I always wanted to ask Taytay these question many times. But I knew they were as true as Santa Claus jumping down the chimney and the elves making my doll.

When I exhausted my pile of komiks, I often go to the waves, submerging my feet, feeling the coarse sand underneath. I would also dive and grab seashells underwater and hide it in my pocket and polish the white, smooth stones I would get on my walks. Sometimes, I would chase a skittering hermit crab to its hole, marveling at its speed. Then I would go further down and climb a bed of rocks and sit on top while the sun set, eagerly awaiting the crimson hues and orange splashes that painted the sky.  The display of colors stirred a sadness that made me miss my family.

I always love eating crabs, scraping away at the lavish orange fat inside it shells and dipping it in vinegar strewn with crushed garlic and sea salt. Taytay told me that these crustaceans often lived in the crevices of rocks. So one day I went to my bed of rocks earlier than sunset so I can surprise Naynay with the crabs I can collect. With a basket on hand, I untangled the rocks with my stick, but there weren’t any. Disappointed, I pushed on then I noticed a slight movement behind a pile of rocks, a big crab! I thought. So I tentatively navigated myself there and then saw her. A young girl my age was sitting with dark ringlets like curled noodles framing her face. I was miffed by the intrusion on my space and wanted to call her about it. Then I noticed her long curled locks discreetly covered half her body, her skin dark tan with ridges like scales and a tail covered with blush pink scales. And her eyes had the deepest blue disconcertingly standing out from her brown face. I didn’t move, so surprised, I almost fell down the rocks. She smiled, her teeth the color of ivory. “Hi” I said. She didn’t talk. She had some kind of telepathy. Something like Hello, she conveyed. “You’re a sirena” I told her in my mind. “Is that what they call us here?” she teased.

I called her Asul because she doesn’t have a name. We became friends and played with the pearls she gathered from the oysters she ate. She only eats seaweeds and oysters, nothing with tail. I would bring my sungka and drop the pearls on its wooden ends. I taught her how to play this native game and with my swimming goggles and snorkel on, she would hold my hand as she showed me the yellow and blue lathered fishes swimming in the corals. My grandparents would worry at the time spent near the sea but I told them I met a friend there and they would be appeased.  Nobody minded me as I am an outcast, the city girl who refused to play and keeps to herself so I was free to swim with Asul, and how she swims so beautifully, so fluid and effortless, her tail elegantly dancing through the water. When I couldn’t keep up with her, I would swim on my back and watch the soft clouds float by, listening to her stories. I love hearing her adventures like the pink jellyfish with thin filaments that she swam with in Coron, the dangerous, blustery waves that almost crashed her near the cliffs of Batanes and the timid whalesharks  she observed in quiet Donsol.  

Asul had an acute sense of hearing and would swiftly swim away once anyone gets near us. She also heard their thoughts like she does mine. And this is why their kind was never discovered. But to my detriment, some kids curious about my solitary stance in the rocks often caught me talking to myself as Asul swiftly left, observing us from below the water. The cruel kids then branded me as their Sisa, heckling me as deranged, not only an outcast.

I once asked Asul why she chose me to see her. Or why her kind let them be seen my humans. After taking her turn at sungka, dropping the tiny seashells on the holes, she replied “Because you love the ocean, I know, I’ve heard it” I looked at her, my eyes searched her azure eyes. Is that why? Or maybe she was amused. Maybe she has watched me often lying on the sand, face down, arms tucked my chest and my legs pointed to the sea, anticipating the gregarious waves to sweep me to shore. I would often fantasize being a mermaid, wishing I could swim the depths of the sea and be overwhelmed by the silence of the underwater world . No screams, no crashes, just plain serenity. Maybe Asul had read my mind.

The summer was ending and I was ecstatic about my new friend, one I could anticipate playing with every summer. But she handed me grave news. She would be leaving soon. Her family has had enough of the loud destruction they had to endure from the humans, aghast at the slaughter they have seen. Asul recalled the scores of dead fish that often floated by after each attack, the blood on their gills and the destruction of precious corals where sea animals thrived on. She disliked the bombardment on her home with rocks sometimes crashing at them. Dynamite fishing, I thought. Taytay abhorred these practices and dissuaded the other fishermen from abusing the sea. But some never learned and the amount of fish began to dwindle.  They had to go farther into the ocean to cast their nets like Taytay did the day he went missing.

Saddened, I cried at the cruelty of fate. I’m losing a friend. But Asul softly held my hand then pressed one of the biggest gold hued pearl I’ve seen. She said it was a gift, a reminder of our friendship.  I held it in my hands, watching it catch the light and gape at its smooth perfection. Then I remembered something I could give her and told her to wait. I scampered back to the hut, hid my pearl inside the pocket of my rust-colored jacket, and rustled through my toys then I went back to the rocks. Other kids amused by my fast retreat, called out “Hey Sisa, what’s the rush?” and laughed. Heaving from the run, I gave her a small glass colored sphere with a colored strip embedded inside. Asul looked at it, amazed by this ordinary marble. “It’s so beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like this in the ocean” she gushed “ We call it our glass pearl” I said proudly. She hugged me and I felt the surprising coolness of her textured skin and inhaled the scent of seaweed on her hair. I would often remember that when I think of her. Asul left at sunset, waving goodbye as the last rays of the sun diminished in the sky. I was inconsolable that night and my grandparents didn’t know why.

The coast guards have arrived, muscled men in deep orange shirts, quietly determined to fight the towering waves and scour the islands for Taytay.  Brave men, I thought. I hope they find Taytay fast. Hours passed and some people were muttering that no one could have survived at sea that long, that it was a miracle if he was found. I glared at them for losing hope as I walked the slippery slope of hope and hopelessness. I slid closer to Naynay and held her hand tightly. Then I heard the roar of a rubber boat, from afar it looked like a toy bobbing up and down the unsteady waves, then I saw a figure weakly standing and waving his hands. The rain began to pour and the visibility began to worsen. Then I recognized him. Taytay! I ran to the shore, tearing away my umbrella and screamed with jubilation. Naynay made the sign of the cross and sighed her relief.

Taytay was assisted out of the boat, drenched, shivering and severely dehydrated. His hands and feet crumpled by the sea. He told me that he hanged on his boat as the waves overpowered it, he didn’t let go even if the frightening darkness of the ocean engulfed him at night. And when all had left us alone, he ushered me to come sit beside him. ” I didn’t tell them but I had a friend with me”, he whispered to my ear. “Taytay, come on!” I exclaimed blaming his hallucination to fatigue and hunger. He had been at sea too long, it was muddling his senses. I was just glad that he made it. Digging inside his wet pocket, he smiled then looked at me. “She even gave me this” he said and opened his wrinkled palm, a marble tumbled to the floor.