'TWAS BRILLIG

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
And mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
—Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

"BEWARE OF THE kapre, my son."

Juanito jumped up on the carabao's back. Rizal sprang
forward for the accustomed trot but the boy pulled back his rope.
Rizal snorted. Juanito turned to his mother standing at the foot of
the bamboo stairs.
"Beware of that abominable creature," she said.
"I would like to meet the kapre," Juanito said.
"Don't say that, Juanito! "
"I'm not afraid."
"He will harm you—maybe eat you up! " she gasped and
crossed herself, at the same time muttering a prayer in pidgin
Spanish.
"I'll meet him one day. Maybe cut off his arm. Or kill him.
Then no more monster will terrorize this barrio."
"Don't be silly. You talk just like your father did. Bless his
soul. " She crossed herself again.
"Father was a brave man."
"Brave! " she spat out the word, her mouth twisted. "Brave
indeed! He went away to capture a tikbalang, but until now he has
not returned. You were only a boy—" She began to cry. "Maybe
I'll have better luck with the kapre—"
 "Stop that kind of talk, Juanito! The kapre is more terrible
than any tikbalang. Now go and take your bull to pasture. Don't
go far. There is danger beyond those hills. "
Juanito struck the side of the carabao with the end of the rope.
Rizal lunged forward and trotted awkwardly towards the brook.
The sun was now high in the east. It rose amid a dizzy burst
of colors as the birds in the trees on the hilltops twittered the first
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

hours of the sunrise. It was April.

Juanito drove the carabao to the other side of the brook. The
bull moved leisurely, feeding on the grass that still glittered with
summer dew. Rizal was more than a work animal for Juanito and
his mother. The lumbering bull had been his faithful companion
since his father left to capture a tikbalang.
The whole barrio knew why the carabao had been named
Rizal. He was born on December 30, the day the national hero
was executed by the Spaniards. It was colored red on the calendar
and that meant it was an important day sonwbody born on that
day, Juanito's father thought, must be important, too, even if it
was only a carabao. When old man Agaton, the herbolario, heard
about the young bull's name, he was scandalized and said that
calling a carabao Rizal was both unpatriotic and blasphemous. "I
hope your next animal will not be born on November 30," he said,
chewing on a roll of tobacco. "Otherwise, you will have a carabao
named Bonifacio. Rizal and Bonifacio together in this little
barangay would be too much."
Juanito's father laughed. Juanito laughed, too, although he
did not understand anything. He was only five years old.
Now Juanito was ten and Rizal was five. Rizal must be the biggest
bull in the barrio and Juanito was proud of that. He would not mind if
Bonifacio would never be born at all.
Juanito thought of the kapre. This giant was different from
the kapre old people used to know. The kapre of the old days was
monstrous all right—hairy body, hairy limbs, claws, fangs and
all— but this new one seemed to be twice his size and thrice his
terror. While the kapre of old could be seen in a summer twilight
perched on the highest branch of a mango tree and smoking his
king-size Ilocano cigar, the new kapre could be accidentally
sighted seated yoga-style beside a telegraph post on the highway
to the northern towns. But most often, unsuspecting barrio folk
would see him standing on top of the obelisk of the war memorial
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

enthusiastic Japanese tourists had built on one of the hills to the

west. The monster would invariably be waving the flag of an
unknown republic. One young man, a college drop-out, swore the
flag was the flag of the United Nations. Another young man who
left college when he lost his volleyball scholarship said the flag
was the flag of the Olympiad. Old man Agaton snarled at the two
illiterates, "Don't be stupid. There are no such countries! "
Neither Juanito nor his mother had seen the kapre. But news
of recent strange happenings became more and more frequent in
12: NIGHT MARES

the tuba stores. Two days ago, the widow Consolacion

complained early in the morning that her vegetable patch looked
as if fifty bulls had staged a stampede there the night before. Mr.
Macasilhig, the retired postman, reported to the barangay captain
that four of his goats, which he had raised with the help of a KKK
loan, were missing. Another man, the father of a COCOFED
scholar at Silliman University, announced that somebody had
been gathering his young coconuts during the night.
"It must be those young men on their way home from a dance
or a serenade," the barangay captain said tentatively, trying to
steer away from any fairy tale. He was a very modern man who
did not believe in the Incredible Hulk.
"Those young men, my nephew included," said the coconut
grower, "were quite drunk. Not one of them could gather coconuts
in the dark. Only nuts could do that."
"Then it must be the NPAs. Or maybe some hungry refugees
from Kampuchea. Or maybe some fraternity neophytes on
vacation. I have heard that those fraternity initiation rites can be
most daring."
"No, sir," said Mr. Macasilhig, this time a little impatiently.
"It is not some Japanese stragglers either. It is the kapre! Who else
would steal four goats at a time and gather all the tender ipil-ipil
tops around my house? Goat meat and ipil-ipil leaves are very
nutritious, you know. Soon that monster will be devouring our
children to go with the ipil-ipil leaves."
"Your goats must have eaten the ipil-ipil tops before they
disappeared," the barangay captain said, marveling at his logic.
"My trees are twenty feet tall," Mr. Macasilhig said and went
home, murmuring.

JUANITO DROVE Rizal towards old Agaton's little house

at the foot of the first hill to the west. The herbolario was
gathering dry leaves from some nameless plants in his parched
13: NIGHT MARES

backyard. Juanito tethered the carabao to an old tree stump and

walked slowly towards the barrio's medicine man.
The boy cleared his throat twice. Old man Agaton bolted
upright.
"Who are you?" he screeched, shading his eyes from the
glare of the morning sun.
"It's me, Lolo Agaton. Juanito—"
"Ahaha! It's Juanito all right. It's the tikbalang hunter's son
all right. Does your mother have back pains again?"
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

"No, Lolo Agaton. I came for something else. "

"What is it, young man? You are too young to ask for a love
potion. Do you have a girl already, ha, Juanito?"
"No, Lolo Agaton."
"Are you sick?"
"No, Lolo Agaton."
"Then what is it you want?"
"Tell me more about the kapre."
"It's too early to talk about monsters. Have you had break-
"Yes, Lolo Agaton."
"Come to the house."
"No, Lolo Agaton. Rizal might get loose and run to the
brook." He looked at the sun. "It's getting hot."
"Ah—Rizal, your famous carabao," the old man was almost
screeching. "Until now that animal's name bothers me. "
"Was Dr. Jose Rizal a friend of yours?"
"Of course not!" the medicine man shot back
contemptuously. "I am not that old. I was born after the
Revolution." "I see. But why—"
"If you don't want to come into my house, perhaps you would
allow me to sit on my stairs. I am tired."
The old man hurriedly bundled the dried leaves he had
gathered and limped half-way around his hut to the low stairs in
front. Juanito followed him, careful not to step on any herb or
vine, all the while fighting the urge to imitate the old man's limp.
The door of the hut was narrow but from the ground Juanito could
see gnarled twigs with their fruit dangling from the wall. Among
them were wild boar tusks. A pair of brown antlers was nailed on
a roughly hewn molave post. Above the antlers was a black
wooden image of an unknown saint.
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

Old man Agaton sat on the lowest step of the bamboo stairs.
He was breathing hard. He took out of his side pocket a knot of
chewing tobacco and popped it into his mouth. Juanito watched
him move his jaws like an old goat munching a delicious leaf.
They were silent for a moment.
"What does the kapre look like?" Juanito tried not to sound
impatient.
"Ah—the kapre," the old man stopped chewing his cud. "Let
me see. He is extremely ugly."
"I know that. I mean—I—is it true that he is bigger
than—" "He is a giant."
16: NIGHT MARES

"Have you seen hirn9 "

"Yes."
"You have! How many times?"
"Three."
"When was the last one?"
"Two days ago."
"Were you afraid?"
"No."
"Did he see you?"
"No."
"Tell me where I can find hiní."
"What? Are you crazy?"
"No, Lolo Agaton," said Juanito. "I am not crazy. And I am
not afraid."
"You sound just like your father. The day before he sought
out the tikbalang in those mountains, he came here and convinced
me how brave he was. Well, young man—you cannot convince

"I am not my father," Juanito said, his impatience showing

now. "The kapre is quite different from the tikbalang. And who
can tell for sure that my father is dead? One of these days he will
surprise all of us by coming home dragging with him the tamest
tikbalang. "
"Consuelo de bobo," old man Agaton whispered solemnly.
"What's that you said?"
"Oh, nothing. I should say that the mere sight of the kapre is
enough to make you— and your crazy carabao—run home to
your mother. "
"I'll drive him away from this place. I'll cut off his arm—or
ear—or little finger. If I'm lucky, I might even kill him."
"Heeheeheehee! " old man Agaton screeched in amusement.
17: NIGHT MARES

"I'll kill the kapre! "

"So you want to play hero, eh, Juanito? I can see that you
are not quite a man yet. Why, you are just a little boy—"
"I am a man! I am ten years old!"
''Heeheehee! A man at ten years—" The herbolario slapped
his thighs in malicious glee until his throat clogged in a fit of
coughing. "Uh' Uh! Uh"'
"Uh! Uh! Uh! " Juanito imitated the old man. "That's what
you get for making fun of me."
"He wants to kill the kapre! Heeheehee! Why, it's—Uh! Uh!
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

"Uh! Uh! Uh! " echoed Juanito.

Old man Agaton leaped to his feet with surprising spryness.
He was breathing hard again, the strain of coughing still in his
chest.
"All right, crazy boy. I will tell you where to find the kapre.
" "You will? Ay salamat! "
"Yes. Only because you made me laugh."
The herbolario took Juanito's hand and led him to the top of
the low hill. The ascent did not take much time. Juanito expected
the old man to cough again, but he did not. It was Juanito who
struggled with his breath.
They stood on the hilltop for a moment without saying
anything. The sun was hotter but Juanito was not bothered at all
for a soft wind from the mountains washed his face.
They looked at the line of hills to the west. The hills were
covered with cogon grass. Scrawny trees were irregularly
distributed on their peaks and sides. Conspicuous in the brownish
green topography was the grey Japanese memorial on the
shoulder of the biggest hill. Beyond loomed the dark outline of
the mountains.
"There!" the old man gestured towards the mountains with a
sweep of his right arm. "The kapre lives somewhere there but I
don't know which peak."
"How can—how can I find him?" Juanito stammered, awed
by the hugeness of the geography in front of him.
"Wait for him to come down. He uses the same path at the
foot of the mountain range. "
"Oh—"
"Are you afraid?"
NOV
"But know this, Juanito. This monster is not the usual kapre.
I don't know where he came from. Definitely, this kapre is not
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

pure Filipino in stock. He is neither Malaysian nor Indonesian—

"Is he a mestizo?"
"Apparently he is. His skin is quite fair and his hair is
somewhat brownish."
"Probably his father—or mother—is an American or a
Spaniard," Juanito ventured to explain. "Is there an American or
Spanish kapre, Lolo Agaton?"
"Of course. Haven't you heard of the ogre Jack found at the
top of his beanstalk? That was an American kapre. Or was it
English? But I should say this—our kapre is a mestizo three times
20: NIGHT MARES

or four times over. It seems there is something Iranian or Arabic

in him, too."

"Well, genies always come from the Middle East."

Juanito fell silent. This type of talk was becoming too
intellectual. He had heard a lot of tales about giants—some
coming out of bottles, some one-eyed or three-eyed—but the only
east he knew was the direction where the sun rose every morning.
He did not know there was one in the middle.
"Give me an amulet, something that will make me invisible."
"Heeheehee! I thought you were brave boy. Brave men—and
boys—do not use amulets."
"But it's not fair to face him squarely. He's a giant, you see.
I'm only a little boy."
"You said you were a man."

"Well, I'm only a little man."

"What's wrong with that? Have you forgotten David and
Goliath?"
"David and Goliath. Now I know! I need a slingshot! "
"Maybe."
"Will holy water or a crucifix or rosary beads drive him

"If he is part Spaniard, chances are he is a Catholic. No, he

won't be afraid of holy water—or even the bishop himself. "
"But suppose he is a Protestant?"
"Protestants are indifferent to holy water and crucifixes and
rosary beads—and even bishops."
"I think he is real scary, Lolo Agaton," Juanito said, his voice
barely audible.
"Are you afraid?"
21: NIGHT MARES

"Oh, no, no! " Juanito recovered his poise. "Do I need a
"If you want to cut off the kapre's arm or head, you need
more than a knife. The bigger the blade, the better."
"I'll use my father's espading."
"No weapon can harm him unless it is an unorthodox one."
"1 don't believe you. What is an unorthodox weapon?" "I
think this joke is going too far, Juanito," the old man suddenly
became serious. "Let's go back to the house. I am thirsty. Go, untie
your carabao and go home. Your mother must be wondering
where you are."
The old man limped his way down the low hill.
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

"But this is no joke, Lolo Agaton! I want to go and drive the

kapre away. Or kill him outright."
THE BOY LEFT old man Agaton chewing tobacco in front
of his house and rode Rizal back to the brook. It was time for both
carabao and boy to have their bath. Juanito tied Rizal's rope tightly
to a low branch hanging over the bull's waterhole.
He took off his clothes and joined the carabao in the cool
water. He swam underwater, his eyes wide, trying to mark the
movements of medium-size tilapia among the fine, swaying roots
of floating water hyacinths.
The sun was directly above his head. He put on his clothes
again and walked home. He was hungry.
"Where have you been?" his mother called out from the
kitchen. "Feeding your carabao wouldn't take the whole morning.
There is so much -to do in the house. The roof needs some repairs.
Let us not wait for the rains—"
"I saw old man Agaton."
Juanito's mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands
with her skirt.
"You saw the herbolario? What for?"
"I wanted to know more about the kapre."
"Oh, God," the woman said in desperation. "Let's not talk
about that monster. Aren't you hungry? Now go and eat your
lunch. And don't complain about the food. I have eaten. I had no
time to wait for you."
Juanito went to the kitchen that was crowded with a clay
stove, a little dining table, a big water jar beside the elevated dish
rack for tin plates and cheap drinking glasses, and an old bamboo
cupboard.
The table was set for his midday meal of rice and vegetables.
Juanito looked at the tin plates without interest. Beside the bowl
of overcooked green leaves was a jar of bagoong. The jar actually
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

used to be a jar of Nescafe. In fact the paper label was still on it,
proclaiming to all the world that it was decaffeinated. Juanito
opened it and the air froze with the repugnant but somehow
appetizing smell of tiny salted fish.
Juanito squirmed inwardly. His hunger did not deserve this
daily diet of plain rice and overcooked leaves and stinking
bagoong.
Soon his mother was standing behind him. "What's wrong
with the food?" She was screeching, too, like old man Agaton.
"What did you expect me to prepare for you—queso de bola,
 24: NIGHT MARES

arroz valenciana and chorizo Bilbao? Don Joaquin Montinola

himself did not eat these things every day. Or would you prefer
food fit for the American ambassador?"
Juanito was always amused when his mother talked about
the food rich people and foreigners ate. He wondered if a Spaniard
or an American would dare eat plain rice and alugbati leaves and
bagoong—yes, bagoong!
"Wash the dishes when you are through," his mother said and left the kitchen
to continue her interminable sewing. Before the day ended, she would be
complaining of a backache.
 25: NIGHT MARES

Juanito ate with his fingers, but his mouth tasted nothing. He was thinking
of the kapre again. His mother continued her screeching but he was not listening
to her. He was thinking of the kapre and how to destroy him, or at least stop him
from his periodic visits to the barrio. He could not understand why old man
Agaton refused to give him an amulet.
The kapre seemed to be immune to the usual talisman like holy water
and crucifixes and rosary beads. Only infidel monsters would be repelled
by sacramentals and this hybrid kapre seemed to be a believer.
What did old man Agaton mean when he said that only an unorthodox
weapon could destroy this unorthodox monster? For one thing, what did
unorthodox mean? This was another word for intellectuals.
Juanito scooped a spoonful of bagoong into a tin plate.
The fishy smell intensified and amid the vague images of queso de bola
and arroz valenciana and chorizo Bilbao, the smell was all wrong. A
thought suddenly ripened in Juanito's mind and he became more excited.
He closed the glass jar tight. He had finished 1his meal.
He took out of its hiding place behind the cupboard his father's
espading. His father used to be a sakada in a sugar plantation in La Carlota,
Negros Occidental. The espading was the very sharp memento of that
chapter in his life. He decided to become a farmer and a tikbalang hunter
only after he had married Juanito's mother. The espading, an almost
humorous word corrupted from the Spanish espada, was a scimitar-like
blade used to cut sugar cane. Its tip was sharply curved so that the sakada
could conveniently reach with it a cane stalk.
After he had washed the dishes, Juanito sharpened the blade. The thin,
tingling sound .of the metal against the honing stone thrilled him and he
imagined himself brandishing the blade as the
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

kapre slowly advanced towards him, the earth shaking beneath

their feet.
The rhythmic sound of metal against stone must have
bothered his mother for she appeared in the door.
"What—what—why is your father's blade with you,
Juanito?" "I'll look for the kapre this very afternoon," Juanito said
without pausing from his work.
The woman raised her hands to her head and half-wailing,
exclaimed, "Maria santissima! No, no, Juanito! Don't go!"
"I have to go. Everybody is afraid of the kapre. I am not."
"Don't go! I lost your father to the horrid tikbalang—and the
tikbalang is nothing more than an enchanted horse. I don't want
to lose you to that—that—"
"It's only a kapre, Mother," Juanito stopped his work and
stood up. The espading shone in his hand.
Juanito prepared for the momentous trip of his life as his
mother watched desperately. He wrapped the espading in a jute
sack and slung his slingshot around his neck. Putting on a wide
buri hat, he was ready to go. The sun was now on the western side
of the roof.
His mother was crying louder, "No, no, my son! Don't go! "
"But I have to go, Mother."
"If you have to go," she said between sobs, "then put this
around your neck, not that useless slingshot."
She handed to Juanito her ancient glass rosary beads now
darkened by a thousand and one fingerings as she mumbled each
ave maria before she went to sleep.
"No, Mother," Juanito said, waving his hand. "The kapre is
not repelled by that. Maybe he is a Catholic."
"What would protect you from him? Not that slingshot, not
that espading! No weapon can destroy evil except something
blessed by the Church."
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

"Yes, there is something that will drive that monster away,"

Juanito exclaimed with feverish excitement. And unwrapping the
blade, Juanito placed the Nescafe jar inside the sack and wrapped
the espading in it again. He was ready to go.
"Beware of the kapre, my son," was all Juanito's mother
could say. She crossed herself and mumbled a prayer in pidgin
Spanish.

HOURS LATER, Rizal was descending the last hill toward

the west. On the carabao's back, Juanito looked at the dark
28: NIGHT MARES

mountain range that was beginning to gather fog. Between the last
hill and the foot of the middle peak was a little valley, probably
half a kilometer wide. The path cutting the valley was clearly
seldom trodden. Tall grass tickled the bull's sides as Rizal trotted
heavily. Juanito held the carabao's rope tight and his heart beat
faster and cold sweat began to trickle down his temples and nape.
The espading wrapped in the sack was laid cross-wise on Juanito's
lap. The jar of bagoong bulged just as his left pocket bulged with
roundish pebbles for the slingshot. The slingshot's handle, a Y-
shaped guava branch hanging on his neck in the manner of a
bishop's pectoral cross, knocked against his ribs as Rizal trotted
faster. The bull had smelled brook water at the edge of the valley
in the shadow of the middle peak.
Soon the peak's shadow would cover the whole valley.
Juanito glanced at the sun behind a thin cumulus cloud above the
smaller peak to his right. He remembered his mother. She must
have finished cooking the coming evening's rice. Right now, she
must be broiling dried mudfish to go with the rice. He pictured
her bending over the stove, her rosary beads dangling from her
neck and smudged with soot and ashes, the dried mudfish sizzling
over the embers of ipil-ipil wood. He felt hungry and he thought
of the jar of bagoong inside the rolled sack around the blade on
his lap.
Suddenly, Rizal stopped. His ears stiffened and bent towards
the edge of the valley. Above the low sound of brook water
flowing slowly was the grotesque outgribing of strange animals.
It must be the raths, freak wild pigs quarreling over succulent
roots under the ferns on the bank of the brook. They were
horridlooking creatures but quite harmless. Juanito kicked Rizal's
side and the carabao moved on.
At last carabao and boy were at the brook. A cold wind blew
from the forest of low trees on the other side of the brook.
29: NIGHT MARES

Rizal dashed towards the water. He was extremely thirsty.

But like his little master Juanito, he was very careful, all ears for
any danger lurking behind the knotted vines and crooked
branches. The carabao sniffed the water, and sensing that it was
safe, drank noisily.
A weird hissing ensued from the other side of the brook.
Rizal stepped back snorting, and Juanito almost fell off the bull's
back into the shallow water. On the mossy opposite bank slithered
sinister-looking creatures—half-snake and half-lizard—and like
many detached tentacles, gyred and disappeared into the tangled
greenerv. The toves! Juanito knew them from the stories of old
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

rattan-gatherers. The slithy creatures were uglier than any known

reptile, but like the raths, they were harmless.
Juanito kicked Rizal's side. The carabao refused to wade
across the brook. He pawed the soft ground and pointed his nose
towards the forest. He smelled something too subtle for Juanito's
nostrils. His ears stiffened again, trying to catch every bit of sound
from opposite the brook.
Then a thumping sound came from the forest and it seemed
the earth shook. The toves hissed shrillÿ from their lairs. Rizal
bellowed and moved back into the safety of the grassy valley.
Juanito held his breath, one hand tight around the handle of his
slingshot.
And from the forest of low trees emerged •the kapre, his
presence disturbing the vicinity as would the coming of a tornado.
The gross creature found his way by brushing the trees aside.
Animals from all directions squeaked or squawked. He was not
waving any flag, Juanito curiously noted. A chorus of dull, hollow
quacks came from the valley. Juanito did not know what beasts
emitted that racket. They sounded like huge but infirm ducks.
Rizal bellowed again and stepped farther backwards.
Instinctively, bull and boy found the little valley safer territory.
They waited for the enemy to cross the brook, the undeclared
boundary between peril and safety.
The kapre had come out fully from the thicket. He stepped
over the brook and presently stood in front of Juanito and his bull.
The giant burbled.
Juanito stared at the immense figure in front of him. The
kapre was as tall as the obelisk of the Japanese memorial.
Strangely, his face was not so ugly as he had expected; had it been
a human being's, it would have been handsome in a macho
manner. The kapre was bearded and his head was crowned with
what could be the ultimate in afro hairdo. His eyes were brown
like a cow's. His body, though generously covered with brownish
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

hair, was quite fair in spite of an evident suntan. He was almost

totally naked. His only claim to male modesty was his jockey
briefs printed with stars and stripes in psychedelic red, white, and
blue.
"Hohohoho! " the kapre thundered. "I see a human boy in
front of me. Yum! Yum! Yum! And there is a carabao to go with
him."
"Go away! Leave us alone! Go away!" Juanito shouted, his
clenched fist pumping the air.
"Hohohoho! "
The kapre executed two steps and bent downwards, his right
hand poised to pick up the boy from the carabao's back. Juanito
jumped into the grass, the espading wrapped in the sack tight
under his arm. He could feel the wind as the monster closed his
hand and caught nothing but the buri hat.
Juanito and the carabao ran in opposite directions. For a
short moment, the kapre could not decide which enemy to pursue.
He burbled louder, gnashed his fangs, and kicked the earth.
Juanito found himself in a clearing as wide as a baseball
diamond. The grass here was short as if it had been faithfully
mowed every day. Before he could find out the explanation for
this peculiar landscape, he heard the dull, hollow quacking he had
heard earlier. The eerie noise came from a group of extremely
strangelooking fowls huddled together under the bushes in one
corner of the clearing. The borogoves! Juanito recognized them
right away. The mimsy fowls had the semblance of thin turkeys
that molted altogether in one sitting. Their loose skin hung and
instead of feathers, they had around their bodies grey stubble
which stood erect like spines.
The kapre decided that a boy was a more appetizing morsel
than a carabao. Juanito did not look but he could hear him coming.
Juanito put on the ground the sack-wrapped espading and readied
his slingshot.
The giant came in full view, his hairy hulk too massive to be
missed by the roundish pebble of the sling. Juanito stretched out
the sling's rubbers as far as they could and let go the pebble
aimed at the bulge between the monster's legs. The pebble
whizzed beautifully in the air and hit a star on the kapre's scanty
garment.
The borogoves quacked their ugly symphony as the kapre
screamed at the top of his voice, at the same time holding his
front. The multidecibeled utterance of pain shot through the
atmosphere and dissolved the sheer cumulus clouds into a light
shower on the mountaintops. Furious now, the maxome monster
stamped his feet and the valley and the forest and the
mountainsides quaked. Juanito could hear the tumtum nuts fall to
the ground with a thud nearby.
"Foul! " the kapre roared. "You hit me below the belt. That
is not allowed! "
"You have no belt!" Juanito shouted back. He was ready with
the second pebble. He knew he could not miss the kapre's right
eye. He stretched out the sling's rubbers for the perfect target, but
to his frustration, one of them snapped near the Yshaped handle.
The slingshot was useless now. He threw the ruined
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

weapon into the grass and hurriedly emptied his pocket of the
pebbles.
Then he unwrapped the espading and planted his bare feet
firmly on the ground. The vorpal blade shone in the air as the
kapre advanced, his afro like a nest of wires, his fangs gleaming
and dripping with his overflowing digestive juices.
The kapre bent downwards to catch his little foe. The boy
held the espading with both hands and with all his strength struck
at the monster's wrist. The blade whizzed neatly as if it had hit
nothing. The hand dropped into the grass but no blood gushed out
of the stump. Before the boy could strike again, the kapre casually
picked up his severed hand with his left and returned it to its place.
The hand joined its stump as fast and as simply as that.
"Hohohoho! " the kapre laughed in amusement. "No weapon
can harm me, little boy! "
Juanito ran to the edge of the clearing where tall reeds grew.
He could not fight this monster in an open field as bare as a
baseball diamond.
The kapre bent low to look for Juanito under the reeds. He
noisily sniffed the air and the tall grass bowed towards him.
Juanito held his breath. The monster was so near that he
could feel the vibrations of the monster's guttural exhalation. In a
flash, he jumped out of his hiding place and, his blade flashing,
struck at the monster's left side. The kapre howled hideously and
straightened his body. He stepped back into the clearing,
clutching his side.
The espading left a long, fatal gash on the monster's side.
Juanito expected blood to burst forth and the kapre's innards
spilling out with it. But there came out neither blood nor snaky
coils of oversized intestines. Instead, gold and silver coins rolled
out of the kapre's wound and fell tinkling to the ground.
Juanito was stunned as he watched the spectacle of falling
precious metals. The kapre looked terribly spent. He was no
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

longer grimacing in pain. Juanito imagined the monster as a huge

jute sack slashed on one side and was now being emptied of its
contents.
With supreme effort, the kåpre bent to the ground and picked
up a handful of the coins that had piled at his feet and returned
them into the hollow of his body, He repeated this faster and faster
until he seemed to have recoVered his strength. He was laughing
now.
"Hohohoho!" he roared, his right hand tracing downwards
24: NIGHT MARES

the gash on his side. Juanito's eyes bulged in disbelief as the kapre
slid his hand upwards as if zipping up a jacket.
The deep gash disappeared and the kapre was back to his
normal, ferocious self. He poised both hands to get hold of his
little challenger. Juanito moved back, still holding the blade. He
was trembling all over, aware of the uselessness of any weapon
against this accursed creature.
The monster slowly lowered his hands, the fingers curved
like claws. But before those hands could get the boy, Rizal
materialized from the tall grass, galumphing heavily with the tips
of his horns shining in the late afternoon sun.
Bellowing deeply, the carabao ran into the kapre's right leg
and butted with all his weight concentrated in his head and horns.
Unprepared for this attack, the kapre lost his balance and fell
down, crashing like a century-old molave. The valley shook again
and the borogoves quacked miserably under the bushes.
Juanito remembered the jar of bagoong. Frantically, he
looked for the jute sack. Before the kapre could rise, Juanito was
upon him with the jar open in his right hand. His left hand was
holding the espading.
Juanito shook the jar and sprinkled its contents into the
kapre's face, then on his body and limbs. The air thickened with
the smell of rotten salted fish. The kapre screamed and writhed as
if the fishy sauce had been a jar of hydrochloric acid sprinkled on
his person.
"No! No!" the kapre howled in terrible pain. "Away with that
damned thing! "
Juanito was laughing now. So it was only this simple
bagoong that could down the most abominable of monsters. No
amulet could be better. He shook the jar again like a censer until
it was finally emptied.
 The kapre tried to stand up but could not. He sat on the
ground, desperately wiping the bits of rotten fish off his cheeks
and chest and arms.
Juanito gripped the espading tightly with both hands and
faced the giant. "Aieee! " he shouted like a karate champion. "I'll
cut off your head, you monster! "
"No! No! No! " the kapre cried and covered his face with his
hands. The borogoves echoed his cry. Juanito laughed again.
"Aieee!" Juanito raised the espading to strike. To his utter
disbelief, the kapre made the sign of the cross.
Juanito's blade froze in the air. So the kapre was a believer
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

all right. And a Catholic at that. Juanito could not possibly cut off
the head of a fellow Catholic even if this one was a monster. What
would his devout mother say?
"Well, I won't cut off your head," Juanito said, making his
voice as fearful as possible. "You have to thank your guardian
angel for that. You have to promise never to bother us anymore."
"Thank you, thank you, Master Juanito. I promise never to come
back. Cross my heart. Oh, I can't breathe! Please, don't use that
poison again. The whole valley is polluted. My tribe can never be
immune to that. " He coughed. "May I go now?"
"Yes, but I must have proof that you have truly surrendered.
You see, the victor must bring home a trophy. How would the
people believe me? Rizal cannot talk. I have to bring home
something that belongs to you. A little finger perhaps—"
"No, no!" the giant cried again. "Please, I don't want to be
mutilated. I have nothing to do with the Yakuza. Everything I have
is precious to me."
"Would you like to have another jar of bagoong?" Juanito
asked and pretended to be searching for something inside the jute
sack.
"No, no, enough of your poison! " the giant cried louder. "If
you wish, you may have my jockey briefs." And the kapre
proceeded to take off his meager covering.
"No, no, no!" It was Juanito who was protesting now. "I have
seen enough of you.".
The kapre pulled back his elastic band to its place. At last he
said, "Why don't you take a sample of my hair? I think this hairdo
is now passé." At the same time he plucked a handful of his afro
and gave it to his little conqueror.
THE SUN WAS setting when Rizal and Juanito reached the
last hill before home. Juanito looked back for a last glimpse of the
dark mountain range. He wondered where the kapre was now. The
 'TWAS BRILLIG:

obelisk of the Japanese memorial on the shoulder of the biggest

hill looked straight and tall. He tried to imagine the kapre standing
there waving the flag of an unknown country.
Suddenly, Juanito saw a multitude of people gathering at the
foot of the hill. It was practically the whole barrio. Juanito saw his
mother beside old man Agaton. In the crowd of men, women, and
children and dogs, he could make out the widow Consolacion, Mr.
Macasilhig, and the barangay captain.
"My son is back! " Juanito heard his mother.
20: NIGHT MARES

Juanito raised the kapre's brownish mass of hair that looked

like a crow's nest of straw and tiny, twisted twigs.
"I have vanquished the kapre!" he shouted in triumph. ' 'He
left after he had promised never to return. Here is his hair' " A
thunderous, frabjous shout enveloped the hill.
"Mabuhay! Mabuhay! Mabuhay!" the shout was
overpowering. "Long live Juanito!"
Juanito jumped off Rizal's back and ran down the hill. His
right hand held the espading and his left held aloft the kapre's hair.
Rizal was not interested in this type of welcome. He ran down the
hill, too, and galumphed towards the brook.
Juanito's mother embraced the beaming little hero. "Oh,
my boy! My boy! "
"Mabuhay! " old man Agaton shouted and coughed.
"Callooh! Callay! " the crowd cheered.
Meanwhile, in his waterhole, Rizal was thinking: "Why are
they so excited? After all, it was I who downed the kapre! "
 MOTHER AND CHILD

EVERYBODY WAS talking about Cardo's luck. He had

married the most beautiful girl in the barrio.
Cardo was amused by all this talk. It was not luck that made
him win the lovely Diday. He would like to believe that Diday and
he deserved each other. They loved each other and luck had
nothing to do with that. Diday was beautiful, yes, but he was also
goodlooking and able-bodied. Diday had been the barrio queen
once; he had been the barrio wrestling champion not only once
but thrice. During the rice festival, the wrestling matches under
the mango trees could draw as many spectators as the carabao
races in the fields.
To top it all, Cardo was a successful farmer. The little piece
of land his father had left him yielded a good harvest of rice and
corn and various fruits and vegetables.
Cardo and Diday were married in December, on the last day
of the rice festival. In February, when Diday was beginning to feel
something pulsing in her womb, she asked for green santol. Cardo
scoured the backyards of three barrios to find the fruit.
Indeed, luck had nothing to do with Cardo's marriage. For the
lovely Diday died when she delivered Cardo's child.
Cardo's grief was beyond measure. He shook the wall in
despair when Diday's mother and sisters laid his wife's body in a
simple casket he himself had made. Life had no more meaning
and, at least twice, he entertained thoughts of killing himself to
join Diday in her grave in the town cemetery seven kilometers
away.
Life must go on, his friends and relatives said, especially now
that he had a child. He had to live if only for its sake. The child
was a girl and Cardo called her Marita. Marita was a beautiful
girl. She had her mother's eyes and mouth and her father's
brownness.
Diday's mother and youngest sister stayed in Cardo's house to
take care of the baby. There was enough goat milk to make Marita
healthy and strong.
After two months, Cardo insisted that he was ready to take
care of the child by himself. His in-laws had their own home to
worry about.