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1. minamahal kong estranghero
Ibarra had been admiring the younger pilot’s calm and collected demeanor (and only that, despite what María Clara’s smirks insinuated) the entire boatride, so he would be lying if he said he did not take pride in getting to save the man from the crocodile in the waters, effectively stabbing the predator in its stomach and ensuring at least a bit of gratitude from him.
He would also be lying, then, if he claimed his face did not redden like a ripening apple when the boatman’s white camisa, once they emerged from the water, had become so transparent that it did not at all leave much to the imagination, and María Clara would vehemently protest if Ibarra did not, then, admit that the apple his face can be likened to grew quite sweeter when the pilot spoke, raspy and deep, “pinagkakautangan ko sa inyo ang aking buhay.”
All Ibarra could manage to say, whilst pointedly avoiding even a glance at the pilot’s muscled form, was, “tila ay masyadong delikado ang iyong mga kagagawan,” then, desperately trying to maintain his air of coolness, “huwag po ninyong ipagpatuloy ang ganiyang panunukso.”
The pilot nodded, and before Ibarra could back out, he swiftly bowed, took the boatman’s hand, and placed a gentle kiss on one of his long fingers, soft lips meeting calloused hands. Ibarra looked up, “ano po pala ang inyong pangalan?”
The man shyly looked away, then cleared his throat before replying, “Elías.”
They remained like that for enough of a moment to consider it awkward, so Ibarra coughed suddenly and got up. Once he did, Elías gave him a short bow, imparting both politeness and gratitude once more, before then making his exit.
Ibarra bid him farewell, then looked back to the boat, where, thankfully, nobody else seemed to have witnessed their unseemly exchange — nobody but, of course, María Clara.
As Ibarra took his place beside her, she whispered teasingly, “nagtataka sila Sinang kung saan galing ang biglang pagmumutla ng piloto sa kaniyang pag-alis,”
He blushed, “paasa ka naman, María. Mas malamang na ang nakita lang na namumulang mukha ni Sinang ay ako, pagtapos nang aking nakakahiyang aksyon. Sino pa ba akong magpahiwatig kay Elías na huwag manukso, palibhasa’y hinalikan ko pa talaga ang kaniyang kamay!” He wailed, covering his face in shame.
“Talaga ba, Crisostomo? Hindi bulag ang aking Sinang, ah! Akala mo ba na, dahil lang pareho kayo’y namutla, pwede ka nang mapagkamalan bilang ang piloto? Díos ko po, lamang na lamang na siya sa iyo, katawan pa lamang,” María Clara chuckled lightheartedly. “At — aro, Crisostomo! Alam mo na agad ang pangalan niya? Sa bagay, alam ko na mang mabilis kang mahulog,”
“María!” Ibarra laughed, embarrassed. “Itinuturing ba na mabilis mahulog ang tao dahil lang kumuha ng pangalan?”
“Itinuturing na mabilis mahulog ang tao kapag siya ay kumuha ng kamay at hinalikan nang isang araw pa lamang magkakilala,”
“M—María naman, o!” Ibarra spluttered. “Hiyang-hiya na nga ako roon, at paulit-ulit pa ang eksena sa aking utak ng parang sirang plaka…”
María Clara cheekily responded, nudging him, “kahihiyan ba ang iyong nararamdaman? O kaya isang mas…malalim na emosyon?”
“Anong klaseng —!”
Their bicker was interrupted by the boat coming to a stop.
“Halina, María! Gutom na gutom na ako!” Called Sinang.
María Clara stood up with Ibarra, but before they separated, she whispered, “sana nama’y, kahit papaano, makabubuti sa iyo itong bago mong nais. Ngunit ayaw ko maging paasa, nararamdaman ko na marahil ay masisiyahan ang iyong gutom kung ito’y iyong pinagpatuloy,” then winked.
2. magulong kapaligiran, sa’yo lang ang tingin
“Marami akong kalaban?” Asked Ibarra.
He was still shaken from his near-death encounter earlier, when the derrick nearly — and, he was now learning, intended to have — crushed him, so Elías was only adding fuel to the fire of his fears at this point. The boatman’s presence, however, Ibarra had come to hold dear, and though it was likely not a sign of a sound mind, he would not mind being put through more perils if it meant Elías would swoop in to save him in that mysterious and admirable way he did.
“Dahil sa inyong mga ninuno,” he replied. “At, palibhasa’y napanaw na ang totoong nagsala sa kanila, ang natitira na lamang sa pamilya ang kanilang gagantihan — ikaw,”
Ibarra swallowed. He listened intently as Elías continued to talk about who he’d speculated to be his family’s enemies, then the conversation eventually turned to be about Elías’ beliefs — beliefs that should not, at least of a great deal, be trusted in.
He places faith in God as he has lost all of his in man.
“Subalit…may pag-asa ka sa akin,” Ibarra spoke. Noting Elías’ furrowed brows, he continued, “pag-asa na hindi ko i-aabuso ang iyong utang na loob. Bakit?”
“Dapat bang hindi kita asahan?”
“Hindi naman! Nais ko lang malaman, maliban sa aking pagliligtas sa iyo, ano pa ba ang meron sa akin na iyo’y napapagtiwalaan?”
“Señor Ibarra, sa panahon nating ito, ang tao’y may nais na magligtas ng iba dahil sa kaniyang kalooban at kaniyang kalooban lamang ay isa na sa pinaka-mayroong katarungan,” Elías replied, gazing deeply into Ibarra’s eyes.
“Kaya pinagkakatiwalaan mo ako?”
“Opo, at wari’y iyon din ang kagustuhan para sa akin ng Dios: na pagkatiwalaan ka,”
Ibarra went back to his apple-like state at that.
They continued to have a fruitful discussion, until, much to Ibarra’s disappointment, Elías said, “kayo pala’y hinihintay. Ayaw ko na iyong pahabain pa. Alalahanin mo na lang ang sinabi ko tungkol sa mga kalaban — mag-ingat ka palagi.” Before turning to exit.
“Elías,” he called, walking closer to him. Elías turned to meet Ibarra, and the latter took the opportunity to bow, take Elías’ hand in his, and press to it another soft kiss. “Kailan ko kayo makikita muli?”
Truly, he delighted in seeing his friend blush and allow the shy side of himself to peek out, turning away at the sight of Ibarra half-bent over his hand, looking up at the man with what Ibarra hoped conveyed his deep admiration.
“Kung —“ Elías swallowed, “kung kailanma’t kailangan niyo. Ako ay may utang pa rin sa iyo.”
3. abot-tanaw ang iyong hiwaga
Elías had, by now, grown accustomed to Ibarra’s apparent habit of kissing people’s hands, of the man pressing his delicate lips like a seal on a letter of gratitude, skin stamped by his thankfulness. Though he could never quite rid himself of the red that spread across his whole face, he had come to expect it.
So, of course, Ibarra simply had to take him by surprise and, this time, kiss Elías in greeting.
“Ikinagagalak kitang makita muli, Elías,” he smiled, then, without wasting any time, immediately bowed, pulled Elías’ hand, and graced it once more with his tender lips, almost as if it was already second nature to him. “Ngunit, ano naman ang ginagawa mo rito? Ikaw ba ay isa sa mga manggagawa sa paaralan?”
“Hindi po,” he replied as he gently pulled his hand away. While he missed the contact, it would do him no good to attach himself, nor allow others to attach to him. “Mayroon lamang akong importanteng sasabihin sa iyo. Samahan mo ako sa bangka,”
Perhaps he would’ve noticed Ibarra’s saddened look when he pulled away, had he not been preoccupied caressing the spot on his hand ghosted by the other’s mark.
4. hayaang sumigaw ang pusong nabilanggo
He had learned many words during his time studying abroad, many indeed, but only one could come even a fourth close to how he felt inside the jail cell.
Miserable.
Crisostomo – not Ibarra, for who was he to continue to carry his family name after disgracing them so? – was completely and utterly, irrevocably, undeniably, more than he’d ever been in his life (which was likely due to end soon), miserable.
Tears streamed down his face. Perhaps, now, he understood Elías…who he worried about. What had happened in his estate earlier that had caused him to flee? Speaking of, Ibarra’s documents and letters had not even been able to be burnt…oh, he was doomed, doomed, doomed by this dastardly place! At least he had managed one last glance at his María Clara, his dearest friend of all times…if only he could say the same for—
He heard a key being pushed and twisted into the iron lock of his prison.
What could they possibly want? He hoped it was the Civil Guards letting him go, that he had been proven innocent, but was hope not the very thing to get him in this situation in the first place?
Marahil na, he thought drearily, nariyan na ang mga Gwardya Sibil upang ako’y ipabitay na!
As he awaited sorrowfully for the arrogant voices of the guards, a different one reached his ears instead – that deep, raspy, wonderful tone of his savior.
“Ibarra?” Called Elías. His voice, though low, echoed throughout the cell. Crisostomo basked in it.
“Elías?” He replied, getting up from his pitiful position on the floor to see him. And, truly, there he was – again in his camisa and signature straw hat, with what looked to be a hair pin (Crisostomo had read that those were commonly used as lock-picking devices, though he couldn’t help but imagine how it would look in Elías’ hair, clipped between his soft-looking strands.) “Elías!”
The pilot opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Crisostomo rushed towards him. Quickly, he knelt, took Elías’ free hand, and kissed it once, then twice, and before he knew it, he was peppering his entire hand with feather-light kisses, muttering his thanks with every few.
“Gi–ginoo,” Elías choked out. Crisostomo looked up and realized the man was rather flustered – he prided himself in being the reason for that. He reclaimed his hand from Crisostomo, flushed, “tayo’y magmadali bago makita ito ng mga bantay,”
Crisostomo cleared his throat. It dawned on him what he’d just done as red crept across his cheek. “Ah…paumanhin, paumanhin,” he murmured.
Elías nodded (though the rosy hue — which suited him quite well — had yet to fade), then lead the other through an escape route, until, at last, they were out of the jail and back in Elías’ boat, which Crisostomo now came to know as a second home.
They began to row. As they did, Elías kept glancing his way, until at last, he reached out one arm and hesitantly wiped tear stains Crisostomo had all but forgotten about off his face. They both stayed silent, but pink bloomed across Crisostomo’s face with each swipe of the pilot’s fingers, likening them to paintbrushes and his face to their canvas.
Crisostomo, though still terrified, enraged, and upset, found solace in Elías’ presence, and he knew there was nobody else he’d rather run away with.
+1. ‘pag nasugat, ‘wag pigilan ang silakbo.
“Elías! Elías!” He heard Ibarra call him somewhere else in the woods, accompanied by sounds of rustling grass and panicked pants. “Elías!”
He would’ve replied, alerted him of his location somehow, but currently, the bloody gunshot wound on his torso was preventing him from doing much.
And besides, if he had the chance to say anything back to Ibarra at that moment, it would be, tumahimik ka nga, at baka ikaw pa’y marinig ng mga gwardya!
He muttered a curse as the injury continued to throb in pain. Elías grunted as he sat straighter against the tree he’d momentarily taken refuge under.
Suddenly, Ibarra came into view. His eyes widened in terror when they met the side of Elías’ camiso, now stained with fresh blood. He knelt before him, “Elías! Dios ko, ika’y — ika’y tinamaan ng bala nila, lintik na ‘yan —“
“Bakit ka narito?!”
“Syempre, ako’y nag-alala noong sinabi nila’y may dugo sa tubig! Hindi kita mapapabayaan nang —!”
“Ibarra, pakiusap, huwag kang maingay!” Elías hissed. The man quieted down, but his face remained scrunched.
Elías began to pull his shirt off, but let go as he released a pained noise, the fabric having grazed the wound.
“K—kailangan mo ba ng tulong?” Ibarra asked. “Heto at alalayan na kita…”
Elías readied himself to protest, but Ibarra was already gently pulling his camisa upwards, and the pilot found that the other man was quite skilled at it. His shirt was on the grass within a minute.
Unable to resist, he joked, “wari’y ikaw na ay bihasa sa paghuhubad ng iba, ah,”
Ibarra, whose eyes were glued to Elías’ chest (presumably caught off guard by the sight of the wound), took a few moments to realize what the man had said, but when he did break out of his stupor, his blush (which had apparently already been present?) further deepened, and he stammered, “a—ano?! Nako, Elías, pa—pati ikaw na rin ay may maruming pinag-iisipan?”
Elías simply gave a chuckle, then picked up his bloody shirt and began to wrap it around his abdomen.
“Saglit lang,”
Elías paused, his hands having been ready to tie the makeshift bandage.
“Ako nalang mag-tali. Para matulungan pa kita,”
“Ginoo, marunong naman akong magtali ng —“
“At kailan ko sinabi na hindi? Pakisuyo lamang, para makapag-pahinga ka muna,”
They held each other’s gazes for a moment, then Elías relented in a sigh. Ibarra moved close enough that their legs would be hard to tell apart and took hold of the two ends of the cloth.
He tried to tie them together with what was likely supposed to be a knot, but clearly fell short. Failed. He undid it and tried again, putting the ends through different openings. Failed again. He then made another attempt, but that one gave far worse results, as he lost grip of one end and the camisa itself fell, part of Elías’ body being exposed to the wind again.
“…mukhang kailangan mo ng tulong diyan,” Elías chortled.
Ibarra opened his mouth to argue, but the words must have died on his tongue as he stared at the fallen camisa. Silently, he gave it back to Elías, who easily knotted it in under two minutes.
Ibarra huffed, dejected. Elías said amusedly, “huwag kang manlumo. Mabuting sinubukan mo,”
“Salamat…ngunit —“
Before Ibarra could continue saying what was probably something that would only further his amusement, Elías nimbly took the man’s hand in his own — soft in hard, gentle in calloused, yet it fit like a glove — and raised it to his lips, pecking the middle knuckle as he maintained eye contact with Ibarra from below.
The man blushed, and Elías knew that what gave him such a good view that evening was not just the backdrop of the night sky past Ibarra, but also who it framed like a beautiful portrait — Crisostomo Ibarra in the middle of the glistening stars. Crisostomo Ibarra, not as the moon, but as the sun that had yet to shine, but would come morning, and the entirety of the heavens knew it.
Elías felt himself grin at Ibarra’s color-changing face. Deciding he did not want it to stop, he moved his lips to the two other knuckles on the left, then to the right, then to wherever land they could find, and before he knew it, he was mapping the back of Ibarra’s dainty, tender hand, and calling it, between a couple kisses, “aking pagpapasalamat, Crisostomo.” Pride grew within him at the sight of the man’s maroon-dusted face; he had much to thank Crisostomo for, and the honor of seeing him like this was one.
Growing, unfortunately, tired (if his body hadn’t been so compromised, he could have gone the entire evening without stopping), he gave one, last loving mark to the middle of Ibarra’s hand before pulling away, and he understood, then, why women so loved stamping their men’s faces with bright red lipstick.
“Naiintindihan ko na ang iyong hilig sa paggawa noon,” Elías smiled.
Ibarra, who was still as red as tomatoes in the spring, looked at him, “at ngayon ko lang naiintindihan na hindi ka pala estranghero sa paglalandi!”
“Maling akala iyan. Hindi ako madalas napapagbigyan ng tadhana ng mahuhulugan,” he gazed at Ibarra, “pero, sa bagay, kaya siguro’t nakilala kita,”
“Ah —! Ano itong —!” Ibarra stuttered. He breathed in and out, then gave Elías a quick peck before pulling away. “Ayan. Siguro naman ay isang halik ay makakapag-tigil muna ng iyong bibig,”
Elías hummed in pretend thought for a moment, then replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “marahil ay hindi pa sapat ang isa.”