The Magical Mat: A Short Story Blog

Hi guys,

One of my teacher-friend requested me sometime if I could post one of the short stories that's included in my book project, Bedtime-Pastime: Collection of Short Stories and Bukidnon Folktales. He would like to share it with his children and his English class. Hence, here is The Magical Mat. Sorry guys, it's juvenile. Reason is, I don't know the age-level of his kids. Anyways, if I could get some comments from you, I would post another one. Probably the short story, Dangerous Proposal, a proposal that could have killed a selfless school teacher should the forces of nature have not interfered.

Please note that all the stories in the book, including those of my co-author, Dr. Genoveva Melendez-Ablanque of Bukidnon State University, have ethnic themes. There are some Bukidnon words and phrases that I included to add realism to the story. I included the closest layman's phonetic equivalence to read them; an English free translation to understand them. Let me know if the inclusion is cumbersome. If possible throw in some suggestions either on how to go about it or to improve the entire story.
Thanks guys.

THE MAGICAL MAT
Edmund Melig Industan
(Exhausted from a long day hike, a teenage boy dreamed and unraveled fiendish Sudsuda (SUED-SUED-DAH), a malevolent spirit making havoc in the once peaceful village.)


“We is very sorry, we only has stewed chicken, rice, and stir-fried bok choy. No one has gone to town to get some canned sardines,” our hostess apologetically said as she put the delicious-smelling, steaming enameled bowls of food right in front of us. Then, she tenderly tapped my head and said, “Don’t worry, your apu (grandmother or an endearment for an old man/woman) is gonna tell you a nanangenen (folktale) right after we cleaned up.”

It was dusk and the deliciously prepared stewed organic chicken was a welcome sight. The simple cooking preparation: a whole knotted stalk of crushed lemon grass, fresh and newly grounded black pepper, salt, garlic, lots of newly picked green onions, tomatoes, and a little squeezed of turmeric juice, just made the chicken meat so gastronomical. The smoke of the firewood also added to its flavor. The village visits allowed me to get away, for a little while, from commercially and chemically raised poultry and canned sardines. Canned sardine was a typical substitute for chicken to many townsfolk. It is available everywhere, even in small grocery stores. The difficulty to raise chicken in a densely populated town and less time to fix a meal from scratch made it more practical to just buy a commercially packed food; hence, rural folks always thought that it was the Bukidnon urbanites’ food preference. Further, the opportunity to listen to folktales from people older than my parents has been an added motivation. That were the reasons; I always look forward going with my dad when he was invited to visit a remote village for an evangelistic meeting. I did not mind walking six hours trekking the mountain and crisscrossing river. The foot blisters and muscle pain seemed nothing when we get there. The folk’s warm and reverent hospitality, the food, and the opportunity to listen to folktales told by old women just relieved me from them all.

However, the long walk today was too much for me, a 12 year-old chap whom father wanted to follow in his footstep as an evangelist. It was only a four-hour walk after we got off from a crowded rickety public transportation jeepney, but the seemingly unending climb of that last dry, grassy mountain under a scorching tropical sun squeezed my heart so tight and took all the juice off me. It was like an eternity walking the rough narrow trail that, when we made our second stop to rest, I still did not see the crest. My father warned me before we left home about this long and arduous 6,000 ft. climb; however, he did not discourage me to come, because he wanted me to learn the rope and know the joy and pain of being an evangelist. He constantly motivated me to keep on moving by telling stories and promising me half of the chicken breast at dinner time if I made the crest in another hour. He further told me that I would have the opportunity to listen to the best story teller in the world, since the mother of our host has been known throughout the Bukidnon province plateau as the best ever.

As promised, dad gave me three portions of stewed chicken, which if glued together would be equal to half of the breast. After a short prayer, he told me to start dipping my spoon onto my bowl of rice drowned with the light yellow soup, embellished with the green bok choy and onions, and thin, red skin of ripe tomatoes. The soup was so delicious that I already was sweating when I finished off my dinner, doing what the host did- yank the bowl onto my mouth and gulp the leftover soup.

I could hardly get up from sitting in a lotus position. Since we arrived, three hours past noon time, I spent most of my time sitting on the bamboo floor beside my dad in the living room as he and other elders of the church talked about anything: the village, the problem of the church, the logging incursion, and the threatened livelihood. Nevertheless, I have to get up anyhow so that somebody can mop the bamboo floor with wet rug to spread the two-arm-length and an arm-and-a-half length ikam (EE-COME), (mat), my dad and I will have to sleep on later. My dad and our host moved to the small verandah to talk some more about some other problems of the church and the community, while I immediately sat back on the mat that was now rolled out. Some village children came and sat on the mat, but a little bit away from me. The soft and cool texture of the mat and the bloated stomach made me sleepy. There was only a scant of red-dyed reeds, which were mixed with its natural color, hence, the dyed spots looked like a pair of eyes and zigzagging mouth to me. It was weaved so tight that I was intrigued to slip my fingernails in between those flattened reeds and tried to loosen them. Sometimes, I flapped my right hand to enjoy its texture; sometimes I strummed the joints of the reeds. I began to yawn and decided to lie on my side. “Na` Ino`! /NA` ee-NO`/ (Come on, Mother!) The boy is tired and sleepy.” I heard our host requesting his 65-year old mother to begin the story.

“Es, dian (dee-yan) ka man ki Utu (uh-TU`), tagnguhugon (TAG-ngu-hoe-GOON) pa piru (PEE-ROE) mapangal (ma-PANG-al) bumulig (boom-UH-league) hu amey (ah-MOI) din.” (Oww, there is this young chap, he still has runny nose, but he is a good helper to his father,” the mother started the story with a typical Bukidnon opener. The other children, who came to listen to the story, and I laughed. She went on with the folktale about Utu`(uh-TU`) and the Kalibarut (KAH-lee-bah-ROOT). I listened, but I also continued to entertain myself strumming the mat. She really was a very good animated story teller. She paused calmly to end a section of the story. She also prolonged the pause for a few more seconds when she started the section with an alliterative “Na….” which always made us to hold our breath and, to some, biting their nails as they waited for her to continue. However, my tired body gave way that I was in and out of the story.

I felt everybody left for church. It was quieter and cooler in the house. The mat was all for me. It seemed that I was dreaming when I heard the first song at the church. I heard clapping of hands and stumping of feet. I heard the song “Hi-ay, hi-ay, katungkay ag’kalipay. Hi-ay, hi-ay pinalangga a kandin. Pinalas din sa sala ku. Makadiya a ta langit. Padayen ag’kalilipay. Hi-ay, hi-ay, hi-ay.” (Oh! Oh! I am very happy. Oh! Oh! He loves me. He washed away my sins. I (now) can go to heaven. Onward on I am happy. Oh! Oh! Oh!)

Few minutes after the singing, I heard sobbing and crying. It was an evangelistic meeting, a time for some villagers to renew their relationship with God and with fellow villagers. It also was the time to exorcise, albeit there were rare cases of this. The sobbing was common, especially when my dad talked about feuds, selfishness, jealousy, and adultery as some of the sins that destroy a village and send some people out of sync with God. However, the early sobbing was so uncommon. I presumed that the villagers, who were mostly members of the church, were experiencing some pressing problems.

Surprisingly, I also heard crying coming from far away. I heard wading in the marsh. I heard the straining and snapping sounds of the sudsud (SUED-SUED), reeds, when pulled off, the ‘gluck-gluck’ of boiling water in a 20-gallon can where the reeds were dyed, the thwacking of the dried reeds when flattened, and the screeching of the reeds when individually flattened by the weavers. Moments later, I heard a shrieking fiendish laugh along a threatening voice, “Hehehehehe…laliman (lah-LEE-man) aldaw (AL-THOU) na-an (nah-AN) do` agbungkagen (AG-boong-KA- gun) kud (code) sa-ini (sah-EE-knee) baryu (BAR-YOU) dan. Hehehehe. ” (Hehehehe… five days more (and) I am going to destroy this village. Hehehehe…) I looked around. Nobody was with me in the house. I looked around again. I still did not see anybody. I tried to go back to sleep by feeling the softness of the mat again…AND…in a little while I felt a prick in my finger. I immediately got up. I checked if it was bleeding, but did not see any. Then, I heard the shrieking laugh again, “Hehehehe….” It was coming from the mat. I looked down. Lo and behold! I saw a red reed wriggling and squealing its way out of that mat. Then, it stood in front of me, a lanky 6-footer, slightly levitating in the air, a little below its top end; its color was profusely dripping like blood. “Your father is busy trying to keep the church and the village together. He is pathetic. The culprit is not in church. He is right here! Sudsuda` (SUED-sued-DAH)! Hehehehe…. Laliman (lah-LEE-man) aldaw (Al-THOU)! Hehehehe… Laliman aldaw (five days)! Hehehehe….,”and he flew away like a slow-moving streaking arrow, out of the house, still laughing, slowly disappearing and fading, heeding towards the swamp. A reddish glow brightened the places that it passed by.

I was known to be a cry baby, while growing up; however, I learned to grow up fast when my mom died 5 years ago. Instead of screaming, I felt standing up, with fisted knuckles and angry voice, I said, “Nobody abuses my dad. GOD, HELP ME!” Immediately, I felt the entire mat, which I was standing on, jerked and glided. I felt a force held my shoulder and slightly pushed me down to sit. Off the ikam (EE-COME) went; off I was out of the house, hovering the village, following the lone lanky fiendish reed.

As I was riding the ikam, the zigzagging red reed, which was left in the mat told me to watch down-under, especially when we get to the marsh. I knew that we were already closed, because the red, lanky sudsuda, swooped down like lightning, turning the area reddish bright. The mat also told me that, besides gathering wild lanut (LAH-NOOT), Manila hemp, mat weaving was the other village commercial product. We finally got to the place. We hovered around like a big kite flying smoothly with the wind. Then, I saw Sudsuda` getting into the mouth of a quiet and aloof woman, who, I saw, talking to herself while plucking the fresh reeds. Suddenly, her face turned red. Her eyes stared like a knife ready for a kill. Then she took her bolo from its sheath, and attacked the other women, who were, at that moment, boisterous and loud. As they saw the quiet woman running amok, they ran away fast, leaving their harvested reeds. A booming fiendish voice chased them, “Sugud (SUE-GOOD) iman (ee-MAN), hari (ha-REE) kew (cow) en on makapanginsudsud (ma-ka-PANG-gain-SUED-SUED)! Mga (mang-AH) ki-at! (kee-AT) (From now on, you cannot gather reeds anymore! Women with no finesse!)

Streak of light still illumined the village when the mat began to take me back. I saw the people in commotion. Women complained about not able to keep up with the town’s mat orders. Every time they tried to go out towards the marsh, the quiet woman would go berserk and wild. She would chase them with anything sharp. I saw that, one time, the men tied her, while sleeping, with a rope on a house post, so that the women could go to the marsh. Nevertheless, when she woke up and found that even her mother was not home, her eyes turned red. She got mad. Her jugular muscle and jawbone tightened, and at one strain, she freed herself. She followed the women and chased them all away from the swamp. Since then, the village life was in chaos. I even saw her going to the school, shooing the school children and the teachers away. She was given malarial medicine by the village chief thinking that she was bitten by an anopheles mosquito when she was in the swamp, but it did not help at all. Many families were frustrated and scared that they have decided to leave the village. That was the main reason why the village chief and the elders of the church decided to request my dad to hold an evangelistic meeting.

I woke up sweating to the hilt. I sat down, looked at the mat, and strummed my index finger through the reeds. I checked the dyed part of the mat. I tried to loosen every reed. It was as tight as before; hence, I learned that it was just a dream. Few moments later, I heard the church singing a postlude, but the whole village left the church with their gas lamps on, so quiet and somber. When our host and my dad arrived, I told them of my dream and the name, Sudsuda. My dad squeezed my head and said, “God has given us the name. Now, we can prepare the hearts of the entire village for the casting out of the evil spirit, before my son and I will leave in five days.”

I looked at the mat again, smiled, and said, “Thank you, God, for this magical mat.”

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