Felicia was then involved in a race with the sun, which seemed to gain speed as it fell. She had entered an area of mangrove-bushes; the hills there were cones, as she skirted around the volcano to reach the river. She needed to hurry to reach the river before dark. Bleeding, she made a bandage by tearing a strip from one of her loose, full sleeves. Red saliva from betel nut drooled from her mouth. The betel nut took her mind off of the pain somewhat.
She didn’t know what to expect in the mangroves after dark, and she kept falling because of the slippery path. Roots and mud made it even more difficult. At frequent intervals logs obstructed the neglected trail. But Felicia didn’t panic. At this point, she concentrated on the effort. But she hadn’t planned for emergencies. She hadn’t planned to take off in this way. She hadn’t planned period, and she’d been soaked in the rain. And had a close call too, and recognized how close she had come to being gored by the sow. And now all alone and in a desperate situation, she had no one to help her. Her adventures up until that day had been limited to situations with family, or slaves, or with bodyguards around. She now faced a potentially deadly situation. And where was her God? Yes, she got to the point of asking that.
Utterly fatigued and eyes burning, Felicia sought direction, a sign, something. She had no protection, no weapon, no gun, no kris, nothing. She thought of building a fire and spending the night in the mangroves, but she didn’t have what she needed. All she had was the memory of the plagues of that day: the bites, the cuts, the leeches, the gnats and that vicious old sow. Exhausted, crying, and feeling extremely helpless, and for the first time in her life feeling contemptuous of her God; yet burning deep within her was a defiant will to survive.
Stumped, disoriented, and almost out of daylight, she had gone too far to turn back. Facing treacherous footing and the futility of continuing she waged a personal battle. She had had enough…enough flagellation for one day, and perhaps for a lifetime, and for what purpose?
Some years later, after she miraculously bore not one but two sons, after a long life she would look back on this day with a smile, a day made more memorable by this nightmare. For, as she stumbled, nasty roots continued to cut her feet. Mangroves, as travelers through them know, can be unforgiving; and even by trail, at times, can become impenetrable. Rain soaked clothes can quickly turn a steamy day into a shivering night. All of this Felicia learned. Her scars would become trophies. She didn’t know how far she had come or how far she had to go, and darkness would soon overtake her.
A fruit bat suddenly dove at her face. She couldn’t be sure that it was a bat. A hornbill startled her. Just as suddenly, night sounds surrounded her. Because of those sounds and the memory of the sow, she stepped up her pace.
Since it had been hours since she had seen other humans, she never expected to be rescued or that there would be other people nearby. Almost hidden by the mangroves and built over the water and along rivers, families lived in houses built on stilts. These houses seemed somewhat peculiar to Felicia. In this remote area, people protected their livestock at night by herding their chickens, cows and buffaloes into cages also built on stilts. (By law swine weren’t allowed on the island, which meant the Chinese were obliged to kill their pigs very secretly.)
But how close were the mountaineers who took every opportunity to rob them of their livestock and property? Surely, they had traps set, deep wells for taking prisoners, so that anyone approaching their houses had better watch out. Those mountaineers were not much regarded. “Corta Cabesas,” or “decapitators,” as the Spaniards would call them; so Felicia had them to fear too. Who would now rescue her from the grips of the “false and evil doctrine of Mahana,” or the “pestilential fire”, which in the zealot’s mind seemed to justify anything?
“If you want to conquer your enemies and be restored to your realm, convert to the law of Jesus Christ by any means.” Any “dare-devil scheme” seemed worth it. Not even St. Loyola had ever presented such a fervent case, such a vote for Christianity, as the “pandita of panditas.” Or having been baptized, you would always be a Christian, and with “great courage, and dedication defying rationality.” All of that, but it didn’t work this time for Felicia, as she held her mother-of-pearl rosary. Acceptance would’ve meant victory for the Franciscans, an order still trying to establish a foothold in the Philippines.
“May she be forgiven and not always be separated from God.” Would she place her faith in the existence of souls or the power of shamans? The shaman lived a long way from where she was then. And where was Felicia, who was in this mess because the Moros carried her off into slavery? Captured Muslims were also chained and branded by Christians. In those days, it wasn’t unusual for robed priests to engage in military action. Some of this Felicia was certainly aware of, though she’d been sheltered from most of the atrocities on both sides. It was however clear that she hadn’t yet come to conclusions about religion that satisfied her. So she waited for an inner “dictamen” to guide her.
It was almost dark and obviously not a good time for Te Deum nor was she in a good place for Vespers. Her anxiety, at this point, left her open to blaming God and herself.
Her first inkling that she could be in for more trouble came more from a feeling than anything else. Because of what she had already been through that day, she had become remarkably alert, or shall we say jumpy. At that point any sound alarmed her. She tried to be brave. Wasn’t that what bravery was all about? Naturally, by then, she’d decided she wouldn’t sleep and that she’d keep walking for as long as she could. Walk until she dropped, if it came to that.
Now, she attended to the warnings of birds, birds of various sorts, some more reliable than others. She believed that if she scared up a bird she would know that there were enemies around. But it was then pitch dark, and there were no birds so she had no warning.
Friends or enemies? There were headhunters, for God’s sake, on neighboring Borneo. Or were they friends who would share their sirih and betel nut? Felicia had no way of knowing. All she knew was that she didn’t want die and knew she had no way of protecting herself. What she feared most had happened to others in that region. She knew the details. She had heard of the crimes: the burning of houses, the destroying of property, the crushing of every good seed.
Randy Ford
