One summer day in 1930 there was a Kite Flying contest in one of the
barrios in Pampanga. The field was flooded with kites of varying make and
colors. Some were huge and some were small. Jude a proud boy from Manila
walked around the area trying to find out which of the young boys around
him will give his huge kite the most competition. A lot of the kites were
being readied by father and son teams. There were broken kites fresh from
the morning test flights that day. He did not test his kite. He was very
confident that he would win. His kite has won in a couple of kite flying
contests in Tagaytay. His kite was unbeatable!
Jude was restless, he can’t wait for the competition to start. Eventually he got tired of walking around finding not a single kite as mightily crafted as his very own Gurion. He sat on the golden hay under a tree and wished for the contest to start. Holding on to his kite and looking at the big crowd he fell asleep. He was awaken by a crashing sound nearby. He stood and saw a little boy, frail and wearing the most worn out pair of pants brushing himself off dust and grass. He must have fallen from the huge mango tree nearby. The boy upon seeing Jude, started pulling something off the tree. Down came a huge kite. Bigger than Jude’s and a lot more colorful.
Hey is that your kite?
Yes, the boy cried, timidly
Wow! Are you joining the contest, too?
Yes...
That’s a fantastic kite you’ve got there! Jude said as he went nearer the boy.
But is your kite as strong as my kite?
My father is a kite maker - this kite is the strongest kite in our barrio!
Oh yeah?
Jude has found his competition. You’ll get some 20 pesos if you win this contest you know -
My father told me so answered the boy.
If you give me your kite, my father will pay you 40 pesos. We are very rich you know.
I’m sorry but this kite is not for sale.
O yeah?
Jude looked around. Everyone were busy repairing and readying their kites for the competition. Nobody was looking were they are. Nobody even seem to notice their presence.
Give me that kite!
No!
Give me that kite you stupid goat!
Jude grabbed the kite from the helpless boy and ran. The boy trailed behind crying,
Give me my kite, give it back to me.
But Jude just kept on running. Then he heard a scream, He stopped and looked over his shoulder the boy was gone. He looked around and found him holding on to a rock down the ravine.
Help me! Help me!
Jude just grinned down at him, got his Gurion and slammed the boy hard on the face with it.
Take my kite then, stupid goat!
No!
The screaming faded to a stumping sound. The boy lay dead down the rocky river bed. His blood trickling down the narrow stream of water. His eyes wide open in shock blood oozing from his broken nose. His other hand was dislocated, his left hand gripping the kite - Jude’s kite. It was badly broken too.
Jude won the kite contest. The boy’s body was found the next morning. It was an accident, everyone thought it was a terrible way to die.
April 22, 1998. Jude is 68 years old. Drinking beer alone in his den he could not believe the numerous trophies and awards hanging on his wall. There were target shooting citations, car racing cups, war games medals along with hunting rifles, arrow-heads and a huge Gurion hanging from the ceiling. The dead boy’s kite. His most memorable trophy. It was faded but still looks every bit a winner.
April 22, 1988 58 years ago today. Jude started having flashback. He can still hear the roaring crowd as the Gurion soared to the infinite skies. Undaunted by the punches of the wind. It was the king of all kites. And up there it was the master of the winds. Never circling, never wavering as it climb up up and away. Jude can only wished he was up there too looking down like a king lording over the land and seas. What a day that was indeed.
Just then the window flung open - the blinds started screeching like chipmunks being strangled to death. Kicking against the ceiling and the walls. The collection on the wall began to clinker . Jude rushed to the window to pull the blinds. A familiar scream followed Noooo! And everything started flying around the room crashing at every impact. Soon everything was on the floor in tiny bits and pieces. The wind stopped and the room became silent. Jude was crawled up in a corner of a room. His forehead was bleeding from a cut, his hands severely bruised and numbed. As he slowly took his hands off his face the Gurion wafted to the floor. It was not damaged a bit. It was intact. The lamp flickered and died. From the window the moonbeam shone on the kite faintly and then brightly.
Then Jude heard someone knocking at the door. He crawled towards the heavy doors and opened it. A small boy was seated by the stairs. His frail back facing Jude. He was sobbing. Slowly Jude walk towards the boy and touched his shoulders.
Are you alright boy?
No sir I’m not....
Well then what’s wrong?
I cant’ find my kite. And I’ve been looking for it for years now. I’ m tired ; I’m so tired sir.
Would you like some water boy? Some cookies perhaps?
No, I have to find my kite first.
But its way past midnight!
I feel I’m getting closer to my kite now. It must be somewhere here sir,
I heard my kite calling my name awhile back sir. Have you seen my kite sir?
I’m sorry but I don’t think so.
Oh but I think you do sir.
The boy stood slowly and turned to Jude .
My kite is big, my kite is strong, my kite is here...
No its not ,said Jude.
Oh but it is here sir. You know sir, I didn’t lose my kite someone stole it from me.
Yes and I presume you know his name?
Actually sir I do ,oh yes I do.
Well, what’s his name?
His name was... JUDE!
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