Steve Juanico

Mr. Thomas L. D'Angelo

English Composition ACE 001

12 March 1998 

The Walk

    I could smell the foul scent produced by the synthetic odor of diesel fuel

and motor oil of the jeepneys, mingled with the foul aroma of the adjacent 

fish market that tormented everyone in its path, as I walked desperately 

toward the terminal.  My watch told me it was ten past seven.  A cool 

December breeze washed the remaining warmth left by the ebbing sun.  The 

terminal was almost deserted.  Only a few jeepneys remained.  Hoping to 

earn a few more pesos for tonight's meal, some street vendors were still 

hawking their wares.  Walking briskly past them, I saw a group of grubby 

street urchins throwing bits of rubbish at a scrawny dog that was looking 

for food.  Pursued by the rooting children, the hapless dog ran yelping out 

of the terminal.  Their cries receded as I walked faster, carefully avoiding 

the slippery oil spills splattered all over the concrete floor, toward my 

destination.

    When I reached the spot where the jeepney was supposed to be parked, 

my eyes confirmed what I already knew deep down my heart.  The last

jeepney to the campus had gone.  Because of some unforeseen traffic delays, 

I was late.  It was imperative for me to go back to the campus because all my

notes and books for the final exam in history the next morning were still neatly

stacked, untouched, unread, on my desk at the dorm.  This exam was my last 

chance to pass the course.  I had failed one of the two midterms, and

Professor Garcia did not allow make-up tests.  Unfortunately, the dorm was 

fifty kilometers south,  in Miag-ao, from where I was.

                                                                                                           Juanico 2

     I knew I had only myself to blame for my predicament.  If I had not wasted 

my time drinking with my friends the past few weeks, I would just be reviewing 

the material instead of cramming twenty chapters into one night.  If only I had 

been present in class every time, then my situation would not have deteriorated 

into this crisis.

    Pounding my chest with my fists, I kept saying, "Mea culpa.  Mea culpa. 

Woe is me! "

    My critical self-analysis, however, was a moot point since the last jeepney 

was already on its way to the campus. I could envision the professor's smug you-

will-never-pass-my-class look, which made me feel like I was the lowest life form 

on earth, staring me in the face and handing out its final verdict: Juanico failed 

my class because he is a loser.  (The professor was a firm believer of education 

through intimidation.)  Not relishing the idea of begging the professor for some 

reprieve on my sentence, a primeval instinct of resistance arose in my heart.  

I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall like a broken arrow to 

the ground.  The immortal words of the last lion, Winston S. Churchill, 

reverberated in my ears, "In war resolution, in defeat defiance."  So, I strove

to think of a way out of my dilemma.

    I had no options.  Hiring a taxi was out of the question.  I could not afford 

the fare.  My family was too poor even to own a bicycle.  I stood in the middle of 

the terminal gazing like a man about to meet his doom.  Unexpectedly, out of the 

corner of my yes, I saw my salvation.  A jeepney that went to Guimbal, the town 

before Miag-ao, was still waiting for passengers.  I remembered that only 

fifteen kilometers separated the town from the dorm.  My brilliant plan was to 

get off at Guimbal, and then walk the remaining distance.  It was a long walk, 

but what other alternatives did I have?  I realize now that I made a foolhardy 

decision: a war was going on then,  which US military advisors euphemistically 

dubbed as a "low-intensity conflict," between government and communist forces, 

and I could easily have been caught in their deadly crossfire.

                                                                                                              Juanico 3 

    In fact, the Philippine government believed that the area I was going to

traverse was the stronghold of a notorious communist death squad, the 34th 

Sparrow Unit of the New People's Army, responsible for many assassinations 

and bombings.  But I was young then and possessed the immaturity and fatalism

of youth.  So, I got on the jeepney and waited for my adventure to unfold.

    After an hour's worth of riding, I got off the jeepney  near the foot of a 

bridge. It was the end of the line.  Ominously, the entire span of the bridge was 

unlit.  

    I guess the Department of Public Works and Highways had not yet fixed 

the damage done to it by typhoon "Lucing" a few months ago, I reassured myself.

    The illumination provided by the highway lamps resumed only on the other

side.  The bridge itself measured a little more than five hundred meters.  For

me, it represented the boundary between safety and the unknown.  Like 

Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon, once I set foot on the bridge the die would 

be cast for me.  This time, however, no trumpet would signal my advance.  The only 

sounds I heard were those made by the chirping crickets and the lapping waves of 

the river.  The stars alone  supplied what little visibility I had.

    Halfway over the bridge, I was suddenly aware of a low but hellish noise.

    Aaaaaaaaah.

    It sounded like the moans and wails of a woman.  All the hairs on my body 

stood like the quills of an alarmed porcupine.  Blaming Stephen King for my morbid 

imagination, I had a vivid premonition of my horrible death at the hands of a 

manananggal—a female vampire that could separate her body at the hips when she 

flew at night, with the help of bat-like wings that sprouted on her back, in search 

of human blood.  Cold sweat flowed through my body though a strong wind was 

blowing from the west.

   Aaaaaaaaah!!

    I started to walk faster to escape the horrible fate that I imagined was waiting 

for me.  Yet the sound grew louder and louder as if it was trying to overtake me.

                                                                                                                            Juanico 4           

    AAAAAAAAAH!!!

    Overtaken by terror, I ran for dear life.  When I reached the other side, the 

wails abruptly stopped.  My rational and curios mind wanted to investigate this 

inexplicable matter further, but my gut told me to leave this evil place at once.  

Running with all my might, I did not stop until I felt my lungs burst with pain.

    After an hour of walking beside verdant rice fields and creaking bamboo 

thickets, I met danger in another form.  Traveling in packs, wild dogs 

nocturnally roamed the countryside in search of prey.  Unluckily for me, I was 

their entrée for the night.  I estimated their number to be a dozen or

more.  The expressions on their faces were terrible to behold.  Their silver eyes 

gleamed under the stars and their fanged mouths dripped with froth.  The scene 

reminded me of a National Geographic documentary I once saw on tv that showed 

a pack of wolves getting ready to take down a moose.  Snarling and growling,

some started to outflank me while others positioned themselves on my front and 

rear.  It was the classic tactic of envelopment employed by wild carnivores 

around the world.

    Without warning, they attacked.  For a fraction of a second or two, I 

entertained the notion of holding my ground, emulating the valiant tradition of 

the Homeric hero, to withstand their fierce onslaught.  I actually believed I 

could slay them with my bare hands like Heracles killing Cerberus.

Prudence, however, prevailed and I ran, for the second time in the night, 

to break out of their cordon.  I have heard people say that four-legged animals 

can outrun two-legged ones anytime.  I proved them wrong that night because 

no dog could catch me.  The fear-induced adrenaline coursing through my body 

gave me superhuman speed.  The alpha male got near enough to nip the back 

edges of my jeans, but that was all the damage they could inflict.  I must have ran

like a Thomson's gazelle because all they could do was bark and watch my 

retreating form disappear in the horizon.

                                                                                                              Juanico 5

    Finally, after walking for two hours without encountering any man or beast, I

approached the end of my trek.  I figured that I was only a kilometer or two away 

from the campus.  I could already discern the dim silhouette of the fortress 

church of Miag-ao, which the Spaniards built in 1787 as a sanctuary from pirate 

attacks, towering in the distance.

    "Thank you, Lord, for delivering me from evil," I gratefully intoned as I

hobbled on.

    I promised myself a long hot shower as soon as I reached the dorm.   I also 

made a mental note to buy plenty of granulated coffee at the cafeteria. 

    How about some food?  Yes.  I need food.

    In fact, I need lots of food.

    Fifteen kilometers of stressful walking and running can make a man very hungry.

    I was thinking these mundane thoughts when, out of nowhere, a harsh stream of

light hit me.

    A voice that brooked no compromise roared behind the light, "Halt!  Put your

hands behind your head now!"

    "Don't shoot!  I'm just a student," I loudly implored with my eyes closed.

    "Shut up!  Put your hands behind your head or I will shoot!" the voice 

threatened.

    I heard the unmistakable clicks of firing bolts being drawn.  I immediately 

complied.  How stupid of me to forget the military checkpoint that guarded the 

way to the town plaza.  They thought I was a bandit or worse, an insurgent.

    "Look, I'm from the university," I nervously explained, "I missed the last 

jeepney going here from the city, and I had to walk from Guimbal.  Please, 

don't do anything rash."

    "Sergeant, search him," the voice commanded.

    A burly M-16-toting man, with the insignia of the Scout Rangers carved on his 

beret, came out behind the searchlight and painfully frisked me from head to toe.

                                                                                                           Juanico 6 

    "He's clean, Lieutenant," the sergeant reported. "Hey, I found his I.D. Yeah, 

he's from the university all right."

    The cruel and painful light was instantly turned off.  The lieutenant came 

toward me with an expression that was skeptical and awe-struck at the same time.

    "You can put down your hands, son," he gently commanded.  "Don't you know

it's dangerous to walk these parts alone at this late hour?  "This area is crawling

with rebels."

    "I know the risks, sir.  But I have to go back to the campus.  I need to study 

for my exam tomorrow," I answered honestly.

    "Well, I hope it's worth your trouble.  I advise you not to do it again.  

Your luck may run out next time.  Sergeant, tell one of the men to give him a ride 

to his dorm."

    All I could do was smile and utter a sigh of relief.

    So, I got back to the dorm, took the exam, weary but ready.  The professor 

gave me a C.  I passed the course.

    I learned something about myself that night.  If I was determined enough to 

succeed, my will could move mountains.  No obstacles could crush me.  Now, 

whenever things go wrong, I always remind myself of my walk and the burden of

my problems would ease because I know I will triumph in the end.

    My walk was a journey of self-discovery.

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