The Slingshot by Prospero Pulma Jr.

“…and at the other end of the spectrum, a frail old man’s triumph over the sweet temptation of avenging a wrongful conviction for a murder he tried to stop (“The Slingshot” by Prospero Pulma)”.

- Philippine Graphic Magazine
-June 23, 2008


Philippine Graphic Magazine
January 22, 2007

The Slingshot

By Prospero E. Pulma Jr.

Sunlight bore heavily on the valley, desiccating the arid earth more. On the ground, a solitary figure trod the bare trail that ended at the foot of a hill that was shaped like an inverted bowl. At the bottom of the mound was a shady tree that beckoned to the wizened and parched trekker.
It was cool under the verdant canopy; beyond the shade, the ground sizzled from the midday sun. Rudy found an exposed root that buttressed the trunk in the rock-strewn soil. He sat on the buttress, laid down his walking stick and removed his wide-brimmed hat exposing matted gray hair. He furiously swung his hat across his face, replenishing his breath for the daunting task of climbing the hill. He may have had the vigor of men ten years younger, but his withered skin, the deep furrows on his forehead and graying mane added a decade to his real age of fifty.
There was tranquility in the air, no wind stirred in the valley. Rudy was about to be captured by the placidity when a rock struck the trunk. No shadow darted in the field. He rose, walked into the open and craned his neck to stare at the hill.
A boy appeared at the lip of the summit. The child stretched one arm and pulled a rubber band with the other. He aimed at the birds that flew overhead, tracking them until he released the elastic cord. The projectile followed a downward trajectory into the tree that he had just vacated. “Stop it!” Rudy screamed at the child.
“Ahh!” The child dropped his slingshot and fled. If the boy wandered into the hills on his own, Rudy thought, I have to bring him back to his parents before he gets lost.
The old man trudged up the slope, drawing rapid shallow breaths as he ascended. Above him, the boy reappeared with an escort; they waited for the old man at the peak.
Rudy breathed shallowly at the spectacle before him while wiping his soiled hands on his pants. Standing beside the boy was a young man; balanced on his wide shoulder was a bundle of firewood and a bolo hung from his waist. “Are you the boy’s father?” The youth nodded. Rudy smiled at the accuracy of his conclusion that the two were kinsmen. The facial features that they shared - a large nose, light-brown skin, wavy hair and thick eyebrows – gave away their blood ties. “He nearly hit me with his slingshot,” he did not lift his smile as he spoke. The man looked at the sniffling child and back at him. “He was crying when he came to me. I thought that he saw an engkantado. He said that he was shooting at birds when he heard a voice.”
Rudy laughed at the mention of engkantado, but the young man’s impassive face did not shift. He turned serious, “I am Rudy. People call me Mang Rudy. I came from the farm over that hill,” he pointed at a nearby hill. He stretched his hand but withdrew it when the young man did not shake his hand. “Are you new here?”
“Yes. I am -”the man paused, “- Berto and this is Rolando. We live in Mang Tinio’s farm hut.” Rudy fitted the description of the old man whom his uncle had warned him about. Berto noticed that he was alone and sensed his benign presence. “I am his nephew.” The mention of Tinio’s name unleashed a torrent of memories in Rudy’s mind.
Thirty years had not purged his memory of a nightmare that would occasionally recur and resist his attempts to banish it from his thoughts. The boy suddenly dashed to Rudy’s side. He yielded ground to the child who bent down and retrieved his slingshot from the ground.
“I am sorry for what my son did,” Berto pulled back his son. “I’ve always warned him not to aim his slingshot at people.” Rudy pointed at the tree at the foot of the hill, “He was not aiming at me. His aim was poor and the pebbles landed on that tree where I took a rest.”
Berto dipped into Rolando’s pocket. “Tatay, no!” Rolando whimpered. His hand emerged with the boy’s slingshot. “You can let your son keep his slingshot so long as he does not harm anyone.” Rolando’s sniffling changed into a high-pitched cry as he watched his toy sail in the air; it landed on the valley below. Berto shouldered the sack of firewood and led his son away in silence. The boy looked back at Rudy but the old man felt that the child was searching for his toy.
The boy’s cries faded as they disappeared into the woods. Perhaps I was wrong about the young man, Rudy shook his head. He might possess the same character as his uncle. He reminisced the youth that he and Tinio spent climbing and exploring the hills; the hill that he was standing on at that moment was their favorite. It offered a panorama of the fields that stretched into the distance and its inverted bowl shape was unique.
The land surrounding the hills used to be lush with vegetation; now, only a few patches of green stood out in the brown landscape and only the hills had remained verdant. Time, he noted, had changed the land in the same way that it changed him after he was scarred for life one, late night thirty years ago. The intrusion of an event that occurred decades ago into his mind disturbed him. He shook his head as if to free his mind of the thoughts that threatened his sanity.
Slowly, Rudy descended from the summit; he would plant his stick deep into the soil for support before he would take a step or shift his foothold on the rocks that protruded from the earth. On the valley, he spotted several branches that lay among the trees. He would not use the wood for kindling fire - kerosene would suffice - it was for another purpose.
He went from tree to tree, examining each fallen branch if it would be suitable. When he found several twigs that suited his needs, he stood up and was about to leave when his sight fell on the slingshot. He picked up it up; he saw that cracks had lined its frame. A plastic candy wrapper substituted for a leather pouch and its elastic band was thin. He pocketed the toy and went home. The trek back to his farm hut was not filled with excitement. There was nobody waiting for him; it has been that way for the past ten years.
A figure espied Rudy collecting the branches. He was also of advanced age, but he showed little of the signs of aging that marked Rudy’s body. He did not witness the encounter on the hilltop; he only spotted Rudy when he descended from the hill. The observer only emerged from concealment when the farmer walked down the trail. He did not climb the slope; instead, he followed a long path that meandered around the foot of the hill and gradually rose from ground level until it ended at a desolate farm hut. He panted from lugging two large plastic bags, supplies for his nephew and his family. The shack was empty. He cursed his guests for not heeding his advice not to wander around the hills, especially with Rudy foraging for wood in the area.
“What happened to Rolando?” A lithe woman blocked Berto’s path. “Nanay!” The boy bolted forward. “Did you let him climb the trees again?” She wiped the boy’s face; her hand ran over his body for wounds.
“No!” Berto shook his free hand and head in unison. The boy rubbed his eyes. “Tatay threw my slingshot away!” Sobs broke his words. “Why?” She shrieked. “He nearly hit Mang Rudy with his slingshot!” She faced her husband with wide eyes. “Rudy? Tiyo Tinio warned us to avoid him.” Her eyes were wider now. “But he looked kind and harmless!” Her alert look turned into a scowl. “You said the same thing about Fred and look what he did to you! You trust people too easily.” There was heaviness in her voice. “Maria, Fred is dead. Mang Rudy is an old man who lives by himself.” Berto’s stomach rumbled, “Can we go home now?”
“Don’t go near that old man again. Do you remember the men who took your father away?” Rolando nodded. Men with guns have taken his father away before; he saw him again when he returned home late one night. “He is also bad like them.” Rolando stopped, “But he looks like Lolo Tinio and he had no gun like the other bad men.” Maria sighed; her son probably inherited her husband’s naivety. “Some old men are bad, Rolando. Don’t let him see you because he would take your tatay away and make us cry again.”
“Can tatay make me another slingshot?” Rolando tugged at his mother’s hand. “I want to protect him when the bad man comes.” Maria suppressed a laugh when she saw her son’s face.
The slingshot in Rudy’s hands had a stouter frame, thicker rubber band, leather pouch, and its surface was smoothened with abrasive paper. Miniature figures of angels, dogs and birds - all made of wood - were cluttered on the table. He could almost see the smile on Rolando’s face; the possibility that the boy would even ask him to teach him on its proper use overwhelmed him with excitement. He took his cane and hat and set out.
A rock landed on Rudy’s right foot; he winced. “Go away!” Rolando bellowed. The boy emerged from behind a tree trunk astride the trail that led to Tinio’s hut. Rocks stretched the lower end of his shirt with their weight; his shorts sagged from the pebbles in his pockets. He picked a rocked and pitched it. The missile grazed Rudy’s left leg. “What are you doing?” The old man held his hands over his head; his feet had not yet dragged him out of range of Rolando’s crude projectiles.
“Did you come for my tatay?” The boy had a stone in his hand. “No!” The rock flew; it landed short of its target. “I want to give this to you,” Rudy dangled the slingshot. Roland glanced at the toy before he flung another projectile. “You’ll take him away!” Rudy was certain the child’s voice would be carried far and be heard by his father. He withdrew.
Rolando saw through the tears coating his eyes that the old man had retreated, but his adversary might return with his evil cohorts. He piled more rocks behind the tree where he would guard the trail.
Rudy’s hands trembled; his leg and foot ached with every step that he took on trial that led to his farm. But it was the image of Rolando hurling rocks and screaming at him that stung him more. He had become accustomed to children fleeing in terror from him, but nobody had pelted him with stones before. He wondered what evil words were whispered into the boy’s ears.
“It’s the end of the month,” a short, muscular man occupied the threshold of Rudy’s home. “Pay or you cannot go to the derby next week.” Rudy saw that his guest was alone, but he still halted several arm’s length away from the brawny man. “I’ll pay you tomorrow, Luciano. I’ll be in town. It’s market day.” Luciano tapped the ground with his foot, “This farm and the little else that your parents have left you won’t be enough to pay me in full.” He saw the slingshot and broke into snickers. “Is that for your protection?” He lifted his shirt; a gun tucked in his belt came into view.” Rudy’s countenance did not change when he saw the weapon. “Pay me tomorrow or I’ll send Miguel and Andy to collect it.” He had heard of what Miguel and Andy did to Jose who had been delinquent in his payment of debts to Luciano. The old and ailing farmer was hospitalized after the two henchmen mauled him. The mention of their names drained his strength more than the sight of Luciano’s firearm. “Practice well on your slingshot.” Luciano gently slapped Rudy’s face as he passed to leave.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh!” The sound of rock crushing bone melded with the scream of a man. “Tinio!” A lanky young man pulled a blood-soaked rock from the hands of a portly lad who squatted over the village’s resident drunkard, but the fat youth gripped the stone firmly. The drunkard, who swung his muscular arms at the youth a minute earlier when they resisted his extortion, gasped for air like fish trapped on dry land. “Rudy, he’s still alive!” Tinio bludgeoned their fallen opponent again, but the alcoholic did not howl in retort. Rudy kneeled beside the boozer; his harsh breathing had become inaudible. “You killed him!” He pried the rock from Tinio. “He attacked us first and we only fought back.” Rudy threw Tinio’s crude club to the side of the road. “But I only punched him and he fell to the ground.” Red streaks formed on his shirt when he ran his hands over his shirt. “Someone’s coming!” The lights of hurricane lamps tore the darkness as a search party of villagers, roused from their slumber by their barking canines, which sensed the mortal battle transpiring at the outskirts of the hamlet, approached the bend in the road where the combatants clashed. Tinio rose shakily. His wobbly knees carried him a few feet away before he stumbled; he stood again and staggered away. Rudy froze beside the dead man.
“There he is!” Hurricane lamps threw the night asunder with their effervescence. Rudy did not flex a muscle when one of the men pinned him on the ground. “Diyos ko!” An old man in the group made the sign of the cross when he saw the body. Small depressions pockmarked the parts of the alcoholic’s face where he was struck the hardest, blood oozed out from his wounds and a glistening cheekbone protruded. Before a heavy blow landed on his head and his body went limp, Rudy saw that none of the men searched the road or the nearby fields. The world became hazy to his eyes; he did not feel the first drops of a heavy downpour that washed the evidence of Tinio’s presence in the crime scene away.
Rudy blinked hard several times before he sat up on his bed. The two decades of his life that he lost thirty years ago was beyond redemption. He had etched this truth in his mind. He rose to prepare for the trek to the market.
Rudy saw people huddling around posters that were recently plastered on posts and walls around the market square. “You can call me dona if I catch that criminal and get that reward money,” a woman muttered. “Yes, Dona Viring,” her companion curtseyed before her. They giggled. “One million pesos!” A man whistled. “I could buy my own farm.” The bands of kibitzers coalesced, blocking Rudy’s view of the bulletin. Rudy sought a forlorn poster printed with a captioned portrait of a man. He blinked and rubbed his eyes repeatedly, but his vision did not change, neither did the face in the picture. “Berto?” Rudy clamped his mouth as soon as he uttered the name of the man staring at him from the photograph. He swiveled his head to the crowd, but everybody seemed to have been pulled closer to the bulletin by the captions below the photo. He did the same.

Roberto Cruz: Wanted for Frustrated Robbery with Homicide. REWARD: ONE MILLION PESOS.

Below the promised bounty was information about the criminal’s physical features that fitted Berto. But it was the newspaper clippings that were printed below the caption that captured Rudy’s interest.

Police raided yesterday evening a squatter’s community in Batasan Hills and arrested a certain Roberto Cruz who is wanted for the frustrated robbery and fatal shooting of a wealthy businessman and his bodyguard. Reyes denied the charges saying that his friend, Fred Montano, who was killed by the trader’s bodyguard, tricked him into accompanying him to a prospective employer. However, witnesses identified him as the gunman who shot William Enriquez and his security escort.

Below it was another newspaper article. Rudy read on.

Five inmates took advantage of the stormy weather yesterday and escaped from the local city jail. They were identified as Nicanor Mujica, Isko Perez, Dominic Pena, Salvador Gonzales and Roberto Cruz. The jail guards on duty have been relieved pending the investigation of the jailbreak. The relatives of William Enriquez have offered a reward of one million pesos for the recapture of Roberto Cruz. Cruz is on trial for the slaying of Enriquez and his bodyguard.

Tinio descended on the market like the other kibitzers who swarmed over the posters like flies. The posting of the bulletin baffled him. If the police suspected that a local was harboring Berto and the other convicts, the law enforcers would already have stormed houses and rigged checkpoints, but no homes have been raided and the lawmen have not yet blocked vital roads.
No other soul, not even Tinio’s wife, shared his secret. As a member of the bar, he knew that the law would be unforgiving to anybody who would shelter a fugitive. But he, a renowned champion of the downtrodden who languished in jails, was only practicing charity in his own home. Exonerating Berto was already a daunting task for him; his nephew’s flight from prison only magnified the problem. Turning his desolate farm hut into a safehouse for Berto and his family was a minor chore for him, defending in court presented him with a very formidable challenge. But the bounty and Rudy’s brush with his wards two days before had altered his plans. He could foresee the police dragging him to join a freshly manacled Berto and be ridiculed by Rudy, the town’s newest hero and millionaire.
Tinio spotted his estranged friend pacing towards a police outpost in the market, manned at that moment by two policemen. He hailed a tricycle. The wad of bills that he wagged before the driver made the vehicle nearly flew to the town’s periphery.
A rookie policeman in the outpost nudged his senior companion and pointed at the approaching old man. “He is an ex-convict. But he has not been into trouble lately. ” The senior officer said. “Ignore him and watch for that wanted criminal instead. Who knows, we could be rich before the day ends!” Their laughter died when Rudy spoke.
The wind buffeted Rudy’s face as the police jeep cruised at high speed. Four policemen occupied parallel passengers behind him while another officer took the driver’s seat, leaving the front seat to him. He could see from the side view mirror the second jeep that bore the town’s police chief, Inspector George Jimenez, and other officers trailing the jeep. The vehicles’ wailing sirens and flashing flights emptied the highway and drew the curious to the roadside to watch the cavalcade. The knots of onlookers and houses soon thinned, wide fields began to dot the land. They were getting near their destination.
At Rudy’s signal, the convoy turned into a muddy road with crests of outcropping rocks and troughs of deep puddles. The jeep’s wheels rolled over a small mud-coated boulder. The vehicle bounced, tossing its passengers from their seats. “Putang ina!” A policeman muttered in the rear seat. Rudy was thrown upward and forward from the impact, his chest crashed against the dashboard. The slingshot in his breast pocket was pressed deep into his flesh. He fished the toy and stared at it.
“Did you come for my tatay?” Rolando’s words echoed in his mind. “Rudy!” The policeman behind the steering wheel yelled. “Right or left?” The convoy was facing a fork in the road. The left path crossed a vast plain, the right branch led to the hills. “Right,” his voice was barely audible. “What?”
“Right,” Rudy answered more feebly while he pointed to the right. “Do you want to become a millionaire?” Rudy did not answer. He gazed at the hill that he climbed three days before and the bowl-shaped hill that sat farther in the horizon. He foraged for wood to carve in the hills three days before. He remembered how his nose twitched from the fusion of sweat and the liter of tuba – native wine fermented from coconut sap – he spilled on his shirt. He was certain that even those who have adapted to his inebriated and disheveled appearance would shrink from his fetid state. “Stop!” The jeep jerked to a halt throwing the passengers forward; a policeman bumped his head on the driver’s seat. “Putris! Do you want to kill us all, Luis?” The policeman called from the rear. “Blame our stupid guide!” The driver slammed his fist on the steering wheel. The chief’s jeep braked close to the first jeep.
Rudy bounded out of the jeep. “Follow me!” He beckoned to the policemen, but they alighted and huddled around the police chief. After conferring with their commander, they followed Rudy in single file.
With weapons cocked, the raiders stood behind a tree line that bordered a small clearing. “Chief, I think we are in Aling Tinya’s farm.” Luis, the driver, said. “So? She can sue us for trespassing! But if we catch that criminal in that house, then, I will drag her to jail myself. Spread out and search the area!” The team dispersed at his command. The chief turned to Rudy. “Are you positive that you saw Roberto Cruz in that house?” Rudy nodded. “Three days ago. Like what I have said, he was with a small boy who looks like him, probably his son.” Inspector Jimenez pointed at the hut in the middle of the open area. “But the house looks abandoned!”
“Sir,” a policeman waved from the clearing, “the area is clear!” Inspector Jimenez and Rudy stepped into the open and trotted toward the shack. The hut, supported by wooden posts, stood five feet off the ground. It had large plywood-paneled windows and a fenestrated thatched wall. The policeman climbed the bamboo stairs. When the creaking wooden steps did not break from the cop’s weight, Rudy and the police chief followed him into the house. Sunlight, streaming from holes in the roof, created small dots on the bamboo floor. Dust had carpeted most of the house, except in one corner where banana peelings were piled. “Somebody was here, alright!” The chief swept the litter with his feet.
“Chief!” Inspector Jimenez looked out of the window. A policeman emerged from the bushes dragging a man like a prisoner. “I saw this man over there!” He pointed to a clump of trees. The police chief met them in the clearing, close behind him was Rudy. “That’s the man, chief!” Rudy tagged the man on the chest with his forefinger. “He looks like Roberto Cruz,” Inspector Jimenez pulled the mug shots of Roberto Cruz from his pocket and held it next to the man’s face, “but he is not our guy!” “But he was the one that I saw!”
“’cuse me, sir,” SPO1 Ramil Fuentes stepped forward, “but that man is Edel Areca. I recruited him to work in my mother-in-law’s farm which is on the next hill.”
“What?” Inspector Jimenez turned to his subordinate. “Are you sure?” Officer Fuentes nodded. “But Rudy said -,”he seized Edel by the nape, “Have you met this man before?” He pointed at Rudy.
“Y-yes!” Cold sweat streaked on the farmhand’s forehead. “About two, no, three days ago. He came asking for water.” Edel saw more policemen joining the loose circle that ringed them. “He-he smelled of tuba!” Inspector Jimenez released Edel from his grip and turned to Rudy. “You were drunk when you saw him?” Rudy smiled sheepishly.
The chief slapped his own forehead. “And what were you doing when you met?” The farm worker hesitated. “Harvesting camote.” “And why are you here?” “Harvesting Aling Tinya’s camote,” a cop butted in. “So, an intoxicated Rudy saw you stealing camote and mistook you for Roberto Cruz.” He aimed his pistol at the old man. The policemen in the circle ducked. “Rudy, I will count to ten before I frame you for stealing camote!” Rudy scampered before the chief could begin counting. “And don’t drink when you go bounty hunting!” Inspector Jimenez bellowed. “Chief, what about him?” He threw a handcuff at his subalterns. “Bring him in! At least we got ourselves a criminal.” The policemen sneered. “Yeah, a camote thief.”
“Berto and his family are on their way to Mindanao. We have relatives there.” The visitor’s eyes did not lock with his host’s fiery gaze. Rudy knew about Tinio’s roots. He knew where his friend fled after the village folk who captured Rudy vouched that Tinio was nowhere near the crime scene. “Berto told me that you knew about him. Why did you lead the police to the wrong place?” Silence rebuked Tinio’s query. Rudy retreated into his abode, he returned clutching the slingshot. Tinio stared blankly at the toy; he did not resist when Rudy pulled his hand and pressed the wooden contraption into his palm. “Give this to Rolando when you visit them. I’ll never forget how the boy defended his father. Nobody has ever done that to me.” Rudy replied and shuttered his house.