"The Ghosts of Sinagtala" originally appeared in Unseen Moon, a book published in 2013. It had a limited print run, but it's available now as an ebook on Smashwords and Amazon.
For the book's availability, do visit http://elizavictoria.com.
Enjoy.
* * * *
It was Good Friday. The penitents were out on the street, flogging themselves, their backs covered with blood. When the jeepney stalled, Emma leaned forward and looked through the windshield. Four men, their faces covered in maroon cloth topped with wreaths of bayabas leaves, were lying facedown on the ground. Another man, in cutoffs and a cap and holding a whip, hovered over them and hit their buttocks with gusto. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. The man in cutoffs nudged them with his foot, and the men rose and changed positions. The man in cutoffs whacked them again. Emma could see the dust rising off the penitents' shorts as the whip landed. Their bloodied backs, glistening in the sun like oil, reminded Emma of gutted fish.
The group changed positions two more times. The penitents' heads faced north, east, west, south. They were arranging their bodies in the form of a cross.
Inside the jeepney, the other passengers craned their necks but quickly lost interest, save for one, a boy in a UP shirt, who took out his iPad and took a picture of the penitents. "It's been years since I last saw something like this," Ben said. One passenger wasn't patient enough to wait for the jeepney to start moving. Emma pulled their bags closer to let him pass.
"Are we going to ride another jeepney after this one?" she asked.
"No, just one more tricycle," Ben said. "Then we're home."
Home, Emma mused. The penitents stood up, genuflected, and took up their whips again. As they passed, the jeepney driver quickly drew the cloth covering his side of the vehicle. The passengers followed suit and shut the windows. Emma wasn't quick enough. A penitent scourged his back, the whip falling, oddly with a sound like that of gravel dropping, and a drop of blood fell on Emma's dress.
"Oh, no," Ben said. "Sorry, Em." He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the stain near the neckline. Emma, embarrassed by this display of affection, pushed his hands away.
"It's all right, Kuya," she said. The jeepney started moving, and the siblings sat back and looked out the window.
"It always felt like this here during Lent," Ben said. Notes of pasyon drifted into the jeepney, the old woman's voice rising and falling like a wave. Pagdaka'y ibubulalas parusang kasindak-sindak sa harap ng taong lahat. "Like the town's hallucinating."
*
The tricycle drivers were playing chess beneath the shade of a mango tree, sweating and sleepy in the late afternoon heat. Emma could feel her temper fraying. She wished her brother had rented a car. She tied her hair in a tight bun, hoping for a cool breeze to caress her nape.
"Where are you off to?" one of the tricycle drivers asked.
"Sinagtala," Ben said. When that didn't elicit a response, he added, "Del Estrella?"
The tricycle driver had a towel around his neck. He mopped his face with it as he looked at Ben, thinking. The driver stepped back and talked to his friends. They talked in low, urgent voices.
Another man stepped forward, younger and slighter than the first man who had spoken to them. "Let's go," he said, and helped them secure their luggage on top of the tricycle.
