17. Stormy nights

It was dark and windy.

The storm clouds are covering the full moon.

Torrential rains pour on the streets. Gale force winds howling, threatening to topple decades old trees that dug its roots deep in the hills over the years.

This place remains untouched by human industrial ventures. Its streams and rivers abundant of fish and other upland life rumbles with the weight of water poured down from the heavens.

A transistorized radio can be heard from a distance amid the whistling wind. It announces that storm signal number tree is raised in the immediate area and all residents are advised to stay in their homes.

In the middle of the thick foliage is a small hut. It was built low and rugged with thick bamboo posts, flattened bamboo walls reinforced with anahaw leaves, heavy grass roofing over nipa tied to bamboo slats protect it from the elements.

The foundations of the ground level hut is buried deep in the soil reinforced by thick trunks as anchors.

Inside, the house is sparse of furniture except for the essentials.

A table made of bamboo. Tree stumps for seats. A woven mat over bamboo-slat bed and a pillow filled with cotton from a nearby tree. A small kerosene lamp sits on top of the table. The transistor radio placed on a large diameter tree stump near the bed.

The radio anchor announced that it is only 10:00 in the evening and that the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration or more commonly known as PAG-ASA, reports that the eye of the storm will definitely pass through the region. The place itself within the path of the typhoon's eye.

This report gave the lonely resident of this isolated hut a start.

He listened more intently to the radio. Waiting for something. Some word or description.

And then he heard it.

Several lightning strikes caused by the heavy clouds formed by the super typhoon had struck different areas in its path.

They're back, he thought. It has begun.

The figure walks to the opening of the shack. No door was put in place. He did not need one. He has been alone for the time he was in this place.

All those years he watched changes come to the nearby seaside town visible to him from a protrusion in the cliff nearby.

He had been witness to the life and struggle of the people of this place. Electricity only came to this island less than five years ago when they were reached by underwater power cables. The town grew brighter. The old huts were replaced by cement built homes.

The sheds used as classrooms were torn down and new buildings were built. The walls bore the names of sponsoring non-profit organizations and the occasional politician who aims to capture their votes.

He never vote for all the times he spent in this pristine place.

At times he went down for supplies. Some food and tools he needed.

He traded with towns folks. He traded fruits, vegetables, meat of wild animals he hunted, and some jewelry made from special stones that abound the mountain sides.

There was a flash of light. The lights flickered all over town. And then it died.

The island is back to darkness as it was when he first arrived.

He was among the first of the inhabitants of this island. It was more than a millennium ago when he was washed ashore along with some of his people. There were five of them. Two were women.

Their skins were dark as night. Even their palms were black. It is the sign that they hold no life that decays.

For centuries they have tilled the lands of this island to produce crops and hunted its wild.

Two of the men united with the women and bore offspring. He was not among those who became one with the women. Soon, children of the couples united and produced more offspring. And their number grew.

But the children were not like them. They had light colored palms and soles. Their hairs were short and curly. And they aged.

As they grew older their bodies failed and they passed on never to return.

Soon the first five were forgotten. Each of them separated from the other and went off to other islands. Their offspring soon followed. The one who remained alone move uphill. Wanting to be forgotten.

More than a century ago, new people came. Less dark in color. Almost white. They wore colored clothing and arrived in large vessels with outriggers.

At first they mingled with the descendants of those who came first. And slowly displaced them uphill.

Most of the descendants sailed to other parts. Some stayed. Many have now passed on. A few still remained and roamed the town. Some as beggars. The others as laborers.

A bolt of lightning brought the man back to the present. It hit the shores..

Then another one came, hitting inland.

A third struck in the middle of the town with a fourth hitting near the eastern end.

The man did not flinch. He was waiting for something else.

Defying the common knowledge that lightning does not hit the same place twice, a fifth bolt hit the same spot along the shoreline. Most people did not notice it, but the bolt did not strike downward. It shot upward back to the clouds.

They have arrived.