The Santol Story

          Santol fruit was discovered many years ago. How it grew up here in Asia, I simply do not know. It is sweet, its fruit is the size of a tennis ball. If you eat it to include its seeds, watch out, you'd be inside mama's room for the whole day. But I tell you this - it saved the life of a boy many, many years ago.

          This was relayed to me by somebody who didn't know how to write, or just how to tell a story. But he's an acquaintance who can read and write many numbers in a game that has sold millions and billions in these islands called the Philippines. And this one could drink gin so much, much better than me, that's why he's an open-mouthed as he could be like a duck that quack-quacks all day.

          The story, however, is so reliable because the man who's saved by the fruit is still very much alive today. He drives his own jeep from San Matias to San Fernando all day long, because, well oh, that's his means of livelihood.

          "We were in first year high school," said he whose name was Banks. "One o'clock was our recess period, and then at two o"clock was supposed to be a subject in English. The teacher had given notice that he could not make it to class, so a substitute was to be picked from among the other teachers...and there was none."

          Banks' words were clear at first. We just had finished half of the regular bottle of gin when he started the story. He told of one of his childhood mates, Yeng. They were one of those inseparable buddies who were sons of esteemed men in the military.

          "As we say 'PC ranger neber owtput', because our papas were trained rangers in the jungol," said Banks with an accent.

          "You had one of those escapades," I asked, a bit interested of his story.

          "Right," he said, inhaling deeply and went on nostalgic, like he was acting what he was telling. "We decided to go to the nursery. That's just about a few hundred meters from the school. We were happy, enjoying each other's company, shouting and giggling like toddlers. And we climbed the fence of the nursery, a place so full of fruit-bearing trees of different variety - mangos, guava, avocado, and of course Yeng's favorite, santol."

          So nice to hear of those stories of the younger days. "That's a small adventure you've had. But that was stealing." I commented, though a bit eager to hear further.

          "Yeah, you got to hear this buddy," he said. "Yeng climbed the santol tree. I got the sweet guavas. Others took mangos, and other sweet fruits. Yeng just placed his gathered fruits inside his shirt... it was white but getting grayish now. And then, someone shouted ... the guard was coming. Off we ran as fast as we could."

          "Thieves about to be catched? Did the guard get you?"

          "Oh no, nobody could catch us. We're sons of rangers you know."

          "Right, you're rangers too. So, what did you do?"

          "We ran faster than a horse, away from the street of the agriculture, crossing the highway. Suddenly, Yeng crossed ahead of us, and I saw it, with my own two eyes, something happened that can never be erased in my memory until I die."

          "What is it?" I asked. "What did happen?"

          "A jeepney with a small trailer of sacks of rice, hit Yeng. I shouted, trying to call him up. He's dead... Yeng is dead."

          I stopped drinking. I was dumbfounded, didn't expect Banks' adventure story was a tragic one.

          He continued, "He fell on the pavement, as the trailer was over him. When it was finally removed, Yeng sat on the pavement. I was still in a moment of shock and surprise that I thought he was dead and then came back to life. Because I saw it after that moment of impact, the trailer tire ran over Yeng's belly which was then filled with fruits. But the jeepney still sped up fast, the driver unmindful of what happened."

          "He was dead and then alive?" I asked, also in shock.

          "He was dead, I mean, alive ..." Banks said, a little dizzy now, "he sat on the asphalted road, and spit a lot of blood; he cried and then one by one he picked up the fruits. Yeah, he cared for his santol."

          Banks stood up in his narration. "Ohh...ohh... ahh... my santol, my santol..."

          Banks was acting like he was Yeng. "But after a few minutes, he became unconscious. That's when another jeepney passed by."

          "He was still alive and you brought him to the hospital?"

          "Not yet. The driver, a priest, got off and asked what happened. We told him that Yeng was a victim of a hit-and-run."

          "And you brought Yeng to the church?"

          "No, the priest asked us as to Yeng's parents. And so we carried Yeng to the priest's jeepney, and brought Yeng to his house which was not so far away. When we reached there, the priest was so afraid because he saw Yeng's father with the uniform of a constable."

          "He was afraid he could be the one to be blamed of the accident, is that it?"

          "Yes, that's right. But you know, the sergeant accepted the priest's explanation. After that, we brought Yeng to the hospital."

          "That's a nice story," I said. "A happy ending."

          "You can say that, a happy ending," Banks said, relieved that his story was about done. "But here's the real ending of it."

          "Yeah, what happened to Yeng then?" I asked.

          "Yeng was unconscious for a week," Banks continued. "His body was bandaged all over. The Constabulary investigated the accident, all of us were questioned. Our fathers, the PC rangers, came to our rescue. And when the driver was apprehended, all's well that ends well. But you know, there was something very traumatic about the accident. I think it was the santol."

          "Why, what about the santol?"

          "As you know, the santol inside his shirt saved his life - the fruits cushioned the impact of the trailer tire."

          "So what was the traumatic part, you mean the whole accident?"

          "All of us were there when Yeng woke up. We were happy that he was finally awake. But then, as soon as he opened his eyes, he screamed and told his sergeant papa to get him out of the hospital."

          "Why, was he delirious or something?"

          "No, it was because when he opened his eyes he saw his favorite fruit-bearing tree at the window of the hospital. You know... superstitions."

          Banks' narration was becoming a little blurred to my imagination, maybe because he was getting drunk. I was a little drunk, too. Do you believe it?