Absinthe

Chapter 42: Pinikpikan

"Keep your voice down! You're going to wake him up." Jiwoo himself failed to keep it to a whisper, and I

detected traces of anger and annoyance in his voice.

"That's the point, you idiot." It was Nico. "You need to wake him up. He hasn't eaten since lunch, and

it's already 8 PM."

"I said keep it down!" Jiwoo hissed. "He needs rest. The least you can do is order food for him so he

can eat once he wakes up."

"And you'd let him rest uncomfortably in my car? Give up the comforts of a hotel bed? Whatever, man,"

said Nico in defeat. "I'm going ahead."

I waited until Nico's footsteps were faint before I decided to make any movement. Opening my eyes

proved rather difficult as they were covered in crusted tears around the edges. Jiwoo's shirt was damp

against my cheek while my head rested on his thigh.

After hearing Nico mention food, I realized that I was indeed hungry, famished even. I also felt

weakness creep up my arms, which were heavy and sore as I raised them to rub my eyes.

"Hey," Jiwoo said softly. "Are you awake now?"

I wanted to answer him, but my throat hurt, too. I gave him a gentle nod instead.

"You must be hungry," he said. "Can you walk? I'll take you to your room so you can relax a bit. I'll order

food afterward."

Jiwoo helped me up and out of the car. It was already dark, so I must have slept for hours after the

confrontation at the highway rest area. Unlike in Manila, the sky was splattered with stars, and before I

realized it, I had stopped walking and had become hypnotized by the naked moon.

I shivered as a chilly breeze swept across the parking lot of the farm resort, the bamboo trees and their

leaves singing a pleasant melody in response. And then warmth enveloped my body as Jiwoo wrapped

his arms around me.

"I don't have a jacket," he said. "And you looked cold. Let's go inside before you get sick."

He squeezed me in a gentle manner, enough for me to notice he had done it. I nodded again and

allowed him to lead me along a pathway decorated with small bamboo lamps sticking out of the soil. Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

My stomach growled when we were a few feet away from the grand entrance. Jiwoo laughed and

assured me that he was going to get me something to eat. Once inside, Jiwoo sat me down on one of

the armchairs in the lobby before he busied himself at the reception desk to get the both of us checked

in. It didn't take him long because Nico had already done it for all of us.

Jiwoo was smiling as he walked back toward me, waving the key as he did so. We then exited the

building together and followed the signs leading to the private villas.

The area was a sight to behold. It was full of leafy bamboo trees, ferns, all kinds of tall trees, and other

luscious greenery. There were flowering lilies in the ponds dotting the walkways, and peacocks of

different colors were serene in their sleep beside peculiar-looking stone structures.

At the center was a vast circle of gigantic trees towering high over the property. Behind one of the

tallest ones was a suspended walkway made of ropes, with a sign saying This Way To The Spa

hanging in bold letters.

The villas themselves were pure architectural genius. Their designs were minimalist and contemporary,

yet the astounding amount of greenery surrounding them elevated them further for a sophisticated,

classical look. Privacy was also guaranteed with high walls covered in fern and moss, despite floor-to-

ceiling windows and glass panels adorning the villas.

"And here's us," Jiwoo announced as we came to a halt in front of a sign that read Mahogany Villa.

"Us?"

"Do you think I'm leaving you with Nico after what happened?" Jiwoo raised an eyebrow, and for a

moment I thought he was getting angry, but his face eased up into a smile. "No, sir. You're stuck with

me."

Jiwoo took my hand the way he did when we were in Recto and led me inside. The rest of the

furnishings and the décor didn't register in my mind the moment I saw the couch. I just went ahead and

buried my face in one of the plump pillows there.

"Hey," Jiwoo protested. "Let's get you to bed."

I shook my head and waved my hand, trying to signal him to leave me alone. He had been kind enough

to accompany me despite what had happened earlier with JM, but for some reason, I didn't want to talk

to him.

"Okay," he said. "But don't sleep yet. You need to eat. I'm going out for a bit to get you something."

I didn't respond and feigned sleeping, and then I felt a hand ruffling my hair. I heard Jiwoo gently

closing the door, leaving me alone in silence.

And that was when I heard my stomach growl, an embarrassingly loud groan of protest for not having

eaten anything since the previous evening. My throat felt unbelievably dry, too, and I became aware of

a stomachache coming on. I guessed I really needed to eat after all. Or at least get something to drink.

Without Jiwoo.

I forced myself to get up, grabbed one of the keys from the table near the door, and exited the villa. I

kept walking for minutes, unsure of where I was heading or what I was looking for. All I knew was that I

wanted to go the opposite direction of the lobby where Jiwoo probably was.

I passed by several amenities in the resort as I wandered around. There were signboards for promising

ones we could explore tomorrow, but for now, I couldn't see them well because of the darkness of the

evening and the shadows of the greenery nearby.

A bit more time passed, and I soon found myself surrounded by small patches of vegetable and fruit

beds. There were strawberries and pineapples as well as silk squashes, eggplants, and bitter gourds. A

dainty little hut sat at the far end of the area, and I was sure it was a small coffee shop for guests who

took part in activities there at the resort's vegetable farm. The lights were on, and smoke was coming

out of the back window.

I walked toward it and came face-to-face with a low fence. It barely reached my knees, and I didn't see

it earlier. There was no signage anywhere, and the place was unusually quiet, save for some chirping

insects from beyond the hut.

I stepped over the fence and continued to approach the door, which was ajar. I saw the faint outline of

rattan furnishings.

"Hello?" I called out warily, but there was no answer. What the hell was I doing? It was a public amenity

of the farm resort, so I should be permitted to go in without a problem.

I entered the hut and was pleasantly surprised. Weaved pieces of cloth with colorful patterns adorned

the walls, and brittle-looking rattan chairs and a table were spaced evenly in the middle of the small

space.

"Can I help you?"

I turn back to the door to find an elderly woman holding a live chicken by the neck in her right hand. Her

wrinkled skin was almost golden because of the yellowish light in the room, and it was made more

beautiful by the tattoos on her arms and neck.

"Good evening, nanay," I greeted. "I'm a guest of the resort. Do you sell any food here?"

"A guest?" she asked but did not wait for my answer. She walked past me and headed to the kitchen.

"Yes, nanay," I said, showing her my villa key. She glanced at it, nodded once, and continued walking

toward the kitchen door that led outside. "I'm sorry, but it looks like this is private property. I thought I

could find food here."

"You're not wrong," the old lady said. "This hut is a resting area for guests participating in the vegetable

planting and harvesting sessions."

"Oh," I said, grateful that at least I did not accidentally trespass in someone's house.

"But it doubles as my house, too," she added, as though reading my thoughts. "I'm the caretaker of this

vegetable garden."

Her backyard was wide and rather empty, except for a bonfire with a makeshift stove at the far right. A

wok was placed upside down on top of the stove. I counted four stools made of tree stumps around it

and one low table made of coconut lumber. On the far left was a humongous eucalyptus tree, which I

think was planted there to fend off mosquitos.

"I'm so sorry," I started. "I'll be on my way then."

"Nonsense. You need nourishment. Come and take a seat."

"Thank you, nay," I replied. "I'm a good cook—maybe I can help you with that."

The old woman flashed me a smile, but her eyes were glued to mine. And while she was grinning,

there was sadness in her eyes.

"You need nourishment," she repeated. "Both here," she said, touching my stomach. "And here." She

moved her hand to the middle of my chest and tapped the bony area with her knuckle, shaking her

head as though displeased by the sound coming from it. "Sit. The moon is full. Tonight is apt for our

tradition."

I reluctantly went to the stool that gave me a full view of the kitchen door and the old lady's movements.

"Have you heard of pinikpikan?" The old lady asked, opting for the stool nearest the coconut table.

I shook my head in response.

"It's what this region is famous for. It's a chicken dish."

She placed the chicken sideways on the table, her right hand still gripping its neck firmly. The chicken's

head darted from left to right, seemingly unaware of what was going to happen next.

I didn't notice it at first, but there was a bamboo stick the length of my forearm on the table. She picked

it up with her left hand and raised it toward me.

"There's more to pinikpikan than just being a chicken dish," the old lady explained. "It's our tribe's way

of dealing with pain."

What?

"I'm not sure I follow," I told her.

The old lady gives me a sad smile again. Only this time, she appeared to be patronizing me for not

understanding what she had said.

"We pray to our ancestors to ease our pain," she continued. "And offer that of the chicken in its stead."

Without batting an eyelash, she hit the live chicken on the head, her motion swift and agile as if she

were in the prime of her youth. The chicken did not react in any way, but its head lay to the left of the

old lady's hand, almost lifeless except for the subtle movements of its irises.

"Here," the old lady said, thrusting the bamboo stick to me. "Let go of your suffering."

"I-I don't know what to do." I failed to control the stammering in my voice.

"You're hurting," the old lady said. "I can feel it. You've been carrying an immense burden for a long

time. Take this, and it will all go away."

For the second time, she urged me to take the bamboo stick, but I didn't move. My eyes were

transfixed on the still living chicken that had been rendered unconscious from being struck.

The old lady breathed out a deep sigh and raised the chicken an arm's length away from her. She then

proceeded to beat its body. I heard the sound of solid bamboo against flesh and bone and saw the

chicken twitch involuntarily. The poor thing didn't make a sound.

The old lady did it again. And again. And again.

With each blow, the chicken jerked in response. The wet, sickening crunch of wood breaking meat and

bone reverberated in the near total silence of the night.

I was a kid again, my dad forcing me to wear a pair of boxing gloves. You need to learn how to box,

how to fight like a man! This will snuff out the gay in you!

The sound of the bamboo stick against the chicken's bones was one and the same with the sound of

my dad's fist striking me, and like the chicken, my body jerked.

Because it was also my head that had received the first punch, I got knocked out and became unaware

of the pain.

I felt the old lady prying my palm open and placing the stick there.

"Let it go," she said.

My hand moved on its own. I hit the chicken and watched it shudder. Like a man possessed, I did it

repeatedly without meaning to. I beat the animal over and over, praying to some unknown god to take

away what I was feeling inside, to help me forget about my family, JM, and everyone else. I didn't stop

until I realized that the chicken was no longer moving.

It was lifeless in my hand.

My hand? The old lady was holding it a while ago. Where was she?

My face felt wet and sticky. I hadn't realized that I'd started crying and was crying still.

I let the dead chicken fall onto the table, panic rising up and threatening to swallow me whole.

"You're still in agony." The old woman was at the kitchen door, and beside her was Jiwoo with a living

rooster dangling from his hand.

I watched him rush toward and embrace me before wiping my face with his free hand.

He leaned in and whispered, "Let me help you get rid of all of it."

I dropped the bamboo stick and couldn't help but sob harder. Jiwoo hugged me again, tighter this time.

"I don't care how many chickens it takes. Until you feel better. I promise."