Interrupted Summer

Eagle.

PROLOGUE

A farmer in the town of Santa Teresa in the Sierra Madre Mountains of the Philippines discovered tubers that were found to be an excellent stimulant for grain production. He had unearthed them by accident while he was trying to divert more water into his irrigation canal. Believing that the exposed tubers were the cassava root crop he was familiar with, he harvested as much as he could carry, and planted them next to his corn farm.

Months passed. To his amazement, the farmer noticed that the corn plants near the tubers had shown dramatic improvement in their growth and were becoming much more productive than the rest of his crop. He realized that the roots were not of the edible cassava variety after all, but that they seemed to be a good source of cheap and excellent fertilizer for his plants.

Word of the mysterious roots spread like wildfire. Farmers jostled against each other to harvest and plant the remaining tubers next to their corn plots. Unfortunately, their hopes of enhancing, let alone doubling their grain production were dashed when they discovered that the tubers could not be propagated fast enough to replenish those that were dug out earlier. The grain growers realized that they might not be able to produce enough of the miracle fertilizer for their farms on a continuous cycle if they could not grow the roots fast enough to meet their immediate needs.

Anticipating the possibility of such a beneficial discovery, the Farmers’ Cooperative Association of Santa Teresa asked the government to spearhead a study to determine the feasibility of large-scale, commercial propagation of the tubers. Cheap fertilizer could offer quite a boon, not only for the local grain producers, but for all farmers in the world.

The Philippine Department of Agriculture and Natural Resources, in collaboration with the state university that had previously experienced success in international grain production research, teamed with a European agricultural research firm to conduct the study. If found successful in terms of its economic viability and impact on grain production, experts believed that the proposed pilot program could lead to a commercial-scale production. The tubers were envisioned to be grown, processed, and test-marketed locally, with growth anticipated in all of the Asian countries where grains, particularly rice and corn, provide a major portion of the population’s daily food requirement.

The research group established a field laboratory and other facilities in the Sierra Madre Mountains near Santa Teresa, the site of the original root discovery. A breakthrough in the development of cheap fertilizer for rice, corn, and other grains loomed possible.

Five years into the project, and with millions of dollars spent, however, the experiments failed to show encouraging results. The consortium struggled to grow the tubers at an acceptable rate of production. Scientists observed that success in growing the roots was a function of their moisture sensitivity. If moisture remained uncontrolled, as had been the case during the past wet seasons, the tubers were susceptible to attack by viruses, fungi, and other root diseases. The frequent typhoons that had caused destruction in the area also played a major role in the debacle. The use of greenhouses to regulate moisture application to the roots of the plants seemed to enhance production, if only they could hold out against the powerful wind gusts accompanying the big storms.

The research program seemed to be headed for failure.

One day, a violent typhoon brought the entire research facility to the ground. All of the experimental tubers, chemical reagents, various catalysts, and blends of plant enzymes used in the study were spilled. Scientists and their crews, having experienced the worst of the bad weather in that mid-montane frontier, left the area in a rush. Abandonment of the project was the obvious recourse if they were not able to find a suitable place to relocate for continuing their research.

Rabbits, rodents, wild pigs, and other animals took over the ruined research facilities to search for food. They gobbled up the tubers treated with chemical reagents and enzymes, and ingested some of the laboratory liquids that spilled to the floor during the storm. Meanwhile, a pair of hungry, monkey-eating eagles, nesting not far from there in the Santa Magdalena Rainforest, swooped down from the sky many times to attack and devour the scavengers on the wrecked research facilities’ grounds.

Animals that were able to escape the eagles’ attacks near the research site, including a family of wild swine, appeared to the local farmers to have died of poisoning.

Following their consumption of tainted prey, the eagles appeared to have mutated into a more aggressive and ferocious subspecies. Their dramatic buildup in size and strength dwarfed other eagles on the island.

The giant, winged predators ventured out of their customary foraging range in the rainforest for the first time. In search of larger prey, wild or domestic, they boldly entered the bustling town of Santa Teresa.

A stroke of luck might have been the reason for the encounter of Marco Vega, an outdoorsman and a biology major, with the giant eagles. It was an odd encounter, as they lived on different mountain ranges. Their paths would cross and cause mayhem when well-meaning hunters of the Sierra Madre Mountains forced the wayward predators out of their rainforest territory, hoping they would resettle in the deeper reaches of the undisturbed northeast mountains. Unbeknownst to the people in the area, the eagles would change their course and end up in the distant Caraballo Mountains to the southwest.

1

THE FRESHMAN

I’ll be in excellent form when I return to school and the gym in eight weeks. For now, I look forward to enjoying my summer break outdoors.

Between classes, Marco Vega crammed through his textbook and lecture notes in preparation for a difficult pre-final exam in General Chemistry II. This would be his last course that day, and his last written test before the upcoming finals. Of all the courses he had enrolled in that semester, chemistry was by far the hardest. He ran his fingers through his hair, stared at the chalkboard, and fumbled for the right answers halfway through his exam. His face was damp with perspiration on that rather cold and foggy afternoon in March of 1972.

You have five more minutes to submit your answer sheets, instructor Laura Clemente said. She was labelled a classroom terror because of her penchant to flunk up to as many as half her class if they failed to clear the high bar she had set.

With all due respect, Miss Clemente, how can you expect us to finish this kind of exam in just 40 minutes? I’ve never had a longer or more difficult test than this one, Marco said.

About two thirds of the class echoed his gripe. Silence, please, she said. If this classroom is not scheduled for another class in the next period, I’ll give you fifteen more minutes to wrap up your exam. Finished or not, I expect all your answer sheets to be on my desk at five fifty. Is that clear?

Marco took off from the City of Pines University campus and was on his way to the YMCA gym for his martial arts training. Having used all the extra fifteen minutes for the test, he would not make it to the gym on time for the warm-up exercises.

A stranger in Baguio City when he started college there nine months ago, the shy seventeen-year-old freshman knew hardly anyone outside of his school and boarding house. It didn’t matter. I’ll have friends when I want them, he once wrote to his younger brother, Toby, who continued to communicate with him from his hometown in San Antonio, Nueva Vizcaya. Loneliness, as he would occasionally experience while living in the city, was not the result of his seclusion. In fact, whether his short-term solitary existence was a bane or boon for him depended on what his predisposition was on those days. Some days he longed for company, while on other days he wanted to be alone.

Several weeks into the semester, Marco decided to spice up his young life by joining a sports club. He enrolled in Shotokan Karate. The intense training and competition he witnessed in the gym during his orientation was enough to convince him that karate was the sport he would like to try.

When you practice martial arts, or any other physical sport for that matter, you will learn to assert your self-expression, which is important for your development, Dale Romano, a black belt assistant instructor who initially showed him the gym facilities, said. Keep in mind that concerted physical activities can help manage stress.

Thanks for those well-founded words, Marco said. My alternate choice of sport was basketball, which I played throughout my high school years. I decided against it this time because I don’t have the proper height to compensate for my just-average foot speed.

Now as he walked past the cathedral, he was particularly cognizant of the time. He had made a habit of gazing at the huge clock below the left spire of the cathedral to reaffirm that he was on time. This time, he knew that he would be late.

The church bells began their toll. A student walking ahead of him stopped to make the sign of the cross and uttered a short prayer. Marco paid no attention and walked past the student, but as he looked back toward the cathedral grounds, he noticed that everyone else in the crowd—students and churchgoers alike—had stopped to pray. Curious as to what was going on around, he strode over to the student who was about to resume walking and said to him, I’m new in town. Can you please tell me what’s taking place here? I mean, the clanging of the bells, and why people stop and pray?

It’s six o’clock in the evening, and the church bells call for the observance of The Angelus, a prayer of devotion in honor of the Annunciation and Incarnation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the student said. City residents who hear the bells stop what they’re doing—be it walking or jogging—to celebrate the occasion. Motorists within earshot of the chimes stop their vehicles to commemorate the event unless they’re out-of-towners who are unfamiliar with the ritual.

I thought so. I’m Marco. Thanks for the information.

And I’m Constante. I’ll see you around the campus.

To be sure, Marco went to a Catholic high school in San Antonio and had studied, among other church doctrines, The Angelus; what it represents, and why it’s being observed. I didn’t see people in my hometown stop their activities and recite their prayers every time the bell tolls at six in the evening. They probably practice the rite just like they do here, but I haven’t really watched them that closely. Perhaps many of them would rather celebrate the event in private, as I have. Regardless, they do a lot of things differently here.

Marco’s Lolo (Grandpa) Gil, who was footing all his school bills, wanted him to pursue his college education in Manila, against the youngster’s preference for Baguio. Haggling with his Lolo Gil, yet being careful not to disappoint him, Marco ultimately got what he wanted. His arguments were based on Baguio being as good a university town as any in the country, and that his chosen school was one of the leading institutions of learning in the region.

Surrounded by gold and copper mines, Baguio, also known as The City of Pines, is in the province of Benguet, which lies inside the vast Luzon Pine Forests in the Central Cordillera Mountain Range. Towering to almost 1,540 meters above sea level, the city boasts a superb climate that is no doubt the best in the country. It is a unique and inviting urban community that is set in the mountains where exotic florae grow. Motoring to the city by way of the scenic and zigzagging Kennon Road, one of two accesses from the south, tired travelers enjoy the fresh scent of pine trees permeating the cool and invigorating air. The allure of Baguio attracts many visitors all year round, especially during the observance of the holy week and other important holidays.

In the beginning, Kafagway, as Baguio was called then, was populated by the Ibaloi and Kankanaey tribes of the Cordilleras. It is situated within the province of Benguet. The early inhabitants named the place Bagiw, or moss in English, for the green, succulent plant abundant in the area. The Dominican missionaries later changed the spelling of Bagiw to Baguio, in part because it rhymes with the local word they often hear, bagyo, which means typhoon. Also, the word was perhaps easier for foreigners to pronounce. The occupants of the city now include many other Filipino ethnic groups and immigrants of different nationalities, many of whom have assimilated into the mainstream culture.

A chartered city since 1909, Baguio was designed by American architect and urban planner Daniel H. Burnham during the American occupation. The Mansion House was built for the American governor general as his summer residence to escape the warm, tropical climate in Manila. Camp John Hay, later called John Hay Air Base, was developed for rest and recreation of the members of the U.S. Armed Forces and their dependents.

After the country had gained her independence from the United States in 1946, The Philippine government followed the same tradition of transferring its seat from the capital city to Baguio during the warm months. Though the practice is continued by only the Supreme Court, the sobriquet Summer Capital of the Philippines still stands.

The half-hour cathedral chimes were back to life, reminding Marco that it was time to be in the gym. The warm-ups must be over now. I can’t stand showing up in the middle of the workout with all eyes upon me. It’s an awkward feeling.

Alvin Arce, a 2nd-degree black belt and the head instructor of the Japan Karate Association in the city, called out everyone who wore a karategi (karate uniform) to line up in formation, shoulder to shoulder, seven across, and seven deep. He led the supplementary drills or workouts—sometimes called limbering exercises, or warm-ups—designed to increase strength, speed, stamina, and help reduce the occurrence of injuries.

Marco crossed the cathedral loop and entered the commercial building through its main entrance. He went down the flights of wooden stairs to the austere but adequately equipped gymnasium that consisted of a basketball court (also used for martial arts activities), a side recess furnished with weights and other equipment for body building and weight lifting, a soda and snack bar, a small office, and an open changing room for karatekas (karate practitioners) to slip in and out of their uniforms.

He was surprised to see the class still in the middle of the warm-ups instead of going through the routine sparring and training drills.

After completing the cooling down exercises, karatekas pounded the heavy canvas bag and the makiwara (striking padded-board anchored to a post). Loud thumps and thuds resonated across the pinewood and concrete gym.

Black belt assistants divided the karate class into groups according to the color of their belts. Under supervision, the white and blue belts practiced kihon (basics) while the brown belts performed kata (forms).

Arce picked Marco to be the first of his several kumite (sparring) partners. He didn’t start a conversation with the latter, perhaps an indication that he would convey his response to his tardiness in a different way.

Relax, and don’t show fear when sparring with a tough opponent, particularly the head instructor, Marco said to himself. As it stands, karate sparring doesn’t call for full contact. But having sparred with Arce many times in the past, and observing his sparring matches with other students, he was reminded not to be careless, and to avoid being the recipient of blows that are likely to land from time to time. He had received his own share of misplaced bare-knuckle punches that bloodied his nose at times, and had witnessed karate students like him getting knocked down when hit by a roundhouse kick to the jaw, or a reverse punch to the solar plexus. Such blows could land by accident on the upper body, even the face at times.

Striking the makiwara repetitively to improve his hand extension and focus, Marco looked impressive with his hand and hip movements. He had shown his skill in hitting the padded board. His black hair, cropped short to comply with the ROTC requirement, complemented his good looks. If he was a bit nervous about his sparring match with Arce, he made an effort to hide it. He waited in front of the makiwara, glancing on occasion across the gym to check on his upcoming opponent, who was still talking to a young man who wanted to join the class. Before long Arce was ready, having been relieved from one of his diverse duties by an assistant.

Following the protocol to uphold the Japanese karate tradition—bowing toward each other with arms clipped on each side of the body, fists half-clenched and ready—Arce opened the sparring match by lunging at Marco, thumping him on the chest with a leading left back fist that the latter didn’t see coming. It was followed by a swift roundhouse kick that was blocked by Marco with his raised left arm. His defense was well-executed, to say the least, but he failed to maintain the correct stance in the ensuing skirmish. His feet were too close together, making him vulnerable to the instructor’s next move. Arce saw the opening and with a quick and powerful leg stroke, swept Marco off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor.

Be careful when you shift your feet on the floor or else your next opponent will drop you like a bag of potatoes, Arce said, his words adjunct to a subconscious display of his odd mannerism of nodding his head repeatedly while hovering over the fallen student. Maintaining the right stance will keep you standing even after receiving a well-placed blow to the body. The key to learning is to keep doing the right technique over and over until it is absorbed in your system and you feel comfortable doing it.

Feeling somewhat chastised as a result of his inattention to an important detail in sparring, Marco, who appeared to have bruised his left elbow when he hit the floor, realized his mistake and said, It’ll be different next time, Alvin. I’ll keep working on my footwork.

Remember that your stance is your strength. A narrow stance weakens you, while a wide one slows you down. I expect to see improvement on your footwork.

Black belt assistant instructor Joey Valle was watching the action. He led Marco to a corner and showed him the proper stance. He also demonstrated how to snap back to it and maintain proper balance after completing a defensive or offensive tussle. He was aware that Marco had earned his brown belt not long ago, and was certainly not a novice by any means; he had perhaps experienced a beginner’s slip-up.

Joey exhibited some of the most basic karate techniques, and added his comments at every pause. Place your feet firmly on the floor: shoulder-width apart, left foot forward facing your opponent with your left knees bent above your left toes, and right foot slightly angled to the right. Shoulders slightly lowered and relaxed, right arm recoiled for attack, and left arm ready for a downward or upward defensive block. You can assail your opponent in a variety of ways: front snap, side thrust, roundhouse kick, lunge and reverse punches—all offensive strikes that one day you’ll be proficient at.

Despite the pain in his elbow that cut short his sparring match, Marco duplicated Joey’s well-executed onslaught and defensive action against an imaginary opponent. This was not a surprise because brown belt karatekas are expected to be competent with the basic karate techniques. Joey was confident that Marco was a much better student than Arce had given him credit for. In sparring, he wouldn’t match up with the black belts, but at least he could beat most of the brown, and all the blue belts in the gym. All he needed to do was avoid making rudimentary mistakes.

At the close of the karate class, Marco and Joey left the gym and walked through the drifting fog that had shrouded the pine and eucalyptus trees, buildings, streets, and the distant hillsides dotted with numerous dwellings. The fog-obscured streetlights seemed eerie as they emitted flickering light in all directions without offering much luminance. Swarms of insects crowded the lampposts.

It was quite cold that evening; the temperature was in the teens—Celsius. They had to walk faster to maintain their body warmth, since neither of them thought of bringing a jacket or a sweater.

When they went past Raymond Lee’s Café and Restaurant at the Downtown Plaza Square, Joey told Marco that he waited tables there six days a week. "Mr. Lee, the owner and manager, allows me to work the early shift when I’m scheduled to assist Arce in the gym. It’s very nice of Ray, and I’m so grateful for those three or four mornings a week.

Noticing Marco clasping a textbook and other classroom materials, Joey asked, "What university do you go