God in His Heaven, where was the shore? Then she remembered the helmsman looking at the stars and guiding his boat by them. She recalled how it was on those nights when her father also turned to the stars and identified landfall.
The evening star — if she swam toward it, she would reach land. She could float — that was easy — but how could she defend herself from the marauders of the deep? Once, she felt something rough like an is-is leaf brush against her leg and her whole being trembled. A shark! The fishermen in their village had often caught baby sharks in their nets and fish traps and their skins were rough and could cut. For a long while, she waited for the snap of those razor jaws. But if it had been a shark, it did not return. She prayed again that she would not fall asleep, that the sea would not grow rough again and that she could continue to float without tiring too much. Already she had drunk mouthfuls of water and her stomach turned.
Dawn came stealthily shimmering on the waters and with sunrise, she was now sure where land was. Through bleary eyes, she could see the high outline of mountains — so near but really far. She paddled slowly toward the vision, doubting that she would be able to reach the shore.
Toward midday, a plume of smoke rose hazily in the distance. Soon it came into view — a black steamboat, one of those which must have come from the Ilokos or from other lands, headed for Manila — a place she had never seen but which she had heard about as the final destination of these giant boats that could go against the wind or sail on even when the seas were rough. It came closer and she could see shapes moving on the deck. She shouted till her throat ached and her lungs seemed ready to burst — but the big black boat did not lose speed — it glided on until it became just a speck in the distance, and then its plume of black smoke disappeared altogether.
In her worst moments of fear and hopelessness she thought she would just sink. But she kept on floating, marking time with her breathing, gulping the air painfully, her mouth now bitter and dry. Then, something glinted in the sun, and for a while she thought it must be a huge fish but it was not. She swam toward it for what seemed like forever and near it at last, she cried — it was a huge banana trunk and she embraced it, clung to it, and thanked God and all the spirits of the departed for this raft.
She paddled slowly. The sun rode the heavens and lashed down at her, blistered her skin, which hurt so much she would scream. Darkness finally came. It was cold. Her eyes closed and she would struggle to keep them open. The searing blisters, the aching in her throat were now dulled, even bearable, as sleep threatened to engulf her. Once, her grip on the trunk loosened and she seemed to have drifted off into sleep; she woke up in time, fear giving strength to her body and she gripped the trunk even tighter. Then, to her dismay, a skein broke off and now she was afraid that the whole trunk would fall apart before she reached the shore. Worse, it seemed as if the sea itself now wanted to claim her. The waves seemed bigger, and she could not see what was ahead as the sea heaved. Thoughts of death flashed through her mind once more, of fish feasting on her flesh as she sank to the bottom. Her legs were already numb and her arms were heavy as logs. It was then that she made the vow: that if she lived, she would serve whoever saved her for as long as she was needed and she would do anything, anything demanded of her …
Morning again; the shore seemed much nearer. A wave lifted her, and through eyes that smarted she was overjoyed to see the line of trees on the shore. But her arms were no longer hers, her throat was being scraped by thorns. With no food in her belly for two days, it seemed as if it were being gnawed by sharp fangs. The banana trunk seemed so enormous, she could no longer hold on to it, and all around her, the turbulence of waves, the sound of crashing surf, of thunder.
“I was very surprised to find out later that I was alive,” she said. The man who rescued her had seen her from the shore clinging to the banana trunk. There were no houses in this part of the coast — surely she was not out there for a swim. He was not a good swimmer but he had four large coconuts whose husks were ripped partially then tied together. He used them as floats when he swam out to her. She was hardly conscious when he reached her, her arms like a vise on the trunk; he towed her to the shore and carried her to his cart, watched her sleep till early evening, when she finally woke up.
“It was dark,” Dalin said, “but there was this cooking fire at my feet, and this man with one hand tending the pot. I cried again and again with happiness. My body ached all over — the blisters on my skin — and I realized that I was naked, that he had removed my wet clothes and covered me with a blanket. More than that, I realized, too, that he had bathed me with fresh water — there was no salt water on me. Even my hair had been combed. I remembered my vow.”
He was more than twice her age. He had taken the seaside route and was carrying back to the Ilokos three sacks of grain and a jar of salted fish. He had gone to eastern Pangasinan and had gleaned the newly harvested fields there. He would tell his people of the virgin lands where they could still settle, the mountains they had to cross.
That night she ate for the first time and never before had rice and green tomatoes dipped in salted fish tasted so good. But he forbade her to eat or drink too much. He made soup with marunggay leaves which scalded her insides and warmed her all over. He was right in warning her, for hardly had the food settled in her belly than she started to vomit.
She could not make out his face too well in the light of the cooking fire, but she could see the ridges on his forehead and his only hand. Before she went to sleep naked under the coarse Iloko blanket, the uneven earth covered with grass mat, she wondered what his thoughts had been when he undressed her.
She woke up very late, the sun a glaze upon the land and sparkling on the sea to her right. The blanket had slipped and her breasts and her belly were exposed. Nearby on the grass, her skirt and blouse were already dry and she stood up weakly and put them on. Her benefactor was nowhere in sight, the cart still unhitched beside her. He was not inside. Down to the left, his white bull was tethered to an ipil sapling and was grazing on the stubbly grass. Beyond the growth of ipil trees and scrub was a wooded hill; on the trail farther on, two carts were straining up the incline. He emerged from the screen of trees slumbering in the heat, on his shoulder a bundle of dry twigs for firewood.
He had a dark kindly face, a small nub of a nose. “There is food in the pot,” he said with a faded smile. “You vomited everything you ate last night …”
She wanted to rush to him, to kiss his hand, but she could only stumble forward. He helped her to climb up on the cart, which was loaded with grain, coconuts, and the jar of salted fish, then he hitched it. He wanted to take her back to Lingayen, but there was no one there to whom she could return; besides (she did not tell him) there was this vow she had made. If she was going back at all, it would be on a pilgrimage of gratitude to the Virgin in Manaoag. Would he take her there? Yes, but first he must go back to his people in the north — they needed the grain he was bringing back.
That day, her dead skin started to peel and in time the blemishes disappeared. She gathered catuday flowers and marunggay leaves along the way, and cooked them flavored with young tamarind leaves.
He told her she could leave him anytime, particularly after she had regained her strength. After all, she was no stranger to this route but she said she would go wherever he would go. She was his servant and would ask for no money, just the food she ate. She drove the cart at night, and while they rested in the daytime, she gathered grass for the bull. It was a big beautiful animal — and patient.