Chapter 3
Debraining
(Source: Internet. Retrieved 07-12-2022)
Various multi-colored fresh spiritual bouquets with sympathy cards are lined up in a row from the gate to the main door at the entrance. Their fragrance wafting that evening air creating a familiar ambiance of solemnity. It is reminiscent of the Flores de Mayo atmosphere when beautiful flowers abound and are offered by children in honor of the Virgin Mary. This greeted Fr. Driarco creating an aromatic sensation alighting from Motorola.
"Home at long last!" he uttered his eyes surveying his home teeming with sympathizers.
Faces of friends and relatives empathy are seen all over their faces were seen all over some slightly bowing their heads seeing him passing them by entering the front door. Mass cards on top of the casket and scented lighted huge candles their wax piling up on their exquisite holders provided an eerie atmosphere of the rare crossover occasion. It was a common sight to Driarco as vigil and dishing out homily on the beauty of death as a celebration of life has been part of his work as an overseas Catholic Missionary priest in Taiwan.
But that evening was completely different he being is a direct party to the deceased. It's as if a bucket full of cold water was doused all over his body coming finally face to face with his father this time in a casket, dead!
"It's time to mourn. Don't drag the weight of the whole world upon your shoulder buddy," the words of Beatle's song 'Hey Jude' reminded giving him fleeting relief somehow.
"They are right," he realized regaining composure learning that he has not even established the bottom line of the case yet.
Embracing her loving mother Illa Crispe tightly, he was speechless before fresh hot tears started falling profusely down his innocent cheek recalling those beautiful memories together between him and his father down the memory lane. Holding on to his sanity emotion he managed somehow controlling emotion. But it's not meant for long. He was just waiting for his time to explode releasing pent-up emotion of grief or he would be crazy. He finally broke the silence of the night sobbing like a child hugging gently his mother.
"This must be it," he thought reliving how close he was to his father as a young boy. Somehow, he calmed down feeling gradual outbursts of erstwhile controlled mindset were depleted down the drain. Regaining back serenity and lucidity otherwise shuddered in their foundation by circumstances beyond his comprehension, he just chilled.
Recovering from seemingly almost disorientation exhausting whatever emotion left, he finally fidgeted that he was okay and would like now to waste no time seeing his father.
"Go, son. There he is waiting for you," said the comforting words of her mother fulfilling his last request. We have added a few more liters of formalin just enough to last for a vigil a few more nights before he would finally be laid home to his eternal rest."
Requesting for an exclusive audience with his father except for Danny, his younger brother, the embalmers left one after the other on cue leaving by their twosome selves.
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"What's up and whatever happened?" Fr. Driarco probed into the mystery surrounding their father's untimely death after hugging the cold and stiff lifeless body.
Standing back while seriously gazing over the lifeless body on the bed, he is hoping to spot for that proverbial clue to account what happened.
Quiet a tough job but it's the only way to go building from loose pieces together hopefully to answer that same baffling tough question. He waited for Danny's comment.
"He just slept away there at Aling Nita's parlor," responded Danny his two hands spread wide outstretched stressing his point.
"That simple!" Driarco begged the question wanting to get vital information to the bottom of the incident.
"He was even snoring earlier and mistaken to be just only resting. He was still right there glued in his chair sitting his reading glasses still solidly perching on his nose when Aling Nita woke him up but to no avail until."
"He dropped like spaghetti his body soft as a marshmallow falling into the ground. Dead!"
Danny slowly uttered emphasizing the unhappy ending.
"That was the time when pandemonium broke loose concerned people from the neighborhood coming to the rescue administering first aid in an earnest attempt of reviving him. But to no avail."
"At the dead of the night," Driarco said further begging the question. Danny nodded.
"Did he vomit? Were there any foreign residue indicating the presence of ptomaine – poison no less?"
Danny moved his head indicating none at all wondering about the inquisitiveness of his elder brother.
"There's seemingly something wrong short of mystery surrounding his death," thought the younger brother his innocence gradually pricked by elder Driarco.
Gently hugging the dear departed again, rolling slightly away the white linen cloth the cadaver exposed looking for some indications of possible foul play. None. Same his toenails, hands, back, ear up to its extremity – head - surveyed. Nothing suspicious indeed. The body was fresh as the embalmer administered his last bath only this time, he was stiff. What caught his attention though was the black color of his hair!
"His mother, Illa Crispe must have agreed to embalmer's request treating his once all gray hairs into black to look good and young albeit his last," he thought.
"Then barring all suspicion of conspiracy, it must have been a case of cardiac arrest to use medical parlance in other words," Driarco explored catching Danny off guard.
"Most likely and nothing much we can do," Danny said nodding approvingly.
"Was this confirmed by Physicians who performed the last-ditch effort of reviving him in an Emergency station later?"
"Yap. But not that fast. Father's case was already history as he was already declared Dead on Arrival."
"Maybe," Driarco nearly gave up recalling three similar incidents involving basketball players dead during and after the game. Two while playing; the last, resting for good after the game. But there was no physical involvement or strenuous activity in his father's case. Mere drinking spree spending the nights away among friends, the smoke of doubt clouded over him again.
Intoning prayer having floated several sensitive queries receiving no convincing answers, he readily hugged his cold body for the third time and just didn't manage to control himself sobbing anew all the more instead realizing his ineptitude and helplessness probably without seeing the dawn of his initiative.
His grip on his arms tightened, and voice guttural he uttered "Thanks for having been there!" Fr. Driarco ended up wanting to be not melodramatic spoiling the night away.
"I'm entangled in a maze with all these tentative and negative results," he contemplated.
"When would the new light shine on me Dear Lord?" he whispered with an entreaty for the first time showing that big leap of faith in Him recognizing his helplessness in addressing the very tough battle ahead. Wanting to give up knowing the complexity of the problem facing the blank wall, he mustered enough strength to accept that all, for now, is a well-and-done deal. As if guided by his father's spirit through to finally bid him adieu, he lifted his torso closer to his chest kissing his forehead its long shiny black hair slowly swaying to the rhythm of his sobbing as he finally intended to call it a night.
Suddenly, he had nosebleeds and goosebumps his face ashen and cold feeling his middle finger on the right-hand touching protruding stuff from a cranium! This he felt while repeatedly and gently combing his father's thick and long new black hair as if arranging each strand in its proper place.
"What could this be?" the question trapping him right away stumbling upon a pointed foreign little object its top just barely enough to be felt protruding from his cranium!
Turning off the light, he requested Danny to provide him with the necessary lift as cover.
"Just follow my command complying with whatever I shall say. Okay?" he whispered.
"Deal," Danny nodded approvingly showing thumb up sign even while darkness already engulfing them in the room.
More surprised and caught off guard thinking what's these unusual antics of his brother priest all over again, he waited with overwhelming excitement.
"Why this poor guy can't just wait for licensed embalmers outside doing post-mortem for them on instruction from National Bureau of Investigation officers instead of messing up their work," he reflected griping. It was a question he was about to ask but afraid to do observing how engrossed Driarco was doing his own business looking into that foreign item highlighted from penlight his mouth bit. Raring to ask but Driarco beat him just in time showing his impatience.
Reaching his right hand putting his index finger on his lips signaling to just keep quiet, he complied. Feeling the urgency of the command Driarco guided his right index finger through the cranium feeling the top of an object buried protruding sending trembles down and swiftly to his spinal column.
"What do you think that is?"
"No idea yet," Driarco answered. They started pulling it off alternately one after the other but were unsuccessful as their index finger slips away each time the attempt of pulling it off was made. Both could only shrug in disbelief as they frantically beat the heat of the night pulling off possible shockers and failing some more. There was an adrenaline rush their faces turning red as beads of sweat now appeared on their brows dropping freely to the floor. Who knows, embalmers outside might crashed their entry growing impatient wondering whatever happened that they have not yet been summoned back inside into the room.
"If so, they too might be accomplices doing their work for a living and therefore Driarco's family is only treated to a joyride, farfetched idea but otherwise possible," an engrossed playing detective Catholic priest thought.
"But if they treated his father to his last bath and dyed his hair black then most likely. Who knows? Just who knows?" the nasty idea further played around his mind.
"Accomplices then of the mastermind. But they are merely ordinary embalmers doing their work for their family" Driarco took aback learning they are licensed and private practitioners of the trade and no way they could plant that needle on his cranium.
"But who knows how much cost the deal forged? You cannot eat your ideals and value you know. Nothing is impossible for people of greed hungry for power and money," the question running on his mind as he hurriedly wiped the red oily grease on his hands reaching for the Swiss Knife tucked in his belt. Taking the corkscrew and scooping its top baiting the object popping up, he finally pulled off the big surprise of his life!
(This is Tibet Needle they carry around for defense. Notice how exquisite its receptacle is commanding a prohibitive price today. Similarly, that one thrust on the cranium of Mang Clineo bears similar handiwork exclusively used only secretly by RSM.)
Putting back his father on bed, a surge of brief contentment was intense coming by. Feeling great relieved and jubilant, both sighed deep bated breaths anew rejoicing over that very important finding just discovered validating the sick joke surrounding the mystery of his father's fate. Holding the just discovered little object in between the thumb and middle finger for clarity against the light, lo and behold it was a customized item approximately three inches long. Inserting it in a vial and looking it back against the light, both look at each other's faces in reality check mouth agape clearing their unbelief if at all if their discovery was true. Shaking and listening to the little sound it makes inside the vial the echo reverberated. Driarco tossed it up probably sending the shrill sound it brings to high heavens above crying justice. A small sound but taken collectively would be enough to account for clipping voices of innocent victims killed in such dirty fashion now. It is now a clear conclusion for Fr. Driarco and Danny.
More tears flowed down naturally as he summoned enough strength to accept that finally all is gone for his beloved father. But it's the tears of joy now. Gazing at his face, it was still the same familiar face he never run outs of wonder viewing – serene, soft, eyebrows thick and full, gray mustache partly covering his lips, long hair - and seemingly indicating that death may have come out naturally for him. But not today having learned how far evil did, he relished subsequent thought.
"Time from now on would be to confuse Devil," he promised.
"Lord God please do send Your angels and saints with Mother Mary to meet him and usher him into his reserved room You prepared for him as You do to us. If need be, have him seated by your side and hear the good deeds he did back home when he was still with us. Amen," Danny intoned.
Suddenly, the doorknob sounded and the door gradually opened. Light from outside flickered into the room.
"Sorry Son to disturb you. I just thought that you might need a lift; hence, my incursion," Illa Crispe breaks the silence handing a towel to Driarco his clothes drenched by sweat.
"Hmm, it's okay. Thanks. I just completed my prayer to Dad," he retorted embracing her mother at the same time blinking and giving a thumbs-up sign for 'good job' to Danny across.
Giving himself the benefits of the doubt, he immediately summoned the embalmers back in and facilitated the handling of the dead in his casket. Thank them for the great effort done, he let them go but not after dishing out a curl of crisp Philippine paper money for the job well done as incentives.
"Why not? What an effort they have exerted anyway managing their experiment," consoling thought shone on Driarco. The presence of blood spots on his fingers confirmed the validity of his post-mortem.
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Debraining. That's what any student of animal science in Agriculture would call the savage way of killing an animal. Electrocution of the neck just below an ear of swine, carabaos, and cows is the counterpart among butchers in slaughterhouses before double-bladed sharp knives are thrust into their throats. Dropping to the ground like mosquitoes killing them instantly blood gushing forth from their slit neck were then drained into a bucket. Same way as killing cows and carabaos getting rid of savagery and unforgiving smashing of sled hammer breaking animals' heads, any Matador would justify their cruelty. The image of his father suffering a similar fate falling as the needle was plunged into his cranium struggling gradually nearing death before he was returned to his seat dead as if nothing happened, was clear to Driarco.
Conspiracy delivered clean and dry leaving no semblance of foul play, one done by professionals.
"The evil that men do! This is it! Crime in its highest order."
"Who could have done this must be genius – one that exists only in fiction," Driarco cleared feeling vindicated on his first adventure as Detective.
"But for what reason?" now remains a baffling question to Fr. Driarco.
Everything now comes in its proper place full circle.
"All I have to do is to conduct my inquiry of all men who were there. Doing the background investigation each of them was treated and held suspect. By then I could establish the bottom line and know who the real culprits were their mastermind unmasked and the reason identified at the end of the day. They are considered all suspects for the meantime," he qualified to lift momentarily his morale acting like Mr. Poirot, effective Detective of Agatha Christie's classics.
"Why not? The plot was familiar to many of Agatha Christie's work – the murderer using a pin almost identical to that used in killing the innocent Nong Clineo," crazy idea indeed playing on his mind.
Looking back closely at the little object inside the small bottle, the thin, short, and pointed round sharp object was undoubtedly a very important discovery of the day whose implication far outweighed all there is happening in his hometown.
The item is what all master cutters used for a living. Unfortunately, it is such an important possession of other tribes. While Muslims have a fetish with firearms making any gun an extension of their intestines, Tibetans have them as their prized possession. One they always carry around for protection. Incidentally, Filipinos even enhanced its usefulness. They not only used it for sewing but worst, killing faces Powers-that-be don't like!
"What if poison to is laced on its edge? That makes the item doubly lethal," Fr. Driarco cleared.
He has the luxury of sleep here and now hoping still nonetheless that justice is delivered to his family.
"When? That remains to be seen," he said emphasizing the importance of time.
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