By Joel P. Salud
They almost never made it to Bataan.
The sky was unusually downcast for that time of the month, almost desolate, though not nearly pitch black.
Juni, the associate editor of a lifestyle magazine, and his staff of photographers and writers, were assigned to do a feature on the history of Bataan.
It was the kind of assignment no editor or writer would ordinarily want to do, except for the prospect of advertisers coming in to sponsor the feature. At P120,000 a full-page ad, journalistic ethics may be temporarily suspended, or so they say.
Dampness hung in the air like freshly washed linen. The somnolent dusk, awash with the scent of the cool night wind, made the late afternoon suitable for sleeping. Surprisingly, however, the whole staff was wide awake and alert, raring to get started so as to make the most of the trip.
As the day unwound, slowly slithering into nightfall, the group began rearranging and packing their things inside their dark blue van. From a distance, they saw where they would make their first stop for the day-an old, historic light at the old abandoned port at the foot of the steep cliff.
Through the years, Rodel's family had befriended numerous sailors and seafaring merchants. Most of whom brought them vases, jewelry and other gifts everytime they docked at the port.
It was on one of those numerous visits that Rodel's great-great-grandmother, Estrellita, then 16 years of age, met Chiang, a young 18-year-old Chinese-Filipino boatman from Manila. After a few visits, the two fell in love. The lovers used to rendezvous at the old lighthouse.
Rodel stood up and, pointing at the wall near the small window, said that the soft white limestone allowed the two lovers to make inscriptions on the wall. Jhen, Mark and Cynthia could barely read the scratch marks, but they were distinguishable just the same. The messages were written in old Tagalog. They were short love letters, a record of meetings, dates and time. Estrellita and Chiang actually recorded in stone the days, times and goings on each time they met at the lighthouse.
How romantic, Cynthia said, taking a long swig from her beer can. Mark could only laugh at her comment.
However, not all inscriptions told happy stories. One inscription, presumably from Chiang, spoke of a certain Jose, a Spanish-Mexican sailor who wanted to have young Estrellita for himself. The inscription did not elaborate. However, Rodel knew the whole story.
Through the years, Rodel's family had befriended numerous sailors and seafaring merchants. Most of whom brought them vases, jewelry and other gifts everytime they docked at the port.
It was on one of those numerous visits that Rodel's great-great-grandmother, Estrellita, then 16 years of age, met Chiang, a young 18-year-old Chinese-Filipino boatman from Manila. After a few visits, the two fell in love. The lovers used to rendezvous at the old lighthouse.
Rodel stood up and, pointing at the wall near the small window, said that the soft white limestone allowed the two lovers to make inscriptions on the wall. Jhen, Mark and Cynthia could barely read the scratch marks, but they were distinguishable just the same. The messages were written in old Tagalog. They were short love letters, a record of meetings, dates and time. Estrellita and Chiang actually recorded in stone the days, times and goings on each time they met at the lighthouse.
How romantic, Cynthia said, taking a long swig from her beer can. Mark could only laugh at her comment.
However, not all inscriptions told happy stories. One inscription, presumably from Chiang, spoke of a certain Jose, a Spanish-Mexican sailor who wanted to have young Estrellita for himself. The inscription did not elaborate. However, Rodel knew the whole story.
One evening, while Estrellita and Chiang were inside the lighthouse, Jose Barged in with a couple of Spanish Soldiers, demanding the arrest of the young Chinese-Filipino trader.
By this time in Intramuros, Manila, the Chinese community was being harassed by the Spaniards for no apparent, justifiable reason. The Spanish soldiers dragged Chiang and Estrellita out of the lighthouse where the young Chinese-Filipino was shot point-blank in the head. He was killed instantly. Estrellita fearing for her life, ran back to the lighthouse until she reached the top. Jose, vowing to claim Estrellita's chastity before killing her, tried to rape the poor maiden.
But it was too late. Upon reaching the top, Estrellita leaped from the ledge to her death and body crashing on the jagged rocks below. Her last words were, according to those who knew the story, "Hindi kita mahal!"
The group did not say anything, as the garbled sound of waves smashing against the cliff wall punctuated the silence.
Juni, who by then had already consumed about four cans of beer, stood up to go to the john. It was a small room at the side of the window. While the caretaker continued to relate his story, Juni excused himself and went in. The room was dark, save for the feeble light coming from the rechargeable lamp.
As Juni relieved himself, he noticed moisture building up on the mirror next to where he was standing. A chilly breeze rose inside the small room as the midnight moon hurled patches of light where Juni stood wide-eyed.
Suddenly, Rodel, Mark, Cynthia and Jhen heard Juni scream from within the bathroom. They rushed to see what happened. There they saw Juni immobile, his eyes fixed on the mirror beside him. On the cracked mirror, words were spelled out as droplets of water ran down the unpolished glass.
"Hindi kita mahal..."
Juni, they all remembered, is a Spanish mestizo. The group fled the lighthouse.
Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories
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