There was the delirium that encounters despair and death, and is heedless and blind to the odds. It is a temporary but sublime absence of selfishness.
—Stephen Crane (1871 - 1900), from The Red Badge of Courage
HIS only lifelines were his taxicab and the three-kilometer long suspension bridge that joined his town to the busy city across the strait and served vehicles for almost three decades.
He has been a taximan for fourteen years. After achieving his course in Driving in a Technical - Vocational university in his town, he claimed his driver's license at the town hall. "At last," he exclaimed, while brandishing his driver's license at his jovial handicapped, aged mother. He signed up being a taximan under a famous mass transportation agency in town, experienced intensive training for a month, and finally became an official taximan. He's content with his job, earning from 2,000 to a sweet 30, 000 pesos every month. He is transporting passengers from his town to the city across and vice versa, and along this track he will never miss the renowned one-kilometer suspension bridge.
Center Bridge, as it was called, was one of the beautiful bridges ever he saw in his lifetime. It was both the bridge and the scenery around it that makes it special for the taximan. A kilometer before the bridge's townside entrance, the highway is zigzagging and sloping downwards, surrounded by tall trees, healthy shrubs and bushes, and huts where nature-loving people live by staying away from the downtown area and chose to feel the fresh air coming from the strait blowing to the town's outskirts. At the bridge's entrance, a rocky cliff rises meters from the surface of the strait. The marine blue waters lick the limestone cliff and create intricate patterns after months. Then, as the taximan drives on the bridge, the cool sea breeze blowing from the ocean through the strait soothes him, giving him an aura of hope and ecstasy. The bridge, made up of pure steel and cement, is supported from below by robust pillars. These pillars have vertical extensions that rise six meters above the bridge's platform, and each of these is connected to the others and to the bridge's parapet by sturdy metal cables. Deep down, the ocean's wild current slows down to almost peaceful stillness as it flows through the strait, past the steep cliffs, and under the bridge. Then, at the bridge's cityside entrance, a Memorial Park is built as a commemoration of the construction of the Center Bridge.
After almost three decades since it was constructed, after carrying the weight of countless vehicles that tread on it, from the two-wheeled bicycle to the ten-wheeler monsters, after surviving hundreds of storms and thousands of tremors, it is now gradually losing its former magnificence ... and strength.
"TAXI!" a handsome city teenage boy held his hand out towards the highway and called the attention of the taximan, who was in the city at that moment.
This handsome boy had his left arm slung across a teenage girl's shoulder, who was obviously his girlfriend. The couple can be compared to Adonis and Aphrodite. The boy must have been his school's hunk, with his broad shoulders and bulky biceps. He has the mien of a sexy male model in the magazines and television. His girl companion has a fine complexion and a well-built body, its curves molded on her tight clothes. The couple is going to their very first honeymoon, and the taximan has to know where it is.
"Where to, kids?" the taximan asked them as they took their seats and made themselves comfortable.
"To the bridge's park," the boy replied, smiling with romance at his girlfriend. "Our honeymoon..."
Told myself.—the taximan thought.
"Right, honey?"
"Oh, yes. Very much sure," the girl said, as if entranced by the boy's moves.
"To the bridge, then," the taximan said and started the travel. The taxicab is moving fast on the road, past natural scenes of city life: tall buildings, skyscrapers, malls, business centers, the latest technologies, and the population. Scenes too different from the taximan's hometown. After some minutes, they reach a crossroad. The traffic was so heavy, and the traffic enforcer had to shout commands to the drivers. This would be a boring moment for the taximan, so he began a conversation with his passengers.
"So," he began in his querulous forties voice. "Where are your parents from?"
The girl was quite bashful and can't open her mouth to speak. The boy felt responsible to answer the question for both of them, to be the speaker of the young couple.
"My babe's parents are from the city," the boy began, combing his spiky hair with his fingers. "My father's from the city, too, and my mother's from the town, across the bridge."
From the town ... across the bridge...
That stunned the taximan.
"From the town, eh?" he mused loudly, shaking off that unusual feeling, but when he took a look at the boy using the car's mirrors, a shiver ran through him.
The boy has brown eyes, like his.
How come?—the taximan thought.
"What's your parent's job?" the taximan asked.
"My dad owns and manages a mall in the city," the boy replied proudly, but his voice lowered when he said, "My mom passed away when I was five." His brown eyes darkened, and he felt uncomfortable.
"Pneumonia?"
"Y-yeah."
Another shiver ran through the taximan. The girl stared affectionately at the boy, trying to comfort him.
"But, dad said ... she was a hero."
Silence. The traffic enforcer was heard bellowing at a riding-in-tandem to drive slowly.
"A hero, you say?" the taximan broke that silence between them first.
"At first, I was not able to comprehend what dad had said to me one time," the boy removed his black upper vest-like outfit to reveal his white undershirt, showing boldly the virile contours of his athletic body. The girl flirtatiously made a squeaking noise, but when he saw the boy's gloomy face, she cringed. He felt very uneasy and sweaty conversing with the taximan about that topic, and he need to be comfortable to continue his sentence. The taximan immediately made the air conditioner cooler, and the boy continued quietly, "Then he told me,
'I was the most miserable man ever born on the face of the earth, the saddest one. I don't care about my riches ... I'm lonely ... sad ... I want to die. But, when I met your mother on the Bridge, on that beautiful moonlit twilight, she saved me from that almost inevitable death. She was my angel, sent by God to make my life colorful. After her untimely death, our happy memories kept me alive. I'll never forget those lovely brown eyes ... She was born from a family of simple ... but great ... heroes.' "
Born from a family of heroes...
The taximan heaved a sigh—of hope—and his eyes beamed—with hope.
Pprrrrrrt! The traffic enforcer blew his whistle, glared at the taximan, and beckoned him to drive on. Traffic loosened and the taximan's travel continued. A signage told him it is a kilometer before he will reach the Center Bridge Memorial Park, and the Bridge itself.
"She...," the taximan revived the conversation. "I reckon she came from a poo-a-a family of ... limited means. From a ... disabled ... mother..."
"Yes, she was."
Another silence.
"Then, how could your dad consider her a hero? And her family?"
"Anybody deserves to be a hero, my dad would always remind me that," the boy finally smiled with relief. "Heroes are made, not born."
That hit the taximan. Hit him ... well.
"Right, babe?" the boy changed to his suave voice and smothered the girl's chin.
"Oh, yes," the girl whispered in a trance-like state and caressed the boy's biceps.
And, they did romance at the passengers' seat. They did not notice the taximan, who was now staring pensively, reflectively at the bridge's superstructures looming ahead. He was thinking of something.
Anybody deserves to be a hero... The boy's voice echoed in his mind.
"And here we are!" the taximan exclaimed as they reached the Memorial Park. The couple paid him the fare and bade him goodbye as he drove his taxicab towards the Center Bridge.
The first pillars whooshed past him, and the taximan began to feel uneasy like the city boy while driving-but even more uneasy than that. He was feeling something unusual, something conflicting, something...
Dangerous.
A dangerous vibration.
Cars normally vibrate when being started up, and then when it is driven swiftly across a well-paved road, like the bridge, it will give the driver a feeling like driving a plane or floating in midair. But, the taximan began sensing a weird vibration while driving at top speed on the bridge.
And it was getting stronger.
He was halfway the bridge when he kicked the brakes of his taxicab. And when he stepped on the bridge on his two feet—
"An earthquake!"
Sure enough, a thunderous rumble boomed with utter abruptness and the bridge began to shake violently. The strength of the tremor knocked him down, making him stumble onto the road. All cars halted, people panicked, and there were birds flying away from the forests whose trees were swaying wildly like living feelers. The strait's stillness was boiling into terrorizing turbulence. The road lamps built along the bridge's side collapsed one by one and the bulbs' shards scattered haphazardly. The limestone formations on the cliff crashed down into the strait like ice calving from gigantic glaciers. Everything was put into sheer chaos.
The earthquake's rumble roared on and on ... then after five to seven agonizing seconds, the middlemost portion of the bridge cracked, groaning and buckling with the copious rush of seismic waves. After thirty years of service, Center Bridge is now succumbing to the force of nature. That sent an ominous shudder to the taximan. The fracture became longer and even longer, wider and even wider as nanoseconds pass.
Then the voice of his passenger echoed back to his mind: "born from a family of heroes ... anybody deserves to be a hero..."
His eyes was fixed on the crack on the road, then to the people crawling and crying on the bridge, and then to his taxicab. A furious adrenaline rush burst through him, and he speedily went inside the car, scanned its insides, and found a newly-bought megaphone. He clutched it, went outside, and turned it on.
"Evacuate the bridge, right now!" the taximan's shrill voice shrieked throughout the strait. He is getting dizzy, but he has to warn everyone. "Evacuate the bridge, right now!"
Plack! Plack! Pl-pl-plack!
The metal cables one by one began snapping apart. The enormous pillars right in the center of the bridge creaked loudly and started to tilt inward. A colossal crashing noise pervaded the air.
"Evacuate the bridge, now!"
And with that final, near-hysteric appeal, the crawling people scrambled and stampeded—chaotically, tumultuously, and frantically—to either sides of the bridge, running and driving their vehicles. With one swift move, the pillars collapsed and collided with each other fiercely, creating an inverted V on the middle of the bridge. Thousands of debris rained over the victims, the taximan pelted down with metals and steel. He was given a good cut on his cheek by a falling metal bar, and he was pummeled to the road by the debris. Then, the worst thing happened...
From under the blue waters of the strait was a blind east-west transform fault travelling the ocean bed for kilometers. Fatefully, that cursed fault shifted; the cityside earth grinded to the west and the townside to the east by almost two meters. The fault's movement ended that horrible earthquake. The supporting pillars below the bridge's middlemost portion, which was standing directly on the fault, ripped with it, as if sliced lengthwise by a chainsaw. With a roar like the Plinian eruption, the bridge broke into two, giving way to the fault's movement. The people shrieked in unison, vehicles bumped with each other, and the taximan tumbled to the road face first and was knocked out.
Another roar. The taximan awakened from his unconsciousness.
The V'ing center pillars sprung from each other and began plummeting onto the broken bridge. The taximan's eyes bulged out from their sockets. He dashed for the keys and started his taxicab. He drove at top speed away from the massive pillars, careening through fallen debris, and with a deafening thunder, the pillars splintered on the bridge. As if not contented with the destruction, the split supporting pillars crumbled and hundred tons of boulder-sized debris crashed into the strait. With nothing to support them, the middle most portions of the bridge plunged into the waters, the adjacent supporting pillars acting like giant hinges. The taximan was able to escape from destruction. He saw all these while in his taxicab ... and heard pitiful voices.
"Heeeeeeeeeelllppp!!!"
"We can't swim! Please!"
"Heee-e-help!!!"
The taximan stopped his taxicab, and grabbed something from under the passengers' seat—a rope 30 meters long. He went out of the taxicab, and called to the other men still present on the bridge, "Help me save them!"
He ran to the railing and saw six people—four children and two adults—trying hard to swim and keep up to the surface. The kids were yelping, sinking then going up, sinking and going up again, almost hyperventilating. They were all about to drown.
Then, he quickly rushed to the sloping broken portion of the bridge, whipped his rope in the air like a lasso, and released it and let it slide down the bridge and to the water. Men began surrounding the taximan, waiting for further instructions. The other spectators held their breath and watched him do all these, some taking videos with their phones. The men gripped the rope as tight and taut as they can, then with one deep breath, the taximan slid down the broken bridge, and splashed into the ocean-blue strait. When he was in the water, he saw the victims crying riotously—two of the kids were sinking below the surface. The taximan swam quickly, dived down the cool waters, seized the two sinking kids back to the surface, and dragged them to the rope on the bridge. The kids spat all water out and held the rope, and the men heaved them up to safety.
Two down ... four more to go...
The taximan then grabbed the other kids to the rope, and finally the adults. The rescued victims, along with their savior, climbed up the inclined broken bridge to the men above them. The kids and the two adults reached the top-the road-and hugged each other. But, before the taximan was able to reach the road, the broken bridge groaned and shuddered under the weight it carried when the victims and the taximan climbed on it. Without warning, it collapsed, dragging the taximan with it. With a deafening crash, he and the broken portion splashed into the strait. He managed to swim up to the surface, and the people gave a big sigh and cheered him for his deed.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah to the taxim—!"
Ccrraaackk!!!
A portion of the bridge where the broken piece hinged seconds before crumbled and a big boulder dropped straight into the strait. The people freaked in utter trepidation.
But, before he was able to swim away from danger—
Splash! The taximan vanished underwater.
Silence reigned around the strait.
After a few minutes, the strait was stained with blood.
A MONTH after that disaster, the boy—the handsome city teenager who became the taximan's passenger—commuted a bus to the Center Bridge Memorial Park. Sitting sleepily on his seat, a tall comely gentleman was accompanying him. This man have well-shaped nose and lips, ebony-black hair (with some white hair growing sparingly), and a smooth Caucasoid skin like he came from a European or American country. They were both wearing formal black-tuxedo coat, necktie, and trousers—as if they are going to a ball. They were the only ones who were wearing black among all commuters, who were wearing clothes with bright colors. An awkward sight.
We should've used our limousine.—the boy thought.
They reached the Memorial Park after five minutes. The Bridge was still under repair, yet the city and the town would not let an earthquake hamper that connection, so they constructed cable cars that can carry fifteen to twenty passengers to the town and vice versa. And, on this cable car, the boy and his father reached the other side of the bridge. They commuted another bus. The one that will lead to their destination.
They were still about three kilometers to the downtown when the boy's father called to the driver, "We'll get off here."
The boy was stunned when the bus stopped. They were still in the town's outskirts. "This is where we're going?"
His father kept silent. He was wearing a sharp gloomy face. The boy's handsome and sexy mien drowned into deep curiosity and anxiety ... his eyes got darker, even darker than their outfit. As they got off the bus, his father whispered to his ear something he wasn't able to comprehend, but he was able to make out the words Your mom's family.
A chill sliced through him ... he remembered his conversation with the taximan, when he mentioned how his father called his mother a hero, born from a family of heroes.
They walked on a gravel path, past scenes of country life: tall trees, thick bushes and herbs, and low huts made of light materials—a complete opposite to their mansion and five-hectare lot. Most of the huts were under repair after the earthquake, some under new construction for the totally damaged. They passed by a hut where an old man listened to a transistor radio on the AM band.
"The blind fault under the Center Bridge shifted a few meters, creating a magnitude 8.2 earthquake that brought about severe destruction. But, as of now, clearing operations and restoration of properties are still ongoing," the anchor reported.
As they walk further deep into the forest, they hear sad voices of people. After minutes of walking, they reached a hut, which has a garden filled with a crowd sitting on plastic chairs. The crowd eyed them straight, like they were an uninvited guest to the unhappy occasion. The boy flinched in embarrassment. An old handicapped woman with makeshift crutches went out of the door to meet them. She smiled ... to conceal how lonely she is today.
"Drew!" she cried to the boy's father. They shared a hug. The boy gazed at the old woman like trying to remember who she was.
"So," the woman began, breaking the hug. "This is your son!" She beamed at the boy like she knew him even before he was born.
"Yes," the father nodded. "This is Timothy."
He patted the boy, who blushed to the tips of his hair. "Timothy, meet your grandma Agnes. She is your mom's mother."
"Hi," Timothy said, groping for words to say. He kept staring at his grandmother's brown eyes, like her mother's.
"So," the handicapped Agnes said to Drew. "What brings you here?"
"We would like to visit Emily's brother."
"Oh," Agnes' face gloomed. "Come inside."
The three entered the hut. The boy saw the inside of a meager house, the living room, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom all in one room, like the continents joined in one supercontinent. Then, he saw a coffin beautifully decorated with white and purple, laden on a bier. A poster above the coffin bore these words:
In the memory of
REMEDIOS PALMA
Born: January 2, 1983
Died: August 27, 2014
THE HERO OF ALL. . .
NO EARTHQUAKE WILL EVER SHAKE HIS SPIRIT
May God bless his soul. . .
—from his family, friends, and the victims of the disaster
Remedios Palma: Awarded by the Town, City, and National Governments with the
"NATIONAL RECOGNITION OF HEROISM"
"The City Coast Guard was able to retrieve his body from the strait," Agnes said sorrowfully. "When I saw him for the last time ... I—" She broke into despondent tears. Her ancient hands clapped to her face.
Timothy walked towards the coffin with shuffling steps, his eyes stuck to the last lines of the poster. He felt like the spirits of the dead are flying around him. He felt like an ethereal voice is whispering him to look at the corpse inside the coffin. He bent his head down, and he gasped when he found out who it was.
The man's eyes were shut. His cheek was wounded. His head had an open cut, as if from a deep impact.
It was the taximan.
Timothy grasped his iPhone from his pocket. He played a video he took during the disaster, and saw this taximan jump into the water and saved the kids and two adults from certain death. Then, he saw how a boulder fell from the bridge with a loud splash. He remembered how the strait was tinged with blood.
He remembered his talk with this taximan.
"She ... I reckon she came from a poo-a-a family of ... limited means. From a ... disabled ... mother..."
"Anybody deserves to be a hero, my dad would always remind me that. Heroes are made, not born."
Lastly, he remembered his mother's brown eyes, his grandmother's brown eyes, and this taximan's brown eyes when he called him up to fetch him and his girlfriend to the Memorial Park.
Timothy loosened his grip from his iPhone, and it fell onto the soiled floor. His body was trembling. He could not speak. He knelt to the floor in front of the coffin. With a miserable sniff, tears fell from his eyes and it pattered onto the corpse. All of the sudden, he cried loudly and lamented as if it was the end of his life. The people wiped their eyes and silently shed tears, sobbing and sniveling along with Timothy, who was repeatedly beating his chest. His young lamenting voice reverberated across the hut and the forest around it.
It all made sense now.
THE END