A standard radio phraseology that means "Let me know that you have received and understood this message."
* * *
I don't measure my tears, but I know that this is the second hardest cry I did. I am fully aware that nothing beats that of the first—that moment that I first found César being cradled in Victor's arms that way, visibly dead and gone; but this is definitely up next. Probably because all the times that I've been here to meet his parents, it had been always with him. This is the first time that I did come alone, and is in need to make some sort of finality with everything. I am aware that too many loved César, but in the presence of those who love him first... it is just too cruel for my heart to take all of it.
By the time I somehow calmed down, hating the fact that I am the one crying the most to be comforted by them when it should be the other way around... I almost think that coming here had been a wrong idea. But the way that they consider me, definitely accepting me, like their own daughter, I know that I should be guilty even doubting me being here. And so, when I gain my own voice, I apologize to them for heading off in such a way a few days back and then for what happened and later on address the issue of why I am actually here, producing then the bag that I've recovered to be personally delivered to them.
Fernando Basa is a stern and almost unreadable man. It is not evident in his face that he is in pain; he is very much so composed that all once more reminds me of César. But then, like that of his son, the emotions in his eyes are visibly that of agony. Compared to that of his wife, Rosario, like any mother, has the marks of lamentation. Both of them know that they are in need of one another with what happened, and after just a day of losing their son, I know that neither from the three of us are yet to fully accept it.
They just first stare at the packaging, unsure of who to move it as the older woman chokes in a sob another time at the sight of the recovered items. There are definitely more that belongs to César that will be coming from the airfields in a few days; but for now, these are what they've recovered from his body before being set for a proper burial. Until the man himself dares to take it and slowly pulls each item out of the bag, then to be laid on the table.
The blood-smeared folded papers are actually of navigation logs visibly written by his own hand, notes coated in red could be found on the edges of reminders, emergency procedures, computations, waypoints, landmarks, minutes and headings. Lost from those papers had been that portrait of me he carried; the one that we've taken together during that supposed-to-be movie date before we came here to have dinner with his parents and inform them of our engagement. Even that had been marked with blood; just like every item has specks of it or been bathed on it. His wallet filled with bills and a family portrait that they seemed to have taken about the time of César's college days; his identification cards; the pearl rosary that he had always carried with him, too; the necklace medallion of Saint Ignatius de Loyola that his mother gave; and that bracelet that he received from me.
Seeing these items now right here is quite painful. I am so used in seeing these being always a part of César. Will it be possible to return such items to him before being buried somewhere? I don't know. That decision is not mine to choose; his parents will decide about it.
"(Y/N)," his mother calls for me, almost so small as she seems to to be unsure whether to continue or not. She bites her lower lip, definitely trying to suppress her tears. "N-Nakita mo... Nakita mo na ba si César?"
I swallow hard and nod slowly.
Every time I close my eyes, wielding myself to leave this place, I can't help but to continue seeing him. It will be easy if the image of him that I'll be seeing is one where he is very much alive; however, it is cruel that the image of him cold and motionless overlaps that of anything else. And I am starting to fear that it will be how I'll remember him; and even if I say that I'll never forget him, I am starting to feel guilty that I am losing the memory of everything else of him—his touch, his smell, his taste and his voice.
"K-Kumusta naman siya?" she adds. It is not a question that is completely in denial; more of like a question of how he looks. Some sort of inquiry about: Does he appear happy? Is he in peace? Did he suffer?
I catch sight of her husband then, shaking his head slightly. Then, I answer, quite a struggle, "Still the same handsome young man that I know of." I lace my fingers on top of my lap, stopping them from fidgeting. "According to reports, it apparently had been quick."
Impossible, I scold my mind. It definitely was blood lost. Hence, it had been otherwise. And that surely hurts so much like hell. With how every lingering second of life is fading away from one's grasp...
The silence that follows is quite heavy, and it is too much to handle. Even that soft relieved sigh from that of his mother is painful. There is definitely no way that anything can actually revive César back to life; the only consolation that I can then offer to such a wounded heart is the assurance that it had been a peaceful death.
It is true that we can't escape the end. No one else could; someone heads on that road that it just so happens that they leave this world ahead. Hence, despite being fearful of death itself, it is like everyone's prayer that there will be no further suffering to it. That it will be quick and peaceful; that Death will be a welcoming face instead.
And my heart breaks knowing that it hadn't been the case for César.
With my fingers fidgeting, I come across the jeweled ring that I am still wearing. It had been around my finger for months, and ever since that first day, I've thought that it will be mine to take until the end. However, it had been too quick by now that I need to let it go. Slowly, I pull the ring, somehow surprised that its luster remains. I wipe down whatever dirt or blood that there could be at the small space of my skirt that had been somehow clean, and then place it across the table.
Both of them then turn to its direction before looking back at me, their faces crestfallen as some sort of rejection. I do not intend for them to feel such, but it is only right of me to do so.
I take a shaky breath, trying to ease down whatever sob that is trying to erupt once more. Keeping my eyes drawn to the table instead, I say, "Nasabihan po ako na... kahit inaasikaso na po nila ang mga labi niya, baka raw po medyo matagalan bago mailabas mula sa kanila. Ako raw po ang nakalistang tumanggap ng mga gamit niya po na iyan, kaso... pwera po sa pag-iibigan namin, wala pong ibang bagay ang makakatali kay César sa akin. Kaya rin po minarapat kong dalhin lahat ng iyan, at para rin po isauli ito sa inyo. Hindi po ako karapat-dapat na patuloy pa pong isarili iyan. Kahit po na... alam kong hindi magiging sapat para po sa akin ang mga alaalang iniwan niya, wala rin po akong karapatan na maging makasarili na manatiling nakatali sa kanya."
"(Y/N)," the woman addresses me another time. "Ibinigay ko 'yan kay César, at ibinigay niya 'yan sa iyo. Kahit na..." She gulps in hard.
I shake my head and sigh heavily. "Kaya po nararapat lamang na ibalik ko po sa inyo. Pinili niya nga po ako maging kanyang asawa, pero... tadhana na po ang humadlang."
At that, the couple seated across from me remains quiet; until I realize that I've already given everything that I need to inform them about, and decide not to take much more of their time.
His father offers to see me out, even though his mother insists that I shall remain with them. Thankfully, the man seems to respect my decision to pay quite an excuse of letting me go; assuring then his wife that I'll be back once I've managed to finish whatever else I'll be needing to deal with. However, it seems like there is another reason for him to see me out himself. After all, when we are out of the house, away from his wife's earshot, he finally says, "Maraming salamat, (Y/N), for keeping the gruesome truth about César's demise." He gulps in hard. "Hindi kakayanin ni Rosario kapag nalaman niya ang totoo."
Ah... I am fully aware of that one earlier, the reason that he asks me silently to keep the truth. No mother can take the sight of her child in such pain; but definitely, no father can also shoulder it all on his own.
He nods as he bites his lower lip, assuring me that he knows the entirety. "Alam ko. Nasabihan ako kung gaano kalala ang nangyari. Dumaan kagabi ang mga kasamahan niya. Maging si Kapitan Villamor ay pumunta, at nag-abot sila kaagad ng pakikiramay. Pero kagaya mo, hindi ko hinayaang sabihin nila basta-basta kay Rosario ang totoong nangyari; nalaman ko na lamang noong tinanong ko ng masinsinan si Villamor pagkatapos. Sinabihan din nila ako na nakita mo raw si César. In a rather much gruesome way. Probably than anyone else had seen."
My eyes are starting to water once more, and I quickly blink them away before brushing them away with the back of my hand. I swallow hard. "Hindi ko po inaasahan na... ganito po ang magiging pagkikita o pag-uusap natin isang araw bago ang nakatakda naming kasal," I remark; not only appearing quite a mess but to smell of César's blood on me and my clothing. "Hindi ko po inisip na... na magiging ganito po ang lahat-lahat."
"Bago umalis si César no'n... 'Yong huli naming pagkikita at pag-uusap, may nabanggit siya sa akin," he says.
I sniff the tears away and look at him intently, waiting for him to continue with his impending question. In the end of it, all I manage to do is be confused much more that I only shrug. I answer, "H-Hindi lang din po ako umaasa ngayon."
He nods in understanding. "Naiintindihan ko, iha. Kaya alam kong naiintindihan din ni César." He takes my hand on his and presses something against my palms.
When he lets go off me, I realize the soft and smooth surface of the pearls against my skin. It had the markings of blood on its white beads that I recognize it at once to be that one that belongs to César, and on its cluster had been that familiar ring once again. I counter, "H-Hindi ko po ito matatanggap."
He keeps his hands folded behind him, showing no intention of taking it back from me. "Paniguradong ipapabalik lamang namin ang mga nakuhang gamit niya sa kanyang mga labi. Those things had always been his, and I know that he'll much want them to be in his possession even six feet deep. Pero 'yan... puputulin lamang nila ang rosaryo, at ibinigay na 'yang singsing na 'yan niya sa iyo. Kaya, (Y/N), sa 'yo na 'yan. It isn't enough, but... Nothing will ever be."
I bite my lower lip and look on those items right now on my hands.
I've never been a religious one, but I know that César is, as his family is one and his studies in Ateneo definitely nurtures that much on him; the very reason that he always carries one, and I often teased him about that when I know too well that some of his actions had been against that of what he believes in. And I remember his words telling me that it is in man's nature to commit sin, and it is in God's nature to forgive anyone who repents; adding that he'll just repent then. And then the ring... I know that I'll never love again; that I'll never find such a love as deep and pure as that one that I share with him. Can I truly be selfish in owning César until my own time comes?
"César was his own man," Fernando Basa starts after a minute later and then takes a shaky breath before continuing, "Long ago, he chose to love you, and it gave him so much joy that he wouldn't certainly exchange it for anything. Even at death. Kilala ko ang anak ko, (Y/N), kaya alam ko gaano katotoo iyon."
I nod, unable to draw words out of me as I end up crying again.
"Kaya, sana... this isn't goodbye." He presses a hand on top of my head in a rather affectionate and comforting manner. "Having to say goodbye to you is like having to say goodbye to César all over again."
"And I to you, too," I somehow manage to reply back. "Thank you." I press my hands clutching on to the rosary and ring close to my chest. "Thank you po."
* * *
It is almost sundown by the time I make it to the apartment. Just a week ago, I and César returned here from Batangas in preparation for the wedding, and now, all of it is a stranger to me. Despite all the memories that come rushing back in my mind to every inch of space of this place that I shared with him. No matter how small, or trivial, or domesticated it is... my mind continues dragging me back to live in that time. Sometimes, happy memories hurt the most.
Strange how complex the brain and heart when they start working together to be against everything else. How much I believe that this life here is all a dream that turned to a nightmare when it had been the other way around—that future that seems too good by now... is it possible to be predictions or a life that could've been?
Either way, all of it are useless now. Even my own dreaming leads me to remember that he is truly gone, and I'll be alone once more. That beyond, compared to the supposed promise to spend forever, I'll be dealing all of it by myself. Though I know that his parents will remain to be there to support me and treat me like a daughter of theirs, all of us are aware that his spot will not be filled by simply anyone.
My shaky legs finally give in when I make it in to our bedroom. I sit back to the floor, leaning heavily against the closed door as this small room had felt like a secret we share. Despite how sticky, dirty and smelly I may be right now due to all the blood, sweat and tears, I do not have any courage at all for any of it. And for some reasons, I am closest to César this way; to add that the memories of my love, wherein I once thought will be enough to conquer great waters, is to be reduced then to a bed that mirrors that of my world. How strange that everything else no longer matters right now...
I sigh heavily as I draw my legs close to my chest, pulling out the items that I've taken with me—settling the pearl rosary and the gold ring embedded with yellow and white diamond hearts on my lap, and the folded paper bearing an imprint of my name on my hands. On my way to his parents, I've already taken the said paper from the bag and let it rest on my skirts' pocket. Now, I trail a finger at the elegant handwriting of my name for a moment before finally daring myself to see what its content could be, and as I earlier deduced it already, it is a letter addressed to me.
11 December 1941
My dearest (Y/N),
I don't actually want to write this letter, but I think I should. If you are reading this, then the worst had happened. I always knew this day will come, but I wish and pray that it will not come to such a very sudden moment as early as this. Instead, I'll be left with this to be burned; hoping that it will not reach you this way, at once, and I'll forget about this as I finally take you as my wife.
But, (Y/N), if I don't truly come back to you and this falls into your hands instead, please don't take it too hard. I know that it will hurt in the beginning, but I know that you are strong. You are far much stronger than me; because you even said that to be a pilot's wife, you must be prepared to have me ruin your life. And I am ruining it in such a way that I do not even wish for it to be.
My love, you once told me that if I am so eager to die, I already have your blessings to do so. It is agony to think that you can easily let me go; when I want us to live together until our hairs turn gray. But, perhaps, someday, or even as early as now, if death truly comes for me, I want you to know that it is never my intention to leave you. Even if I have your permission, I can't simply just take it. I can't, and I am afraid.
I'm afraid that I am leaving you alone. And it is not much consolation that I can offer that my thoughts had and will always be that of yours. I pray for your happiness, even if in the future, I can't be the one to offer such thing. And I'm afraid of that, too; that I don't want you to be alone, yet I can't think of giving you to another. Selfish, isn't it? However, I'll not even know which paths you will be choosing from beneath the grave. For that, all I can pray is that you'll choose a future where you can be happy, and know that I'll always support you no matter what it may be. Don't let me hold you back. Be happy. It's okay. It's okay, my love.
You are my light, (Y/N), and it burned so brightly as always. That no matter how far you go, that light will burn forever. And I want that light to continue burning brightly. It touched my heart and soul so deeply, assuring me in peace that you carry me not only in your memories but so close to your heart. I've seen and felt that warmth, making the happiest part of my life by far has been spent with you. I may not take it with me to consider you as my wife yet, but I dream of it. I know that you will be the most beautiful bride, for no one else could rival you, and I can account myself to be the happiest man in the world. And it will be my greatest guilt to only think of that future as a possibility if ever this reaches you first than that of my vows.
I'll take those memories and promises, and remember that of you—for you were honest, true, and sincere; the most wonderful woman that I ever know and the only one that I ever loved.
I love you, (Y/N) (L/N). Forever. Even beyond death, and until I am nothing with the wind. I love you.
Always and forever yours,
César Fernando María Tianko Basa
Second Lieutenant, Sixth Pursuit Squadron, PAAC
My hands close around the edges of the paper, drawing it closer to my chest as I erupt in another onslaught of tears and sobs. His words had been a real assurance to me that he didn't write the letter because he is prepared to die; rather, he hopes to assure me, in any event that things definitely turn to the worse than let me grasped in the nothingness what his thoughts may be at the end. In the end of it all, he thinks of me, knowing fully that no one but only him can comfort me. How strange it is to be comforted by the dead than anyone else?
I then pull away that respective portrait of his that he had given me, always present on my blouse's inner pocket closest to my heart. It is a weird feeling that I am now looking at it this way. Before, whenever I miss him and stare on the photograph, it makes me smile; because I know that however far he may be, he is alive and we'll meet again. But now, staring at it, my eyes only blur much more with tears.
I want to tell myself that I want to remember him this way. I want to hear his voice that I am starting to forget. I want to feel his warmth that is starting to be replaced by the cold. I want to taste his lips and smell his familiar comforting scent that is starting to fill my senses instead with that of his blood.
"Ang daya mo talaga, César," I stammer as I lean my arms on my knees, press my face against my folded arms and close my eyes. "You can't just leave me alone with this."
If there is truly a God who listens, I ponder. I want to return back dreaming that time again. Take me back. Take me wherever he is.
* * *
Teaser for the next chapter:
[...] That, right here, I can proudly say that I do have everything of him committed all to memory. From the end strands of his hair, all to the soles of his feet; the light that sparks on his eyes, the tingle and warmth of his touch, the comfort of his smell, the sound of his laughter and voice, and the curve of his smile and the taste of his lips. I know it all, and it is all mine.
The most beautiful part of it all is, I wasn't even looking when I found him.
* * *
A/N: Vote, comment and share! Whatever you do means a lot to me, and I am really wishing for some feedback! Guess, what? Artificial Horizon is ending on Wednesday! Both thrilled and sad of this project ending~
A few list of notes to share!
1. Navigation logs is a list of waypoints, landmarks, minutes to reach it from the previous waypoint, headings to intercept it, and frequency to tune at. Samples of it could be seen below; one that I've made during my joyride from La Union to the south, and another that I've predicted could've been used by César during his patrol flight on that fateful day of 12 December 1941.
2. Reminders and computations were also done in flight. Yes, one may have the navigation log but it wasn't enough since there were wind deviations to correct and everything.
3. Emergency procedures, despite being expected to be memorized by heart, were also needed to be within reach in any case that an emergency indeed happened. A checklist as such would remain essential in any event still.
4. Cutting of the rosary before being buried was one tradition that Filipinos observed because of the belief that it would avoid someone from dying the next. Though there wasn't really anything about such practice needed to be done at all to be mentioned by the Catholic Church. To be honest, I don't believe about it, and I think that it shouldn't be done because it is like the last link a dead person has to his faith.
My RPUS (San Fernando, La Union) - RPUI (Iba, Zambales) - RPLB (Subic, Zambales) - RPLS (Cavite City, Cavite) - RPLL (Manila) - RPLC (Clark, Pampanga) - RPUG (Lingayen, Pangasinan) - RPUS (San Fernando, La Union navigation log that I've used during my trip from La Union to the South.
My prediction of a possible navigation log that César might used on that fateful day of 12 December 1941. Included herein the waypoints, distances, headings, ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival, time in between two waypoints) and EET (Estimated Enroute Time, over-all time since departure). As noted, the ETA and EET were computed based on the only available technical data I've found online: a speed of 173 knots in 100% cruising RPM, which as I've also mentioned in the chapter "Creating the World of AH", wasn't at all advisable as it used more fuel and the higher one is up in the air, the lesser need for fuel. So there was definitely more in his tanks than expected. Additionally, for a three-hour patrol, there would be no doubt a few minutes done orbiting around an area to watchout for a sighting of the enemies.
Chapter title: Acknowledge. Throughout the chapter, despite the desperation and sorrow that the Reader and the rest of the characters were feeling with the death of César, there was one move that they should start doing: acknowledging the fact that it was the truth. Yes, we've seen through the previous chapters that the Reader was also in denial at first, but by now, no matter how hard it was to do, the Reader was on the road of accepting that this was the reality. And of course, that grand twist that I don't know if you've realized? Yes, this 1941 world the Reader thought to be a dream was actually the reality; and the modern-world was part of an imagination or dream.
Follow me on twitter @23meraki for more updates and trivia. ;)
#CFBArtificialHorizon