Uncle Junior and the Balete Tree

Lolo said the Balete tree is enchanted. Tucked in the sleepy town of Lazi, in the island of Siquijor, the tree towers over a spring where little fishes swim around your feet.

Lolo said the tree was already there when he was born. The Balete tree watched over Lolo’s father when he was growing up. The Balete was the spot where Lolo’s lolo courted Lolo’s lola. And all of them remembered the Balete tree as it is today – tall and proud with her feet submerged in clean, cold water. Lolo said the water is miraculous. It saved Lola’s life when she got sick. But it also took my Uncle Junior away.

Everytime we pass by the Balete tree on our Sunday walk to San Juan, Lolo always tells Uncle Junior’s story. We sit down on the bank of the spring, our feet swinging gently in the water until the skin on our toes turn into prunes. We eat our baon – Mama’s special biko with a sprinkling of latik on top. In between bites, Lolo would remember Uncle Junior’s mischievous smile and his laughing eyes behind the thick glasses.

Uncle Junior loved the Balete tree. He only took baths at the spring at the foot of the tree. When he was in High School, he used to stop by the spring before and after classes. He would play sipa in the water. One day, the round rattan ball got stuck in one of the Balete’s branches. Uncle Junior climbed up the tree to get it. But he did not come down that afternoon. That was the first of his disappearances. Lola found him the next day helping fishermen haul in their nets. The next time he did not come home, Lola saw him talking with the farmers harvesting rice alongside them.

When Uncle Junior started studying in the Unviersity, his disappearances became more frequent. At first, he would be gone for two to three days at a time. Each time he comes home, he would still be wearing the same clothes -- dirtier with dried mud, sweat and grass stains. Lolo would ask him where he went and Uncle would just laugh, saying he’s been inside the Balete tree with his friends.

Of course, Lolo did not believe him. But he did not ask too many questions. Uncle Junior is already a young man – old enough even to get married. But Lolo was worried, especially when Uncle Junior did not come home for months. And when he did, he would be thinner and darker, with long gritty hair.

Lola was even getting sick because of Uncle Junior’s disappearances. But when Uncle comes home, Lola would be well again. Lolo and Lola got tired of asking questions. They were just happy their son is home safe. Lola would cook all his favorite food – tinolang isda, ginataang alimasag and adobong pusit. I said Lola was like a witch fattening up Uncle Junior. Lolo laughed like a troll and tousled my hair. You have the same curly hair just like your Uncle, Lolo smiled sadly.

Lolo looked so sad. But he needed to finish the story so I asked him what happened to Uncle Junior. He said one day in 1976, Uncle Junior never came home. He went missing with some of his friends in the University. They left all their belongings, as if they didn’t need them where they are going. Lolo said Lola still believed Uncle Junior will one day walk through their door. But Lolo thinks Uncle Junior is happy where he is. When I asked where he went, Lolo looked at me, puzzled – his eyes wondering why I don’t remember the ending of the story he told me countless times.

Lolo said Uncle Junior was spirited away into the enchanted world inside the Balete tree. There, he is young once more, almost like a baby. There he can talk to fishes, plants and trees. And everything he wishes, even just in his mind materializes in his very eyes. I can almost see Uncle Junior happily describing Lola’s wonderful cooking to a golden fish. They would talk about a lot of things-- the hard life out in the fields or the dwindling number of fishes in the ocean. The fish would change its color to a shining silver when it disagreed with Uncle.

One day, Lolo promised, he will also go into the enchanted world. Lolo would then stare at the Balete tree, almost beseechingly, then slowly he would stand up. He would then shake droplets of water from his feet and wear his slippers. I do the same and we continue our Sunday walk.

I look back at the tree, its branches and roots almost dancing in the spring and the fishes cutting across the water, and I say goodbye to Uncle Junior.

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This story was inspired by a  sculpture by Daniel Dela Cruz. It's a subtle story about desaparecidos during the Martial law.