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Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Flavier: The parable of the killing
By Juan Flavier
THE farmer was a mild-mannered man. His appellation of ‘langaw,’ or housefly, was most appropriate. In part because he had a large, roundish eyes. But more because he could not as much as kill a housefly.
He led an orderly life day in and day out. His life revolved around his home and his rice farm. For as long as he or anyone in the village could remember, he caused no trouble. He was, even by their standards, a simple farm worker.
It was then a terrible shock to all when, one day, he killed his wife. No one could understand why. And the farmer refused to explain.
This was the reason most of the villagers attended his arraignment in court as well as the subsequent trial.
From the beginning, his entire defense was based on temporary insanity. He stood as his own witness and his lawyer asked him to describe the crime in his own words.
“Your honor,” the farmer began, “I never done anything to trouble anyone in the whole village. I lead a quiet life and mind only my home and my farm. My needs are simple and my daily routine is predictable.
“I get up at five o’clock in the morning. I switch on the radio and listen to the early news and some agricultural commentaries. I take a cup of coffee and eat a simple breakfast, which I cook myself. Then I wrap a meal for my lunch. I go to my rice farm two kilometers away and start work by six in the morning.
“The whole day, I toil without rest except for eating at noon. At six o’clock before dusk, I go home with my carabao. I eat my supper – the only meal my wife cooks for me. Then I listen to the radio for an hour or so and then go to bed.
“Everyday, I have the same schedule. Until the day in question…” He stopped and took a deep breath, evidently choked up by intense emotion.
His lawyer coached him. “Please proceed and describe to the court what happened on that day.”
“Well, on that particular day,” the farmer continued after gaining his composure, “I awoke as usual at five in the morning, listened to the radio, took my breakfast and coffee, proceeded to the rice fields, toiled the whole day and went home with my carabao at six o’clock.
“When I got home, I saw there was no supper ready on the dining table and my wife was not in the kitchen. I went to our bedroom and there she was with a stranger so I killed her.”
The farmer bowed his head, sorrow and remorse spread all over his face.
“How did you feel at the time you killed her?” inquired the lawyer wanting to register the mitigating circumstances.
“I was raging mad,” the farmer raised his voice as though reliving his anger. “I was out of my mind. I lost all sense of control. For the first time in my life, I went berserk. I wanted to destroy everything. The whole house if possible.” The farmer was overcome with great emotion.
The judge admonished him in a gentle tone. “Take hold of yourself and finish your account.”
“Your honor,” concluded the farmer, “imagine I get home and supper is not ready!”
(June 8, 2005 issue)
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