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Sunday, March 20, 2005
Gil: Mutilated war
By Sandy Gil
Sunday Dunes
* One of the benefits of this compulsion to clean up even when unnecessary is that my home is absolutely free of any kind of flying and crawling pest. There are no mosquitoes, nits, flies, mice nor cockroaches. My trashcans are as clean as the rest of the house.
A COUPLE of Sunday columns ago, I had revealed to the public my obsessive/compulsive nature in as far as cleanliness and sanitation are concerned. As all my friends and colleagues know, I am a real stickler for putting things in their proper places, and those places MUST be as dust-free as possible.
As such, one can imagine the spotless purity and gleam that welcome the rare visitors I allow into my domestic temple. It never fails to elicit a gush of admiration from the few visa holders to my home. And in turn, their expressions of awe never fail to make my heart thump with indescribable pride.
-o0o-
So enough of my audacity regarding cleanliness! One of the benefits of this compulsion to clean up even when unnecessary is that my home is absolutely free of any kind of flying and crawling pest. There are no mosquitoes, nits, flies, mice nor cockroaches. My trashcans are as clean as the rest of the house. Yet despite this consistent immaculate hygiene, there is one house pest that I am simply unable to ban from my abode. The house lizard. In the local dialect, the butiki. Its scientific name is gehyra mutilata. Sounds like mutilated war.
Needless to say, the butiki is totally unaware that it will starve when it enters my dwelling that is completely devoid of its natural food provisions. No flies, mosquitoes or nits to satisfy its hunger. The butiki is utterly unaware that it will encounter slow death due to inevitable malnourishment in this "empty" residence of mine. And because the butiki has a brain as tiny as those of some human beings all of us have encountered at one time in our lives, it nonetheless crosses the threshold of doom, into my home.
-o0o-
It was in such state of affairs that a butiki one day entered my home. I suspected that it had slipped through that slit under the back door in my bedroom that leads to the balcony. Stupid pest, I thought to myself. I hated to admit it, but despite the fact that the butiki is indeed brainless and that I am a zillion times its size, I was definitely afraid of it.
Its cold and slimy body could just fall on me while I slept. Or it could crawl up my legs or arms. Or I might just find it sitting (?) beside me while I read a book. You know, creepy thoughts like those enter the minds of obsessive/compulsive individuals like me. Thus, I was faced with a big problem that needed an urgent solution. How does one get rid of a butiki without touching its cold slippery body? Or do I prepare for a "mutilated war"?
-o0o-
I thought hard, deep and long (sounds nice). And voila! A brilliant idea explodes in my brain that is supposed to be a zillion times larger than that of my opponent! I could use a broom to sweep it out of the house! Of course, that is easier said than done. I knew I had to wait for a couple of days so that the butiki, deprived of its nutrition, can grow weaker and weaker by the day. As it was, the butiki was still as sprightly as a young gymnast. But I was willing to wait.
And I did not have to wait long. Twenty-four hours later, I came upon the same butiki, clearly debilitated and starving, near the bedroom door leading to the balcony. I figured then it was not as dim-witted as I initially thought it was. It seemed to want to escape this desert of a house. I was filled with forgiveness and pity, and thus decided to I gently lead it outside with a broom.
As I lightly swept the feeble butiki towards the bedroom back door, it suddenly sprung back to life! Omigosh! Screaming silently to myself, I whammed it again and again with my deadly weapon. But somehow my whamming it with the broom was not working. Both the butiki and I were soon in a state of panic and distress! It did all that it could and quickly escaped through the slit along the hinges of the bedroom back door! I slammed the bedroom back door shut with relief and finality.
-o0o-
And as I slammed the door shut, I heard and felt a soft crunch. Omigosh. Omigosh. War. Mutilation.
I sat on my bed and pondered. I could just ignore it, and NEVER open the bedroom back door ever again. Pretend that there is no balcony. Imagine it away. But if I did, that thing would dry up and only the gods knew the consequences of returning to one's original state of dust. But then again, that would be better than cleaning the thing up while it was freshly dead. Omigosh. What do I do now?
I called my landlady to confess. Her maid came over to clean up all traces of the mutilated war. And she was smirking all the while.
For Bisaya stories from Davao. Click here. (March 20, 2005 issue)
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