That Macario

Many still think of him as the kindest killer they ever met. Of course, they had not known a lot of killers before him. Macario was the first and therefore, the most remembered. After his death, plenty of mediocres would follow but none had the heart Macario had.

Ser, mobalor lang ko’g uska libo. I wouldn’t ask if we had other people to borrow from. We’ve already tried everyone else. I’ll pay you on my next salary. It’s just the two kids are in the hospital. The salary you gave me just isn’t enough. Ser, maluoy ka! Ser! I’ve worked on your house for a year. I’ve never cheated, never shortchanged! Palihug! Ayaw wad-a akong respeto nimo!

It wasn’t only his skills though that earned him his reputation in this place people only refer to as tapos sa rayl. He was a man of principle, that Macario, people would always reminisce. His composure was always calm. His victims always shot cleanly, almost humanely, with the least struggle. He almost always targeted the head, sometimes the heart. When he couldn’t get a clear shot, he would always make sure to follow immediately with a second bullet to stop the pain. And that was why people loved him. Yes, he was a man of principle, that Macario.

Hide the hammer. Stash the other things. Clean your hands. Clean the blood on the floor, on yourself, on the furniture. Place a handkerchief on his mouth. Tie his hands with rope. Open the water tank. Smooth him in gently. Be quiet. Find the money.

The houses tapos sa rayl were known to be residences of the misfits. The railroad tracks did more than just divide the land. They also divided the people, segregating them to the before and afters of society. Those before the rail were a mixture of old Spanish colonial mansions with well-kept gardens and large verandas peppered with smaller 70s style homes with adobe walls and geometric shapes.

Those after the rails were made out of dilapidated boards slanting to the side. The luckier ones had nipa walls, bamboo kitchens and small patches of green in the front. That was before Macario came. He gave his neighbors jobs, letting them take care of his chickens and repairing his house. He sent some of the kids to school and gave them small treats when they passed by. He organized basketball leagues and doled out large prizes, so kids can stay away from bisyos. He even donated large amounts to the church, renovating the priest’s dormitory and providing all the carosas for Holy Week. Even the barangay council started soliciting from him for large projects. Nobody knew where the money was coming from. When they found out, he became Jesus, weeding out the hypocrites to serve the poor. He soon was only referred to as Tatay to everyone. Macario’s coming became the golden age of the houses tapos sa rayl.

Dong, where’s your Mama? Still at the hospital? Give this bag to her when she gets back. And here’s a hundred. Don’t spend it on toys. Now, listen, Papa has to go away awhile, okay? He’ll come back for you when he’s ready. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And when somebody asks, don’t tell them I’ve been here.

For all his popularity, nobody really knew anything about the man seated in his rocking chair. Even those he especially chose to take under his wing, teenage boys he taught carpentry to who became his drinking buddies every weekend, hadn’t had the guts to ask. Once, they had tried to get him drunk in order to extract some information. His face had suddenly turned hard and he whispered audibly, ‘Bata pa ang gabii, mga pisu. Klaro pa ang panan-aw.’. The truth was it wasn’t just that he didn’t want to answer. It’s that he could no longer remember vividly at all. They’d never tried to ask him again. Still, it did not stop the questions from neighbors. Where he came from before he got here. How he started. How he got to do what he did. Who his first ‘job’ was. Who his connections from the mountains were who, in turn, had connections to the syndicates. They wanted to know. Their houses needed repairing too.

Gie, are you there? Di kayo ko kasturya. So, listen. Don’t butt in. I dropped off some money for you. It’s with a vegetable vendor named Edna in the market. Don’t ask her where I am. She won’t know. Spend the money wisely. It’ll be a while before I can send again. People might get suspicious. I love you. Tell the kids Papa misses them. Tell Dodong not to spend it on toys.

The day Macario died, he was delivering flowers to be used for Sunday mass. One of his students was rattling on his ear, pesking him for money. Please, tay, just to help his child get out of the hospital. If they couldn’t pay, the child couldn’t get out. There was treatment to think about and the wife was pregnant too. And no one would lend him the money. Macario fished in his pockets, opened his wallet and found a few hundreds plus coins. He gave everything he had. Drop by the house, Macario told him so he can give more. Soon after exiting the church, he was stabbed at the back. The cut was clean, immediately stopping the connection from spine to brain, almost like Macario would’ve taught him. Because it wasn’t enough,Tay. Not even close.

His funeral became the most lavish his neighbors had ever attended. And in the corner, two children and a widow looked down at the father and husband they haven’t seen for eight years. He was a man of principle, that Macario, they were told. Who knew if they believed this. Dodong, now 19, left a hundred pesos for abuloy. Don’t spend it on toys, he muttered under his breath.

And that was the end of the kindest killer they ever met, and the end of the golden age for the people tapos sa rayl.

Jesus had died. All the rest were just murderers.