Mandarin Mannequins of Chinatown. Patricia Laurel

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      The Neckar River flows beneath the ancient stone bridges of Heidelberg where Germany’s oldest university was founded in 1386. Planter boxes cascading with brilliantly colored flowers adorn the windows of the houses and shops in the Altstadt district (old city).

      The Rizal brothers walked along the medieval cobblestone streets of the town. Ciano, the older and taller of the two, bent his head as he listened intently to Pepe who acted as his guide.

      Kuya Ciano, look! That is the pub where I used to meet with other fencing students. Of course, I didn’t go there often. I had to be careful with my allowance.

      I would hope so, Pepe.

      Ciano was frugal, whereas his younger brother tended to be on the frivolous side.

      You weren’t here long, and yet you wrote the poem Flowers of Heidelberg, and finished the last chapters of your first novel.

      How could one not be inspired to write a poem about this place? Look around you, kuya. This place swarms with inspiration; the brilliant colors of the flowers, the hills and the forests surrounding Heidelberg.

      For you it comes easy, Pepe. But for those of us who do not have the talent to write words on paper, we are content to admire our surroundings or read about them thanks to people like you.

      Kuya, anyone can write. It’s a matter of applying and committing yourself to the task. Certainly, it’s hard work, but it is a most satisfying feeling when you’ve written the last sentence and placed a period after it.

      They walked past Philosophen Weg, the famous pathway along the Neckar River visited by many famous writers, composers and philosophers. People passed by without seeing the spirits from another century. The younger brother was revisiting his past, the older on a path of discovery.

      Ciano wanted to know more of Pepe’s short life on this Earth. He now had the opportunity to visit places he had never seen when he attended to all the serious concerns back home. Europe? He was too busy caring for his parents and other siblings. He had the estate to run and Spanish friars to deal with.

      He was a head taller than Pepe, who inherited more of the family’s Malay features; Ciano took after the Chinese side. Pepe’s darker complexion was a contrast to Ciano’s fair skin, but they shared the prominent cheekbones that most family members inherited from their Chinese ancestors.

      Soon they reached the village of Wilhelmsfeld where Pepe lived for a short time with Pastor Karl Ullmer and his family. They stood before the tidy square house with white stucco walls, green wooden window shutters and peaked tile roof. It was here the younger brother completed his first novel, the one that set the Philippines aflame.

      Pepe, your book, Noli Me Tangere — how old were you when finished it?

      I was 25.

      That book! The friars focused their attention on our family after it was published. That was the beginning of the end for you. The brother part of me was afraid and concerned for your safety, but the Filipino in me was so proud of you. Do you regret writing it?

      No kuya, and I didn't regret that you encouraged me to do what I was supposed to do. I was meant to write about the friars’ atrocities. I wanted the world to know how Filipinos suffered under them.

      The world certainly found out, Pepe.

      This village and this house in particular hold a special place in my heart. The pastor and his family were very kind to me, but the 13-kilometer walk to Heidelberg and back was murder on my feet and shoes!

      They walked to a little park where a statue of Pepe stood.

      The life-sized statue portrayed Pepe in a pensive and scholarly mood with his arms crossed, holding his novel in one hand and a feather quill pen in the other. Bouquets of fresh flowers were laid at the base of the statue.

      Ciano read the inscription on the base: Dr. Jose Rizal, 1861-1896, Filipino novelist, scholar, patriot and the martyr for his people. Executed by the Spanish.

      They stood silent for a moment.

      If anyone deserved a monument, it should have been you, kuya. You took care of the family, sent me abroad to study and endured the friars and their cruelty. They jailed our mother and you were tortured.

      Pepe, that was a small price to pay. I did it willingly for the sake of our poor country. But I will never forget the shame our mother went through. An elderly woman made to walk such a long distance only to be jailed because of false accusations. I would have gladly taken the place of our Nanay.

      Or maybe there should be statues of the Rizal women here, kuya. I don’t know where the women in our family get their strength. In their quiet, well, not so quiet ways, they will stand up to anyone to protect the family.

      You’re right, Pepe, but some of the women in our family are not so demure and reserved as they used to be. Some of them are very outspoken, even abrasive. I realize these are modern times, but it wouldn’t hurt to tone it down a bit.

      It’s a sign of the times, kuya. What is it our niece Patti likes to say? Go with the flow or play it by ear. I like that . . .

      Before Pepe could finish what he was saying, Ciano felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turned toward the horizon.

      The villages ran one after another along the river and the central plane with the mountains in the distance. Cars wound along the autobahn or highways, and barges piled the river. It was a charming vista of houses, church spires and imposing ruins of old castles. Vineyards on the hillsides spilled down to the river.

      The brothers saw a small perfectly round cloud, but it was black as night in the bright blue sky.

      Kuya, СКАЧАТЬ