after all. Nor had she. After a moment she turned round, went back downstream and disappeared behind swags of dense greenery. Well, the old, I thought. Or we solitaries, perhaps; we’re always addressing the people in our heads.
Weeks later I overheard a companion who was ahead of me jump over a rivulet and pause on the other side to light a cigarette. Before the scrape of match on box he said: ‘
Susmaryosep tabi nono.
’ Seconds later when I caught up with him I did not ask him what he had meant but remembered the phrase since I had not heard the word ‘
nono
’ before. ‘
Tabi
’ meant variously ‘edge’ or ‘to one side’ and hence was used to tell someone to get out of the way. ‘
Susmaryosep
’ was common enough, mostly as an interjection but usually with a hint of genuine invocation rather than as a mere expression of surprise (typically Filipino, of course, to call on the Holy Family instead of on something coldly cerebral like the Trinity). And now, of course, it made sense. Both he and Lolang Mating had been addressing the genii loci. Suddenly I began hearing everybody do it, which suggested that just as the undersea creatures I don’t recognise can remain invisible, so speech I don’t understand is often inaudible.
So there it was: Kansulay’s water project seemed temporarily stalled for lack of diggers. At this point it became clear that not everyone was equally worried by the threat of
nono
and that a certain delicacy obtained in which nobody was mocked for believing. I was anxious lest the believers should feel that a foreigner with his natural immunity to such things would make fun of them and maybe even shame some of them into digging against their better judgement. In the event, however, nobody cried offfor the simple reason that those who felt it essential took anti-
nono
precautions. Among effective charms were copper, salt, ‘metal-shit’ (i.e. swarf from a lathe), a kind of seaweed, incense, holy water and a cross made from a palm leaf. Several men, as they dug, told the
nono
to leave them alone but obviously felt secure enough with their charms to be amused when someone suggested that
nono
didn’t understand Tagalog and that it would be better to address them in Latin like a priest. (
Nono
must have been apprehended and addressed differently before the Spanish came.)
In the event the test-digging was a great success. Not only did no-one fall ill but the expert said the water was welling up in sufficient quantities to merit building a proper cement ‘spring box’. In short, the project was on. Would he, I asked, if he were in my position – in other words organising the funds – be as certain and as sanguine about it? Oh yes, he assured me. If lower down the pipeline we were to build a large collection tank which could fill up overnight, and if people could be persuaded to turn off the taps when they were not using them, there would be adequate drinking water for Kansulay. This was excellent news and we all returned mud-smeared and cheerful.
3
I wade on Tiwarik’s upland through the wild grasses towards the patch of jungle where surely nobody has ever been nor goes today except to chop house-posts or pull firewood from its hostile and thorny fringes: my favourite place on the whole island because the hand of man has so evidently passed it by.
The type of rain-forest whose high unbroken canopy creates a gloom at ground level is often comparatively free of undergrowth. Not enough sunlight penetrates to encourage the growth of vines and bushes. But this patch of untouched jungle is not like that, mostly because it forms a cap on the island’s abrupt summit which is exposed to storms and is irregular in its distribution of soil. Sunlight penetrates in shafts from all sides. The tangle of undergrowth is dense, reaching well over my head in places while in others needing only to be waded through but with due regard for hidden trunks rotted into fakes of sponge and mushroom which
Weeks later I overheard a companion who was ahead of me jump over a rivulet and pause on the other side to light a cigarette. Before the scrape of match on box he said: ‘
Susmaryosep tabi nono.
’ Seconds later when I caught up with him I did not ask him what he had meant but remembered the phrase since I had not heard the word ‘
nono
’ before. ‘
Tabi
’ meant variously ‘edge’ or ‘to one side’ and hence was used to tell someone to get out of the way. ‘
Susmaryosep
’ was common enough, mostly as an interjection but usually with a hint of genuine invocation rather than as a mere expression of surprise (typically Filipino, of course, to call on the Holy Family instead of on something coldly cerebral like the Trinity). And now, of course, it made sense. Both he and Lolang Mating had been addressing the genii loci. Suddenly I began hearing everybody do it, which suggested that just as the undersea creatures I don’t recognise can remain invisible, so speech I don’t understand is often inaudible.
So there it was: Kansulay’s water project seemed temporarily stalled for lack of diggers. At this point it became clear that not everyone was equally worried by the threat of
nono
and that a certain delicacy obtained in which nobody was mocked for believing. I was anxious lest the believers should feel that a foreigner with his natural immunity to such things would make fun of them and maybe even shame some of them into digging against their better judgement. In the event, however, nobody cried offfor the simple reason that those who felt it essential took anti-
nono
precautions. Among effective charms were copper, salt, ‘metal-shit’ (i.e. swarf from a lathe), a kind of seaweed, incense, holy water and a cross made from a palm leaf. Several men, as they dug, told the
nono
to leave them alone but obviously felt secure enough with their charms to be amused when someone suggested that
nono
didn’t understand Tagalog and that it would be better to address them in Latin like a priest. (
Nono
must have been apprehended and addressed differently before the Spanish came.)
In the event the test-digging was a great success. Not only did no-one fall ill but the expert said the water was welling up in sufficient quantities to merit building a proper cement ‘spring box’. In short, the project was on. Would he, I asked, if he were in my position – in other words organising the funds – be as certain and as sanguine about it? Oh yes, he assured me. If lower down the pipeline we were to build a large collection tank which could fill up overnight, and if people could be persuaded to turn off the taps when they were not using them, there would be adequate drinking water for Kansulay. This was excellent news and we all returned mud-smeared and cheerful.
3
I wade on Tiwarik’s upland through the wild grasses towards the patch of jungle where surely nobody has ever been nor goes today except to chop house-posts or pull firewood from its hostile and thorny fringes: my favourite place on the whole island because the hand of man has so evidently passed it by.
The type of rain-forest whose high unbroken canopy creates a gloom at ground level is often comparatively free of undergrowth. Not enough sunlight penetrates to encourage the growth of vines and bushes. But this patch of untouched jungle is not like that, mostly because it forms a cap on the island’s abrupt summit which is exposed to storms and is irregular in its distribution of soil. Sunlight penetrates in shafts from all sides. The tangle of undergrowth is dense, reaching well over my head in places while in others needing only to be waded through but with due regard for hidden trunks rotted into fakes of sponge and mushroom which
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