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eTropic 18.2 (2019) ‘Tropical Gothic: Literary and Creative Works’ Special Issue | 43 The Riddle of the Fowl and the Eagle Alvin Yapan, translated by Christian Benitez Department of Filipino, Ateneo de Manila University, The Philippines Abstract Alvin Yapan’s “The Riddle of the Fowl and the Eagle” (Filipino: “Ang Bugtong ng Manok at Agila”)1 teases at the boundaries between the cultural, the natural, and the supernatural, in order to foreground a contemporary Philippine conundrum that elucidates an ethical concern. The story questions what it is to be human, and what it means to be so in times that are rather inhumane. In the context of this text, this is simultaneously a concern with the meaning and value of animality. Through its rhythm, the text demonstrates a contemporary tropical consciousness that simultaneously navigates the individual and the collective so as to confront ecocritical anxieties and creating a story of the ecogothic.2 The translation of this text therefore opens this local tropical story to current discourses involved in analyzing global ecocritical predicaments. Keywords: ecogothic, tropical, Philippines, culture, nature 1 “Ang Bugtong ng Manok at Agila” won the first prize for the Filipino Short Story in the 64th Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature, 2014. The story was first published in Alvin Yapan’s collection Sangkatauhan Sangkahayupan (2016, pp.196-217) by Ateneo de Manila University Press. 2 Principe (2014) defines ecogothic as texts that examine “the construction of the Gothic body – unhuman, nonhuman, transhuman, posthuman, or hybrid – through a more inclusive lens, asking how it can be more meaningfully understood as a site of articulation for environmental and species identity” (p.1). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.25120/etropic.18.2.2019.3705 eTropic 18.2 (2019) ‘Tropical Gothic: Literary and Creative Works’ Special Issue | 44 The Riddle of the Fowl and the Eagle e slaughtered the animal as if it were a fowl. First he carefully plucked the feathers from the base of its skull. Then he cut its throat with the dagger he H would usually use to part the green of the forest, this time letting the red blood drip. He hung the animal upside down until the blood drained out. He collected each drop into basins with rice grains so it wouldn’t dry too quickly. He grilled it, especially around its wings, supple as they were when he plucked its feathers. Didn’t he know, they asked, that the eagle he shot had a name. The animal he killed had a name. Banaag. The name came from the Imperials, the family who owned the only gasoline station at the center of their town. That is, if it was considered a town center at all, that asphalt road at the foot of the mountain, connecting the houses to business establishments visited occasionally by residents of the small barrios claimed by the forest. The name, they said, alluded to the glimmer of a new relationship between man and nature. 3 The time was coming when nature would no longer be mistreated. According to the Bible, the drivers read from pamphlets handed to them each time they gassed up, humans need to embrace their responsibilities as stewards of plants and animals. Banaag was the third eagle to be set free in the forest after being raised for several months at the Eagle Conservation Center. The Imperials were among the most devoted supporters of the Center. They also sponsored the largest tree-planting campaign for the area’s diminishing forest. The family had already planted over a thousand trees, enough to create a sanctuary for the eagle hatched, raised, and eventually set free by the Center — only to be shot down by him four months later. When he was invited to the precinct he was seated by the Chief’s table. Barangay patrols surrounded the Chief and the Captain who had personally invited him. Everybody wanted to nose in, for it was a peculiar invitation. Everyone was used to couples fighting after finding out about each other’s infidelities. They were used to residents filing complaints against their neighbors for being too noisy, drinking and singing karaoke all night. This was a different fight they were about to witness, since it was between man and animal. Who would even file the complaint? The patrols asked. Previously if animals were ever involved in police reports, they said, they were only carabaos4 stolen by those from outside their town. So now they waited, wanting to see who would sign the thick police blotter. 3 Banaag is defined in Diksiyunaryo-Tesauro Pilipino-Ingles (1972) as “distant glitter or radiance; soft ray; glimmer.” 4 Carabao (Filipino: kalabaw) is a domestic swamp water buffalo indigenous to the Philippines. DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.25120/etropic.18.2.2019.3705 eTropic 18.2 (2019) ‘Tropical Gothic: Literary and Creative Works’ Special Issue | 45 He had calmly obliged the invitation to visit the police precinct. He would only be asked a few questions, they said. So he told his wife and son to just meet him there. In front of everyone who gathered there, he was interrogated about the GPS the people from the Center found buried in his backyard. It wasn’t clear to him what a GPS was. Among those who arrived at the precinct was Mrs Ynez Imperial. She was the one who reminded the police to never put him in cuffs. They didn’t want to highlight the shame the ceremony of setting the eagle free — attended by even the Mayor and the Congressman — had led to. The woman brought along her small Shih Tzu, dressed in a blue sweater in case it got cold. The morning was still foggy when they set out for the precinct. The Shih Tzu was named Lucky. Everybody knew Lucky, who would cry like a human, calling for the Mrs, whenever it would wake up in the morning without her by its side. He was looking at Lucky when he was asked if he knew of R.A. 9147. The Shih Tzu was also looking at him, as if expecting an answer. It was impossible that he didn’t know. The republic act was posted on almost every wall of the precinct. Everybody just wanted to know if he could read. He, on the other hand, wanted to know why the dog, dressed as it was, wasn’t wearing a pair of trousers. He knew about the republic act. Their entire barrio has been even gathered to talk about it. It was prohibited to kill an eagle in the forest surrounding their barrio. Six to twelve years imprisonment would be the penalty. But it wasn’t an eagle he killed—it was merely a big fowl, he defended himself. The Center didn’t find any eagle bone in his backyard. No bone, no nail, no skull. Only that thing which they called a GPS was somehow found there. Regardless of a Republic Act, he was certain that it wasn’t an eagle he shot. For what he and his family ate tasted like a fowl. They were more familiar with the flavors of vegetable and fresh- water fish, but they couldn’t mistake the flavor of a fowl. It really tasted like a fowl? The patrols, the police, and the Barangay Captain asked. They were all questioning if it actually did taste like a fowl, just as they were told, since none of them had ever tasted an eagle in their whole lives. An eagle’s life was worth a hundred thousand to a million pesos, if they would ever want to taste it. How expensive, exclaimed one of the patrols, he would feel cheated if it were really to taste like a mere fowl. Lucky barked. Everyone turned to the Shih Tzu. Mrs Imperial touched the dog’s head instinctively. It reminded him of how his wife would touch their son’s hair. He didn’t expect an animal with such soft fur could make such a shrill sound. Mrs Imperial’s dog, they said, didn’t like where the conversation was going. Taste shouldn’t be the basis DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.25120/etropic.18.2.2019.3705 eTropic 18.2 (2019) ‘Tropical Gothic: Literary and Creative Works’ Special Issue | 46 of their relationship to animals. The patrols, the police, and the Barangay Captain looked at each other, as did everyone who came to the precinct, including his wife and son. It was just as well his wife and son arrived then. Everyone in the precinct was beginning to gang up on him. But what they ate did taste like a fowl, his wife and son insisted. They hoped that their testimonies could save him so they could all go home soon. What they believed to be merely an invitation for an enquiry had already stretched to noon. Good thing his wife and son had packed food; he couldn’t even go pee without being accompanied. His family knew what a fowl tasted like, and the Imperials had something to do with their confidence. The only bird he could remember shooting in the forest tasted like the fowls they had raised. Five chicks had been given to them by the Imperials, so they could breed them in their backyard and wouldn’t need to depend solely on the forest for their survival. Once they passed by the Imperials’ house downtown while selling wood collected from the forest. The Imperials collected orchids, as well as dogs that all barked. It was then that he first saw Lucky. The rumors in their barrio were true, Mrs Imperial even paid for a helper to play with the dog.

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