At 81, Lolo Sulping is nowhere near the fearless man of the masses that he was in his heyday. He has been bedridden for almost a year now, and has been in and out of the hospital thrice within the last month. Everything about him looks weak. When he breathes, he looks as though he's hanging by a thread. Today, he is restless in his hospital bed. His bright mind and eloquence have given way to gibberish. The spark has left his eyes--those eyes that were so like mine.
When Lolo Sulping was a little boy, his mother Francisca whisked him off and his older brother Manuel from Iloilo to Aklan. Iska wanted a fresh start and a better future for her sons away from their father, who probably wasn't capable of giving them any. Sulping has no memories of his real father. He only knew his last name was Torente. He was raised from infancy by his mother and her second husband.
I imagine him living a happy childhood, running free and wild with Manuel in the fields in Aklan. Manuel would later stay in the province while Sulping would pursue his dreams in the grand city called Manila.
Sulping married young--a decision that seemed reckless at the time but was something that he would never regret for the rest of his life. Rosa, the woman who caught his eye, was a character herself. She was ahead of her time. She was set to be shipped to the States by his father the apple picker to study nursing. But when Sulping got in the way, she defied Lolo Timo and, in a heartbeat, chose life with Sulping over the American dream.
There's a funny story that they often told us during family gatherings. In a last-ditch attempt to save his promising daughter from the poison of love and the clutches of Sulping, Lolo Timo arranged for Rosa to be sent to Aklan, which was also their province. But Sulping was persistent. He bought a ticket for the same trip and hid from Rosa's chaperone all throughout the trip. The moment the ship docked on the pier, Sulping was more determined than ever to see through his pursuit.
Rosa and Sulping brought seven children into the world and saw three of them to their graves in the span of forty years or so. They also took to their wings a little boy, the son of their neighbor who was abandoned by their mother. Years later, the mother would come back for her boy, but they wouldn't give him. To them, he was their eighth child. He was like their palm or the back of their hand.
Much of Sulping's grandest feats happened in Isla de Lata (now a portion of Palanan, Makati), a small town then in the outskirts of urban Makati. Its main industry was the junk shop put up by Sulping, and worked by his neighbors. The place got its name from all the tin cans being crushed there every day.
Sulping was a born leader. And so even before the advent of the modern-day barangays and barangay captains, Sulping lorded it over Isla de Lata as the teniente del barrio. He ruled in a Solomonic way--strict but also very fair. In a town where everyone worked hard for their money, he made sure there was no room for thieves. He also made sure everyone respected women and the elderly. People went to him for justice. And justice was served swiftly in the silong of their house, while the aggrieved are appeased by the perpetrators' muffled cries.
As the years advanced, Sulping's Big Brother role would become more expansive. He was fondly called "Butete". People feared his omniscient, pot-bellied figure. His constituents, who weren't that many, would later legitimize his political ascendancy by electing him to office. He would hold that office in the little corner of Makati for as long as Marcos held the presidency. But Sulping would do greater things than Macoy, and would have his fair share of dealings with personalities who have been immortalized into movies, including
Moises Platon and the outlaw "Rose Tattoo".
As the god of that small place, he was also incorruptible. During election times, candidates would come to him to solicit his constituents' block vote. In their attempt to be in Sulping's good graces, they tried to bribe him with money. My father would tell me he would see them come in the house with bagfuls of money. But each time Sulping would turn down their attempts to be in his good graces. He would tell them he would gladly receive cheap shirts that he could give away instead.
In his bid to protect his family and constituents, Sulping would make a lot of enemies. As a young boy, my father would witness a scene straight out of an action movie. One late afternoon, when Sulping was tending to his piggery with his two sons Nolly (my father) and Rex, who were about six and four, respectively, six goons armed with fan knives (the weapon of choice at the time) would charge at him. Sensing danger, Sulping would tuck his sons in a safe corner before facing his attackers. The next 10 or 15 minutes will forever be etched in the memory of my father, who watched in awe and fear as their father ducked, kicked, and hit the assailants, who would later run, leaving Sulping without a single scratch.
Sulping did not tolerate thugs in his territory. As one story goes, the son of a Customs official, who lived in the next street, was playing basketball in the community court when the nephew of Imelda Marcos came with his pack. Because they thought they could, they assaulted the group, and even made sure they were provoked. And when the aggression ensued, the Marcos brat called for security backups. A jeep full of soldiers responded.
The incident led to a shootout right in front of Sulping's house. Sulping was unforgiving of people who disturbed the peace. So when he saw the Customs official's son shot dead by the armed men, he stormed out of the house and crossed the street, unmindful of the shooting spree. At that moment, the dead son's father was rushing to his son's aid. But before he could get to him, he, too, was shot by one of the armed men. In a fierce moment, Sulping took a flower pot and hit the man with it. Before the villain could finish off his next victim, Sulping fearlessly grabbed the armalight off his hands and succeeded in disarming him. He drove the rest of them away at the point of their own gun.
That was the time when the Marcoses were under international scrutiny for abuses of power. I was told that Sulping's story made it to
Time. An American correspondent was sent to the house to interview the man who stood up to a Marcos. He left Sulping with instructions to the effect that if his life would ever be in danger because of the article, he was to give him a call so he could fly him and his family to the U.S. and give them political asylum.
For a long time, his family thought these were all there was to Sulping's quests. Until about two years ago, when his diabetes advanced. During episodes, he would be reduced to an 80-year-old child who cried and laughed and who talked unintelligibly. And then one day he just cried and, in between sobs, said he wished God would forgive him for all the Japanese he had slain. We would ask him about the Japanese during his lucid intervals, but each time he would ball up in tears and refuse to talk.
It was the last piece of the puzzle that was Sulping. It was then that I realized what made him, shaped him, and emboldened him. He was a diamond perfected and toughened from the rough.
But the hard man don't live here anymore. In his place is a frightened child who looks to Rosa to keep the monsters away from under his bed. At the same time, he is a tired old man who is almost about to give up.
Meanwhile, we, who love him dearly, are holding on to him, and praying for another lease on a life lived well and fully.
