A COVID tale too

By Jing Villamil

 

HE is a seafarer. The sea is on his sunburnt skin, and in layers underneath. Even his clothes smell of salt and sand trapped in the stitches, pockets, folds. But wherever part of the world his ship anchored, his heart and his thoughts are of the small town where he was born, where he had grown, where he homed. And of his people – family, relatives, friends, neighbors.

His last vacation coincided with the ECQ last March. Nevertheless, he hosted, guested and almost always took the tab for the gatherings held by kins and peers within and outside his barangay. Spending for others do not bother him. The money can be earned back again and again. But strong, lasting camaraderie is harder to find.

When the lockdown unlocked a little, he was raring to sail again to parts known, unknown. Then he was swabbed. Then he was found positive for the dreaded Covid-19.

The eyes, the ears, the arms of contact tracers moved fast. His hometown street was locked down. Those whom he had come in close contact, talked to, jogged and partied with, and with whom he had shared liquor using one “tagay” glass . . . they were identified, interviewed, isolated as persons under monitoring or investigation.

Searching for and picking them up was almost too easy. They pointed to each other, to themselves, to those not even included in the contact list! Overall count involved more than half the number of the town’s barangays! And each pointing of the finger came with bursts of giggles, gurgles of laughter, high fives, thumping of backs and knees. It seemed they had each imbibed a bauble of laughing gas! They were flattered, flustered, excited to be on centerstage or even just at the fringe of the spotlight.

The quarantine area constructed inside the municipal gym was new and freshly furbished. Everything was clean, crisp. Meals were free and catered. The nurses were caring, concerned and not yet so tired to be bitchy. And when the building was locked for the night, lights switched on. They outtalked each other storytelling, they played pretend tournaments of badminton, basketball, volleyball. And they briskwalked, jogged up-down and round tiers of steps to weary sleep.

The swabbers from the provincial DOH were startled, amused, enchanted! This was their first time to be confronted by tens of male patients aged 20-30+ acting, nay, being goody-bad boys. They smiled polite greetings, obediently opened their mouths or shyly tilted their noses for the probes. In stark contrast, PUMs, PUIs in other towns were hesitant, fearful, most times antagonistic.

When the men/boys cleared the required fourteen days, they helped clean the place ready for the next batch. They felt they owed it, and its guardians, a gratitude they were at a loss to express. The weird truth was: teary-eyed, trembly-lips, they did not really want to leave the place. They had homed.

Wait, teka, alagar! Whatever happened then to the seafarer? A COVID Tale Three?

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