THOMAS L. CHIU
HE CALLED HER
THE PRISON AT ST.GREGORY
The island of St. Gregory evoked myriad stories, mostly because
it was seldom seen or heard of by the people on the mainland, though it
was only ten or twelve miles away, separated by turbulent, at times dangerous,
undercurrents.
Some believed the island was a floating rock. Some thought it was a galleon
wrecked ages ago, now floating without direction or destiny. Some, more
cynical than others, considered the whole thing as a mirage.
To Julius it was a challenge. He wanted to be daring. He was undaunted by
all the myths so far generated. Like his forefathers before him, he was
from a stouthearted tribe who knew danger only when they were in the face
of it.
Not unlike this island, Julius was a mystery of sorts, too. He played the
bagpipes to amuse himself, proclaiming that the sound echoed the voices
from the sea beyond the village in which he lived. He was conspicuous in
his solitariness among the townspeople, contacting others only to purchase
essentials and materials required for fishing.
One day Julius overheard a conversation in the general store about the upcoming
venture by a group of villagers to St. Gregory. The news, as if heaven sent,
struck Julius, leaving him with pure joy, for this was a rare opportunity
he had long awaited. He was accepted to join. The weathering of his appetite
was to come to an end.
The auspicious journey awakened many villagers' years of indifference and
complacency. On that day, many arrived at the rocky beachfront to wish the
group of twelve men a safe and productive voyage.
Julius felt awkward in the beginning among the men, but soon melted with
them because of his extraordinary skills in handling the ropes and other
navigation technology.
After hours of drifting, the boat made an uneventful stop on the shores
of what they believed was St. Gregory.
Each of the twelve men appeared to have a different motive. No sooner had
they anchored their boat to a boulder than discussions began. Were they
to explore in groups? When were they going back to the mainland?
Julius had no wish to join the group in exploration. He excused himself
and proceeded to do his own homework, perchance for a special odyssey of
discovery.
He was surprised to see that the island was inhabited. There were small
paths here and there leading to a group of huts, strong and seemingly well-built.
He continued on. Suddenly a voice from nowhere pierced his silent world.
"Hello, and from where are you?" The voice belonged to an old,
craggy man yet was filled with warmth, which startled Julius.
Stammering, Julius said he was from the mainland and arrived with a group
to see the island.
"Nothing here, nothing, young man, nothing to see. Only prison yonder,
half a mile down this winding road. Hardly anyone goes there. Once in a
while some men come in a helicopter to visit the prison. I do not know how
many persons are inside. It is not a place for celebration. I tell you.
What is your vocation? A student? A man of God?"
Not able to contain his laughter, Julius answered, "neither."
"I only fish. I am curious and would like to have a look, though, if
that is possible. Please tell me more."
"Many years ago I had the good fortune of seeing someone there, and
I remember how sad the place was. My friend, who was inside the prison,
mysteriously vanished. I don't know why the prison is placed here. It is
a dismal cloud spread before us. We have come to accept it as part of us
and part of this island world."
His poignancy had a touch of beauty, mused Julius. This heightened his desire
to seek the unknown behind the walls of the prison. It crossed his mind
fleetingly, though, that maybe there was no prison at all.
The approach to the prison so far had been flawless, one direction, one
road.
Reaching the portals of the miniature castle like edifice, far from what
he had envisioned, Julius exuded an irrepressible exhilaration upon touching
the moss-covered walls. The task to search seemed irrevocably fixed, like
the stones in front of him.
There was no gate. The entrance, immediately visible to him, was modest.
Proceeding with some trepidation, Julius treaded from one cavernous hall
to another, from one gloomy corridor to the next. And yet he began to feel
an unusual sense of relief, of a calm he never experienced before. While
he was not an individual inclined to bow to religious preoccupation or orientation,
Julius smiled to himself, nonetheless, wondering if he was under a mystical
spell.
In one room, behind a thickened door, he saw a mirror covering its wall.
The dimly lit room, however, permitted him to view an image of a man in
great pain and anguish, his face distorted. Jolted by the swift intrusion,
Julius moved on to another corner. The reflection in front of him looked
like a lad staring and, at the same time, mocking him. He could not hear
what the figure was saying.
"Is this a prison?" wondered Julius.
So far he was meeting only ghosts. And whose ghosts were they?
In spite of this initial confrontation, Julius thrust on deeper into the
halls beyond. Exploring farther, he noted that the rooms had various designs
and colors, almost as if they possessed distinct souls of their own. Indeed,
he noticed that he alternately trembled and stood in shock as he entered
from one room to another. At one point, Julius thought he was being eviscerated
and relentlessly examined.
At what appeared to be the central point of the prison, Julius sat on a
round marble stool, almost conveniently placed there for him. His strength
faded. His mind meandered. Indeed, it meandered to those moments that just
left him, within the mirrored walls.
He saw someone like himself, in similar circumstances, aimless, like a travelling
twig, inching nowhere. He began seeing different stages of his life, all
sequestered, akin to the ghosts in those rooms, seeking deliverance. They
looked to be in perpetual enslavement.
Julius began to perspire. He himself was inside a prison. He jumped out
of his trance and started to exit.
The prison he saw was not the prison at St. Gregory.
When Julius finally found himself at some distance from the "prison"
atop a promontory, the former, at certain angle of his vision, looked like
a cross. A haunting imagination.
Julius wished to be liberated from a life of uncertainty. The need to be
ensouled thus began to have some meaning for him. His quest had begun.
The trip back to the mainland did not seem consequential. Julius would rather
stay where he was and weave his life. One day he would be freed from his
own prison.
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