Hand Sniffer

Andres was tired. It had been a long day in the rice fields. He ambled, knee deep in the muddy pilapils* trying to get to the other side where the soil was firmer. He took one last look at the piece of land he plowed today. He saw an abstract mass of broken soil and mud. His masterpiece. Usually, seeing his work comforts him. Somehow, it did not today. The broken chunks of soil looked like legions of gaping mouths with jagged and filthy teeth.

Sowing would start next week. He wasn’t excited at all. They still needed money. More money. Her wife suggested putting their wedding rings in the town pawnshop for some money, promising to redeem them after the harvest. He refused. They're just rings, she said. He still refused, much to her chagrin. She then promised that she would borrow some money from the lender in town instead, since they had not managed to buy the rice seedlings for next week’s planting yet. He doubted her promises. Sighing, he resumed his pace.

Andres scanned the area and realized he was alone. The rest of the farmers went home early to attend a fiesta in the next town. He declined their invitations. He was never a social person. In fact, he hated crowds. The prospect of mingling in a crowd seemed suffocating, and so he politely refused.

Andres resumed his walk. A water buffalo tied to an old and twisted acacia tree bellowed a low call, swatting flies with its tail. He felt a sense of urgency to go home. The dirt road would be harder to see in the dark. A few flies buzzed around his head. He was too tired to bother. His eyes scanned the horizon and saw the remaining rays of the sun painting bluish yellow swirls in the sky. He knew too well. Half an hour more and it would be dark.

He lifted one leg up and started scratching. He lifted his hands caked with mud and sniffed them. Ah, Good. His fingers smelled like wet earth. Good. Good. He was glad his wife wasn’t there or she might have slapped his hands. His wife would always get bothered when he sniffed his fingers and so Andres sniffed his fingers secretly. He could not help it. He sniffed them when he’s tired. He sniffed them when he is nervous.

Andres would sniff his fingers every time he took his wife to the market. He would always feel the urge every time they walk past the town marketplace where people would come flocking and screaming their merchandise around him. Andres found the crowd and the noise suffocating. He would sniff his fingers at the back of a stall at the far end of the market where no one comes and when his wife was not looking. 

On Christmas day, the only day he and his wife ever went to church, Andres would sniff his fingers during the prayer. He would sniff them when everybody’s eyes were closed after the priest delivered a sermon about sin. He would sniff his fingers long and hard while everybody’s head is bowed low, the prayer lashing into his head like a whip.

He would sniff his fingers when he went to work while listening to the rumors and gossips the other farmers told each other. He was sure, so sure that they were talking about him. Him and his wife. He did not believe them. At least he tried not to. Still, their rumors made him nervous, made him angry, perhaps a little too much, especially rumors about his wife. He decided to block them from his thoughts. And so he sniffed his fingers. 

Andres eventually reached the other side of the pilapils and began to walk in a steadier pace towards the main dirt road. He saw the familiar path he took every single day. He walked a little faster, his hands still under his nose. Sniff. Sniff. He sniffed his hands steadily.

The walk home would take about an hour and a half. Andres was hoping his wife cooked something special for him. He was famished. He started to jog. He came to the usual road lined with coconut trees on both sides. The coconut farm was about half a mile long and was owned by some rich families living in Manila who seldom visit. The tall coconut trees cast shadows on Andres’ path, blocking the few remaining weak rays of the sun. The place looked grim. It smelled of fermenting coconuts and human excrement. Afternoon crickets chirruped in unison somewhere in the thick of the trees. Usually, there were workers who stay late to check in the area, but today the place was deserted. A slight breeze blew at Andres’ direction. Even the breeze tasted sour. Andres spat. He was now halfway through the coconut path. It was dark now, the coconut trees thickened the farther he ran.

For some unknown reason, Andres felt a slight shudder. The crickets stopped. The breeze ceased blowing. A deep silence settled like a thick blanket in the area. The coconut trees stopped swaying and seemed frozen. Andres slowed down. Wary and confused, he raised his hands to his nose and started sniffing his fingers. It was pretty dark now, the moon, a wispy crescent peeping through the leaves did not help much in lighting his path. Sniff. Sniff. He walked on.

Then he saw it, through the shadows and the darkness, a figure, perhaps four feet taller than him, looming like a sentinel, blocking his path. He stopped.

He could not feel his feet anymore. He was cold, so cold. The looming figure turned sideways in slow motion, as if in pain. Andres adjusted his eyes, trying hard to see beyond the shadows. Then Andres saw it. The figure turned its face towards his direction. He saw its eyes. It was staring back at him. Two fiery orbs, expressionless, glowing like embers. He choked in fear. Sniff. Sniff. As he stared into those eyes.

Andres felt as if he dove into the depths of hell. His head seemed heavy and large, yet he stood there, him and the dark figure in a staring contest. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Andres froze, his head spinning, his hands still at his nose. Sniff. Sniff. Then, the figure moved. It started to walk in slow motion towards him.

The figure seemed to be sucking all the air around them. Andres was breathless. He sniffed his hands in a frenzy, smelling nothing but cold air. He felt no comfort. Yet he sniffed. Sniff. Sniff. The figure continued to move towards Andres, its eyes fixed on him. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Andres stood there. It kept walking, breaking the distance between them.

Slowly, it caught a weak sliver of moonlight passing through the coconut trees. Andres saw everything. Andres saw its mouth: a black void, curled and wrinkly, gaping in a wide toothless grin. Its nose was two black slits. Its face was hideous, grotesquely moving in all directions like it had some kind of seizure. Its body was covered with black hair almost invisible in the dark, twisted sideways in an unearthly pose, contorting and walking at the same time. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. The creature stopped in front of Andres. Andres stopped sniffing his hands. The creature lifted its hands to its face in painful slow motion. Its hands came to its nose. It sniffed. Sniff. Andres screamed and ran for his life.

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*rice paddies