At thirteen I considered myself an experienced businessman having run my own shoeshine stand, my own vegetable booth in the open market, and my own courier service. The service I offered as a courier was limited to a distance of a few hundred kilometers, mainly traveling from one end of the province to the provincial capital. I would deliver time sensitive court documents and other government publications via public transportation.

Gainful employment was almost non-existent in our hometown, except for the back-breaking manual labor of delivering artesian well water fetched from the main pump located south of the municipal hall. Water bearers used two tin cans carried on their backs tied to each end of a bamboo pole. There were municipal custodial services too but that job mostly went to the older folks.

That’s why when our local mortician advertised to hire an apprentice embalmer, I was only too willing to give it a try. Not many applied for the position. They were more or less constrained by their deeply ingrained superstitious beliefs and their fear of dead bodies. Blame this fear on the old folks too who so easily employed scary ghost stories to keep their young ones safely sequestered at home instead of roaming the streets at night and in the dark.

I arrived at the mortician’s home office early for my interview. There were two other people ahead of me – a nice older lady and a middle-aged man who looked like he may have come down from the mountain province. I greeted both prospective employees a good morning. They greeted me back and told me the mortician was still eating his breakfast and would be out soon.

Mr. Tolentino, besides operating the mortuary, also ran the town’s photo studio and was the funeral hearse operator. I had met him when I played with his funeral band, in one of the grandest funeral processions the town ever saw, the funeral of our last town mayor. People from all over the province came.

Mr. Tolentino knew my father from his frequent trips to the cockfighting arena on Sunday and from having fought in the last major war. My father and Mr. Tolentino both served in the makeshift Philippine Guerilla bunch of resistance underground workers.

I was third in the interview queue. Seeing as how quickly the first two candidates were dispatched by Mr. Tolentino, I had a feeling that he was either going to hire his own niece, or that he was just trying to get an idea of how many applicants would be interested in applying for the position.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Mr. Tolentino summoned me and asked me to go down the basement to fetch a jar of Formaldehyde. I proceeded down the stairs. There was a small 25 watt lightbulb hanging in the ceiling above the stairwell with barely enough light to shine on the last stair rung. I almost missed it. Fortunately my shoe heel caught the step and prevented me from slipping and breaking my foot.

Bringing up the 5 gallon jar of Formaldehyde, I set it by Mr. Tolentino’s desk where he was seated.

“Are you certain that that solution is Formaldehyde?” he asked.

“I am most certain, Sir,” I answered standing straight.

“Good. I am glad because you are right. The other two candidates each brought up a 5 gallon bottle of water when I asked them to fetch a jar of Formaldehyde. Gotta be able to read.” He was reading something on his desk while he was talking.

“Hmmm. . . so that was part of the test,” I thought quietly to myself. “Clever.”

“So, how is your Dad doing? Has he won any cockfights lately?” Mr. Tolentino was conversational.

“No, Sir,” I hesitated. “My mother. . .,” I caught myself as I was about to divulge family secrets. Innocuous bits of news perhaps but family business nevertheless. That was a no – no. First, it was none of Mr. Tolentino’s business and secondly, I would be badmouthing my own parents. My having attended Sunday school didn’t go to waste. The nuns drummed into us the importance of the fourth commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” My lips were sealed.

“I heard your Dad has a new fighting cock. It’s a Texas, isn’t it? Fiery Red -  that’s the word out there among the afficionados,” Mr. Tolentino was getting very locquacious.

“Yes, Sir. I feed it corn and rice everyday.”

“Ah so… you are the caretaker of the fighting cocks. Hmmm. . . will you let me know if your Dad takes his Fiery Red to the arena?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright then. Come back tomorrow to start…”

“Am I hired?” I was so excited I momentarily forgot my manners. “Sir?”

“Yes. You are our new apprentice embalmer. Congratulations.” He extended his hand to shake mine. His grip was tight and firm. A man’s handshake.

I flew home. All two and half kilometers distance. I walked above the pavement. I was so happy I even completed chores that were scheduled for me to do the following week. My mother noticed my lightheartedness, smiled and wondered but didn’t ask. I didn’t tell. I wanted to surprise her with my first paycheck.

I was just getting my orientation tour of the mortuary facilities when the body of a young 23 year old girl was brought in. They said she had died from tuberculosis. They laid her remains on the slab. I looked on from a distance and for the first time I felt a certain current of fear creeping up and down my spine. I was never aware that I had that kind of phobia – what do they call that… necrophobia or some such? I stayed as far away as I could from the slab where upon the body lay.

At close to quitting time, Mr. Tolentino asked me to stay for a few more minutes to look after the shop while he ran an errand at the nearby pharmacy store. He said it was a complicated transaction that was important enough to the business, that I was too new – else he would send me, so that he had to go himself. Twilight was rapidly gathering and soon it will be dusk. Then nightfall.

There were only a couple of lightbulbs in the entire shop. One above the slab and one by the cash register and they were both small, 25 watt jobs. I questioned the logic behind such austerity when it came to lights. You’d think that Mr. Tolentino would want big, bright, spot lights so he could see what he was doing. But no. My imagination was beginning to run wild. Every small sound was an amplified creak or an amplified sigh. I thought of creaky caskets and tombs. I imagined sepulchres and burial vaults. All thoughts bore a heavy morbidity.

Almost automatically, the lights began to flicker. It always did that close to cooking dinner time. Brown out… “O my God please don’t let the lights dim,” I prayed. I sat down, glued in front of the cash register. Every now and then I would glance at the glass window that separated the cash register room and the slab room. The curtains were drawn and the slab was in full view. There the body lay. Halfway draped with sheets. The dead girl’s hair cascaded towards the floor.

I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs. Did I just see an arm move? The old folks say that a dead body moves when gases escape. “O Lord have mercy!” I prayed some more. Then I did something foolish. I looked at the dead girl’s body lying there. My gaze stopped on her face. Her eyes were open. They were glazed and shiny – even in death. In the dimming light of the lightbulb the dead girl’s eyes looked rather ghastly – though almost begging for help… help that would be a little too late.

Panic stricken I stood up in slow motion. I wanted to not look but I couldn’t disengage from the Medusa-the-Gorgon effect. My eyes were locked onto the poor dead girl’s face. Tears ran down my cheeks. I was afraid. The hair on the nape of my neck all stood up and goosebumps populated and covered my entire body. I arose to take action. I had to get out of there. My dash to the front door was an excruciatingly long two nano seconds. I left the mortuary with breakneck speed running all the way home.

I never looked back. I was running away from something I couldn’t see but knew was there. I was running for my life. Arriving home all drenched in sweat, I crashed on my bed and remained in my room for the next two days unable to speak. Mr. Tolentino came to see me after a day had passed. He was sympathetic and he said he would go ahead and hire my replacement. He would bring in an experienced embalmer this time around, not an apprentice.

My career as an embalmer was short-lived. It was one of my most unforgettable experiences. The experience was providential too in that clearly I couldn’t work around dead people. I cancelled all my plans to attend medical school.