“When do you think people die? When they are shot through the heart by the bullet of a pistol? No. When they are ravaged by an incurable disease? No. When they drink a soup made from a poisonous mushroom!? No! It’s when… they are forgotten.”

The raspy voice of a filthy old man rang on Frank’s ears as he wiped a sweat dripping from his brow. The man has been repeating the same line over and over that as much as Frank detested it, he remembered every single word. Still, he couldn’t comprehend what those words meant. All that he knew was that a lot of people died.

His eyes wandered over the expanse of fallen trees, collapsed houses and upturned vehicles of what used to be part of his little town. The once fragrant scent of the ilang-ilang tree near the town park was replaced with the scent of death that wafted through the air, reminiscent of the tragedy that fell upon them.

After the calamity struck, Frank and his Tito Tonyo assisted authorities by gathering survivors and taking them to evacuation centers for shelter, food and medicine. They were hopeful on the first day. They were part of the rescue team. However, as the days passed, they hardly found any survivor. All they ever retrieved were cadavers of people.

It been a few days and yet there are still so many they have to find. Frank thought that maybe after a few days, he’d get over the sight of the lifeless remains of what used to be his neighbors, friends and acquaintances. But he was mistaken. With every corpse that he and the other volunteers recovered, he’d remember a laughter, a joke, or sometimes a rumor about these people that was once a part of their lively town. It was only a few days ago when he talked to these people and now they are all lying cold on the vast ruins before him.

He was among the few lucky people who survived the devastating winds and deluge that struck their little island and he couldn’t help but wonder how a sixteen-year old kid like him survived. All that he remembered was him and his Tito Tonyo holding on the ceiling beams as the accursed winds shook their house as if it was merely made of sticks. During that moment, he thought that maybe that was how the little pig felt when the wolf huffed and puffed on its little house. Only that besides the howling winds which tried to uproot their little home, they still have to worry about the raging flood clawing at their feet as it tried to submerge them into its deadly depths. Frank never felt so helpless in his life and amidst the predicament that he and his Tito were in, he laughed manically as he cursed the little pig for being luckier than them. His Tito Tonyo thought he was going mad. Maybe he was but he knew anyone would lose their mind in their situation.

He was snapped from his musings when an agonized cry pierced the silence. He turned and saw Aling Bettina wailing as she held the cold, mud-covered body of a young lady lying a few feet from him. It was Selena, Aling Bettina’s daughter. She had been part of the school choir and he remembered how beautiful she sang. Now, he’ll never hear that voice again.

He averted his gaze from the heartbreaking scene and grabbed the pen and notepad from his pocket. He walked down the line of cold dead bodies lying side by side as he wrote down their names. Jasper, the MVP.  Carding, the barber. Faye, last year’s Little Miss Christmas. Rosie, the scholar.

Frank couldn’t believe how so many people he knew now lay dead. He walked a little faster as more and more faces brought names to the list he held in his hand. He tried pretending that these people were still alive and were just playing tricks on him by feigning sleep. Yet, one look at their mud-stained clothes and bloated bellies forcefully reminded him of the harsh reality.

He was almost done when he suddenly stopped in front the last body at the end of the line. He knew almost everyone in their town yet he couldn’t remember a name that goes with the ragged face of the man lying at his feet. All he remembered was that they found him beneath the debris of the collapsed pharmacy.

“Tito Tonyo!” He waved at the burly man sitting on a large boulder. Tito Tonyo sighed deeply before he walked towards his nephew. “Do you know this man?” He asked as he glanced at the stranger on his feet.

Tito Tonyo pulled the grimy towel closer to his face as he inspected the body. His brows furrowed in concentration and when he had looked long enough, he turned to Frank. “I’ve never seen him before.” He replied. Frank then added a note on the list of unidentified persons to indicate the man he found.

Later that night, an orchestra of grieving voices and cries of sorrow filled the air. Though Frank and his Tito Tonyo were happy enough to know that their relatives survived, outbursts of happiness and laughter seemed a crime when they see the mourning people around them.

Frank couldn’t take sitting idly as he watched their pitiful condition so he decided to go to the makeshift town outpost to assist the people looking for their loved ones. He sat beside the table where survivors gathered around taking turns at looking at the compiled list of names of the bodies they found. Some fell crying as their hope were shattered upon learning the death of a person they cherish. Though every now and then, some sobbed silently and were still grateful of the fact that at least they found the bodies of their family. Little by little the corpses were claimed. Even the unknown persons they retrieved were identified by some of the people that passed by, all except for the man that Frank found earlier. He found it curious that even their Barangay Captain couldn’t identify the man. They deduced that the man was probably from another town visiting their area.

It was almost midnight when a very haggard-looking lady approached the plump man sitting behind the little wooden desk beside Frank. “Kapitan, the governor wants to know the number of casualties.” The Barangay Captain glanced at the list in his hands and disclosed the number to the lady.

“Two hundred and seventy three.” He replied. Frank felt a heavy weight drop at the pit of his stomach when he heard the exact figure. He couldn’t believe that so many people are dead. “Here’s the list of names of the persons we found.” He handed a copy of the list to the lady who nodded in acknowledgement and immediately went off.

“Two hundred and seventy three.  I can’t believe they are truly dead.” Frank whispered.

 “That’s because they aren’t.” Kapitan Paeng retorted. Frank’s eyebrows met as he looked at the man questioningly.

“But you just said - ”

“That the number of casualties are two hundred and seventy three. That’s true. But I never said that they are truly dead.” Kapitan clarified. Frank was even more confused at what the Kapitan said. The older man saw his confusion and smiled patiently at him. “What I meant is that two hundred and seventy three lives were taken but that doesn’t mean that those people truly died. You see, a person only truly dies when they are forgotten.”

Frank gaped at the older man. He couldn’t believe that the Kapitan himself quoted the words of the eccentric man he heard earlier.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m as sane as you.” He smiled again. “I may be quoting what the crazy man said but that’s because I know he has a point. Do you know some of those people on that list?” Kapitan Paeng asked him and he nodded. “What do they do when they were still alive?”

“One was an excellent singer. The other was best barber I know.” He replied. He knew he could say more but he found it difficult to speak further as his voice threatened to break by recounting the memories of his friends and acquaintances.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Kapitan somberly looking at him. “Exactly. Even though they died, memories of them still remain with us. These memories are proof that they existed. Though their lives perished, as long as we remember them, they will live forever with us.” 

Frank smiled at that realization. It is painful to accept that he can never see those people again yet he knew that it would pain them as well if they knew that people started forgetting them. He vowed that he’ll never forget those people. He swore that they wouldn’t be all categorically named as ‘victims’. That night, a firm resolve formed on Frank’s mind. He promised himself that he’ll write a short story for each name on that list. He stared at the list of the two hundred and seventy three casualties but found a name missing. The unidentified man remained anonymous. It was then that he realized that the man would be the sole dead victim unless he finds the story and the name of the strange man. He then decided that he’ll do everything in his power not to let that man die unremembered. 

Weeks passed and Frank’s compilation of short stories grew. Two hundred and seventy two stories compiled on a notebook donated by a foreign volunteer. All that is left to write is the story of the unknown man. He was already buried weeks ago along with the other bodies they recovered. It was a mass burial. Even though the families wanted a proper burial ceremony, the stench of the decaying bodies almost caused an epidemic. The local health officials ordered the immediate burial for the safety of the survivors.

He had the picture of that man taken in case someone comes looking for him. He even asked some of the volunteers from other provinces to post the photo online hoping someone could identify the man. However, nobody seemed to know him. Some mistook the man for others and once they realized their error, Frank was once left again with an unnamed man with nothing but a pocketful of medicine. He asked himself how that man ever managed without someone caring for him. He wondered what kind of person that man is to be left forgotten. Even the most evil and cruel person in the world was still remembered by someone. Nonetheless, it seemed the man never existed for no one ever missed him.

He felt sorry for the man. He knew there was a story behind the long scar on his left arm. He knew that the medicine on his pocket must have been for someone. As much as he wanted to make up a story for the dead stranger, he knew it wouldn’t give justice to the life that man lived.  Frank grieved more for the death of the unknown man whom nobody claimed as someone’s family or friend. He refused to believe that the man’s existence was completely ignored and that he was left unclaimed and forgotten. Someone must have known that man.

Frank opened his notebook and turned to the page with a large number two hundred and seventy three written across the top. He took out the photo inserted inside and uttered a short prayer for the unknown man. Just as he was about to put it back, a strong wind from a passing truck blew the photo away. He ran after it as it fell in front a scrawny man carrying a heavy bag of relief goods. Frank immediately grabbed the photo and was about to stow it away when the man called for him.

“Is that Abu?” Shock was registered on the man’s face as he asked Frank about the photo.

Frank’s heart leapt to his chest at that question. “You know him?” He handed the photo to the man who bent his head mournfully.

“Yes, I do.” He replied.

Frank lost no moment in telling him how they found the body. He brought the man, who introduced himself as Mang Chito, to the town outpost to show him the photos and other identifying marks of the strange man. He verified that the man was indeed called Abu and that he was from a very far remote town. Frank showed him where Abu was buried and they both prayed for his soul to rest in peace.

On the way back to the outpost, Frank told Mang Chito about his compilation of stories. He told him that the only story missing is Abu’s. He asked Mang Chito if Abu’s family could tell the story for him to write. Frank noticed that Mang Chito looked sadly at him at the mention of ‘family’. It took him a while before he said he’ll come back the next day with Abu’s family.

Frank woke up with a smile. He was happy at the thought that finally, Abu’s story will be written along with the stories of the casualties of the tragedy. He was happy that the man would no longer remain unremembered. He hurriedly went to the outpost to meet Mang Chito and Abu’s family. When he arrived, Kapitan Paeng was looking at him with tears in his eyes. He was about to ask him why but he just told him that Abu’s family visited his grave. Bewildered, he ran off to the burial site and was utterly surprised when he arrived to see around a hundred people in front of the grave.

Mang Chito called him and introduced him to the people around him. Frank was surprised to see so many relatives and he couldn’t help himself from feeling so angry that no one came looking for Abu weeks ago.

“He has this big family and no one bothered looking for him?” he said coldly. The people looked at each other and bowed their heads, shame and sadness reflected on their eyes.

Mang Chito placed an arm on Frank’s shoulder and said, “None of us are related to him.”

Frank looked wildly at him. “Then who are these people? Where is Abu’s family?” he asked. Mang Chito asked him to sit down as he told Abu’s story.

Mang Chito told him that nobody in their town knew where or who Abu’s family is. In fact, Abu wasn’t even his real name. Nobody knew what his real name is. Nobody bothered to ask him that. They only called him ‘Abu’ because the man has been living by assisting grieving families during wakes and burials. He mostly gets his food from the ‘abuloy’ received by the family of the deceased. Hence, he was called Abu.

Abu has been in their town for as long as they can remember. He was known as the town helper. Whenever there are events, Abu was always asked by the townspeople to do the gritty work.  He would be asked to carry heavy tables and chairs, sweep animal manure from the yard, hang a palayok on the tree and all other heavy work. He never complained. What was even more surprising was that he never asked for payment. He gladly took whatever it is the people give him – be it food, old clothes or a meager five-peso coin. All these he accepted with a toothy grin.

He was also more than a helper. He also served as the protector of their town. It was him who warned the children not to stay out late. It was him who told the parents whenever their children skip classes. It was him who woke up the entire town years ago when a fire broke out. It was his selfless act that brought him to Frank’s town that fateful day the typhoon struck their province.

Mang Chito told him that Abu overheard the sacristan saying that the old parish priest ran out of maintenance medicine and that he couldn’t get any for the priest since their local pharmacy ran out of it as well. The nearest pharmacy is miles away and with the typhoon coming, the sacristan couldn’t leave their town. Abu told the sacristan not to worry and that he will take care of it. That was the last time they saw him.

The townspeople never thought that Abu would risk life just to get the priest’s medicines. All they thought was that the man simply left elsewhere looking for food after their town ran out of it. They never thought that he was among those who died during the typhoon.

Franks stopped writing when the words he wrote blotted all over his notebook. He didn’t notice that tears were already streaming down his cheeks.  Men and women alike were sobbing silently when Mang Chito finished his story.  

One by one people started sharing accounts of how the homeless Abu helped them. A lady recounted how Abu ran in the wee hours of the morning looking for a midwife when she was about to give birth years ago. Another man told him how Abu always accompanied him whenever he drank his problems away. Frank was surprised to know that all the persons standing before Abu’s grave shared a little story of how that man touched their lives.

The sun was almost setting when they all finished sharing their memories of Abu. The little white candles they lit earlier were almost out yet a flicker of light shone on the eyes of people surrounding the burial place.

“You see Frank, we may not be Abu’s blood relative but he has treated every single person in our town as his family. We have not realized it at first but we all loved Abu.” Mang Chito said.

Later that night, Abu’s town folks gathered around the outpost. The Mayor was overwhelmed seeing so many people representing themselves as Abu’s family. When the Mayor heard their story, tears were already glistening in his eyes. The Mayor granted their claim and placed the name of their town as Abu’s family.

Though Abu was already buried, the town folks deemed it befitting to honor him by holding a mini wake. Through cups of instant coffee and scanty soda crackers, they recollected Abu’s life. Every single sip of the aromatic beverage was reminiscent of how they all came to know Abu – the man who lived through abuloys.

With a smile on his lips, Frank finally placed the little dot signifying the end of the two hundred and seventy three stories of the casualties of the typhoon. He was glad he didn’t give up on finding Abu’s story. All the memories celebrating the lives of Abu and all the other people were recorded in his notebook. He was happy to know that no one was left forgotten.