Lolo Pindoy took a bath only once a year ­— during Good Friday

Never did I smell Lolo Pindoy with unpleasant odor despite the fact that he only took a bath once a year — during Good Friday. Not a single fly hovered above his head. Except for the slight smell of nicotine, he actually smelled good. And he never used cologne or perfume all his life.

I never heard, too, that Lolo Pindoy was hospitalized. Save for some smoker’s cough, he was actually fine until he breathed his last in the mid-‘90s due to old age.

The wonder of wonders, some believed, was answered by his alleged agimat or amulet (Will discuss that below). Sure, he changed his clothes almost every day but it was such a puzzle how he remained smelling fine even if his love affair with the shower was only once a year.

Lolo Pindoy had a welcoming aura, buoyed by his smile that was always tempered by his loose dentures. He hardly got mad. He was kind to his grandchildren, especially to the Limpio siblings who lived with him and his wife. He would always wear a flannel sweater over his shirt. His corto slippers he would wear for years.

Every Good Friday of my childhood — when my mother would admonish her five children to observe total silence and that included not taking a bath because even the splash of water in our poso (deep well) would be sacrilegious — the neighborhood would awake to Lolo Pindoy taking a bath in their batalan (a makeshift washroom with bamboo slats for its wall).

My young mind thought it was a spectacle to see Lolo Pindoy (Pedro Galang in real life), married to Lola Andeng, who was the youngest maternal aunt of my father, take a bath for the first and only time that year. Some would tease him in a hush and there would be muted laughter. It was obscene to talk loudly on a Good Friday. “Mamamatay na ang Diyos. Kasalanan ang mag-ingay (God is about to die. It is a sin to make noise)” was the usual line of the elderly in the neighborhood.

Truth is, right after Palm Sunday, the elderly faithful in Gulod would caution the children not to play or shout. If we ran and fell and sustained a wound, we were told that the oozing of the blood would not stop. If we picked camachile fruits, it would be a snake that would land on our head instead of the fruit. We were told to respect the days of the Holy Week by keeping quiet.

But Lolo Pindoy was oblivious. He would take a bath on a Good Friday. And he would make noise as he splashed himself with water.

Except for the aggregate of taro plants with humongous heart-shaped leaves in our backyard, nothing more separated our lawanit house from Lolo Pindoy’s batalan. With an almost finished Hope cigarette in his mouth, his reedy arms pumped the deep well with serene countenance. His navy blue karsunsilyo was the only piece of clothing he wore in taking a bath. His thin but not frail body was as white as a radish.

“Susmaryosep! Sumama ang sakit sa tubig!” he would chant, in a combination of soft and loud tones, every time he splashed himself with water using a tabo, an empty can of Castrol car oil that he used as a dipper. A batya (tub) of water was all it took to cleanse himself. No shampoo. He contented himself using Superwheel all over his body. 

After toweling himself dry, he reached for his kalmen (a necklace made of soft thin leather that had a small square reddish pendant made of cloth) that he hung in the batalan. He would close his eyes, whisper an incomprehensible chant, then make a sign of the cross before he adorn himself again with his kalmen.

Nobody dared ask him what the kalmen was for. Some said that was his amulet. Or why he only took a bath once a year. Some said the water would wash away his power and the only time he allowed himself to take a bath was during Good Friday.

Not even his children or grandchildren would catch him washing his face in the morning. His wife was said to be taciturn about the quirks of her husband. 

What was Lolo Pindoy’s power all about? He had the capacity to heal fishermen of tibo, or the state where a fisherman was pricked in the hand or any body part by the whisker of a fish.

The tibo could give one a high fever. In some cases, it could render one immobile for days. The fish in Laguna Lake that could give the tibo was the hito (grayish catfish) or the kanduli, a silvery catfish. 

I saw Lolo Pindoy heal some members of the fisherfolk in Gulod. He would put his mouth very close to the affected finger or body part of the person, say an orasyon or prayer with his eyes closed. After a minute or two, the fisherman walked away sans the fever or pain anymore. It cost the fisherman nothing to be healed by Lolo Pindoy.

He healed people even when he was busy attending to his tomato plantation by the shore of the lake. Or while he was counting bets in jueteng (a numbers game) because he was a kabo (manager of the bet collectors). He would always have his ubiquitous glass of coffee beside him as he counted money. He healed people even in the middle of the night, when the whole of Gulod was so dark only the fireflies would be seen illuminating the path.

On the day he died, he was past 80, it took him the whole day of paghihingalo (gasping for his last breath). The people in the neighborhood said he would only go if someone from his immediate family would inherit his amulet. No one among his children or grandchildren — whether or not they believed Lolo Pindoy had an agimat — dared to have it. But they were there surrounding him with love on his last few hours on earth. When his family took a break and nobody was watching him as he lay on his bamboo bed, Lolo Pindoy breathed his last.

Some said Lolo Pindoy was able to transfer his power to a loved one. But to this day, no member of his family is a tibo healer. And no one has followed his footsteps in taking a bath only on a Good Friday.

(E-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. I’m also on Instagram @bumtenorio and Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed observance of the Holy Week.)