NOLI ME TANGHERE ( RPG )

The sun hung high over the wide, muddy river cutting through San Diego, turning its waters to burnished bronze as the barrio gathered for its annual fiesta. Wooden stalls lined the bank, laden with ripe mangoes, sticky rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves, and jars of palm wine. Music from guitars and gangsa gongs filled the air, setting feet tapping and children spinning across the grass.

A young woman moved through the crowd, stitching the community together—tying ribbons for children’s sack races, pressing warm treats into elderly hands, and helping arrange benches for folk dancers. Crisóstomo Ibarra, back from abroad in crisp European clothes, hammered posts for a makeshift stage, pausing to share words with her or cheer on the children. María Clara stood beneath a banyan tree, hair woven with sampaguita, stringing flower garlands and casting gentle smiles her way.

Elías watched silently from the water’s edge, helping an old man wade safely across before melting into the bamboo grove’s shadows. Doña Victorina swept in in an over-elaborate dress, her husband Don Tiburcio trailing behind; she mocked the "rustic" gathering but lingered near the food stalls eyeing the roasted pig.

Padre Salvi arrived next, his black cassock stark against the bright colors. His voice cut through the music as he accused the young woman of leading souls astray with worldly distractions, pointing to Elías as proof of unrest. When she defended the fiesta as a way to bind the community, he turned his scorn directly on her. Padre Dámaso followed, barking orders at the younger priest—though his gruffness softened briefly as he watched a laughing child tumble in the grass, before agreeing order must be kept.

Yet the music continued, the races went on, and as the young woman handed out more rice cakes, the barrio held fast to its celebration—caught between the weight of authority and the warmth of a people bound by land, water, and hope.