D’Fisher today enters his own Jerusalem, the big one. When before this, there were only petty debates about the Torah and picking corn on Sabbath and fishing out curious listeners to his parables, this one appears like a fluvial parade in Boracay complete with media coverage. His boat happens to be just one ordinary among the ads-dressed, glittery ones. This was a religious fiesta afterall that’s crowd-drawing as The Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro or the Rose Parade in California. Each boat carries its own flair and prayer. His boat-donkey was clueless of
the D’Fisher’s goal but must have sensed the flashes of cameras sprayed in-between. In this beach festival, many a boat-riders create equal claim as the best fishers in the island – as healers, peripatetic teachers, charismatic preachers, diviners, smart thinkers, and yes, charlatans. He was one fisher among the throng.
But somewhere a distance from the establishment, housed by a dilapidated hut of wo
obbly cocotree posts, is a federation of fake bottled water vendors, bugaws, gossipers from the Cathedral, and hawkers of pirated DVDs. At first, what appeared lousy a boat slowly caught their attention until the fisher-rider on it dazzled before their eyes. Actually, all they could remember was how he goofed about the social health hazard of buying and watching pirated DVDs of all Pacquiao”s fights. But that was enough for them to wave their plastic bottles and blaring voices and DVD holders. It was business as usual especially at the beach. Heaven registered the day as Palm Sunday for all the extra ripples of hands and bottles and voices. D’Fisher waved in return and whisper: “Welcome.”
Photo credit: restymail