Back to Kilometer Zero

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By John Anthony S. Estolloso

“Ang fountain bala nga lapit sa Atrium…”

If one is to pass by the crossing where Bonifacio Drive, General Luna, and Iznart Streets intersect, you would not miss that imposing fountain standing in the middle of the road. Flanked by Casa Real and establishments which seem to forever change their enterprise depending on the ebb and flow of the times, the monument stands like a many-figured sentinel constantly observing the traffic, trade, and travails of Iloilo City.

This is the Arroyo Fountain: public statuary of a nostalgic past, coolant to eye and air during the scorching urban summers, and Kilometer Zero of the city.

The last descriptor would perhaps be the likely introduction of the sculpture to elementary learners in their Grade 3 Araling Panlipunan classes. Ironically, what sparked this writer’s interest about the landmark were preparations for lessons in mythology: what better way to highlight the relevance of Western myth than to look for its influence in local monuments? Needless to say, English class that school year started with images of laureled crabs and caryatids, and the amazed reactions of students who arrived at the epiphany that one need not look far to encounter what was inspired by classical narratives.

Built in 1927, the fountain was named after Senator José María Arroyo, who authored the law establishing the city’s waterworks system in 1925. Last December 2022, the monument, together with adjacent Casa Real, was declared as an Important Cultural Property (ICP) by the National Museum of the Philippines.

While it is a familiar figure to the passerby, the fountain is an interesting study of architecture and design. Painted in white, its relatively simple main base is surmounted by a secondary and more prominent basin; beneath, this basin is surrounded and festooned with crabs and laurel fronds, the alternating leafy and cancrine figures punctuated by blank medallions. Crowning it is a circle of six piscine figures, their puckered lips spouting water on the occasions when the fountain fulfills its function. Atop the circle of fish are four Caryatids clad with the traditional Greek peplos, standing between slender Solomonic columns and all holding up the fountain’s ornately heavy main spout.

Interestingly, the caryatids were originally depicted half-naked and bare-breasted, their tunics tied up to their hips. Religious and moral sensibilities insisted that they should be clothed modestly – and they have remained so to this day. The rest – fish, crabs, medallions, laurel fronds, and decorative curls – stayed the same.

Though intended to commemorate the start of a viable water system for the city, the monument looks back further to inspirations embedded in the Ilonggo psyche. The sculptural style is Western, recalling the days when Spain planted cities and conducted trade all over the island. There is also imagery that recalls the days before colonization, when we too were once a community whose livelihoods deeply entwined with the sea and the bounty of our waters abundantly provided fish and crustaceans for the family table.

Now, the horizon of Iloilo City is dotted with buildings and structures of a more contemporary cut. Modern vehicles run and race on the roads surrounding the landmark. The malls around it teem with crowds bent on their gadgets. Somehow through all these, Arroyo Fountain remains as queen of the city’s streets: insistent, imposing, imperturbable.

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Earlier this year, one of the original markers of the fountain was stolen and despite the efforts of the provincial government to recover the missing artifact, the base today still holds an empty space, an unsightly reminder that some fragment of our history and heritage is gone – hopefully, to be restored soon.

Yet minus one marker, Arroyo Fountain endures. Her laurel wreaths and blank medallions still lend an air of grandeur amid the smoke and soot, her crabs and fish constantly evoke a homegrown gastronomic penchant for seafood, her caryatids – still demurely robed – persevere in maintaining their watery crown – and on certain nights when the city is abuzz with life and light, you can almost glimpse on their faces the fleeting shadows of memory, of times past and the auspicious present. Kilometer Zero keeps both.

[The writer is a language and literature teacher in one of the private schools of the city. The photo of the original fountain is from Mr. Nereo Luján and is used with his permission.]