The red-orange hue of the fading sunlight cast a pale glow on the walls of the house. It indicated that the summer night would be warm, if not hotter than the day that struck 39 degrees. The old Sombreto stared at passing birds that chirped with small squeaky sounds. The chattering of beetles started their melodious orchestra from the nearby mango tree. He tilted his head to regard the tree. He smiled upon seeing the many flowers that would soon bloom into Pico mangoes. He imagined harvesting the fruits and eating them with family. It was something he had done in many past summers. The old Sombreto—Poy to his friends and Patricio to his long-dead wife—relaxed on his old wooden chair made of Narra by the porch, and watched as twilight turned into night.
As the first stars appeared in the night sky, Poy stood and made his way to the door of his house. Before he entered, he glanced at the garden he had tended over the years, often landscaping the lot and moving the pots to change the scenery. If there was one thing that did not change in his garden, it was the mango tree he planted when he bought the land forty years ago. It was 1983, and he was at the peak of his career as the top Creative Director for an advertising firm. He handled the biggest clients that landed him a hefty paycheck. Poy knew well to invest in his future, especially when a baby was on the way. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment. So he cut the vices with his salary going straight to the bank. He smiled and nodded at the tree. Slowly he opened the screen door and went in.
The house was a bungalow filled with memories. On the walls hung framed photographs of his family, his late wife, child and grandchild. They came in different sizes. The biggest one hung beside the altar that faced the main door. It was his wedding photo. It was the first thing Poy looked at whenever he entered. He would pause and remember, smiling at Dolores with fondness. She was his goddess—the goddess of the house. She looked lovely in her charming white wedding dress. They got married in 1982, but they had known each other for a long time since high school.
He remembered the first time meeting her, when she sat under the school’s mango tree after class, and the sun’s rays bounced against the sheen of her long hair. He remembered being momentarily blinded, feeling helpless against the power of a goddess. She was his goddess. He mustered enough courage to talk to her amid the teasing of their friends. Most importantly, they connected through mythology and their personal experiences regarding local folklore. You see, Poy was deep into fantasy, myth most of all, and it gave him a resounding delight when he learned of Dolores’s fascination with local folklore. That was that. He found the one who he would spend the rest of his life with. They remained together until cancer came along and took her away. Poy clutched his chest as he felt the pangs of sadness buried deep. He controlled his breathing until the pain went away.
“Dolores,” he whispered her name as a tear fell.
“Manong, are you okay?” called a woman’s voice from behind.
Poy turned to regard his granddaughter, Lina, who wore a worried face. She held a thick book on psychology.
“I’m fine, hija,” he lied, as the pain in his chest subsided after taking a few deep breaths. “I thought you were studying?”
“I came out to see if you wanted anything. There’s dinner on the table. I prepared the leftover lunch,” Lina said with an embarrassed smile.
“That’s okay. I had boiled kamote for merienda. I’m still full.” Poy smiled before continuing. “Go back to your studies. I’ll be in my corner reading. Bradbury’s not going to wait on me, you know.” He gave a wink.
Lina returned the smile. “As you wish.” She smiled and turned around. “Call me if you need anything, okay, Manong?”
“Will do,” Poy answered back.
Poy made his way to his library where his collection of books was neatly stacked on shelves he cleaned every day. He had his Bradburys and Le Guins, his Kafkas and Orwells, Joaquins, and a Cordero Fernando he read over and over. His hardbound Rizals lined beside a row of the Filipino Heritage series that was out of print. On the topmost shelf was a complete set of Colliers Encyclopedia. But his most prized possessions were the series of Britannica Great Books that collected the works of the old masters: from Chaucer to Cervantes, Plato, and many others. He ran his fingers through his books and stopped on a thick book of Ray Bradbury Stories Volume 1. He pulled it out and walked to the corner where a blue cushioned armchair waited. He switched open the tall lamp that stood beside it, sat on his chair, and started to read.
Poy’s Casio watch beeped several times. He looked and saw that it was seven o’clock. Time for prayer, oración, and he never skipped this tradition of a six o’clock rosary. He stood and placed Bradbury on the chair. He made his way to Lina’s room and knocked several times before testing the knob to see if it was locked. When he found it wasn’t, he gently twisted and opened it while making light knocks.
“Hija? Are you busy?”
Lina, reading quietly at her desk, didn’t notice her grandfather come in. She felt a light tap on her shoulder.
“Ay!” Lina shrieked, quite surprised. She looked up to see her grandfather towering behind with a smile. “Manong! Please don’t do that.”
Poy placed a hand on his chest and nodded, quite embarrassed. “I’m sorry, hija, but I knocked, and you didn’t answer. Would you want me to go out and knock again?”
Lina shook her head and gave a chuckle. “No, Manong. You don’t have to do that.”
Poy smiled in return, feeling quite silly.
“Did you need something?” Lina asked, taking off her glasses and placing them above the book on psychology.
“Do you want to join me in my rosary? It’s time for oración.”
“Do you still believe in that?” asked Lina.
Poy was hurt. He didn’t know how to react.
Lina came to the house in Fairview during summer when she started college a few years ago. She took her studies seriously as she didn’t want to become a burden to her family. Her grandfather’s house in the suburbs proved a useful respite from the noise of her dormitory in Manila. She remembers spending afternoon visits when she was young, before she moved to Cebu with her father. She didn’t want to stay in Cebu, and she didn’t want to go to Canada, where her mother lived. Her parents separated when she was ten, and although she spent most of her time in Cebu, she liked her grandfather’s house. However, it was also because of her parents’ separation that she locked herself in, becoming socially awkward, and it was only through a medical intervention that she recovered her self-confidence. Her grandfather’s house had become a place of solitude since then. She realized she had made an insensitive reply and quickly backpedaled and apologized.
“I’m sorry, Manong. It’s just that I have too many things to study right now. It’s a short summer for me.” She smiled and gave her grandfather a hug.
Poy smiled and nodded. He was an understanding man. He quietly turned and made his way out the room.
Lina found it difficult to open herself up to people. She didn’t have many friends, and the ones she had were more aloof than she was. They would meet once in a while when their schedules permitted them. But in that summer, they didn’t talk at all. Sometimes she would get a text message from one of them, asking what she was doing, and she would message back with just one word: studying. Her phone would soon remain quiet. Sometimes, Lina would forget to eat, and only when her grandfather reminded her would she think about eating. Lucky for her there was always food in the house. Poy made sure of that. He didn’t want his granddaughter to starve.
The only child of Patricio Sombreto, Jr. didn’t have an easy life. Lina had to learn to help herself at an early age. She would wake up and breakfast was ready, her parents were already gone, and Elena, the house help, was always there to see to her needs. She didn’t like Elena who often talked on the telephone when no one was around. Her services didn’t last long, as Elena was fired when Patricio Jr. came home early to catch her having sex with someone – in the main bedroom, of all places. The police came over and it was a scandal that Lina could never forget. Lucky for Elena, Patricio Jr. had a lot on his mind, and she was forced to a restraining order instead of going to jail. Since then, it was Lina who took care of herself, and the house, since her parents were too busy working.
Then came the time of great deluge n Lina’s life, when Patricio Jr. was caught with another woman by his wife, and the Sombreto household of New Manila became a scenery of shouts and curses, much like the telenovelas that the house help often watched. Her mother immediately packed her things and left. She didn’t understand why her mother never took her, or why her father did what he did. There were many things that she didn’t understand, and although she wanted to blame her father for his infidelity, she couldn’t, because upon reaching the age of sixteen, she realized that her mother had her faults, too. Minerva Santiago Sombreto was too focused on her job, and family only came second to her priorities. Lina wondered if her mother really wanted a family since the only reason her parents got married was that Patricio Jr. got Minerva pregnant. She rarely spoke to her mother since then.
The summers became a respite for Lina’s tiresome life with her father and was sent to live with her grandfather. Patricio Jr. became difficult to deal with as of late. They would fight quite often, because Patricio Jr. was irritable, and Lina became apathetic to her father’s case. There was something about the house in Fairview that Lina liked. She often wondered why they packed everything up and left, why her parents chose to live as far away as possible. She never discussed it with Patricio Jr. There was never any need to.
Lina paused with her reading. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She stood, stretched, and yawned. Her room was a mess of books and clothes. Her bed was an ocean of rumpled blankets and bed sheets. She looked around and moved towards the window that viewed the backyard. The moonlight lit the back yard, and the old langka tree bearing fruits covered in sacks glowed like a diwata in the forest. Her grandfather made sure that the fruits were properly covered lest pests left them to rot. Beside the tree was Poy’s vegetable garden. The okra and talong were ready for harvest. She remembered her grandmother, Manang Res, often rearranging the pots of plants in the yard.
Dolores Cecilia Colminares-Sombreto’s greatest achievement was her garden. She left the tending of the vegetables to her husband because she knew, Poy was the better cook. Lina wiped a tear from her eye. She missed her grandmother—her Manang who became her confidant. Although her Manong was the better cook, Manang Res was the champion in making Pancit Molo, and Poy would always accept defeat upon tasting the soup. Thinking about food made Lina’s stomach grumble. She looked at the time on her phone and realized it was nearing 12 midnight.
Lina left her room rubbing her protesting belly and made her way to the kitchen. The leftover lunch was gone and the table was clean. The dishes were neatly stacked to dry on the rack, and the sink was spotless. Poy was always meticulous with the kitchen. He always wanted it neat, as one time he admitted to Lina that it was his second most favorite part of the house next to the library. Lina opened the refrigerator and pulled out tasty bread. She spread over some peanut butter and jam. She put back the bread in the refrigerator and began to eat while wandering over to the library. She stood in the middle of her grandfather’s favorite part of the house and looked around. Shelves full of books hugged the long wall of the room. It had five columns and six rows filled with an assortment of books: from hardbound encyclopedias to softbound paperbacks. A cabinet with an old stereo sound system stood adjacent to the shelves. Beside it was a very used blue wing chair alongside a tall reading lamp. She sat on the chair, looking across the room, out the window to a view of the front yard.
A light breeze crept in, caressing the curtains that swayed like gentle lovers. She realized it was a good reading place. She finished her bread, made herself a hot cup of coffee, fetched her book, and went back to the blue chair. Lina tried to study but found it impossible to concentrate. She put down her psychology book and wondered what would interest her in her grandfather’s library. She took a sip, and her eyes wandered to a group of colorful books stacked like gifts waiting to be opened. Throughout the summers that she spent in the Fairview house, it was the first time she took interest in the books that her grandfather collected. She pulled out one and read.
“Do you like it?” Poy asked after taking a sip.
“What are you doing up late, Manong? Go back to sleep.”
“At seven in the morning?”
Poy laughed.
“Impossible!” Lina, surprised, looked out the window to see a well-lit garden.
“You got hooked, didn’t you?”
She nodded. She smiled awkwardly and returned the book to its place.
“I never knew Bradbury was that good!”
“Ha!” said Poy. “You should meet Joaquin!”
“Pinoy?”
“Of course, Pinoy!” answered Poy after sipping his coffee. “Best one ever. He’s right over there, next to Falgui, Tijam and Cordero-Fernando.”
She yawned.
“Before you do any further reading, better go to bed, little senyorita.”
Lina looked at her grandfather with a smile and said, “Hey, you haven’t called me that in a long while, Manong.”
Poy gave a chuckle. “Well, you’re no longer little, and I thought you don’t want to be called that anymore.”
“Who said so? Some things are nice to hear sometimes.”
“Yes, well…” Poy trailed, took another sip of his coffee, and gently pushed Lina off to bed. She yawned, gave her grandfather a kiss on the cheek, and floated to her room like a ghost.
Piano music softly glided in the air which brought a feeling of ease that warm afternoon. Première Arabesque played while Poy dove deep into a new book he had previously purchased. He heard Lina’s bare feet tap heavily against the marble floors. He paused and listened to where she was going. To the kitchen. He heard the clanking of dishes. He turned down the volume of his stereo.
“There’s tortang talong, hija. The rice is still warm.”
“Salamat, Manong,” replied Lina. She ate quietly.
Poy went back to his reading.
“Turn it up a bit, Manong. That’s Debussy, right?”
“That’s right,” answered and obliged by cranking up the stereo.
Once finished, Lina made her way to the library where she found her grandfather deep into reading a hardbound book that looked quite new.
“What’s that?”
Poy paused and looked up at his granddaughter. “It’s another Joaquin. It just arrived. I had a hard time finding it. Out of print. It’s called Manila, My Manila.”
“What’s it about?”
“Manila.” Poy smiled.
Lina threw him a sarcastic look.
Poy laughed. Cicadas sang from a tree outside. Lina proceeded to browse through the library.
“Aren’t you going to study?” Poy asked.
“Um, it can wait. My brain needs to do something else, I guess.”
“Bradbury calls, huh?”
Lina just smiled and pulled out a thick book entitled Stories Volume 1. She showed it to her grandfather, to which Poy gave her a thumbs up. Lina made her way across the room, to a small wooden chair that sat beside the window, and started to read. No one sat on that chair for a long time. Poy stared at his granddaughter as sadness began to rise. He looked back at his book and began weeping, trying to keep quiet, but his sobs were loud enough for Lina to hear.
“Manong? What’s wrong?”
Lina was about to get up, but Poy waved her off. “It’s okay, hija. I just remembered your grandmother. That’s where she always sits to read.”
“I can…”
“No, sit,” Poy protested. “That’s your place now, if you want. That will be your reading corner.”
Poy gave a genuine smile, like the smiles of new beginnings, when children are born or when you encounter your first butterfly perched on a flower – that kind of a smile. He was glad that someone filled one of the many holes in his heart. And Lina felt the warmth of her grandfather’s smile. She knew how hard it was for Poy to lose his Dolores. It was something that she wished her parents had, but then again, not everyone knew what true love was. She held back the tears that tried to escape her eyes. She went back to her book and nodded many times, concentrating on the words of Bradbury to pull her away from the many images of her Manang that would not go away.
The smell of fried galungong permeated in the air. The sound of hissing and popping echoed along the kitchen walls, and the short sound of a shriek, followed by a curse, broke the merry sound of cooking. Poy stepped into the kitchen to find Lina rubbing her lower right arm.
“Lower the flame when you’re cooking fish. And cover the pan.”
“I did, Manong. The stupid fish
just hates me!”
Poy laughed. “Well, it’s five. I’ll be out in the garden watering the plants.”
“Always at five, I noticed. And who do you talk to out there?”
“The plants, of course. They liked to be talked to. When your father was young, he would water the plants with your Manang. They would speak to them because they are our friends. When Junior went away, Manang Res was left to the task, but I joined her later on. Now, I’m the only one left in this tradition – always at five o’clock in the afternoon, and always talking to our house friends.”
“Tradition, huh?”
“Yes,” replied Poy before pointing to the frying pan with his lips. “Make the fish crunchy. It’s always nice when it’s crunchy. And I just bought a new bottle of bagoong in the cupboard. Great with tomatoes, too!” Poy turned around and headed out the door.
Lina went back to frying. She pondered what her Manong said about the daily rituals in the house – about the things that were meant to be carried on. Tradition. It was a word that held little meaning to the modern world, at least to the folks she knew, like most of her friends who grew out of the habit of living with their parents and wanted to live their own lives—like her parents who left her. She was thankful that she had her grandparents who taught her values, but it seemed to Lina that it was not enough to learn of the importance of tradition, at least, not in the life she had at the moment. For her, tradition somewhat meant a lock in the system, and she wanted to break free.
That evening they ate a hearty fried galungong with bagoong and tomato dip. On the side were some freshly steamed kamote leaves and mushroom soup. And they had a conversation after a hearty dessert of fresh melons that Poy bought that morning.
“Why is tradition important, Manong? What holds weight to it?”
“That is a good question,” answered Poy while rubbing his belly. “It’s because it is who we are. Tradition is deeply rooted with family. It’s what gives us an identity.”
“Isn’t that sense of self?”
“If you’re a philosopher – sure! But a sense of self is selfish if not approached with dignity and compassion.”
“Aren’t you being silly, Manong?”
Poy gave a chuckle. “Well, maybe I am, but only a little. The truest worth of family is in the tradition it holds dearest—at least, that’s what I think. Know that many things are lost over time, especially in a family that does not remember who they truly are. The foundation of values is always tradition. Remember that, especially in this modern age where tradition is often neglected.”
“Like your oracion?”
“Yes!” Poy said, talking in a more serious tone. “When your father was young, he would lead the rosary. You could say he was a different person back then. But most of us were different at one time or another, and our lives are forever changed by the choices that we make. Your father chose his path. I could only respect that.”
“I see…” Lina’s voice trailed off. It pained her to hear the mention of her father.
“Hija, I know Pot has done some questionable acts, but he is family. Maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive him?”
Lina could not help but giggle. “Who’s Pot?”
Poy chuckled. “Oh, you didn’t know? That’s what we called him when he was young. I am Poy, he is Potpot!”
The two had a hearty laugh at the expense of Patricio Jr. Lina never knew the lighter side of her father – as a matter of fact, it seemed like she never knew him at all. Ever since Patricio Jr.’s infidelity, he became detached from the world, even from his own daughter. And then she thought of forgiving his old man – one that her grandfather insisted she do. She stopped laughing and pondered if she should give it a try.
“But what about mother?” Lina asked. Again, the pain surfaced in her voice.
“It was not your mother’s fault that she left, but I don’t want to blame your father either. Sometimes, we make foolish choices that make our life a burden.”
“Have you made bad choices, Manong?”
“Of course I did,” Poy said while he beat his chest. “I am human, and therefore I err. I was a stubborn goat when I was young. If your Manang were still here, she would tell you a hundred different stories of how I caused her pain. I was hot-headed and full of myself one time. She was the one who tamed me – she made me who I am right now – and because of that, I owe her my life. I never prayed when I was young. For me, spiritualism was something that didn’t interest me at all. She changed all that. Also – she made me read and introduced me to Bradbury, Le Guin, and Joaquin! She told me that it was a tradition in their family to read, and so she made it a point to pass on that tradition to me and your father. You have relatives in Naga if you want to visit them. They’re the more spiritual ones, deeply rooted in tradition. Some say that they still worship the old gods. Once, I tried to convince them to show me the tikbalang they tamed. One of the elders pulled my arm and placed my wrist above his. I felt the vibration of our pulses. Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything.”
Poy sighed, and then smiled.
“Are you saying tradition is supposedly genetics?”
“No. It’s a not a science. It’s something passed on, but not through genes or blood, but by the way we live our lives. Different families have different traditions. Ours is more, how should I say it – conservative, in a way, because there are certain hours that we must do the rituals we are accustomed to. Like clockwork, I guess. Like what I said and what I believe – it is the foundation of values within a family. Tradition.”
Poy smiled, stood, and started cleaning the table. Lina pondered some more before stopping her Manong.
“I think I should be the one doing that Manong. Go and watch your evening show like you always do.” She winked and added, “Tradition, right?”
“No,” Poy laughed. “That’s entertainment!”
It was one of those hot summers when the humidity had reached 44 degrees Celsius. The house was a hot oven baking irritated human beings. Lina cursed the old air-con for being unable to cool her room. She already had several showers. Poy knew how to live with the heat and sometimes being able to sleep even though he had his own air-con in his room. But there was something on that day that didn’t feel right, and a great irritation loomed above Lina’s head like a storm of vague aggression.
“Putangina! Ang ineeet!”
Lina walked out of her room with her psychology book, into the hallway, and out the door to the porch where a waiting narra chair that became her study companion that afternoon. She continued reading, thanking the breeze that quietly passed until she noticed something different with the house. Usually, there was music, but that afternoon, the house was as silent as a morgue, and she didn’t like the feeling. Hurrying along, she entered the house and called for Poy. There was no answer. She headed for the library to find the old man sleeping on the blue chair with a book in hand.
“Manong, are you okay?” She poked Poy’s arm at first, and then shook him when he didn’t respond. Poy wasn’t breathing. Panic filled Lina’s senses. Her mind raced on what to do. Lucky for her, she knew CPR. Pulling the old man to the ground, she stretched her grandfather and pressed on his chest, counting each stroke, breathing into his mouth. Now, Lina wasn’t a religious girl, but at that moment, all she could think of was God, and she prayed that all her effort didn’t go in vain.
The CPR went on for a while, until at last, Patricio Sombreto gasped for air. Lina reached for the old man’s neck and looked for a pulse. Relieved that she felt the pulse, she quickly ran to her room, grabbed her phone, and called the emergency hotline.
It was a good thing that Lina knew what to do. It was a good thing.
Patricio Sombreto, Jr. paced back and forth by the entrance of the operating room. It had already been five hours since his father went under the knife. He was told that there was a blocked artery, and it was a condition the old man had for quite a while. The term was Widow-Maker. Poy didn’t tell anyone he had the condition. He didn’t want people to worry, especially his family.
“Stop doing that,” Lina told her father.
“I can’t,” the older Sombreto replied. “He should’ve gone to the doctor earlier. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” spat Lina. “I didn’t even know he was sick. Stop doing that and sit down.”
Patricio Jr. followed his daughter’s advice. He sat beside her with his legs fidgeting. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. Lina, tinkering with her phone, absent-mindedly browsing through Facebook with her mind on her grandfather. Patricio Jr. tried to control himself, but his anxiety battled with his self-control, and all he could do was look between the doors of the operating room and the nurse’s station.
“Why did we leave?” asked Lina without looking at her father.
“What?” Patricio Jr. glanced at his daughter.
“Why did we leave Fairview? I recall Manong telling me you and Mama lived with them when I was born. Why did you buy the house in New Manila?”
Patricio Jr. sighed. He took a long pause before answering. “Your mother didn’t want us to live there. She felt restrained. And it was far from where she worked. It was far from where I worked ,too, but I didn’t mind. Your mother shouldn’t have minded, too. We both had cars. But she was insistent. Have you talked to her?”
“No. I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” answered Lina trying to hold back the tears.
“It’s all my fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Lina bluntly said. “Do you miss her?”
“Yes. No…I don’t really know.”
“It’s still your fault.”
Patricio Jr. frowned and faced his daughter. “Look, Lina, your mother placed her career before us. I admit, she was earning more than me, and sometimes, when we argue, she would rub it in my face. Your mother blamed me, too. She blamed me for getting her pregnant. She blamed me because I wasn’t a good son-in-law to her rich parents – because when we started, we had nothing. If it weren’t for Dad, we wouldn’t have a roof over our heads. He gave me his car and bought one for his daughter-in-law. My parents were that giving – and it hurt me that we had to leave because your mother told us so. So, yes, it was my fault – it was all my fucking fault!”
The room fell silent for a moment. It was like time stopped to listen to Patricio Jr.’s words. He cried because it was all too much. Lina flipped through her phone while her red eyes swelled and tears fell like rain from where she sat. Time moved again.
Wake up, kaibigan.
“Who’s there?”
Poy found himself sitting beneath the mango tree in his garden. He looked up and squinted as the sun’s rays broke through the canopy of leaves that rustled with the breeze. His eyes moved towards his house, which looked young and pristine. Inside, he heard the clinking of dishes and the voice of Dolores calling for lunch. He called out, but he knew she couldn’t hear him.
Kaibigan.
The voice was familiar, like the sound of distant thunder or the moaning of tempest winds. The voice was familiar because he knew it all too well.
“My house,” Poy whispered as he clutched his chest.
Kaibigan. The house whispered back. Don’t go. It’s not yet time.
“But the pain is unbearable.”
Lina needs you. Patricio Jr. needs you. We need you.
“But, Dolores,” Poy called with a hand reaching towards the house.
“I can wait, Manong,” Dolores replied, her voice distant. “I can wait.”
Patricio Sombreto was discharged from the hospital after several days. The bill took most of his savings and left him in a state that needed caring for. Patricio Jr. left his job in Cebu, sold the house, and moved in with his father. It became a summer of rekindling, where he paced around the house that he grew up in, as memories of a time long ago came back, when the world was bigger, and he was happy. He realized that he missed his mother, and even though he was ashamed to admit it, his father, too. He also missed Lina. He would never admit it because he was a stubborn mule. But then again, at the back of his mind, he knew he was wrong.
The new day began with Lina cooking breakfast, as she always did, but this time around, Poy would not walk into the breakfast table at 7 a.m. Instead, Lina would bring the food to her Manong. They had his bed transferred to the library. Lina told the doctors that her Manong was the God of Books and the library was his godly domain. The doctor agreed. Anything to make Poy better. It was around 9 when Lina was washing the dishes that Patricio Jr. emerged from his cave. The bear usually slept late.
“There’s pandesal and eggs if you want to eat,” said Lina, glancing at the table while washing. “I made brewed coffee. Manong likes brewed.”
Patricio Jr. started making his breakfast and checked on his father. Poy was asleep again. The morning medicine kicked in.
“I’m going to stop studying for a while,” Lina stated.
Patricio Jr. swallowed hard and asked, “Why would you do that?”
“Who’s going to take care of Manong?”
“I will.”
“Hah!” Lina spat. “Get real, Papa.”
“You doubt me?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t the time, Lina.”
“There is never the right time for you.”
Patricio Jr. was stabbed and died at the breakfast table.
“Enough! You are my daughter. You should talk to me with respect!”
Tempers flared. Lina washed the soap from her hands and turned. She just poked the newly risen bear.
“And have you ever respected me as your child?”
Patricio Jr. jumped from his chair and was about to slap Lina, but he heard a voice inside him – his mother’s voice – demanding him to stop. I swear, Patricio Jr., by your grandfather’s grave…He pulled his hand away. Trembling, he managed to make his way back to the chair, crying, as he filled another pandesal with egg, and quietly ate it.
Lina went back to washing the dishes.
“Potpot…” came a faint cry from the library.
“Pa,” called Lina. He sniffed. She was ignored. “Pa!”
“What?” angrily asked Patricio Jr.
“Manong is calling you,” said Lina coldly.
Patricio Jr. made his way to the library. “Do you need anything, Dad?”
“Sit down,” the old Sombreto said. Patricio Jr. did as he was told, grabbing a chair and sitting beside his father. Poy weakly reached for his son’s hand and held it tight. “Thank you.”
His father’s words reached his supposedly hardened heart. The events of recent days—his father’s near-death experience, and his quarrel with his daughter—all boiled down to pent-up emotions suddenly released. He knew his faults. He knew he wasn’t a good father or a husband to his wife—he knew but didn’t do anything.
“It has always been a tradition in this family to be happy,” Poy said, remembering the days of his son’s youth. “You were a happy child—a carefree one—and you were once the best of us. But things change, I guess, and the world got to you. You still are my little Potpot.”
Patricio Jr. continued crying. “I’m sorry, Dad. It was all my fault.”
Poy started to cry as well. “You have come to terms with your actions, that is good. But don’t be too hard on yourself. If your mother were here, she would say the same thing. Do you know what the most important tradition in this family is? It’s not praying the rosary or our summer gatherings to pick ripe mangoes, it’s forgiving one another. No matter how deep the pain is, or how sharp the words cut, we always forgive each other. Your mother taught me that long ago. We tried to teach you that and hand it down to you, but it seemed you didn’t get it. She told me: ‘One day, Junior will get it.” That was the day you and Minerva left this house. You were quarreling the night before. Do you remember that?”
Patricio Jr. nodded. He sniffed and wiped his nose. He remained quiet.
“Time will always move forward. We can never change the past, but we can live up to the present and ensure a better future for those we love. My son, your daughter needs you. You might have had your misgivings with your wife, but your daughter is innocent. Tradition, my son. Ask for forgiveness if you admit it is your fault. But before you do that, you must forgive yourself first, otherwise, it will be all for nothing.”
In the days that followed, Patricio Jr. tried to be the best that he could possibly be, as a son, as a parent, and as a decent human being. Poy regained his strength but couldn’t do the things he usually does: like taking a hike to walk out of the subdivision to buy pandesal or vegetables at the nearest talipapa. Yet, he liked what he saw—his prodigal son back in his life— and somehow he was whole again. But he couldn’t say the same for Lina, who tried as much as she could to mend things with Patricio Jr. Somehow, her wounds were too deep, and the healing process might take a lot longer than expected. In fact, Poy might not live long to see that happen. He could only sigh, but then again, maybe he could talk to Lina about reconsidering her father.
The summer was close to ending, and soon, Lina would return to her dorm in Manila. It was also time to pick the ripe mangoes off the tree. On a day that looked just right, as the shade of the mango tree offered a gentle respite from the afternoon sun, Lina stood mightily with her long panungkit, ready for the harvest, while Poy sat on the makeshift bench and fanned himself. The long-standing tradition of mango picking would soon commence. Lina, pausing to commemorate the memory of Manang Res, nodded as she lifted the panungkit and plucked the first mango. It gently fell on the net. She pulled the net close and grabbed the fruit. She smelled it and offered the first pick to her grandfather who accepted the mango with a smile.
“For Manang,” Lina said. Poy nodded and placed the mango in the basket. “Where’s Papa? I didn’t see him this morning.”
“He went to SSS to fix his loan. He left early. Long lines. You know how it is.”
Lina nodded. After a few hours, she was able to fill two baskets of mangoes. Wiping her face with a small towel that hung on her shoulder, she looked at the baskets and nodded in triumph. There were still more mangoes up in the higher portion of the tree, but she wasn’t used to climbing like Poy. She looked up and sighed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Poy said, gazing up at the tree with fondness. “They’ll eventually fall. I’ll tell your father to fix a net around the tree.”
Lina agreed and sat beside her grandfather. They both peeled a ripe mango that glimmered with a golden hue against the afternoon sun.
“You still hate him?” Poy asked as he bit a portion of the mango’s meat with the sweet nectar dripping by the side of his mouth. He wiped it with his hand.
“No,” Lina answered squarely. “Well, maybe just a little. He did admit it was his fault, unlike some of the people that I know of – friends who claim to be perfect.”
“I understand how you feel, little senyorita, but as I told your father, it is a tradition in this family to forgive one another. It is important for your well-being to harbor no ill will against your family member. Your Manang would’ve wanted that. Time is a thief, Lina. It steals every opportunity that you neglect to fulfill. It will steal your father away from you as much as it will steal me away soon.”
“Please, don’t talk like that, Manong.” Lina pleaded.
“It is inevitable. I heard you Manang again, you know, in a dream, I think. The house spoke to me, too.” He gave a light chuckle before continuing. “We have to find closure from the hurt that weakens us. For you to forgive will give you closure, that I am sure of.”
Lina studied her grandfather’s words carefully. She took a bite off the mango she held.
“Please don’t be alone,” Poy finally said, gazing with fond memories at his only grandchild. He wiped a tear that escaped his eye.
Lina stood and gave her grandfather a hug. Somehow, she made sense of what Poy was trying to say. She realized that the old man had a point. There was too much hate going on in the world right now, and she didn’t want to add to it by prolonging hers with her father. She sniffed and took another bite of her mango.
“Okay. I’ll add a tradition when I speak to Papa later.”
“Really?” Poy’s mood perked. “And what is that?”
“For Papa to call Mama and tell her he’s sorry. I think he owes her that.”
Poy smiled. The sun’s golden hue, bouncing against the radiance of the garden, could only make the afternoon even more perfect. He was glad that his granddaughter was finally getting it, and the old Sombreto whispered into the air to the house that he realized was the longest of his friends and to his Dolores, who he knew was somewhere looking down at them, smiling.
