Region 1 GRADUATION by F. Sionil Jose I always knew that someday after I finished high school, Id go to Manila and to college. I had looked ahead to the grand adventure with eagerness but when it finally came, my leaving Rosales filled me with a nameless dread and a great,swelling unhappiness that clogged my chest.I couldnt be sure now. Maybe it was friendship, huge and granite-like, or just plain sympathy. I couldnt be sureanymore; maybe I really fell in love when I was sixteen.Her name was Teresita. She was a proud, stubborn girl with many fixed ideas and she even admonished me: Justbecause you gave will be accepted.It was until after sometime that I understootd what she meant and when she did, I honored her all the more. Shewas sixteen, too, lovely like the banaba when its bloom.I did not expect her to be angry with me when I bought her a dress for it wasnt really expensive. Besides, as thedaughter of one of Fathers tenants, she knew me very well, better perhaps than any of the people who lived in Carmay, theyoung folks who always greeted me politely, doffed their straw hats then, close-mouthed, went their way.I always had silver coins in my pockets but that March afternoon, after counting all of them and the stray pieces,too that I had tucked away in my dresser I knew I needed more.I approach Father. He was at his working table, writing on a ledger while behind him, one of the new servants stooderect, swinging a palm leaf fan over Fathers head. I stood beside Father, watched his hand scrawl the figures on the ledger,his wide brow and his shirt damp with sweat.When he finally noticed me, I couldnt tell him what I wanted. He unbuttoned his shirt to his paunch. Well, what isit?Im going to take my classmates this afternoon to the restaurant, Father. I said. Father turned to the sheaf of papers before him. Sure, he said. You can tell Bo King to take off what you and your friends can eat from his rent thismonth.I lingered uneasily, avoiding the servants eyes. Well, wont that do? Father asked. It was March and the highschool graduation was but a matter of days away. I also need a little money, Father. I said. I have to buy something.Father nodded. He groped for his keys in his drawer the he opened the iron money box beside him and drew out a ten-pesobill. He laid it on the table.Im going to buy I tried to explain but with a wave of his hand, he dismissed me. He went back to his figures. Itwas getting late. Sepa, our eldest maid, was getting the chickens to their coops. I hurried to the main road which was quitedeserted now except in the vicinity of the round cement embankment in front of the municipal building where loafers weretaking in the stale afternoon sun. The Chinese storekeepers who occupied Fathers buildings had lighted their lamps. Fromthe ancient artesian well at the rim of the town plaza, the water carriers and servant girls babbled while they waited fortheir turn at the pump. Nearby, travelling merchants had unhitched their bullcarts after a whole day of travelling from townto tonw and were cooking their supper on broad, blackened stones that littered the place. At Chan Hais store there was aboy with a stick of candy in his mouth, a couple of men drinking beer and smacking their lips portentously, and a womanhaggling over a can of sardines.I went to the huge bales of cloth that slumped in one corner of the store, I picked out the silk, white cloth withglossy printed flowers. I asked Chan Hai, who was perched on a stool smoking his long pipe, how much hed ask for thematerial I had picker for a gown.Chan Hai peered at me in surprise; Ten pesos he said.With the package, I hurried to Camay. In the thickening dusk the leaves of the acacias folded and the solemn,mellow chimes of the Angelus echoed to the flat, naked stretches of the town. The women who had been sweeping theiryards paused; children reluctantly hurried to their homes for now the town was draped with a dreamy stillness.Teresita and her father lived by the creek in Carmay. The house was on a sandy lot which belonged to Father; it wasapart front the cluster of huts peculiar to the village. Its roof as it was with the other farmers homes, thatched anddisheveled, its walls were of battered buri leaves. It was washed away. Madre de cacao trees abounded in the vicinity butoffered scanty shade. Piles of burnt rubbish rose in little mounds in the yard and a disrupted line of ornamental SanFrancisco fringed the graveled path led to the house.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 05:14:37 +0000
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