SERVANT GIRL

by Estrella D. Alfon

ROSA was scrubbing the clothes she was washing slowly. Alone in the washroom of her mistress house she could hear
the laughter of women washing clothes in the public bathhouse from which she was separated by only a thin wall. She
would have liked to be there with the other women to take part in their jokes and their laughter and their merry gossiping,
but they paid a centavo for every piece of soiled linen they brought there to wash and her mistress wanted to save this
money.

A pin she had failed to remove from a dress sank its point deep into her fin ger. She cried to herself in surprise and
squeezed the finger until the blood came out. She watched the bright red drop fall into the suds of soap and looked in
delight at its gradual mingling into the whiteness. Her mistress came upon her thus and, shouting at her, startled her into
busily rubbing while she tried not to listen to the scolding words.

When her mistress left her, she fell to doing her work slowly again, and sometimes she paused to listen to the talk in
the bathhouse behind her. A little later her mistress shrill voice told her to go to the bathhouse for drinking water. Eagerly
wiping her hands on her wet wrap, she took the can from the kitchen table and went out quickly.

She was sweating at the defective town pump when strong hands closed over hers and started to help her. The hands
pressing down on hers made her wince and she withdrew her hands hastily. The movement was greeted by a shout of
laughter from the women washing and Rosa looked at them in surprise. The women said to each other Rosa does not like
to be touched by Sancho and then slapped their thighs in laughter. Rosa frowned and picked up her can. Sancho made a
move to help her but she thrust him away, and the women roared again, saying Because we are here, Sancho, she is
ashamed.

Rosa carried the can away, her head angrily down, and Sancho followed her, saying Do not be angry, in coaxing
tones. But she went her slow way with the can.

Her mistress voice came to her, calling impatiently, and she tried to hurry. When she arrived, the woman asked her
what had kept her so long, and without waiting for an answer she ranted on, saying she had heard the women joking in the
bathhouse, and she knew what had kept the girl so long. Her anger mounting with every angry word she said, she finally
swung out an arm, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she slapped Rosas face.

She was sorry as soon as she realized what she had done. She turned away, muttering still, while Rosas eyes filled
with sudden tears. The girl poured the water from the can into the earthen jar, a bitter lump in her throat, and thought of
what she would do to people like her mistress when she herself, God willing, would be rich. Soon however, she thought
of Sancho, and the jokes the women had shouted at her. She thought of their laughter and Sancho following her with his
coaxing tones, and she smiled slowly.

Getting back to her washing, she gathered the clothes she had to bleach, and piled them into a basin she balanced on
her head. Passing her mistress in the kitchen, she said something about going to bleach the clothes and under her breath
added an epithet. She had to cross the street to get to the stones gathered about in a whitened circle in a neighbors yard
where she was wont to lay out the clothes. She passed some women hanging clothes on a barbed-wire fence to dry. They
called to her and she smiled at them.

Some dogs chasing each other on the street, she did not notice because the women were praising her for the whiteness
of the linen in the basin on her head. She was answering them that she hadnt even bleached them yet, when one of the
dogs passed swiftly very close to her. Looking down, she saw in wide alarm another dog close on the heels of the first. An
instinctive fear of animals made her want to dodge the heedlessly running dog, and she stepped gingerly this way and that.
The dog, intent on the other it was pursuing, gave her no heed and ran right between her legs as Rosa held on to the basin
in frantic fear lest it fall and the clothes get soiled. Her patadiong was tight in their wetness about her legs, and she fell
down, in the middle of the street. She heard the other womens exclamations of alarm and her first thought was for the
clothes. Without getting up, she looked at the basin and gave obscene thanks when she saw the clothes still piled secure
and undirtied. She tried to get up, hurrying lest her mistress come out and see her thus and slap her again. Already the
women were setting up a great to do about what had happened. Some were coming to her, loudly abusing the dogs,
solicitousness on their faces. Rosa cried, Nothings the matter with me. Still struggling to get up, she noticed that her
wrap had been loosened and had bared her breasts. She looked around wildly, sudden shame coloring her cheeks, and
raised the wrap and tied it securely around herself again.
 She could stand but she found she could not walk. The women had gone back to their drying, seeing she was up and
apparently nothing the worse for the accident. Rosa looked down at her right foot which twinged with pain. She stooped
to pick up the basin and put it on her head again. She tried stepping on the toes of her right foot but it made her wince. She
tried the heel but that also made her bite her lip. Already her foot above the ankle was swelling. She thought of the slap
her mistress had given her for staying in the bathhouse too long and the slap she was most certain to get now for delaying
like this. But she couldnt walk, that was settled.

Then there came down the street a tartanilla without any occupant except the cochero who rang his bell, but she
couldnt move away from the middle of the street. She looked up at the driver and started angrily to tell him that there was
plenty of room at the sides of the street, and that she couldnt move anyway, even if there werent. The man jumped down
from his seat and bent down and looked at her foot. The basin was still on Rosas head and he took it from her, and put it
in his vehicle. Then he squatted down and bidding Rosa put a hand on his shoulders to steady herself, he began to touch
with gentle fingers the swelling ankle, pulling at it and massaging it. They were still in the middle of the street. Rosa
looked around to see if the women were still there to look at them but they had gone away. There was no one but a small
boy licking a candy stick, and he wasnt paying any attention to them. The cochero looked up at her, the sweat on his face,
saw her looking around with pain and embarrassment mingled on her face. Then, so swiftly she found no time to protest,
he closed his arms about her knees and lifted her like a child. He carried her to his tartanilla, plumped her down on one of
the seats. Then he left her, coming back after a short while with some coconut oil in the hollow of his palm. He rubbed the
oil on her foot, and massaged it. He was seated on the seat opposite Rosas and had raised the injured foot to his thigh,
letting it rest there, despite Rosas protest, on his blue faded trousers. The basin of wet clothes was beside Rosa on the seat
and she fingered the clothing with fluttering hands. The cochero asked her where she lived and she told him, pointing out
the house. He asked what had happened, and she recited the whole thing to him, stopping with embarrassment when she
remembered the loosening of her patadiongand the nakedness of her bosom. How glad she was he had not seen her thus.
The cochero had finished with her foot, and she slid from the seat, her basin on a hip. But he took it from her, asking her
to tell him where the bleaching stones were. He went then, and himself laid out the white linen on the stones, knowing like
a woman, which part to turn to the sun.

He came back after a while, just as Rosa heard with frightened ears the call of her mistress. She snatched the basin
from thecocheros hand and despite the pain caused her, limped away.

She told her mistress about the accident. The woman did not do anything save to scold her lightly for being careless.
Then she looked at the swollen foot and asked who had put oil on it. Rosa was suddenly shy of having to let anyone know
about her cochero,so she said she had asked for a little oil at the store and put it on her foot herself. Her mistress was
unusually tolerant, and Rosa forgot about the slapping and said to herself this was a day full of luck!

It was with very sharp regret that she thought of her having forgotten to ask the cochero his name. Now, in the days
that followed, she thought of him, the way he had wound an arm around her knees and carried her like a little girl. She
dreamed about the gentleness of his fingers. She smiled remembering the way he had laid out the clothes on stones to
bleach. She knew that meant he must do his own washing. And she ached in ten derness over him and his need for a
woman like her to do such things for himthings like mending the straight tear she had noticed at the knee of his trousers
when her foot had rested on them; like measuring his tartanilla seat cushions for him, and making them, and stringing
them on his vehicle. She thought of the names for men she knew and called him by it in thinking of him, ever afterwards.
In her thoughts she spoke to him and he always answered.

She found time to come out on the street for a while, every day. Sometimes she would sweep the yard or trim the
scraggly hedge of viola bushes; or she would loiter on an errand for tomatoes or vinegar. She said to herself, He dreams of
me too, and he thinks of me. He passes here every day wishing to see me. She never saw him pass, but she said to herself,
He passes just when I am in the house, thats why I never see him.

Some tartanilla would pass, and if she could, as soon as she heard the sound of the wheels, she looked out of a
window, hoping it would be Angels. Sometimes she would sing very loudly, if she felt her mistress was in a good humor
and not likely to object. She told herself that if he could not see her, he would at least wish to hear her voice.

She longed no more to be part of the group about the water tank in the bathhouse. She thought of the women there and
their jokes and she smiled, in pity, because they did not have what she had, some one by the name of Angel, who knew
how to massage injured feet back to being good for walking and who knew how to lay out clothes for bleaching.

When they teased her about Sancho, who insisted on pumping her can full every time she went for drinking water, she
smiled at the women and at the man, full of her hidden knowledge about someone picking her up and being gentle with
her. She was too full of this secret joy to mind their teasing. Where before she had been openly angry and secretly pleased,
now she was indifferent. She looked at Sancho and thought him very rude beside beside Angel. He always put his hands
over hers when she made a move to pump water. He always spoke to her about not being angry with the womens teasing.
She thought he was merely trying to show off. And when one day Sancho said, Do not mind their teasing; they would
tease you more if they knew I really feel like they say I do, she glared at him and thought him unbearably ill-mannered.
She spat out of the corner of her mouth, letting him see the grimace of distaste she made when she did so, and seeing
Sanchos disturbed face, she thought, If Angel knew, hed strike you a big blow. But she was silent and proud and
unsmiling. Sancho looked after her with the heavy can of water held by one hand, the other hand flung out to balance
herself against the weight. He waited for her to turn and smile at him as she sometimes did, but she simply went her way.
He flung his head up and then laughed snortingly.

Rosas mistress made her usual bad-humored sallies against her fancied slowness. Noticing Rosas sudden excursions
into the street, she made remarks and asked curious questions. Always the girl had an excuse and her mistress soon made
no further questions. And unless she was in bad temper, she was amused at her servants attempts at singing.

One night she sent the maid to a store for wine. Rosa came back with a broken bottle empty of all its contents. Sudden
anger at the waste and the loss made her strike out with closed fists, not caring where her blows landed until the girl was
in tears. It often touched her when she saw Rosa crying and cowering, but now the woman was too angry to pity.

It never occurred to Rosa that she could herself strike out and return every blow. Her mistress was thirtyish, with
peaked face and thin frame, and Rosas strong arms, used to pounding clothes and carrying water, could easily have done
her hurt. But Rosa merely cried and cried, saying now and then Aruy! Aruy!, until the woman, exhausted by her own anger
left off striking the girl to sit down in a chair, curse loudly about the loss of such good wine, and ask where she was going
to get the money to buy another bottle.

Rosa folded her clothes into a neat bundle, wrapped them in her blanket, and getting out her slippers, thrust her feet
into them. She crept out of a door without her mistress seeing her and told herself shed never come back to that house
again.

It would have been useless to tell her mistress how the bottle had been broken, and the wine spilled. She had been
walking alone in the street hurrying to the wine store, and Sancho had met her. They had talked; he begging her to let him
walk with her and she saying her mistress would be angry if she saw. Sancho had insisted and they had gone to the store
and bought the wine, and then going home, her foot had struck a sharp stone. She had bent to hold a foot up, looking at the
sole to see if the stone had made it bleed. Her dress had a wide, deep neck, and it must have hung away from her body
when she bent. Anyway, she had looked up to find Sancho looking into the neck of her dress. His eyes were turned hastily
away as soon as she straightened up, and she thought she could do nothing but hold her peace. But after a short distance in
their resumed walk home, he had stopped to pick up a long twig lying on the ground. With deft strokes he had drawn twin
sharp peaks on the ground. They looked merely like the zigzags one does draw playfully with any stick, but Rosa, having
seen him looking into her dress while she bent over, now became so angry that she swung out and with all her force struck
him on the check with her open palm. He reeled from the unexpected blow, and quickly steadied himself while Rosa shot
name after name at him. Anger rose in his face. It was nearly dark, and there was no one else on the street. He laughed,
short angry laughter, and called her back name for name. Rosa approached him and made to slap him again, but Sancho
was too quick for her. He had slipped out of her way and himself slapped her instead. The surprise of it angered her into
sudden tears. She swung up the bottle of wine she had held tightly in one hand, and ran after the man to strike him with it.
Sancho slapped her arm so hard that she dropped the bottle. The man had run away laughing, calling back a final
undeserved name at her, leaving her to look with tears at the wine seeping into the ground. Some people had come toward
her then, asking what had happened. She had stooped, picked up the biggest piece of glass, and hurried back to her
mistress, wondering whether she would be believed and forgiven.

Rosa walked down street after street. She had long ago wiped the tears from her face, and her thoughts were of a place
to sleep, for it was late at night. She told herself she would kill Sancho if she ever saw him again. She picked up a stone
from the road, saying, I wish a cold wind would strike him dead, and so on; and the stone she grasped tightly, say ing, If I
meet him now, I would throw this at him, and aim so well that I would surely hit him.

She rubbed her arm in memory of the numbing blow the man had dealt it, and touched her face with furious shame for
the slap he had dared to give her. Her fists closed more tightly about the stone and she looked about her as if she expected
Sancho to appear.
 She thought of her mistress. She had been almost a year in the womans employ. Usually she stayed in a place, at the
most, for four months. Sometimes it was the masters smirking ways and evil eyes, sometimes it was the childrens
bullying demands. She had stayed with this last mistress because in spite of her spells of bad humor, there were periods
afterward when she would be generous with money for a dress, or for a cine with other maids. And they had been alone,
the two of them. Sometimes the mistress would get so drunk that she would slobber into her drink and mumble of persons
that must have died. When she was helpless she might perhaps have starved if Rosa had not forcibly fed her. Now,
however, thought of the fierce beating the woman had given her made Rosa cry a little and repeat her vow that she would
never step into the house again.

Then she thought of Angel, the cochero who had been gentle, and she lost her tears in thinking how he would never
have done what Sancho did. If he knew what had happened to her, he would come running now and take her to his own
home, and she would not have to worry about a place to sleep this night. She wandered about, not stopping at those places
where she knew she would be accepted if she tried, her mind full of the injustices she had received and of comparisons
between Sancho and Angel. She paused every time a tartanilla came her way, peering intently into the face of
the cochero, hoping it would be he, ready to break her face into smiles if it were indeed. She carried her bundle on her arm
all this while, now clenching a fist about the stone she still had not dropped and gnashing her teeth.

She had been walking about for quite a while, feeling not very tired, having no urgent need to hurry about finding
herself a place, so sharp her hopes were of somehow seeing her cochero on the streets. That was all she cared about, that
she must walk into whatever street she came to, because only in that way would he see her and learn what they had done
to her.

Then, turning into a street full of stores set side by side, she felt the swish of a horse almost brushing against her. She
looked up angrily at the cocheros laughing remark about his whip missing her beautiful bust. An offense like that, so soon
after all her grief at what Sancho had done, inflamed her into passionate anger, and mouthing a quick curse, she flung the
stone in her hand at the cochero on his seat. It was rather dark and she did not quite see his face. But apparently she hit
something, for he suddenly yelled a stop at the horse, clambered down, and ran back to her, demanding the reason for her
throwing the stone. She exclaimed hotly at his offense with the whip, and then looking up into his face, she gasped. She
gasped and said, Angel!

For it was he. He was wearing a striped shirt, like so many other people were wearing, and he had on the very same
trousers of dark blue he had worn when he massaged her foot. But he gazed at her in nothing but anger, asking whether
her body was so precious that she would kill his horse. Also, why did she keep saying Angel; that was not his name!

Rosa kept looking up at him not hearing a word of his threats about taking her to the municipio, saying only Angel,
Angel, in spite of his protests that that was not his name. At last she understood that the cochero did not even remember
her and she realized how empty her thoughts of him now were. Even his name was not Angel. She turned suddenly to
walk away from him, saying, You do not even remember me.

The cochero peered at her face and exclaimed after a while, Oh yes! the girl with the swollen foot! Rosa forgot all
the emptiness, forgot the sudden sinking of her heart when she had realized that even he would flick his whip at a girl
alone on the road, and lifted her smiling face at him, stopping suddenly to tell him her foot had healed very quickly.
The cochero asked her after a while where she was going, and she said breathlessly, without knowing just why she
answered so, I am going home! He asked no questions about where she had been, why she was so late. He bade her ride
in his vehicle, grandly saying he would not make her pay, and then, with many a loud exclamation to his horse, he drove
her to her mistress house.

Rosa didnt tell him what had happened. Nor anything about her dreams. She merely answered the questions
the cochero asked her about how she had been. With the grace of God, all right, thank you. Once he made her a sly joke
about his knowing there were simply lots of men courting her. Rosa laughed breathlessly and denied it. She wished they
would never arrive, but they soon did. The cochero waited for her to get out, and then drove off, saying Dont mention it
to her many thanks. She ran after the tartanilla when it had gone off a little way, and asked, running beside the moving
vehicle, looking up into his face, What is your name?

The cochero shouted, without stopping his horse, Pedro and continued to drive away.

Rosa went into the house without hesitation, forgetting all her vows about never stepping into it again and wondering why it was so still. She
turned on the lights and found her mistress sleeping at a table with her head cradled in her arms, a new wine bottle before her, empty now of all its
contents. With an arm about the thin womans waist, she half dragged her into her bed. When the woman would wake, she would say nothing,
remembering nothing. Rosa turned on the light in the kitchen and hummed her preparations for a meal.
This 1937 classic always makes it to everyones list of outstanding 20th century Philippine stories.

SINIGANG
by Marby Villaceran

SO, what happened?

She had finally decided to ask the question. I had been wondering how long my Tita Loleng could contain her
curiosity.

I continued to pick out tomatoes for the sinigang we were to have for dinner. I wasnt usually the one who assisted my
aunt with the cooking. She preferred my younger sister, Meg, for I knew far less in this areanot having the aptitude, or
the interest, I guessfor remembering recipes. That didnt matter today, though. This time, Tita Loleng wanted more than
just an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.

Nothing much, I answered offhandedly. We did what people usually do during funerals. I reminded myself to
tread carefully with her. Though I did not really feel like talking, I could not tell her off for she took offense rather easily.

I put the tomatoes in the small palanggana, careful not to bruise their delicate skin, and carried them to the sink.

Did you meether? Tita Loleng asked.

There came to me a memory of sitting in one of the smaller narra sofas in the living room in Bulacan. I faced a
smooth white coffin whose corners bore gold-plated figures of cherubs framed by elaborate swirls resembling thick,
curling vines. Two golden candelabras, each supporting three rows of high-wattage electric candles, flanked the coffin and
seared the white kalachuchi in the funeral wreaths, causing the flowers to release more of their heady scent before they
wilted prematurely. Through an open doorway, I could see into the next room where a few unfamiliar faces held
murmured conversations above their coffee cups.

Are you Liza? A woman beside me suddenly asked.

I was surprised, for I had not heard anyone approaching. Most of the mourners preferred to stay out on the veranda for
fear that the heat from the lights might also cause them to wither.

I looked up slowly: long, slim feet with mauve-painted toenails that peeked through the opening of a pair of scruffy-
looking slippers; smooth legs unmarred by swollen veins or scarsso unlike the spider-veined legs of my momencased
in a black, pencil-cut skirt; a white blouse with its sleeves too long for the wearer, causing the extra fabric to bunch around
the cuffs; a slim neck whose skin sagged just a little bit; and a pale face that seemed like it had not experienced sleep in
days. The woman looked to me like she was in her fortiesthe same age as my mother.

Yes, I had answered that womanthe same answer I now gave to Tita Loleng.

I gently spilled out all the tomatoes into the sink and turned on the tap. The water, like agua bendita, cleansed each
tomato of the grime from its origins.

What did she tell you? Tita Loleng asked.

Nothing much. She told me who she was.

What did she look like?

Shes pretty, I guess.

She was. She looked like she had Indian blood with her sharp nose and deep-set eyes thickly bordered by long lashes.
Just like Mom, she still maintained a slim figure though she already had children. The woman, upon seeing my curious
stare, had explained, I am Sylvia.

All my muscles tensed upon hearing her name. It took all my self-control to outwardly remain calm and simply raise
an eyebrow.
 My reaction caused a range of emotion to cross the womans face before it finally crumbled and gave way to tears.
Suddenly, she grabbed my hand from where it had been resting on the arm of the sofa. Her own hands were damp and
sticky with sweat. She knelt in front of mea sinner confessing before a priest so he could wash away the dirt from her
past.

But I was not a priest. I looked down at her and my face remained impassive.

When her weeping had subsided, she raised her head and looked at me. Everyone makes mistakes, Liza. Her eyes
begged for understanding.

It was a line straight out of a Filipino soap opera. I had a feeling that the whole situation was a scene from a very bad
melodrama I was watching. I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the spectacle unfolding in this living room, but
it was as if an invisible director had banned all but the actors from the set. Except for us, not a soul could be seen.

I wanted Sylvia to free my hand so I nodded and pretended to understand. Apparently convinced, she let go and, to my
shock, suddenly hugged me tight. My nose wrinkled as the pungent mix of heavy perfume and sweat assailed me. I
wanted to scream at her to let go but I did not move away.

Hmm, I think theyre washed enough na. Tita Loleng said.

Turning off the tap, I placed the tomatoes inside the basin once more. Then, as an afterthought, I told my Tita, I dont
think she is as pretty as Mom, though.

Tita Loleng nodded understandingly. She gestured for me to place the basin on the table where she already had the
knives and chopping board ready.

Where was your Dad when she was talking to you?

Oh, he was sleeping in one of the bedrooms. Mom did not want to wake him up because they told her he had not
slept for two nights straight.

Tita Loleng snorted. Haay, your mother talaga, she said, shaking her head.

I had to smile at that before continuing. When he saw me, Sylvia had already been called away to entertain some of
the visitors.

Was he surprised to see you? Tita knew that I had not wanted to go to the funeral. Actually, she was one of the few
people who respected, and understood, my decision.

No. I sliced each of the tomatoes in quarters. The blade of the knife clacked fiercely against the hard wood of the
chopping board. He requested Mom to make me go there. We both knew that I could never have refused my mother
once she insisted that I attend. I had even gone out and gotten drunk with some friends the night before we were to leave
just so I could have an excuse not to go, but my mom was inflexible. She had ordered my two sisters to wake me up.

Tita Loleng gave me a sympathetic look. No choice then, huh? She was forever baffled at the way my mother could
be such a martyr when it came to my father and such a tyrant to her children.

Clack! Clack! The knife hacked violently against the board.

Nope.

When my Dad had come out of the room, I remembered sensing it immediatelythe same way an animal
instinctively perceives when it is in danger. I had been looking at the face of my dead half-brother, searching for any
resemblance between us. Chemotherapy had sunk his cheeks and had made his hair fall out, but even in this condition, I
could see how handsome he must have been before his treatment. His framed photograph atop the glass covering of the
coffin confirmed this. Lem took after my father so much that Dad could never even hope to deny that he was his son. I, on
the other hand, had taken after my mother.

I knew my father was staring at me but I refused look at him. He approached and stood next to me. I remained silent.
 I am glad you came, he said.

I gave him a non-committal nod, not even glancing his way.

Tita Loleng interrupted my thoughts with another one of her questions. Did you cry?

I shook my head vehemently as I answered, No.

I took the sliced tomatoes, surprised to find not even a splinter of wood with them, as well as the onions Tita Loleng
had chopped and put them in a pot. What next? I asked her.

The salt. Then she went and added a heaping tablespoonful of salt to the pot.

Is that all?

Uh-huh. Your Mom and I prefer it a bit saltier, but your Dad likes it this way. Then she gestured towards the pot,
closing and opening her fist like a baby flexing its fingers.

I started crushing the onions, tomatoes, and salt together with my hand.

He was an acolyte in church, my father had said then, finally splintering the silence I had adamantly maintained.
Father Mario said that we shouldnt feel sad because Lem is assured of going to a better place because he was such a
good child. Good, I thought, unlike me whom he always called Sinverguenza, the shameless daughter.

I finally turned to him. There was only one question I needed to ask. Why?

He met my gaze. I waited but he would notcould not answer me. He looked away.

My mask of indifference slipped. It felt like a giant hand was rubbing salt into me, squeezing and mashing, unsatisfied
until all of me had been crushed.

Stop it na, Liza! Tita Loleng exclaimed. Anymore of that mashing and you will be putting bits of your own flesh
and bone in there, my aunt warned. She went to the refrigerator and took out plastic bags containing vegetables. She
placed them in the sink. All of these will be needed for the sinigang, she said. Prepare them while youre softening the
meat. Then she took off her apron, You go and finish off here. I will just go to my room and stretch my back out a bit.
With a tender pat on my head, she walked out of the kitchen.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The questions had stopped, for now.

I poured the hugas bigas into the mass of crushed onions and tomatoes and added the chunks of beef into the
concoction before covering the pot and placing it on the stove. I turned on the flame. The sinigang needed to simmer for
close to an hour to tenderize the meat.

In the meantime, I started preparing all the other ingredients that will be added to the pot later on. Taking all the
plastic bags, I unloaded their contents into the sink then washed and drained each vegetable thoroughly before putting
them beside my chopping board.

I reached for the bunch of kangkong and began breaking off choice sections to be included in the stew. When I was a
child, before Tita Loleng had chosen to stay with us, my mom used to do the cooking and she would have Meg and I sit
beside her while she readied the meals. I remembered that whenever it came to any dish involving kangkong, I would
always insist on preparing it because I loved the crisp popping sound the vegetable made whenever I broke off a stem. It
was on one such occasion, I was in second year high school by then but still insistent on kangkong preparation, when
Mom had divulged the truth about the boy who kept calling Dad on the phone everyday at home. Meg had also been there,
breaking off string beans into two-inch sections. Neither of us had reacted much then, but between us, I knew I was more
affected by what Mom had said because right until then, I had always been Daddys girl.

When the kangkong was done, I threw away the tough, unwanted parts and reached for the labanos. I used a peeler to
strip away the skinrevealing the white, slightly grainy fleshand then sliced each root diagonally. Next came
the sigarilyas, and finally, the string beans. Once, I asked Tita Loleng how she knew what type of vegetable to put into
sinigang and she said, Well, one never really knows which will taste good until one has tried it. I mean, some people
cook sinigang with guavas, some with kamias. It is a dish whose recipe would depend mostly on the taste of those who
will do the eating.

I got a fork and went to the stove where the meat was simmering. I prodded the chunks to test whether they were tender enoughand they were.
After pouring in some more of the rice washing, I cleared the table and waited for the stew to boil. A few minutes later, the sound of rapidly popping
bubbles declared that it was now time to add the powdered tamarind mix. I poured in the whole packet and stirred. Then I took the vegetables and
added them, a fistful at a time, to the pot. As I did so, I remembered the flower petals each of my two sisters and I had thrown, fistful by fistful, into
the freshly dug grave as Lems casket was being lowered into it. My dad was crying beside me and I recalled thinking, would he be the same if I was
the one who had died? I glanced up at him and was surprised to find that he was looking at me. His hand, heavy with sadness, fell on my shoulder.

Im sorry, he had told me.

I let the stew boil for a few more minutes before turning off the fire.

The sinigang would be served later during dinner. I pictured myself seated in my usual place beside my father who is at the head of the table. He
would tell Mom about his day and then he would ask each of us about our own. I would answer, not in the animated way I would have done when I
was still young and his pet, but politely and without any rancor.

Then, he would compliment me on the way I had cooked his favorite dish and I would give him a smile that would never quite show, not even in
my eyes.

THE SUMMER OF MY 17TH YEAR

by H.O. Santos

FRIDAY, April 5, 2002

IT was hot this morning when I went to the Masbate pier with my older cousin John. School was out and the dry season
had begun. The air was still, making it feel hotter yetthe usual breeze that comes from the sea seemed to have gotten
lost somewhere. We were there to meet his college friend who was visiting our island for the first time. They hadnt seen
each other since his friend moved to the States right after they graduated from college. That was five years ago.

John pointed him out to me when he came down the gangplank off the ferry from Lucena. Although he did not look
too unlike the other passengers, there was something uncommon about him. Maybe it was the high backpack and small
bamboo suitcase he carried that made him look out of the ordinary. Or maybe it was because his shirt and pants werent
neatly ironed like the others. His hair was mussed up but he didnt seem to care. He didnt exactly look like a bumhe
even made it look like wrinkled clothes were what everybody else should have been wearing if they wanted to be in style.
He looked like an exciting kind of guy who didnt care what others thought of himthe kind who might just be the one I
needed to make my life less humdrum.

He and my cousin exchanged greetings and talked for a while before he acknowledged my presence and introduced
himself. My name is Tim, it was really Timoteo before I went to Los Angeles. He laughed as if he thought one had to go
to Los Angeles to get an American nickname.

Im Minda, Johns cousin. My family and I live next door to him.

Oh, good. Then well see a lot of each other. After that, he promptly ignored me again and resumed his conversation
with John.

John drove us home in his car with Tim in the front seat. I was in the back with Tims luggage. They had so many
things to tell each other to get fully updated with what had happened since they last saw each other. I wanted to tell them
thered be enough time later for all that. I felt left out.

My cousin John had always been the most adventurous member of our clan. He went to college in Manila and did
pretty well as far as grades were concerned. He surprised me when he returned to Masbate to stay and take care of his
familys cattle ranch. He did that after devoting four years of his life to earn a college degree. I couldnt understand that.

I wish I can be like John but I cant. Instead of Manila, I have chosen to go to Los Baos for college when the school
year opens. Not only is it closer, it is also less chaotic.
 John has always been my favorite cousin because he is the only one in my family who can understand young people
like me. I was born eight years after my older brother, who in turn was two years younger than John. That makes me a lot
younger than all my siblings and cousins. It is sometimes an advantage in that they pamper me and let me get away with
things they normally wouldnt have. At the same time, it makes me feel lonely because I have very few people I can share
my feelings with. Often, Im afraid they will think the things that bother me are silly so I keep them to myself except
when I can talk to John.

SATURDAY, April 6, 2002

I SAW Tim again this morning when I stepped out the front door. He was in the yard next door, looking lost and alone. He
came over when he saw me.

Wheres everybody?

Oh, John will be back soon. He must have left early to check on the ranch.

What about you? Why arent you in school?

Dont you know its summer break?

Gosh, I forgot. Summer in America starts in June.

Besides, its Saturday today.

He looked at me sheepishly. Oh, my God. I cant even keep track of what day of the week it is anymore. Im getting
old.

I didnt mean to embarrass him so I was glad he took it lightly. I said, Its okay. Its still Friday in America. I was
beginning to appreciate that the useless information I had learned in school wasnt so useless after all.

He gazed at me as if trying to figure out what kind of person I was. I suddenly felt shyit was a strange and
unfamiliar feeling for I wasnt a shy person. I didnt know why I felt that way.

Anyway, what school do you go to?

I just finished high schoolI went to Sacred Heart College in Lucena.

Thats far from here. Do you have relatives there?

No, I stayed in a boarding house. Im quite independent and can take care of myself.

You look so young

Not really, Im sixteenIll be seventeen this year. And Im going to college in June. Away from home. At
University of the Philippines in Los Baos.

That doesnt necessarily make you an old woman.

But Im not like the other sixteen-year-olds you may have met before.

How?

I can take care of myself.

 He smiled but said nothing. I couldnt tell if I impressed him or if he didnt understand what I said. I wanted to say
more but was unable to find words that would have explained further what I meant.

He was silent for a while before he spoke again. How far is the public market from here?

Not too far, about a kilometer.

Do they sell cooked food theredo they have places where one can sit down to eat?

Yes, lots of them.

Can you come with me?

To eat? John wont like it if he finds out you went somewhere to eat. Theyre probably preparing something special
for lunch.

Come on. Be a friend. This is my only chance to go and eat in a public market.

Why do you think so?

Because my friends always steer me away from places they think I shouldnt see.

I knew I was betraying a cousin, my favorite cousin at that, but there was something in his request that thrilled me.
My father had always forbidden me to eat in the public market. I had gone there to eat with my friends a few times before,
all without my fathers knowledge. I didnt understand all the warning about sanitationdidnt cooking kill any germs
that may still be in the food?

Okay, I said. Ill take you there.

Go ask your mom for permission.

I dont have towere not going far. But Ill have to tell our help where Im going in case she asks.

Dont you feel scared going with a stranger?

Youre not a stranger. Besides, youll never get off this island alive if something happens to me.-

He laughed loud. I knew he was beginning to understand right then that I was not the typical sixteen-year-old he
assumed I was.

We walked to the public market. The sun was hot but I didnt mind. I wanted people to see me walking and wonder
who the man with me was. I didnt see anyone I knew but they could have been peeking from their windows, hiding from
my sight.

He looked around the market, curious about everything. Vendors were cajoling us to come to their placeeach
claimed to have the best food in the market. I wanted very much to have known the area better so I could steer him to the
right place. It maddened me that I didnt.

Whatever youre thinking, dont eat too much, I told him when he started looking at the food on display.

Whys that?

Because

Huh?

John will find out I went with you here and hell get mad. When we get back I want you to eat a lot of whatever they
serve you.

Do you always tell people what to do?

 No, but I know it will be a problem for me if you dont eat lunch in my cousins house. You dont want me to get in
trouble, do you?

He patted me on the shoulder and said, I promise you wont.

So we each had an ukoy although I could tell that he wanted very much to try the kare-kare that looked so tempting. I
felt sorry that I was always sensiblewhy couldnt I have been more adventurous and off-beat like he was? All my life I
had deferred to my elders, tried hard to please them. They praised me for being mature and responsible for my age. They
didnt know that Id rather do things because theyre what I want to do, not because theyre what they expect from me.

SUNDAY, April 7, 2002

TODAY was a very busy day for everyone. John was having a party in his house in honor of Tim and my family was
helping prepare the food. I was given the task of cutting the vegetables to pieces of the right size. There was so much to
cut I was afraid it would take me the whole day.

I wanted to wear the dress my mother had given me for my graduation. It had been pressed and ready for me to put
on. It was a simple but elegant off-white, sleeveless dress. My friends had gushed about how I looked in that dress. They
said I looked like I was at least twenty years old.

I finished my assigned chore as fast as I could because I needed to go to the beauty parlor to have my hair done. I
wanted so much to look nice for that evening. It felt like graduation day and a lot more.

I went early to Tims partyI wanted to have a quiet talk with him before everybody else arrived. I know people will
say Im being irrational but I like him very much. I like him because he is so modesthe never tells anyone he is from
America. He isnt like the boys in school who are too immature for my taste. I know he is right for me even though I have
only known him for a few days. People dont understand that a girl just knows.

We got to chat for a long time before the guests arrived. He told me about life in the U.S.he said Filipinos who are
used to getting pampered would have a hard time adjusting to life there.

After working all day at the office, we still have to cook and clean up when we get home, was one of the things he
said.

Im glad I can take care of myself I wont have a hard time if I ever go there.

He smiled with a smile that seemed to say, You may think so but theres more to adjusting to a new life than that.
Maybe he wasnt convinced that I was an independent woman who can live alone.

I felt bold and asked him directly, Do you have a girl friend?

No.

Why not? Cant you find anyone you like? I hoped he didnt notice the lilt in my voice that was there because his
answer had pleased me.

Im sure there are lots of nice women around, its just that I have been busy the last few years trying to get my career
going. You try harder when youre in a new country.

Would you prefer a Filipina or an American girl friend? I wanted more details.

I really dont know, he said. But I know I want someone like youpretty, happy, and not afraid to speak out. Too
bad youre too young.
 He was probably teasing me but I knew for certain I wasnt too young.

Im not too young, was all I could say, however. I wanted to tell him about John and Jacqueline Kennedy, how she
was much younger than he was, but couldnt do it. I didnt understand why I could never say all I wanted to say when he
was around. I let it go at that.

The food at the party was good and everyone was pleased. I felt proud when I told Tim I helped in its preparation. I
havent done much cooking but I feel confident I can do a good job if I have toI had watched my mother lots of times
and remember most of the recipes.

I was thrilled when Tim asked me for the first dance. He said he didnt care too much for dancing and would do it
only with someone like me. I thought it probably wasnt true so I asked why. He said, Because Im not a very good
dancer and I know you wont complain. At least, he knows Im not the complaining type.

The night would have been perfect if that Christina hadnt showed up. She always comes late for anything and makes
a grand entrance so she can be noticed by everyone. She tells everyone she is twenty-six but I think shes really twenty-
eight. I dont like her because she thinks she is so beautiful that men find her irresistible. I know she uses too much
makeup and spends too much money on clothes. She is lucky her father is rich.

She began to monopolize Tim with her conversation. She couldnt tell that Tim was simply being polite to her. I
hardly think he will fall for her because she is too old for him. Anyway, she ruined the evening for me. I dont just dislike
her, I really hate her.

TUESDAY, April 9, 2002

IVE hardly seen Tim the last two daysJohn has been showing him around the island and I have been busy helping my mother
arrange to ship live cattle to Manila. That was my familys business, making sure cattle from the ranchers in Masbate get to their
buyers in Manila in good shape. I saw Tim only in the evenings when everybody got home but never got to talk to him. I know its
crazy but I miss him so much.

WEDNESDAY, April 10, 2002

WHEN my mother and I got home this evening, I found a package waiting for me. It was from Tim. I took the package to my room
and found a book of poems and his sunglasses inside. With them was a note from him:

Dear Minda,

Im sorry I didnt get a chance to see you today. I was hoping I could speak with you before I went away but
they told me you wouldnt be home till later. Im leaving early this evening on the M/V Maria Carmela to go to
Lucena and on to Manila. I wasnt planning on leaving until Saturday but your friend Christina begged me to escort
her to Manila. She said the trip always terrified her and I couldnt refuse.

You have been my best friend on this island and Ill never forget you. Im giving you my sunglasses and this
book of poems by Louise Glck that I have been reading during this trip. I hope youll like them, but more than that
I hope they will remind you of a friend. You have been very nice to me and I wish to thank you for all the nice times
Ive spent with you.
 I wish you all the success you deserve as you go on to college. Im sure youll make your parents proud.

Your friend,

Tim

He was wrong. Christina wasnt my friend. She was a shameless witch who would do all kinds of tricks to get men to like her. I
couldnt help but cry as I ran to the street to catch a tricycle to the pier.

The ferry had already left when I got there. The ship was still visible and I could see its lights in the distance as it sailed away. I
couldnt understand why this was happening to me. Tomorrow, I would have been home the whole day because my mother had
finished her work for the week. And I already knew how to tell Tim about John and Jacqueline Kennedy without making it look too
obvious that we could be a pair. I also wanted to give him a picture of me when I graduated from high school and tell him to remember
to write me in Los Baos. He wont even know how to get in touch with me after all this. I only needed one more day and that
Christina had to ruin everything.

THURSDAY, April 11, 2002

I WOKE up late because I hardly slept last night. Perhaps, Tim will find a way to write me. Maybe John can tell him how to get in
touch with me. But inside me is a terrible feeling that he will never write and that I will never see him again.

I dont want to mope and feel sorry for myself but I really feel like crying again. Nevertheless, Ill try to make this day a normal
day for myself and not let anyone know. Theyll never understand.

I will read the book he gave memaybe, theres a message in the poems he wants me to read. I will wear his sunglasses when I
go out later. But first, I will have a good breakfast and listen to the news on the radio. I need to know whats going on out there for I
havent been outside my own little world for almost a week.