The Small World of Marina

Crispina Bragado

Marina was sobbing as she walked along the trail up the hill. The rays of the sun were now streaming
between the branches of the tall trees but the dew on the grass was not yet dry. She could not walk firmly
because her bag was heavy with three books and five notebooks. And on top of her notebooks lay her
balon wrapped with heated banana leaf.
She paused under a molave tree on top of the hill to blow her nose and wiped it with the back of her
hand. She looked downward at their house beside the giant tamarind tree just after the sloping trail. Her
father was leading the goats down the field of vegetables.
Pain made her wince as she ribbed her legs that had been stricken with a leather belt. They were now
swollen.
It had been still dark when her father awakened her cook the saluyot leaves for their breakfast. Her
mother had to go to market early. Still feeling sleeping and the lamp light being dim, Marina had been
slow cutting the leaves from the stems and roots. Her father had noticed her sluggishness and said she
should put the saluyot in the tayab along with the roots. So she had to wash the saluyot leaves and put
them in the tayab. Her father angered by her slowness had removed his belt. “Take it out and eat!” her
father had raised his hand with the belt.
“You told me to put it!” she answered back.
“Don’t you have any common sense?” and the belt twisted on her legs.
Marina had scampered down their house and gone up between the hills southeast of their home. She
had gone inside the small hut under the guava tree that overlooked their field planted with watermelon.
She had built hut much earlier when she had been whipped. Sha had fought a young girl from the other
barrio who had tease her. Her mother had looked for her in the hut and brought her home.
Marina’s classmates in grade four were already inside the classroom when she reached the school.
She bent towards her seat. But their teacher noticed her when her classmate snickered.
“Why are you late, Marina?” the teacher raised the strip of bamboo which she used as a pointer.
“I first brought our cows to the field, ma’am. Then I gathered grass for our goats.”
“Your father?”
“It was still dawn when he left to plow the field, ma’am.”
“Your mother?”
“She went to the market early, ma’am.”
“Don’t you have brothers or sisters?”
“They are still small, ma’am.”
The teacher stopped asking questions and remain silent. Marina felt relieved because she felt her
reasons satisfied her teacher. She opened her book to make it appear that she was reading.
In the afternoon, the teacher selected the participants in the folkdance which they would present in
the town fiesta. Marina was one among those chosen.
They practiced after class in the afternoon. It was dark when they stopped rehearsing the folkdance.
Marina was worried when they were dismissed. She had no companion in walking up the hill. She had
heard that a ghost usually appeared in the dark of night under the big bangar tree near the lipit, a narrow
part of the trail six feet in height, being a water passage during the rainy season. She also heard that many
passers-by had seen the ghost, so they avoided walking there in the dark. Islao, the boy who was her
partner in the folkdance, was going eastward, but they followed separate trails before reaching the lipit.
 Nonetheless they walked together. They chatted about the dance. When they were near the lipit,
Marina swiftly grabbed Islao’s fountain pen from his breast pocket and ran as fast as she could.
“If I can catch you, you’ll see what I’ll do!” shout Islao.
Being familiar with the trail, Marina ran fast without looking back at Islao. She doubled her speed
when she was about to reach the bangar tree, panting hard. She slowed down when they reached the
hill. She stopped when Islao threw a still fresh carabao manure at her. She gave back the fountain pen and
laughed impishly when Islao went down the narrow trail. “Aha, there’s the ghost!” Marina shouted. But
Islao ran down as fast as his legs permitted.
“Where have you been wandering?” her father frowned at her as she entered their yard.
“We practiced our folkdance, father,” she answered.
“What dance? Tell your teacher tomorrow that you’ll not dance anymore. You’ve plenty of work here.
You have to come home early.”
She went into their house and was about to lock herself in the sagumbi but her father followed her
and grabbed her arm.
“Bring the goats home,” he said harshly.
Marina went down mumbling to herself. But she did not go where the goats were pastured. Instead
she sought refuge in the granary where the palay and tobacco leaves were stored. She only left when she
heard her father talking as he was waiting for her.
“Why were you so slow?” her father frowned when she led the goats into the corral under the
damortis tree.
“The male goat got loose from the tether and I had to look for him,” she said brazenly.
“Then I led them to drink at the brook.”
“Faster! We’ll eat now. Then we’ll shell the corn. The kernels are beginning to rot!” It was near
midnight when they finished shelling corn on the cob that filled two labba. Marina’s thumbs became
swollen.
She was still snoring when her father shook her roughly the next morning to awake her.
“Wake up, sleepy head! Your eye mote is already melting!”
Marina woke up with eyes still half-shut. Her mother had gone to market to sell the corn grains. Her
father ordered her to pound the sliced banana trunk into bits, then boil them for swine feed.
“I’ll have to go to school, father. I’m late already.”
“Skip your class today. You can go to school tomorrow. Pound the palay, too. There’s no rice to cook
this afternoon.”
“We’ll have a test in Social Studies…”
Marina’s tears were streaming down her cheeks as she pounded the sliced banana trunk. Then she
placed then in can which served as a cooking vessel.
Next she took six bundles of palay from the granary and pounded the grains while at the same time
she tended the cooking of the slices of banana trunk.
The slop was already cooked when she began winnowing the palay. Then she placed the palay in the
mortar and pounded the grains to remove the husks. She was almost through doing a second winnowing
when her mother arrived.
“Why didn’t you go to school?” asked her mother.
“Father told me to pound the palay after I had pounded the sliced banana trunk and cooked it for the
swine.”
 “That old man! As if he will miss eating one meal. He is ruing the schooling of his child!” The woman
placed her labba on the ledge. She lit the cigar that her lips clamped.
Marina’s father arrived after he had watered the tobacco plants in the field. Immediately his wife
scolded him.
“You are turning the child into one like you – a baliodong!” she frowned.
“What’s the use of a girl having to study? If she finished grade six, that will be enough. She could get
married.”
“You can say that because you weren’t able to finish schooling! You preferred to go gambling and
drinking liquor.”
Marina’s father kept silent. He searched the labba. He bit off the crown of the bottle of sioktong and
took a swig.
“That’s what you’re good for!” Saliva drooled from one side of the woman’s lips.
The next morning, Marina’s teacher asked her why she had been absent the day before. Marina
answered shyly she had to pound palay because their rice bin was empty. She added that she also took
care of her small brothers and sisters because their neighbor whom her mother usually asked to look after
the youngsters also went to market.
“Tell you parents that if they have you do all these things, you’d better not come to school.”
When the pupil rehearsed the folkdance in the afternoon, Marina told her teacher that her father
would not let her participate in the dance because they had nothing to buy her costume.
“Never mind. I replaced you yesterday,” said her teacher. “Go to the garden now.”
Marina felt lonely when she left, especially when Islao smiled at her.
“Why didn’t you bring your seedlings to plant?” asked her teacher in gardening.
“I didn’t know, sir.” I was absent yesterday.”
“I don’t care if you were absent. Zero is the grade of any pupil without eggplant or tomato seedlings.”
Marina did not say a word. She left with her bag made of silage. She ran as fast as she could to the
east. A classmate shouted that she escaped, but she didn’t care. She went to the field where her father’s
vegetable plants thrived. She unrooted some of the lush eggplant seedlings. Carefully she wrapped them
up with a strip of dried banana trunk, then rushed back to school.
There was no longer anyone in school except those practicing the folkdance. Her garden teacher had
also gone home. She did the seedlings among the tall grass along the garden fence. She would give them
to her teacher the next day.
Marina though of the ghost in the bangar tree when she went home. Because there was nobody else
she could go with, she ran as fast as she could until she reached the hill almost breathless.
“Why were you so late, child? Your sister didn’t have a companion,” her mother frowned when she
went upstairs. “Take care of them while I prepare for food.”
“We planted in our garden mother,” Marina lied.
“What did you plant?” her father asked curiouslu.
“Eggplant, father.”
“Where did you get the seedlings? I dropped by the field and found out a wide uprooted are. I doubt
if those left will be enough for the area I plowed”
“I go only a few,” Marina told the truth.
“So it was you who uprooted the seedlings?” His father approached with a bamboo stick.
“Go get back the seedlings! I don’t want to see your face at home unless you bring the seedlings. You
should not plant for your teachers. They have to plant their own seedlings.”
 “It’s already dark,” said Marina’s mother. “She’ll get them tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is another time. Let her learn.”
Marina was sobbing as she went down the house. She ran fast going west. But when she reached the
hill, she found no more strength in passing through the bangar tree. She turned eastward towardthe
guava trees. She went to her hut. She sat on the grass and leaned on the wall made of dried anibong
leaves. She felt unusually tired.
After a while, she removed the hump of rice stalks on one side of the hut, then lifted one watermelon
which she had picked the other day. She took a knife which she usually hid on the roof of the hut, covering
it with rice stalks. She sliced the watermelon and ate in the dark.
She had just lain down on the dried rice stalks when she noticed somebody approaching. She arose
and peeped through an uncovered portion of the wall. She saw, limed in the faint light of the night outside,
her mother.
“Maring? Maring?”
Marina lay down carefully and remained silent. She pretended to be asleep.
Her mother entered the hut, stooping somewhat, and tried to awaked her.
“Are you not afraid here? Come, let’s go home.”
Marina Hesitated. “I prefer to die,” she moaned.
“You like to die now?”
“Yes mother. You don’t love me anyway.”
“Who says you’re not loved? Don’t believe what your father says. I’ve scolded him already.”
“I don’t want to come home, mother.”
“We’ll if you want to see the ghost here. Don’t you know there’s a ghost in the mango tree nearby?”
Marina shuddered. But she could overcome her fear by proving she really was not afraid. Her father
had already shown how very cruel he was to her.
From below the sloping trail she could hear the creaking sound of the bamboo trees when the strong
wind passed by.
Marina had to overcome her fear. She had to sleep. She was about to fall her sleep when she felt
frightened by the swish of leaves being dragged on the ground under the guava trees. She arose and
peeped to see who was in the dark. She was already back in her straw bed when she saw her father
entering the hut with flashlight in his hand.
“Marina? Cone, Let’s go home, my child. Are you not afraid here?”
Marina did not stir. She covered her face from the glaze of the flashlight.
Her father bent towards her. She felt his rough fingers combing her hair soothingly.
“Come, let’s go home, my child. Wouldn’t you want to be a teacher someday?”
“You said it’s useless for a girl to study, father.”
“Yes. But only when you are hard-headed. I always get angry with you not because I don’t like you. I
want you to learn the things that I haven’t known. I want you to go through difficulties. Not like many
children who want an easy life. So you’ll not be afraid to face life. When we’ll be dead, your mother and
I, you and your brothers and sisters will survive. Certain you will continue and finish your studies…”
Marina got up. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she turned her eyes beyond the
light of the flashlight, toward the sloping trail.