Last Litter of Summer by Aprilyn Celestial

Mother sat quietly while I was packing. It was an early April day. From the window of our small nipa hut I could see the ripe rice grains sway against the wind like a vast ocean of gold. All was still and quiet in the room except the zips from my bag.

 Today I shall leave my barrio to study in Manila. Despite my mother’s disapproval, I insisted on going there. Not many students were given this privilege, so I grabbed the opportunity and now I’m bound to leave.

Mother still would not speak as I headed towards the door. I can’t blame her. The scholarship director told us that I am required to live in Manila until I finished my studies.  Even though I’ll be living at Aunt Mena’s house, Manila is still a very big place, and quite unsafe too.

A small parade of kids followed me as I walked through the barrio streets. Many people were still not used to see a fellow going to Manila. There were anxious glances, and folks peeping at windows.  Every now and then my mother would stop, talking and greeting people. Her wide smiles and lively nods relieved me; she will not be lonely, after all.

A few minutes of walking brought us to the barrios’ end. The wide path was now slowly twisting itself into a narrow trail towards the wilderness. All the children have gone back home except a little barefoot boy in a green kamisa.

“Pandoy,” I called. The boy hurried to me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked “Your mother must be worried.”

Pandoy did not answer but instead looked keenly at my bag. I gave it to him and he held it close in his arms. I understood perfectly. “Look,” I said “if you hurry back home to your mother, I’ll bring you a bag when I come home.” Pandoy’s face lighted up. I patted his head and said “Be a good boy.” He sprang from me and turned towards home while I stood gazing at him until he disappeared on a bend.

Images of Pandoy flooded my mind the moment I lost sight of his small, green-clad body. Pandoy walking around with bare feet. Pandoy who never had a bag in his life. Pandoy looking eagerly at my old and tattered bag. How I wished adults were a simple as little Pandoy.

            “It’s getting too hot.” I started when I heard a voice speak. It was Mother. She was looking at the skies. “I hope it would rain,” she said “the plants were getting quite dried up.” I doubt if she really was talking to me, nevertheless, her remark reminded me that I still have a long way to go.  

             “Mother, I think you should head back now, it’s hot, and the highway’s still far.” 

“No, I must see you off.” she said. She marched straight unto the dirt road and I know she had made up her mind. I tried to start a talk but she spoke no more.

The walk towards the highway was long and straining, but my mother kept a steady pace. Without anything else to do, I started looking around the path which has been my way for 21 years.

 Even with closed eyes I know I could still make my way across this path. It changed so little over time. The old mango tree where I used to steal young mangoes still stood by the riverbank as it did when I was young. At one bend was Mang Teryo’s coconut tree, which I remember hitting with my fists the night Maryang busted me. That was my very first heartache, but I understand, I knew she would be better off with that young Manilenyo than with me.

My musings came to a stop when I caught sight of the road. From there I have to hitch with some traveler to town, and then ride a bus to Manila.

As we stood at the edge of the road, I felt the remaining minutes fast slipping away. I faced my mother and opened my mouth to speak, yet I don’t know what to say. I just looked at her, with all my heart on that gaze, hoping that she could feel it. Suddenly, mother pulled out a piece of folded cloth from her dress.

“This may help you,” she said, handing the cloth to me.

I don’t need to open it. “But Mother, I have----‘ I said, giving the money back, but mother would not accept it. “Manila,” she said, “is a big place, you might get lost on your way to your Aunt Mena, its better you have some extra.”

I cannot argue more. With one last hug I crossed the road to the other side. From where I stand I could see the deep lines on her face. Mother is old. Life has etched its way into the wrinkles on her skin, the whites in her hair.

I felt an urge to comeback, but instead I clutched my fists and planted myself firmly on the ground. Mother was waving. I felt my throat suddenly thicken, but I gulped my hesitations and told myself, “I’m going to Manila and finish my studies; I’ll find a job and come back here. By then I could give her the life she long deserves.”

A jeepney was fast approaching. I waved my hand to catch the driver’s attention. It stopped at my front and I climbed at the roof. I made a last glance at mother. I think I saw tears from her eyes as the jeep sped away.

Her tears were like daggers at my heart. The emotion I have been bottling up burst from my eyes and vanished into the gust. I now know why she wished for rain; so nobody would notice her tears.  

 For a few minutes, I just sat motionless on the rooftop. I bit my lip as the image of her alone in our hut flashed across my mind. I gazed back to where mother was standing, but she was way too far now to be seen. “What have I done? How could I leave her?” I asked myself. In sorrow, I felt like hurting myself and hit the roof of the jeepney.

“My friend, what’s going on there, are you okay?” shouted the driver from below.

“Nothing, Its nothing, I’m sorry.” I shouted back.

The driver’s shout brought me back to reality. The cold breeze cooled and cleared my head. At the same time, I was overwhelmed by the landscape as they passed my view.

“I shall certainly miss your summers,” I said. “But I’ll come back. That time without tears.”