Footnote to Youth by: Jose Garcia Villa

Footnote to Youth 

by: Jose Garcia Villa

The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and led it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant about saying it, he wanted his father to know what he had to say was of serious importance as it would mark a climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, but a thought came to him that his father might refuse to consider it. His father was a silent hardworking farmer, who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do from his mother, Dodong’s grandmother.

He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework.

I will tell him. I will tell it to him.

The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft worm emerged from the further rows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where into the air, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young anymore.

Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and fave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He placed bundles of grass before it and the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest.

Dodong started homeward thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did. He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then down on his upper lip was dark-these meant he was no longer a boy. He was growing into a man – he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it, although he was by nature low in stature.

Thinking himself man – grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.

He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought wild young dreams of himself and Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight glossy hair.How desirable she was to him. She made him want to touch her, to hold her. She made him dream even during the day.

Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscle of his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy invigorating, but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek.

Must you marry, Dodong?” Dodong resented his father’s question; his father himself had married early.

Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. Then he went into the water, wet his body over and rubbed at it vigorously.He was not long in bathing, then he marched homeward again. The bath made him feel cool.

It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling was already lighted and the low unvarnished square table was set for supper. He and his parents sat down on the floor around the table to eat. They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held the,, they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of caked sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it. He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parent.

Dodong’s mother removed the dishes when they were through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes out. But he was tired and now, feld lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone.

His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him, again. Dodong knew, Dodong had told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward, Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth, he would be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his father.

Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what we had to say, and over which he head said it without any effort at all and without self-consciousness. Dodong felt relived and looked at his father expectantly. A decresent moon outside shed its feebled light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father look old now.

“I am going to marry Teang,” Dodong said.

His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth, The silenece became intense and cruel, and Dodong was uncomfortable and then became very angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anything.

“I will marry Teang,” Dodong repeated. “I will marry Teang.”

His father kept gazing at him in flexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat.

I asked her last night to marry me and she said… “Yes. I want your permission… I… want… it…” There was an impatient clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at his coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sound it made broke dully the night stillness.

“Must you marry, Dodong?”

Dodong resented his father’s question; his father himself had married early.Dodong made a quick impassioned essay in his mind about selfishness, but later, he got confused.

“You are very young, Dodong.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“That’s very young to get married at.”

“I… I want to marry… Teang’s a good girl…

“Tell your mother,” his father said.

“You tell her, Tatay.”

“Dodong, you tell your Inay.”

“You tell her.”

“All right, Dodong.”

“All right, Dodong.”

“You will let me marry Teang?”

“Son, if that is your wish… of course…” There was a strange helpless light in his father’s eyes. Dodong did not read it. Too absorbed was he in himself.

Dodong was immensely glad he has asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father, for a while, he even felt sorry for him about the pain I his tooth. Then he confined his mind dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dreams…

***

Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely so that his camisetawas damp. He was still like a tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He wanted to get out of it without clear reason at all.He was afraid, he felt afraid of the house. It had seemingly caged him, to compress his thoughts with severe tyranny. He was also afraid of Teang who was giving birth in the house; she face screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that. He began to wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry.

In a few moments he would be a father. “Father, father,” he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He was young, he realized now contradicting himself of nine months ago. He was very young… He felt queer, troubled, uncomfortable.

Dodong felt tired of standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his calloused toes. Then he thought, supposed he had ten children…

The journey of thought came to a halt when he heard his mother’s voice from the house.

Some how, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something not properly his.

“Come up, Dodong. It is over.”

Suddenly, he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he has taken something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust off his kundimanshorts.

“Dodong,” his mother called again. “Dodong.”

He turned to look again and this time, he saw his father beside his mother.

“It is a boy.” His father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up.

Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. His parent’s eyes seemed to pierce through him so he felt limp. He wanted to hide or even run away from them.

“Dodong, you come up. You come up,” his mother said.

Dodong did not want to come up. He’d rather stayed in the sun.

“Dodong… Dodong.”

I’ll… come up.

Dodong traced the tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parent’s eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty and untru. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him.

“Son,” his father said.

And his mother: “Dodong..”

How kind their voices were. They flowed into him, making him strong.

“Teanf?” Dodong said.

“She’s sleeping. But you go in…”

His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his wife, asleep on the paper with her soft black hair around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.

Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips. But again that feeling of embarrassment came over him, and before his parent, he did not want to be demonstrative.

The hilot was wrapping the child Dodong heard him cry. The thin voice touched his heart. He could not control the swelling of happiness in him.

“You give him to me. You give him to me,” Dodong said.

***

Blas was not Dodong’s only child. Many more children came. For six successive years, a new child came along. Dodong did not want any more children. But they came. It seemed that the coming of children could not helped. Dodong got angry with himself sometimes.

Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children tolled on her. She was shapeless and thin even if she was young. There was interminable work that kept her tied up. Cooking, laundering. The house. The children. She cried sometimes, wishing she had no married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet, she wished she had not married. Not even Dodong whom she loved. There had neen another suitor, Lucio older than Dodong by nine years and that wasw why she had chosen Dodong.Young Dodong who was only seventeen. Lucio had married another. Lucio, she wondered, would she have born him children? Maybe not, either. That was a better lot. But she loved Dodong… in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask questions and somebody to answer him. He wanted to be wise about many thins.

Life did not fulfill all of Youth’s dreams. Why must be so? Why one was forsaken… after love?

One of them was why life did not fulfill all of the youth’ dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was forsaken… after love.

Dodong could not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth. Youth must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet.

Dodong returned to the house, humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know little wisdom but was denied it.

When Blas was eighteen, he came home one night, very flustered and happy.Dodong heard Blas’ steps for he could not sleep well at night. He watched Blass undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong called his name and asked why he did not sleep.

You better go to sleep. It is late,” Dodong said.

Life did not fulfill all of youth’s dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after love?

“Itay..” Blas called softly.

Dodong stirred and asked him what it was.

“I’m going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight.

“Itay, you think its over.”

Dodong lay silent.

I loved Tona and… I want her.”

Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard where everything was still and quiet.

The moonlight was cold and white.

“You want to marry Tona, Dodong said, although he did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The life that would follow marriage would be hard…

“Yes.”

“Must you marry?”

Blas’ voice was steeled with resentment. “I will mary Tona.”

“You have objection, Itay?” Blas asked acridly.

“Son… non…” But for Dodong, he do anything. Youth must triumph… now. Afterward… It will be life.

As long ago, Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong… and then life.

Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.

May Day Eve- Nick Joaquin 

11DEC

May Day Eve (Excerpt) Nick Joaquin (Summary: Doña Agueda’a little daughter nestled at her mother’s breast and listened intently to her mother’s story about an incident One evening many, many years ago. As Doña Agueda recounted, it was the first evening of May and a party had been held at the Montiya home for some young Filipino men who had just returned home from Europe. The party had ended, the visitors had gone home in their carriages, the girls who were staying for the night had been herded upstairs to the bedroom, and the men, a Montiya son among them, in whose honor the party had been held, had gone out of for more merriment. It was the first evening of May and, according to Anastacia, the servant in charge of the girls who had elected to stay the evening with the Montiya daughter. Witches were abroad for it was a night of divination, a night of love, and if one cared to peer into a mirror, one would behold the face of the person that he or she would marry. One had to take a candle, go alone into a dark room which ahd a mirror in it, go to the mirror, close one’s eyes and say: “Mirror, mirror Show to me Him whose woman I will be.” And if everything went all right the face of the man one would marry would appear above the left shoulder. But if something went wrong, one would see the Devil. Against the protests of her friends and old Anastacia, Doña Agueda had fled down the stairs to the sala where, earlier, she had noticed a mirror. Holding a lighted candle, she had approached fearfully the big antique mirror with the gold frame carved into leaves and flowers and mysterious curlicues. Closing her eyes, she had whispered the incantation but such a terror took hold of her that she felt unable to move until she heard a step behind her. Instantly, she opened her eyes.) “And what did you see, Mama? Oh what was it?” But Doña Agueda had forgotten the little girl on her lap: she was staring past the curly head nestling at her breast and seeing herself in the big mirror hanging in the room. It was the same room and the same mirror but the face she now saw in it was an old face-a hard, bitter, vengeful face, framed in graying hair, and so sadly altered, so sadly different from that other face like a white mask, that fresh young face like a pure mask that she had brought before this mirror one wild May Day midnight years and years ago… “But what was it, Mama? Oh, please go on! What did you see?” Doña Agueda looked down at her daughter but her face did not soften though her eyes were filled with tears. “I saw the devil!” she said bitterly. The child blanched. “The devil, Mama? Oh…Oh!” “Yes, my love. I opened my eyes and there in the mirror, smiling at me over my left shoulder, was the face of the devil.” “Oh, my poor little Mama! And were you very frightened?” “You can imagine. And that is why good little girls do not look into mirrors except when their mothers tell them. You must stop this naughty habit, darling, of admiring yourself in every mirror you pass-or you may see something frightful some day.” “But the devil, Mama-what did he look like?” “Well, let me see…He had curly hair and a scar on his cheek…” “Like the scar of Papa?’ “Well, yes. But this of the devil was a scar of sin, while that of your Papa is a scar of honor. Or so he says.” “Go on about the devil.” “Well, he had mustaches.” “Like those of Papa?” “Oh no. Those of your Papa are dirty and graying and smell horribly of tobacco, while those of the devil were very black and elegant – oh, how elegant!” “And did he have horns and tails?” The mother’s lip curled. “Yes, he did! But, alas, I could not see them at that time. All I could see were his fine clothes, his flashing eyes, his curly hair and mustaches.” “And did he speak to you, Mama?” “Yes…yes, he spoke to me,” said Doña Agueda. And bowing her graying head, she wept. “Charms like yours have no need for a candle, fair one,” he had said, smiling at her in the mirror and stepping back to give her a low mocking bow. She had whirled around and glared at him and he had burst into laughter.” But I remember you!” he cried. “You are Agueda, whom I left a mere infant and came home to find a tremendous beauty, and I danced a waltz with you but you would not give me the polka.” “Let me pass,” she muttered fiercely, for he was barring her way. “But I want to dance the polka with you, fair one,” he said, So they stood before the mirror; their panting breath the only sound in the dark room; the candle shining between them and flashing their shadows to the wall. And young BadoyMontiya (who had crept home very drunk to pass out quietly in bed) suddenly found awake and ready for anything. His eyes sparkled and the scar on his face gleamed scarlet. “Let me pass!” she cried again, in a voice of fury, but he grasped her by the wrist. “No” he smiled. “Not until we have danced.” “Go to the devil!” “What a temper has my serrana!” “I am not your serrana!” “Whose, then? Someone I know? Someone I have offended grievously? Because you treat men, you treat all my friends like your mortal enemies.” “And why not?” she demanded, jerking her wrist away and flashing her teeth in his face. “Oh, how I detest you, you pompous young men! You go to Europe and you come back elegant lords and we poor girls are too tame to please you. We have no grace like the Parisiennes, we have no fire like the Sevillian, and we have no salt. No salt, no salt! Aie, how you weary me, how you bore me, you fastidious young men!” “Come, come-how do you know about us?” “I have heard you talking, I have heard you talking among yourselves, and I despise the pack of you!” “But clearly you do not despise yourself, Señorita. You come to admire your charms in the mirror even in the middle of the night!” She turned livid and he had a moment of malicious satisfaction. “I was not admiring myself, Sir!” “You were admiring the moon perhaps?” “Oh!” she gasped, and burst into tears. The candle dropped from her and she covered her face and sobbed piteously. The candle had gone out and they stood in darkness, and young Badoy was conscience-stricken. “Oh, do not cry, little one! Oh, please forgive me! Please do not cry! But what a brute I am! I was drunk, little one, I was drunk and knew not what I said.” He groped and found her hand and touched it to his lips. She shuddered in her white gown. “Let me go,” she moaned, and tugged feebly. “No. Say you forgive me first. Say you forgive me, Agueda.” But instead she pulled his hand to her mouth and bit-bit so sharply into the knuckles that he cried with pain and lashed out with his other hand – lashed out and hit the air, for she was gone, she had fled, and he heard the rustling of her skirts up the stairs as he furiously sucked his bleeding fingers. Cruel thoughts raced through his head: he would go and tell his mother and make her turn the savage girl out of the house-or he would go himself to the girl’s room and drag her out of bed and slap, slap her silly face! But at the same time he was thinking that they were all going up to Antipolo in the morning and was already planning how he would maneuver himself into the same boat with her. Oh, he would have his revenge, he would make her pay, that little harlot! She would suffer for this, he thought greedily, licking his bleeding knuckles. But-Judas! –what eyes she had! And what a pretty color she turned when angry! He remembered her bare shoulders: gold in the candlelight and delicately furred. He saw the mobile insolence of her neck, and her taut breasts steady in the fluid gown. Son of a Turk, she was quite enchanting! How could she think she had not fire or grace? Andno salt? An arrobashe had of it! “…No lack of salt in the chrism At the moment of thy baptism!” He sang aloud in the dark room and suddenly realized that he had fallen madly in love with her. He ached intensely to see her again – at one! – to touch her hand, her hair; to hear her harsh voice. He ran to the window and flung open the casements and the beauty of the night struck him back like a blow. It was May, it was summer, and he was young – young! –and deliriously in love. Such a happiness welled up within him the tears spurted from his eyes. But he did not forgive her – no! He would still maker her pay, he would still have his revenge, he thought viciously, and kissed his wounded fingers. But what a night it had been! “I will never forget this night!” he thought aloud in an awed voice, standing by the window in the dark room, the tears in his eyes and the wind in his hair and his bleeding knuckles pressed to his mouth. But, alas, the heart forgets; the heart is distracted; and Maytime passes, summer ends; the storms break over the rot-ripe orchards and the heart grows old; while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till the mind becomes too crowded, too confused; dust gathers in it; cobwebs multiple; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory perishes…and there came a time when Don BadoyMontiya walked home through a May Day midnight without remembering, without even caring to remember, being merely concerned in feeling his way across the street with his cane; his eyes having grown quite dim; and his legs uncertain for he was old; he was over sixty; he was very stooped and shriveled old man with white hair and mustaches, coming home from a secret meeting of conspirators; his mind still resounding with the speeches and his patriot heart still exultant as he picked his way up the steps to the front door and inside into the slumbering darkness of the house; wholly unconscious of the May night; till on his way down the hall, chancing to glance into the sala, he shuddered, he stopped, his blood ran cold – for he had seen a face in the mirror there – a ghostly candlelit face with the eyes closed and the lips moving, a face that he suddenly felt he had seen before though it was a full minute before the lost memory came flowing, came tiding back, so over flooding the actual moment and so swiftly washing months and years that he was left suddenly young again: he was a gay young buck again, lately come from Europe: He had been dancing all night; he was very drunk, he stopped in the doorway; he saw a face in the dark; he cried out…And the lad standing before the mirror (for it was a lad in a night gown) jumped with fright and almost dropped his candle, but looking around seeing the old man, laughed out with relief and came running. “Oh, Grandpa, how you frightened me!” Don Badoy had turned very pale. “So it was you, you, young bandit! And what is all this, hey? What are you doing here at this hour?” “Nothing, Grandpa. I was only…I am only.” “Yes, you are the great Señor Only and how delighted I am to make your acquaintance, Señor Only! But if I break this cane on your head you may wish you were someone else, Sir!” “It was just foolishness, Grandpa. They told me I would see my wife.” “wife? What wife?” “Mine. The boys at school said I would see her if I looked in a mirror tonight and said: “Mirror, mirror,             Show to me             Her whose lover             I will be.” Don Badoy cackled ruefully. He took the boy by the hair, pulled him along into the room, sat down on a chair, and drew the boy between his knees. “Now, put your candle down on the floor, so, and let us talk this over. So you want your wife already, hey? You want to see her in advance, hey? But of you know that these are wicked games and that wicked boys who play them are in danger of seeing horrors?” “Well, the boys did warn me I might see a witch instead.” “Exactly! A witch so horrible you may die of fright. And she will bewitch you, she will torture you, she will eat your heart and drink your blood.” “Oh, come now, Grandpa. This is 1890. There are no witches anymore.” “Oh no, my young Voltaire! And what if I tell you that I myself have seen a witch?” “You? Where?” (Don Badoy, then tells of the incident, long ago, when he saw the young Agueda, the boy’s grandmother, in the mirror. He doesn’t mention names, though, referring to Agueda as a beautiful witch who tortured him, ate his heart, and drank his blood. It is only then that the boy repeats what his grandmother had told his mother: that Doña Agueda, herself, had seen the devil in the very same mirror. Don Badoy is taken aback. His mind goes back to the past when he had fallen in love with the beautiful girl he saw in the mirror and how this beauty had become a “withered consumptive, lashing out with her cruel tongue, her eye like live coals; her face like ashes.” And now “nothing but a name on a stone in a graveyard” – and his heart is torn with grief.)