Manalansan, Clahrisse S.

BSAT IV

Footnote to Youth He walked faster, prodded

by the thought of his
By Jose Garcia Villa virility. A small angled Commented [CM3]: Manly vigor, manhood
stone bled his foot, but he
The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong
dismissed it cursorily. He Commented [CM4]: done or made quickly
thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang
lifted his leg and looked at
when he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao
the hurt toe and then
from the plow, and led it to its shed and fed it. He was
went on walking. In the
hesitant about saying it, he wanted his father to know
cool sundown, he thought
what he had to say was of serious importance as it would
wild young dreams of
mark a climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to Commented [CM1]: Crucial, critical
himself and Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face
tell it, but a thought came to him that his father might
and small black eyes and straight glossy hair. How
refuse to consider it. His father was a silent hardworking
desirable she was to him. She made him want to touch
farmer, who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to
her, to hold her. She made him dream even during the
do from his mother, Dodong’s grandmother.
day.
He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who
Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscle of
could help his mother in the housework.
his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy invigorating, Commented [CM5]: to cause (something)
but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned to become more active and lively
I will tell him. I will tell it to him.
back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a Commented [CM6]: made dirty or grimy
creek.
The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and
fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft
Must you marry, Dodong?”
worm emerged from the further rows and then
burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless
Dodong resented his father’s question; his father himself
worm marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled
had married early.
clammily over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, Commented [CM2]: Unpleasantly wet and cold
flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to
Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray
look where into the air, but thought of his age,
under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. Then
seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young
he went into the water, wet his body over and rubbed at
anymore.
it vigorously. He was not long in bathing, then he
marched homeward again. The bath made him feel cool.
Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and fave it a
healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look
It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp
at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight
on the ceiling was already lighted and the low
push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He
unvarnished square table was set for supper. He and his
placed bundles of grass before it and the carabao began
parents sat down on the floor around the table to eat.
to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest.
They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did not
partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and
Dodong started homeward thinking how he would break
when one held the,, they felt more fluid than solid.
his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did.
Dodong broke off a piece of caked sugar, dipped it in his
He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then
glass of water and ate it. He got another piece and
down on his upper lip was dark-these meant he was no
wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the
longer a boy. He was growing into a man – he was a man.
remainder for his parent.
Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it,
although he was by nature low in stature.
Dodong’s mother removed the dishes when they were
through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong
Thinking himself man – grown, Dodong felt he could do
wanted to help her carry the dishes out. But he was tired
anything.
and now, feld lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
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 camiseta was 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 Commented [CM7]: cruel and unfair treatment by peo
was also afraid of Teang who was giving birth in the ple with power over others
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.”
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
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 kundiman shorts.
“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.
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
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.
Reference:http://literature-
westfieldsos.blogspot.com/2010/07/footnote-to-youth-
by-jose-garcia-villa.html
Scent of Apples
By Bienvenido N. Santos
When I arrived in Kalamazoo it
was October and the war was
still on. Gold and silver stars
hung on pennants above silent
windows of white and brick-red
cottages. In a backyard an old
man burned leaves and twigs
while a gray-haired woman sat on the porch, her red
hands quiet on her lap, watching the smoke rising above
the elms, both of them thinking the same thought
perhaps, about a tall, grinning boy with his blue eyes and
flying hair, who went out to war: where could he be now
this month when leaves were turning into gold and the
fragrance of gathered apples was in the wind?
It was a cold night when I left my room at the hotel for a
usual speaking engagement. I walked but a little way. A
heavy wind coming up from Lake Michigan was icy on the
face. If felt like winter straying early in the northern
woodlands. Under the lampposts the leaves shone like
bronze. And they rolled on the pavements like the ghost
feet of a thousand autumns long dead, long before the
boys left for faraway lands without great icy winds and
promise of winter early in the air, lands without apple
trees, the singing and the gold!
It was the same night I met Celestino Fabia, "just a
Filipino farmer" as he called himself, who had a farm
about thirty miles east of Kalamazoo.
"You came all that way on a night like this just to hear me
talk?"
"I've seen no Filipino for so many years now," he
answered quickly. "So when I saw your name in the
papers where it says you come from the Islands and that
you're going to talk, I come right away."
Earlier that night I had addressed a college crowd, mostly
women. It appeared they wanted me to talk about my
country, they wanted me to tell them things about it
because my country had become a lost country.
Everywhere in the land the enemy stalked. Over it a great
silence hung, and their boys were there, unheard from,
or they were on their way to some little known island on
the Pacific, young boys all, hardly men, thinking of
harvest moons and the smell of forest fire.
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
It was not hard talking about our own people. I knew
them well and I loved them. And they seemed so far
away during those terrible years that I must have spoken
of them with a little fervor, a little nostalgia.
In the open forum that followed, the audience wanted to
know whether there was much difference between our
women and the American women. I tried to answer the
question as best I could, saying, among other things, that
I did not know that much about American women,
except that they looked friendly, but differences or
similarities in inner qualities such as naturally belonged
to the heart or to the mind, I could only speak about with
vagueness.
While I was trying to explain away the fact that it was not
easy to make comparisons, a man rose from the rear of
the hall, wanting to say something. In the distance, he
looked slight and old and very brown. Even before he
spoke, I knew that he was, like me, a Filipino.
"I'm a Filipino," he began, loud and clear, in a voice that
seemed used to wide open spaces, "I'm just a Filipino
farmer out in the country." He waved his hand toward
the door. "I left the Philippines more than twenty years
ago and have never been back. Never will perhaps. I want
to find out, sir, are our Filipino women the same like they
were twenty years ago?"
As he sat down, the hall filled with voices, hushed and
intrigued. I weighed my answer carefully. I did not want
to tell a lie yet I did not want to say anything that would
seem platitudinous, insincere. But more important than
these considerations, it seemed to me that moment as I
looked towards my countryman, I must give him an
answer that would not make him so unhappy. Surely, all
these years, he must have held on to certain ideals,
certain beliefs, even illusions peculiar to the exile.
"First," I said as the voices gradually died down and every
eye seemed upon me, "First, tell me what our women
were like twenty years ago."
The man stood to answer. "Yes," he said, "you're too
young . . . Twenty years ago our women were nice, they
were modest, they wore their hair long, they dressed
proper and went for no monkey business. They were
natural, they went to church regular, and they were
faithful." He had spoken slowly, and now in what seemed
like an afterthought, added, "It's the men who ain't."
Now I knew what I was going to say.
"Well," I began, "it will interest you to know that our
women have changed--but definitely! The change,
however, has been on the outside only. Inside, here,"
pointing to the heart, "they are the same as they were
twenty years ago. God-fearing, faithful, modest, and
nice."
The man was visibly moved. "I'm very happy, sir," he said,
in the manner of one who, having stakes on the land, had
found no cause to regret one's sentimental investment.
After this, everything that was said and done in that hall
that night seemed like an anti-climax, and later, as we
walked outside, he gave me his name and told me of his
farm thirty miles east of the city.
We had stopped at the main entrance to the hotel lobby.
We had not talked very much on the way. As a matter of
fact, we were never alone. Kindly American friends
talked to us, asked us questions, said goodnight. So now
I asked him whether he cared to step into the lobby with
me and talk.
"No, thank you," he said, "you are tired. And I don't want
to stay out too late."
"Yes, you live very far."
"I got a car," he said, "besides . . . "
Now he smiled, he truly smiled. All night I had been
watching his face and I wondered when he was going to
smile.
"Will you do me a favor, please," he continued smiling
almost sweetly. "I want you to have dinner with my
family out in the country. I'd call for you tomorrow
afternoon, then drive you back. Will that be alright?"
"Of course," I said. "I'd love to meet your family." I was
leaving Kalamazoo for Muncie, Indiana, in two days.
There was plenty of time.
"You will make my wife very happy," he said.
"You flatter me."
"Honest. She'll be very happy. Ruth is a country girl and
hasn't met many Filipinos. I mean Filipinos younger than
I, cleaner looking. We're just poor farmer folk, you know,
and we don't get to town very often. Roger, that's my
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
boy, he goes to school in town. A bus takes him early in All the beauty of the afternoon seemed in the distance,
the morning and he's back in the afternoon. He's nice on the hills, in the dull soft sky.
boy."
"Those trees are beautiful on the hills," I said.
"I bet he is," I agreed. "I've seen the children of some of
"Autumn's a lovely season. The trees are getting ready to
the boys by their American wives and the boys are tall,
die, and they show their colors, proud-like."
taller than their father, and very good looking."
"No such thing in our own country," I said.
"Roger, he'd be tall. You'll like him."
That remark seemed unkind, I realized later. It touched
Then he said goodbye and I waved to him as he
him off on a long deserted tangent, but ever there
disappeared in the darkness.
perhaps. How many times did lonely mind take
The next day he came, at about three in the afternoon. unpleasant detours away from the familiar winding lanes
There was a mild, ineffectual sun shining, and it was not towards home for fear of this, the remembered hurt, the
too cold. He was wearing an old brown tweed jacket and long lost youth, the grim shadows of the years; how
worsted trousers to match. His shoes were polished, and many times indeed, only the exile knows.
although the green of his tie seemed faded, a colored
It was a rugged road we were traveling and the car made
shirt hardly accentuated it. He looked younger than he
so much noise that I could not hear everything he said,
appeared the night before now that he was clean shaven
but I understood him. He was telling his story for the first
and seemed ready to go to a party. He was grinning as
time in many years. He was remembering his own youth.
we met.
He was thinking of home. In these odd moments there
"Oh, Ruth can't believe it," he kept repeating as he led seemed no cause for fear no cause at all, no pain. That
me to his car--a nondescript thing in faded black that had would come later. In the night perhaps. Or lonely on the
known better days and many hands. "I says to her, I'm farm under the apple trees.
bringing you a first class Filipino, and she says, aw, go
In this old Visayan town, the streets are narrow and dirty
away, quit kidding, there's no such thing as first class
and strewn with coral shells. You have been there? You
Filipino. But Roger, that's my boy, he believed me
could not have missed our house, it was the biggest in
immediately. What's he like, daddy, he asks. Oh, you will
town, one of the oldest, ours was a big family. The house
see, I says, he's first class. Like you daddy? No, no, I laugh
stood right on the edge of the street. A door opened
at him, your daddy ain't first class. Aw, but you are,
heavily and you enter a dark hall leading to the stairs.
daddy, he says. So you can see what a nice boy he is, so
There is the smell of chickens roosting on the low-topped
innocent. Then Ruth starts griping about the house, but
walls, there is the familiar sound they make and you
the house is a mess, she says. True it's a mess, it's always
grope your way up a massive staircase, the bannisters
a mess, but you don't mind, do you? We're poor folks,
smooth upon the trembling hand. Such nights, they are
you know.
no better than the days, windows are closed against the
The trip seemed interminable. We passed through sun; they close heavily.
narrow lanes and disappeared into thickets, and came
Mother sits in her corner looking very white and sick. This
out on barren land overgrown with weeds in places. All
was her world, her domain. In all these years, I cannot
around were dead leaves and dry earth. In the distance
remember the sound of her voice. Father was different.
were apple trees.
He moved about. He shouted. He ranted. He lived in the
"Aren't those apple trees?" I asked wanting to be sure. past and talked of honor as though it were the only thing.

"Yes, those are apple trees," he replied. "Do you like
apples? I got lots of 'em. I got an apple orchard, I'll show
you."
I was born in that house. I grew up there into a pampered
brat. I was mean. One day I broke their hearts. I saw
mother cry wordlessly as father heaped his curses upon
me and drove me out of the house, the gate closing
heavily after me. And my brothers and sisters took up my
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
father's hate for me and multiplied it numberless times
in their own broken hearts. I was no good.
But sometimes, you know, I miss that house, the roosting
chickens on the low-topped walls. I miss my brothers and
sisters, Mother sitting in her chair, looking like a pale
ghost in a corner of the room. I would remember the
great live posts, massive tree trunks from the forests.
Leafy plants grew on the sides, buds pointing
downwards, wilted and died before they could become
flowers. As they fell on the floor, father bent to pick them
and throw them out into the coral streets. His hands
were strong. I have kissed these hands . . . many times,
many times.
Finally we rounded a deep curve and suddenly came
upon a shanty, all but ready to crumble in a heap on the
ground, its plastered walls were rotting away, the floor
was hardly a foot from the ground. I thought of the
cottages of the poor colored folk in the south, the hovels
of the poor everywhere in the land. This one stood all by
itself as though by common consent all the folk that used
to live here had decided to say away, despising it,
ashamed of it. Even the lovely season could not color it
with beauty.
A dog barked loudly as we approached. A fat blonde
woman stood at the door with a little boy by her side.
Roger seemed newly scrubbed. He hardly took his eyes
off me. Ruth had a clean apron around her shapeless
waist. Now as she shook my hands in sincere delight I
noticed shamefacedly (that I should notice) how rough
her hands were, how coarse and red with labor, how
ugly! She was no longer young and her smile was
pathetic.
As we stepped inside and the door closed behind us,
immediately I was aware of the familiar scent of apples.
The room was bare except for a few ancient pieces of
second-hand furniture. In the middle of the room stood
a stove to keep the family warm in winter. The walls were
bare. Over the dining table hung a lamp yet unlighted.
Ruth got busy with the drinks. She kept coming in and out
of a rear room that must have been the kitchen and soon
the table was heavy with food, fried chicken legs and rice,
and green peas and corn on the ear. Even as we ate, Ruth
kept standing, and going to the kitchen for more food.
Roger ate like a little gentleman.
"Isn't he nice looking?" his father asked.
"You are a handsome boy, Roger," I said.
The boy smiled at me. You look like Daddy," he said.
Afterwards I noticed an old picture leaning on the top of
a dresser and stood to pick it up. It was yellow and soiled
with many fingerings. The faded figure of a woman in
Philippine dress could yet be distinguished although the
face had become a blur.
"Your . . . " I began.
"I don't know who she is," Fabia hastened to say. "I
picked that picture many years ago in a room on La Salle
street in Chicago. I have often wondered who she is."
"The face wasn't a blur in the beginning?"
"Oh, no. It was a young face and good."
Ruth came with a plate full of apples.
"Ah," I cried, picking out a ripe one. "I've been thinking
where all the scent of apples came from. The room is full
of it."
"I'll show you," said Fabia.
He showed me a backroom, not very big. It was half-full
of apples.
"Every day," he explained, "I take some of them to town
to sell to the groceries. Prices have been low. I've been
losing on the trips."
"These apples will spoil," I said.
"We'll feed them to the pigs."
Then he showed me around the farm. It was twilight now
and the apple trees stood bare against a glowing western
sky. In apple blossom time it must be lovely here. But
what about wintertime?
One day, according to Fabia, a few years ago, before
Roger was born, he had an attack of acute appendicitis.
It was deep winter. The snow lay heavy everywhere. Ruth
was pregnant and none too well herself. At first she did
not know what to do. She bundled him in warm clothing
and put him on a cot near the stove. She shoveled the
snow from their front door and practically carried the
suffering man on her shoulders, dragging him through
Manalansan, Clahrisse S.
BSAT IV
the newly made path towards the road where they "Look," I said, not knowing why I said it, "one of these
waited for the U.S. Mail car to pass. Meanwhile days, very soon, I hope, I'll be going home. I could go to
snowflakes poured all over them and she kept rubbing your town."
the man's arms and legs as she herself nearly froze to
"No," he said softly, sounding very much defeated but
death.
brave, "Thanks a lot. But, you see, nobody would
"Go back to the house, Ruth!" her husband cried, "you'll remember me now."
freeze to death."
Then he started the car, and as it moved away, he waved
But she clung to him wordlessly. Even as she massaged his hand.
his arms and legs, her tears rolled down her cheeks. "I
"Goodbye," I said, waving back into the darkness. And
won't leave you," she repeated.
suddenly the night was cold like winter straying early in
Finally the U.S. Mail car arrived. The mailman, who knew these northern woodlands.
them well, helped them board the car, and, without
I hurried inside. There was a train the next morning that
stopping on his usual route, took the sick man and his
left for Muncie, Indiana, at a quarter after eight.
wife direct to the nearest hospital.
Reference:
Ruth stayed in the hospital with Fabia. She slept in a
http://adoniemarstory.blogspot.com/2010/07/scent-of-
corridor outside the patients' ward and in the day time
apples-bienvenido-n-santos.html
helped in scrubbing the floor and washing the dishes and
cleaning the men's things. They didn't have enough
money and Ruth was willing to work like a slave.

"Ruth's a nice girl," said Fabia, "like our own Filipino

women."

Before nightfall, he took me back to the hotel. Ruth and

Roger stood at the door holding hands and smiling at me.
From inside the room of the shanty, a low light flickered.
I had a last glimpse of the apple trees in the orchard
under the darkened sky as Fabia backed up the car. And
soon we were on our way back to town. The dog had
started barking. We could hear it for some time, until
finally, we could not hear it anymore, and all was
darkness around us, except where the headlamps
revealed a stretch of road leading somewhere.

Fabia did not talk this time. I didn't seem to have

anything to say myself. But when finally we came to the
hotel and I got down, Fabia said, "Well, I guess I won't be
seeing you again."

It was dimly lighted in front of the hotel and I could

hardly see Fabia's face. Without getting off the car, he
moved to where I had sat, and I saw him extend his hand.
I gripped it.

"Tell Ruth and Roger," I said, "I love them."

He dropped my hand quickly. "They'll be waiting for me

now," he said.