In our family, I am a Cassandra. I can “see” but no one
believes me, so I ran the risk of suffering the fate of being slaughtered, as
Cassandra did after the Fall of Troy when she—along with the rest of the
family—was taken by the winning army of Agamemnon as part of the war booty.
Cassandra was the distraught woman standing with Agamemnon at the foot of the
stairs, before Agamemnon took the red carpet welcome prepared for him by
Clytemnestra upon his arrival home. The red carpet led directly to his death in
the poisoned tub.
Unlike Cassandra, I did not wait for the total devastation
to come. I escaped to tell the story. My Pa arrived in Mindanao from Capiz as a
nine year old boy after the war, when people in the villages of Tum’lalud and
Sinunduhan (just across the river), in the town of Mambusao, were talking of
migrating to Mindanao to look for better life, or perhaps, a better land. Pa
told me this story, sitting on his hospital bed, the dextrose on his left arm,
as he emerged seventy years later, trying to make sense of the pain.
He was still a boy when they arrived. What prompted Grandma
to bring her children to Mindanao was not really the need to look for better
land, but that row between her and Grandpa over the eldest daughter Maria, who
ran away with a man not of their choice and went to live with him in Iligan.
[[This story seems to be lost now, because Maria died years ago and the only
cousin who I knew can link me to her also died the following years.]] But
according to Pa, Manang Maria ran off with a man. She was the eldest daughter
in the family—engaged to someone important back in Mambusao. As a result of her
elopement Grandma and Grandpa had a row, which ended up with Pedro (the name of
Grandpa), already drunk, chopping off the leg of their table, which like the
house, was made of logs, a sturdy material. As a result of this quarrel,
Grandma rushed to migrate to Mindanao, where everybody was heading. She was a tough, strong-willed woman, and as
I imagine, high spirited. Women were not allowed to go to school during her
time, so, she only reached up to Grade 2, while her brothers went to Manila to
become a priest and a pilot. Yet, she was an intelligent and ingenuous woman,
who, during the war, was able to feed some hungry souls straying to her house
because she never ran out of supply of rice from her harvests. She immediately
secured the money (sold their land? Borrowed? I’m no longer sure) for the trip
to Mindanao, where they eventually landed in Davao and came to settle in
Binugao, where Pa eventually worked as the encargador of the land of the Gods
(Guinoo).
In Binugao, the teacher was distraught when all the Grade
six pupils failed to solve the Math problems he had written on the board. When
he came upon Pa during lunchtime solving all the problems on the blackboard
with ease, he asked, “What grade is this?” and someone answered, “Grade 1V.” Pa
suddenly basked at the attention of all those girls (dalaga), most of them
Haponesa, regarding him with awe, which slightly embarrassed him, though, he
said he felt assured to realize he was wearing his Boy Scout uniform on that
day, with the matching shoes at that. He
was also amazed that the lessons in Binugao could be that easy compared to
those in Mambusao.
When Mr. Espanol and Mr. Buenaluz, the teachers from Luzon,
realized Pa was already tilling the land and planting corn in it, they asked
with concern, “Why, where is your father?” Pa blurted out, just like a nine-year-old
child, “They kept fighting with each other so they agreed to separate. Mother left
him in Mambusao.” His teachers never let
him work in school after this. “Parang Luzon (like Luzon),” they said to
describe his farm because they were Ilocanos, and might have missed the land
where they came from.
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