Requiem

His last wish was for me to come home. It has been 20 years, but I remember everything as if it only occurred yesterday.
“Shhhh.” I whispered to Boy as I rocked him gently in my arms.
“Give him milk, and hurry, Papa Along is waiting for us.”
It was Daddy. We were bringing Boy to Papa Along because we cannot afford to take care of him anymore. There were already four of us: Nonoy, Inday, Me, and Arnold - too many mouths to feed, Daddy said. Plus, Nonoy and Inday were attending school.
I grabbed the takuri and poured hot water into the bibiron, then I punched two holes into the can of Alpine with the kitchen knife and poured some evap into the water. I drank some before I gave it to Boy. He fell quiet.
“Maeng, tara.”
“I'm coming, Daddy!”
That night, I sat by the window listening to my favorite radio drama. Pedro and Roberto were exchanging punches, but I wasn't really paying attention. My mind was wandering off to somewhere else – to those distant afternoons when I would lay my head on her lap as she crocheted a new curtain for the sala. She was pale; her lips were white, and she was very thin, but she was still very beautiful. Nobody looked better in white dresses than her. She smelled like Sampaguita blossoms. I missed the cassava cakes and biko. I missed dancing under the moonlight on harvest nights – there was nobody to dance with anymore. I missed Mommy.
As Pedro drew a gun and Isabel started to cry, I felt my own tears trickle down my cheeks. Life was better when Mommy was still alive. We lived in the barrio, in a bigger house. Arnold and I had more playmates then. Daddy was more handsome, and Inday looked prettier when Mommy was still around. I think we all looked better then, we were richer too. It was as if her absence cast a spell of ugliness and sorrow. We had to transfer to the bukid, in a small house with muddy floors and without any bed, just the banig to sleep in. Daddy grew thin and quiet. He looked old and never smiled. Everyone had worn out slippers and dirty shoes. Inday's hair was always untidy, and she made me remove lice from her hair every afternoon. We didn’t use curtains anymore.
Perhaps if Mommy did not die we did not have to give Boy to Papa Along, and Daddy didn’t have to work so hard.
“Maeng? Noy?” Daddy knocked on the door. He probably just finished planting new palay. I turned off the radio and wiped my tears, then hurried to open the door. He patted my head as he placed his muddy boots on the side.
“Ta, let us sleep.”
I woke up at 4 am, the next day, to prepare breakfast. “Pse!” The big orange cat jumped out of the kalan. I placed new firewood upon the bed of ashes and started the siga with a match. Outside, the roosters crowed and the birds sang.
Soon, Daddy was with me, holding his salakot. “Not done cooking yet?” I lifted the cover of the kaldero, the sinaing was dry enough. I lifted the kaldero and placed it on the bamboo floor, then shoveled dirt into the fire. Daddy squat on the floor as I got two plates and a platito with bagoong. We ate in silence.
“Don't forget to chop firewood, and tell Arnold to bathe the kalabaws.” He said as he stood up. I nodded. “Ingat Daddy.”
After washing the plates and utensils, I went out to get banana leaves where I would place Nonoy and Inday's baon. And so it was like that every day. I took care of the household chores, fetched water from the stream downhill, gathered and chopped firewood, brought goats to shady pastures, pulled out weeds that grew near the palay and visited Mommy. I had no time for play, and if I did it had to be jackstone with Inday, because she pinched me when I refused.
Two years later, when I came home from school soaked in rain water, holding my slippers and my wet pad paper, I saw a wrinkled woman in a long black skirt and brown blouse, with short white-streaked hair sitting in the rattan furniture, talking to Daddy.
“O Maeng, amen to your Tiya Sinta.”
I did as I was told and brought her hand to my forehead. I did the same for Daddy.
“Tiya? We call our aunts 'Ante'. Who is this woman?” I thought.
“Change your clothes, we are going to their house.”
I looked at Daddy, puzzled.
“Hurry up, your siblings are already done dressing up.”
Tiya Sinta lived in the next bukid. She was a widow with seven children. And as what I found out later that day, she was going to be our madrasta – Daddy was going to marry her the next month.
We were all quiet the whole walk back and it was only during supper that I spoke.
“Daddy, I don't like her. Don't marry her.” I blurted out the words without warning. Everyone stopped to look at me except Daddy who continued eating.
“Your Mommy is dead.”
That moment I loathed him. I wanted to make him pay for those four words uttered so coldly, but no words came out; I was shocked, and was trying so hard to keep the tears from falling. Of course I knew she was, but the way that Daddy said it made it sound final and irrevocable. He sounded like he didn't mourn for her death, while I cried almost every night as my memories with her haunted me.
Nonoy st arted to speak. “It is barely past one year since Mommy died. Don't you th ---”
Daddy pounded his fist on the bamboo floor. “Shut up Danilo! Don't meddle with the affairs of adults! Your Tiya and I are getting married next month and I'm not asking you for permission, I'm telling you what's going to happen.” Everyone bowed their heads as Daddy stood up. “I lost my appetite.”
I could not let him walk away like that. He had to pay. “You gave Boy away, and now you're taking in 7 more children! Life's bad enough without Mommy, don't make it worse!” I exclaimed, my trembling hands balled into fists. Before I knew it, Daddy's fist hit me in the face. I banged hard on the wall. Something hot trickle down from my nose. I was afraid but I looked him in the eyes. He was very angry.
Daddy grabbed the itak and pointed it at me. “Don't you dare talk to me like that again Ismael!”
Inday shrieked and fell into sobs. I caught Arnold’s eye but he quickly looked away and kept his head bowed. My hands turned cold and sweaty. I wanted to cry but I didn’t. I looked him straight in the eyes, not even blinking once. “I’m standing up for Mommy.” I thought.
“Daddy...” Nonoy said in a shaky voice.
“What? You dare to go against me Danilo?” Daddy pointed the itak at Nonoy. “Huh? You dare?” Nonoy moved backward, shaking his head. “Hindi Daddy, hindi Daddy.”
“Maaammmmy! Tulong Maaaaaammmy!” Inday wailed. “Maaaaammmy!”
Daddy threw the itak onto the floor. It got stuck on the kawayan. He went out of the house and slammed the door shut. Inday continued calling on Mommy as Nonoy patted her back. Arnold disappeared into the kalan area. I was frozen on the spot. At last I allowed the tears to fall.
“Sorry Maeng.” Arnold muttered as he handed me a sugar cane stem. I nodded and tried to comfort myself by sucking at the sweet tubo.
The next day, I woke up at 2 am. Daddy still wasn't home. I grabbed my clothes and placed them in a sack. I didn't say goodbye to anyone except Mommy. I brought her flowers and spent an hour with her. I told her I loved her and I missed her, then I kissed her goodbye.
Now I’m back to bid another farewell.
“Goodbye Daddy.” I hope he hears it through the glass.