Rm: a Biographical Novel of Ramon Magsaysay

By Allyn C. Ryan

World War II had left the Philippines reeling from poverty, unrest, and lawlessness. Rampant graft and corruption characterized the government of President Elpidio Quirino. The farmers in Central Luzon, resentful and angry over agrarian problems, swelled the ranks of the Hukbalahap (a contraction of the name in the vernacular, Hukbong Bayan Laban sa Hapon, literally translated to National Army Fighting the Japanese). They were a rag-tag guerrilla force that fought the Japanese occupation in 1941-1945.

At the height of the Huk power, the Philippine militaryweak and undisciplinedwas unable to counter the Huk attacks throughout the country. The Huks relentless drive to bring down the government in the early 1950s threatened the Philippines with a communist takeover.

RM is the story of an extraordinary man who faced these problems against all odds. His integrity and perseverance in trying to ameliorate the plight of the downtrodden and the helpless in Philippine society cast him in the limelight. As a result, he was elected on November 10, 1953, as the third president of the Philippines, after the United States had granted independence on July 4, 1946. RM was the seventh elected leader since June 12, 1898, when Emilio Aguinaldo became the first leader after the Filipino revolution against Spain in 1898 and the United States in 1899-1902.

RM takes the reader back to his unpretentious beginnings in Zambales, where all towns face the China Sea. The province was generally poor and the people predominantly Ilocanos, except for the northern and southern areas. In the north lived a smattering of natives that spoke Zambal, and to the south, Tagalog, because of the proximity to Bataan, a Tagalog province.

RMs great-grandparents were not Ilocanos, however. On his fathers side, his great-grandmother, Paulina Toleido (she was blonde with blue eyes) was a peninsular Castilian who lived in Makati, Rizal. Her husband, Gregorio Magsaysay, an educated man, worked as a clerk in an early American firm, Smith, Bell, & Co. One of their sons became the father of Exequiel, Ramons father.

On his mothers side, the del Fierro families were mestizos, an admixture of Spanish and native, from Catbalogan, Samar. The Moro pirate attacks, during the early part of the nineteenth century, drove the del Fierro family northward where they settled in Zambales. The Spanish mestizo, Juan del Fierro and Maria Quimzon of Cavite became the parents of Perfecta, the mother of Ramon.

RM was a target of several assassination attempts. After Bataan and Corregidor fell (April 9 and May 6, 1942), the Japanese Kempei Tai (secret police) wanted him dead because of his guerrilla activities. He worked closely with the USAFFE (U.S. Armed Forces in the Far East), and was subsequently appointed by General Charles P.Hall as the military governor of Zambales. Because of his sincerity in dealing with his guerrilla followers and what he did for the people during the war years, everyone recognized his leadership abilities. This paved the way for his entry into politics.

Monching, as people came to call him, saw and felt what poverty can do to peoples lives, compounded by what politicians promised and never lived up to. The shenanigans of RM and his political friends leading up to his nomination as the Nacionalista Party standard bearer could be construed by his foes as machiavellian. In many ways, he was an uncommon politician who drew the ire of friend and foe alike--the infighting of senators and congressmen in the Philippine Congress, and the paradoxical support of people who wanted the status quo to continue during his adminstration.

As Secretary of Defense under President Elpidio Quirino, he fought the Huk menace on all fronts, resulting in blood and tears for the people of Zambales. During the Huk insurrection, their assassins stalked his every move. Lack of security p

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 28, 2007
• ISBN: 9781462811700

Allyn C. Ryan

Allyn Cauagas Ryan was born in the Philippines and came to the United States in 1957 as a foreign student. Her studies at UCLA led to a BA in English and an MFA in Theater and Film. At UCLA, her story “A Trip to Manila” was a finalist in the Samuel Goldwyn Creative Writing contest. A one-act play, “The Earth Is a Silver Peso,” was produced at the old 3K7 Theater on campus. Other stories appeared in the Uclan Review and Westwind, as well as the University of the Philippines’ Literary Apprentice. She has previously published four books: Salt Mines, Phantom of Alabat, Ulan the Rain Maiden, and RM, a Biographical Novel of Ramon Magsaysay. Now a retired college instructor in English and English-as-a-Second-Language, she resides with her husband in Sun City Palm Desert and Twin Peaks, California.

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Copyright © 2007 by Allyn C. Ryan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fi ction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

PROLOGUE

Portrait of a Great Filipino Commoner

CHAPTER ONE

Try-Tran Revisited

CHAPTER TWO

The Cupid Touch

CHAPTER THREE

Stepping Stones

CHAPTER FOUR

War Arrives in Iba

CHAPTER FIVE

The Guerrillas

CHAPTER SIX

Liberation Highlights

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Taste of Politics

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Communist Threat

CHAPTER NINE

Lessons in Courage

CHAPTER TEN

Reincarnating Diogenes

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Crusade for Truth

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Estrangement

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Road to Malacañan

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Strange Bedfellows

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

At the Pinnacle of Fame

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The RM Era

EPILOGUE

Epitaph to a Glorious Life

APPENDIX A

Excerpts Of Eulogies

APPENDIX B

Tributes And Memorials

APPENDIX C

Awards

APPENDIX D

Select Bibliography

FOREWORD

The main sources of this biographical novel were newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and pamphlets published in 1950-1957, articles on the Philippines in the National Geographic, an Internet article by Edward Lansdale, and The Officers World War II series. Also included are poems penned by Mrs. Teodorica Rosette Villanueva.

At the end of this book are Appendix A: Excerpts of Eulogies, B: Tributes and Memorials, C: Awards, and D: Select Bibliography.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

This book could not have been written without the help and support of Francis P. Cauagas, for his tireless effort in locating and collecting clippings and articles from newspapers, magazines, and publications about RM. Many thanks.

Many thanks are also due to John T. Ryan for his collection of World War II clippings.

Grateful acknowledgment is due to Mrs. Teodorica Rosette Villanueva, a poet and former high school teacher in Manila, for the three beautiful acrostic poems.

Lastly, I would like to express my endless thanks to my husband and editor-in-residence, Jim Ryan, whose guidance and invaluable help made it possible for me to get through the various phases of this book. Most of all, his help in the preparation of the finished manuscript on the computer is greatly appreciated.

AN APOSTROPHE

By

Teodorica Rosette Villanueva

R-ighteousness be thy guiding light

A-s pilot of the ship of state;

M-any a blast may beat thy ship

O-n the wide ocean deep;

N-ever, never falter for the right!

M-en beclouded with gold and gilt,

A-re fated by God’s decree;

G-o! Steer thy course straight,

S-ave thy people from lust and greed,

A-llay their sufferings untold,

Y-ield not thy God-given gifts;

S-on of the people, hear their voice!

A-ll hail thee with love and pra’er,

Y-outh and vigor be thine fore’er.

PROLOGUE

Portrait of a Great Filipino Commoner

World War II had left the Philippines reeling from poverty, unrest, and lawlessness. Rampant graft and corruption characterized the government of President Elpidio Quirino. The farmers in Central Luzon, resentful and angry over agrarian problems, swelled the ranks of the Hukbalahap (a contraction of the name in the vernacular, Hukbong Bayan Laban sa Hapon, literally translated to National Army Fighting the Japanese). They were a rag-tag guerrilla force that fought the Japanese occupation in 1941-1945.

At the height of the Huk power, the Philippine military – weak and undisciplined –

was unable to counter the Huk attacks throughout the country. The Huks’ relentless drive to bring down the government in the early 1950s threatened the Philippines with a communist takeover.

RM is the story of an extraordinary man who faced these problems against all odds. His integrity and perseverance in trying to ameliorate the plight of the downtrodden and the helpless in Philippine society cast him in the limelight. As a result, he was elected on November 10, 1953, as the third president of the Philippines, after the United States had granted independence on July 4, 1946. RM was the seventh elected leader since June 12, 1898, when Emilio Aguinaldo became the first leader after the Filipino revolution against Spain in 1898 and the United States in 1899-1902.

RM takes the reader back to his unpretentious beginnings in Zambales, where all towns face the China Sea. The province was generally poor and the people predominantly Ilocanos, except for the northern and southern areas. In the north lived a smattering of natives that spoke Zambal, and to the south, Tagalog, because of the proximity to Bataan, a Tagalog province.

RM’s great-grandparents were not Ilocanos, however. On his father’s side, his great-grandmother, Paulina Toleido (she was blonde with blue eyes) was a peninsular Castilian, who lived in Makati, Rizal. Her husband, Gregorio Magsaysay, an educated man, worked as a clerk in an early American firm, Smith, Bell, & Co. One of their sons became the father of Exequiel, Ramon’s father.

On his mother’s side, the del Fierro families were mestizos, an admixture of Spanish and native, from Catbalogan, Samar. The Moro pirate attacks, during the early part of the nineteenth century, drove the del Fierro family northward where they settled in Zambales. The Spanish mestizo, Juan del Fierro and Maria Quimzon of Cavite became the parents of Perfecta, the mother of Ramon.

RM was a target of several assassination attempts. After Bataan and Corregidor fell (April 9 and May 6, 1942), the Japanese Kempei Tai (secret police) wanted him dead because of his guerrilla activities. He worked closely with the USAFFE (U.S. Armed Forces in the Far East), and was subsequently appointed by General Charles P. Hall as the military governor of Zambales. Because of his sincerity in dealing with his guerrilla followers and what he did for the people during the war years, everyone recognized his leadership abilities. This paved the way for his entry into politics.

Monching, as people came to call him, saw and felt what poverty can do to people’s lives, compounded by what politicians promised and never lived up to. The shenanigans of RM and his political friends leading up to his nomination as the Nacionalista Party standard bearer could be construed by his foes as machiavellian. In many ways, he was an uncommon politician who drew the ire of friend and foe alike – the infighting of senators and congressmen in the Philippine Congress, and the paradoxical support of people who wanted the status quo to continue during his administration.

As Secretary of Defense under President Elpidio Quirino, he fought the Huk menace on all fronts, resulting in blood and tears for the people of Zambales. During the Huk insurrection, their assassins stalked his every move. Lack of security prompted Lt.Col. Edward Lansdale to invite him to stay at a house within the JUSMAG (Joint U.S. Military Assistance Group) compound in Manila with his assistant, U.S. Army Maj. Charles T.R. Bohannan. Lansdale was an Air Force intelligence officer who later became Monching’s de facto personal JUSMAG advisor. Monching had to send Luz and their children to live with her family in Bataan. He won the trust of would-be assassins and the Philippine military alike and earned the name of communist fighter throughout the world.

Monching was a man of action. He had developed a certain degree of self-reliance and confidence in his own abilities so that, when he had a given task to do, he made it always a point to finish it. The media – which covered his activities when he ran for president – had a hard time keeping up with him.

As president, he lived up to his promises. Nepotism and favoritism were ugly words in his administration. He attacked fraud and corruption in all sectors of his government. He did this to bring back the people’s faith and trust in their government, and to foster the belief that elected officials, as servants of the people, should live up to a high standard of morality and work ethic.

RM remained a shining example of the principles he believed in, laid down by his parents to be followed in school, through college and long after he had graduated into life.

CHAPTER ONE

Try-Tran Revisited

Dawn slowly swept over the city of Manila punctuated by a light drizzle that barely wetted the pavements and dissipated in the cool, morning air. From the disappearing shadows of tall trees that lined the sidewalks fronting old apartment buildings, a young man appeared briskly walking by himself. The light rain was unexpected, but it didn’t bother him. At 20 years of age, he had grown up, so sure of his sturdy build and great physique that he always had this sheer desire to prove himself.

He had enrolled at the University of the Philippines (UP) pursuing pre-law in 1927. For a while, he enjoyed the after-class get-togethers with friends and relatives from Zambales. They’d go to a nearby ice-cream parlor chatting away on issues of the day.

Monching, good to see you again, Vicente del Fierro said as they sat around eating ice cream. He was a cousin on the mother’s side.

Yeah, what’s up? Monching asked.

What do you mean?

The newspaper business, of course.

Oh that – everything’s fine, Vicente said.

"As news editor of the UP Philippine Collegian, you’re covering the campus news very well," Monching replied.

Thanks, we try to do the best we can, Vicente replied. How’re Tio Exequiel and Tia Perfecta these days?

Great, Monching smiled. "They’re always happy to hear we often see each other on campus. Do you still work for the Tribune?"

Oh yeah, got to earn some money, you know.

Same here.

I hardly see you these days, Monching. Studying hard?

Oh yes, Monching chuckled. You know, I’ve been thinking of changing my pre-law major to engineering.

Why engineering? Vicente asked.

Well, engineering is more in line with my interests.

I see, Vicente nodded. I remember you’re more interested in tinkering with engines.

Not long after that Vicente and the rest of the students from Zambales began missing him at their get-togethers on campus. It was nothing unusual. Monching would show up when least expected and later be gone for several months. He was always on the go and kept himself busy working and studying at the same time.

An illness had caught up with Monching, however, and he agreed to stay with his in-laws to recuperate. He enjoyed walking briskly and found the early morning air very invigorating. For almost six months now, he had walked every day until he could memorize the names of every street in Singalong and the neighboring districts.

During these early morning walks, he could hear the city waking and the streets becoming alive with buses, taxicabs, and horse-drawn calesas or carretelas. The click-clack, click-clack sound of horse’s hooves on the street behind him arrested his attention. He slackened his pace and looked at the approaching calesa. It was too early in the morning to have any passengers, but it reminded him of his accident seven years ago in Castillejos. It was market day and his mother had asked him to deliver a box of empty bottles to a store in town. He had driven the horse at a very fast pace when one of the reins broke. People fled in all directions seeking cover as the uncontrollable vehicle zigzagged through the streets of town. When the runaway horse rounded a corner, the calesa toppled over. The horse was okay, but all the bottles broke. He walked away unscathed. Chuckling at the memory, he walked right into a pedestrian walking the other way.

Oops, sorry, he grinned at the man, snapping out of his reverie. The calesa was now up ahead and he didn’t want to overtake it. He loved horses and couldn’t wait till he returned to Castillejos where he had three of them. Horseback riding with his friends was one of his favorite sports. He checked his watch and it showed 6:00 am. He had covered a long distance in a little over an hour.

He noticed that traffic was very busy this morning. A city bus squealed to a stop at a designated area near an intersection where passengers got off and others, patiently waiting, got on. A loud bang by the conductor on the side of the bus signaled the driver to move on and merge in with the traffic as another swerved in to take its place. Fumes of carbon monoxide from the exhaust momentarily swirled behind the first bus as it continued on its way to the next connecting line. The young man stopped and smiled to himself. Such was the daily grind he had witnessed in the Manila streets every day. It reflected the upbeat ambiance of life in the vibrant metropolis. The city buses, the most popular mode of transportation, fought for space and passengers. They competed with taxicabs that could get in and out of tight spaces because their drivers had become so adept at stopping in the middle of streets to avoid jaywalkers. Their passengers seemed to be the more affluent or businessman types who could pay the metered rate to take them anywhere they wanted to go. Mostly tourists and the Chinese patronized the calesas or carretelas. At one time, the mayor of Manila forbade the use of calesas because the animals left a mess on the city streets. An uproar of protests ensued and the owners agreed to pick up after their animals. The young man was glad that the ordinance was rescinded.

At the bus stop, he spotted his brother-in-law waiting with other people. He approached him dabbing his face with a towel. Surprised seeing you here, Al. How come?

I like riding the bus occasionally, Al demurred.

To Lepanto?

Well, your sister needs the car to go to Escolta this morning, Monching.

I thought she shops at Divisoria.

I really don’t know. She’s meeting with an old high school chum of hers who was recently hired by Oceanic.

I see, Monching nodded and was about to walk away.

Are you going back to the house now?

Not really. I have one more block to go.

Monching, you are really something, Al said. I admire your guts.

Monching smiled. What do you mean?

When you make up your mind about doing something, you just do it.

That’s how I am.

I know, Al said. You walked 22 kilometers from Castillejos to San Narciso and graduated as a high school salutatorian at the Zambales Academy in three years. That’s quite a feat, isn’t it?

Monching smiled again. I was trying to duplicate that when I came to Manila, he said. Got to go.

See you later, Al said when he saw his bus coming.

Monching resumed his walk, but began thinking about what Al said. Four years ago, he had enrolled at the University of the Philippines in Liberal Arts to prepare for pre-law and rented a room on Nebraska Street for sixty centavos a month. UP was the best school in the country, very prestigious, and cheaper than private universities. Later he transferred to the Carrera Dormitory on Herran Street run by Mrs. Carrera. To pay for his room and board, he did odd jobs driving and repairing old cars. He stayed at the dormitory at no cost in return for the mechanical work he did on her car. It was a great arrangement while it lasted. College courses were more challenging and demanding, however, and he had difficulty keeping up with the assignments. The strain of going to school nights and working daytimes was getting to him. He switched his major to the College of Engineering, which he felt was more in line with his interests. It proved to be a hectic schedule and the toll on his health was beginning to show. Perhaps he had overestimated what his body could take. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was really a stupid thing to do. What did he think he was – a machine? Even a machine could break down.

Dabbing his face and arms, he felt how firm and strong his arms had become. He hadn’t felt this good in a long while. He began to think that perhaps he was getting better, and noticed how pleasant the morning was turning out to be. The temperature was neither hot nor cold. But walking around pedestrians on the sidewalk was not the best way to exercise. It was time to head back. The Singalong Streets were becoming noisy and crowded.

The Labrador residence was not far off. Monching retraced his route slowly now. During these morning walks, he remembered seeing empty spaces in Paco and Singalong. It bothered him to see areas left to fallow with lots of overgrown weeds, and he wondered if Dr. Rizal’s tomb, the shrine of the national hero, was covered with weeds in the Paco Cemetery. He’d heard that thousands of squatters were looking for open spaces to build their homes. These lots with overgrown weeds could also pose a danger and create fires in the city. Just behind his sister’s house alone was an area that was really an eyesore. People would throw trash on the empty lot. The absentee landlord was never penalized for violating the city’s ordinances. But the rich man didn’t particularly care. One of these days, squatters would just set up their apple-box shacks on it. Unemployed people from the provinces in search of a better life had been eyeing these open spaces. That was what happened in Intramuros. Squatters came and the government had difficulty expelling them. They had been living there in apple-box shacks for as long as Monching could remember.

He finally reached his sister’s beautiful red brick house. The black iron fence and hibiscus shrubs that formed a hedge beside it improved its overall appearance. He didn’t ring the doorbell, but simply opened the door. He always found it odd for people to leave their front doors unlocked, but his sister and Al were very trusting, just like the people in Castillejos.

As he walked in, he could hear his sister, Concepcion, puttering around in the kitchen. Morning, Sis, he greeted her. Where are the kids?

The school bus came by already.

That early?

Yeah. I’ll have your breakfast ready, his sister said, soon’s I get these dishes put away.

Stop it, Sis, he said.

"Stop what, Kuya?" she cried as she came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. (Kuya is a respectful term of address given by a younger sibling to an older brother.)

You don’t have to wait on me anymore, he said.

"Kuya, what’s gotten into you?"

I’m sorry, Sis, he said. I’m tired of being waited on like a baby.

But you were ill, his sister remonstrated. We are family. Al and I promised Mama and Papa that we’d help you in every way we can while you recuperate. Is that wrong?

That was very nice of you and Al, he said. I can help myself now.

"Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Kuya?" his sister said.

Of course, he replied. Notice my arms? I was checking them when I was walking this morning. And my strength is back.

That’s wonderful, his sister said looking at him intently. It must be this daily walking regimen.

Must be, he said.

We’ve been noticing the color in your face, and you’re acting like your old self again.

I really feel great, Sis.

Well, where’d you go this time?

Would you believe that I got as far as the Coliseum Stadium?

Oh, really? his sister said. You were almost at the Manila Domestic Airport.

Is that right? Monching smiled, No wonder I could see airplanes landing and taking off in the distance. I saw Al at the bus stop a few minutes ago.

His sister laughed. It’s my turn to have the car, she said.

I understand you’re going to Escolta today.

Did he tell you that?

Yeah, but he didn’t have to tell me.

Well, she’s an old high-school classmate of mine, she started to explain. She also went to Zambales Academy and now she works at Oceanic in Escolta. And you know what? We’re going to have dinner together during her break.

That’s nice.

She’s from Iba, you know.

Is that right? he said. Did you know that our family used to live in Iba?

Of course, his sister smiled. I was born there and so were you.

I know, but I don’t like those stories about me…

You mean, the admonition of Lola Ihay, the midwife?

You guessed it. I heard her repeat that so many times when I was little, he said, and I’m sick of hearing about it. It’s all superstition and old wive’s tales.

But Mama and Papa really believed it, Monching, his sister countered.

As far as I’m concerned, the caul over my head and the hump over my breast when I was born were birthmarks, he said. And to use them to foretell my future was beyond me.

You know how old folks are, his sister continued. This is especially true in the barrios… in the provinces. It’s like a rumor, or gossip. People attach meaning to anything that happens.

But she wasn’t even a doctor.

"She had the experience, Kuya, his sister said. Besides, you seem to have this close shave with death."

What do you mean?

Someone saved you when there was a typhoon or when our house in Iba burned down.

When was that?

Ask me, I was not even born then and you were barely a year old.

That’s news to me.

Well, I remember you were often ill when we were growing up. Once you were so sick that Papa had to fetch a Japanese doctor in Botolan one stormy night and the doctor stayed with you until you were better. That’s probably why Mama and Papa put so much weight on her predictions. They even had you baptized in a hurry with Uncle Calixto as your godfather.

Well, did she predict that I’d catch typhoid fever? he argued.

"Look, Kuya, I thought that Mama and Papa were very worried about your illness, his sister continued. You had become so frail and haggard-looking, they didn’t know what to do with you."

I guess I was studying and working so hard, Monching said. I had only one pair of shoes that I wore in all kinds of weather, even on rainy days. So I often went to school in wet shoes.

I hope you’re not overdoing your exercise, his sister cautioned. I don’t want to get blamed if you have a relapse.

Don’t worry, Sis, he chuckled. I know what I’m doing.

His sister smiled. I can see that your health has greatly improved. She rose to get the pitcher of orange juice on the counter. This is freshly squeezed from our garden.

Monching poured a glassful and started drinking. It sure tastes good.

There’s rice in the kettle. I hope it’s still warm.

Thanks again, Monching said helping himself to the rice. Do you have some hardboiled eggs?

Sure. His sister brought out a bowl of hardboiled eggs and a bottle of soy sauce. I know you like them with soy.

Yes, I do indeed, he said. Do you happen to have dried fish?

It’s in that saucepan, she said. Just help yourself.

Perfect. He was feasting on the dried fish and hardboiled eggs when he noticed his sister simply sitting there and watching him quietly. Aren’t you going to join me?

We’ve all eaten, his sister said and got up. I’d better get ready.

Oh, yes, he said. Say hello to your friend. Unfortunately, I don’t remember ever seeing her in San Narciso.

By the way, Mama and Papa will be arriving this afternoon from Castillejos. I’m picking them up at the Try-Tran Station in Azcarraga, and I’ll also pick up Al at the Legislative Building in Lepanto. I’ll probably be late.

Well, run along now. I’ll take care of the dishes.

It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon when Concepcion, Al, Mang Exequiel and Aling Perfecta came in. The children, Junior and Nene, were in their room doing homework, while Monching was out in the backyard picking fresh oranges. The Labrador lot was small, but Al and Concepcion, who loved fruit, were able to accommodate a couple of orange, avocado, and banana trees, and a trellis with a climbing grapevine.

When the children heard the door slam, they rushed down to greet their Lolo and Lola. They pressed their grandparents’ hands to their forehead, a strict Filipino custom, to show respect. Then they disappeared into their room as before. Monching walked in with a basket of oranges. He set the basket down and, approaching his parents, he placed their hands to his forehead as a tender ritual of respect.

Well, well, Monching, you have quite a harvest, Mang Exequiel said.

We love orange juice, Papa, he said.

I’m glad to hear that, Son, his father continued. It’s good for you.

He always loved orange juice, Aling Perfecta chipped in. That’s one thing with Monching. He’s very particular with the kinds of food he eats. We brought mangoes and sugar cane cakes. You love mangoes, don’t you, Son?

Oh yes, Mama, Monching replied. Are you harvesting them already?

Oh, we’ve got a good crop this year, Son, his father said. You should see those carabao mangoes we brought today. He got up and showed it to Monching. See how big this one is.

I’ve never seen one this big, Monching said as he turned it around and around in his hand.

By the way, what’s this that Concepcion was telling us? Aling Perfecta cut in.

Oh that, Monching replied. I’m glad you asked. We were talking about it this morning. I got to thinking that I can’t continue being dependent on their generosity. I love staying with them, but it’s time for me to move on.

Move on? his father asked.

Well, as you can see my health has improved and I feel great, he tried to explain. I would like to go to work.

Work? his father couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Yes, as a mechanic.

But you haven’t finished school, Son, Aling Perfecta interrupted again.

I know.

You’ve spent four years at UP, right? his mother said. How about finishing there and when you get that degree, look for a job in engineering?

I thought of that, Mama, Monching said, but I’m more interested in being a mechanic.

Son, most jobs that pay well require degrees in your specialization, his father countered. I agree with your mother. Better earn that degree and then apply for a job.

I would rather work first, Monching insisted.

As a mechanic?

What’s wrong with that, Papa?

Well, who would hire you if you don’t have a degree?

I thought that Aunt Amalia knows somebody who works for the Yangco Transportation Company, Monching said.

I don’t know, his father said. I haven’t heard her mention Yangco Transportation in any of our conversations. Where did you hear this?

All I’ve heard is that the company is going bankrupt, his mother said.

Well, if it’s going bankrupt, maybe I could do something to turn it around, Monching said.

You don’t have a degree, his father repeated. How could you convince Mr. Yangco to hire you if you have no qualifications?

Papa, remember the first car you bought for me?

Yes, I was so furious when you dismantled that car, an old Ford, he said. You were only 15 or 16 at that time. And for the life of me, I could never understand why you tore it apart.

Well, that was the only way I could find out how that car ran, he said. I realized how angry you were at that time. But what I did was just like getting a college degree. I was able to put the parts together without using books or instructions.

Yeah, frankly, I was surprised that you succeeded in assembling the parts, his father smiled. You had no mechanical experience at all.

Papa, assembling the parts was simple, Monching explained. If I didn’t know how each part works, it would be useless. So knowing the function of each part and how the different parts work together was what I did.

And you want to convince Mr. Yangco with this?

Hopefully, he’ll let me test my knowledge of engines, Monching said.

He won’t have time for that, Monching, his father argued. He’s a very busy man.

Papa, just talk to Aunt Amalia. All I need is her recommendation.

A recommendation?

Yes, Papa.

Monching, if you really want to work as a mechanic, apply at a gasoline station. Then you can use the gasoline station owner as a reference. Start from the bottom.

Why? What’s the difference? Working at a gasoline station is the same as working for Yangco Transportation.

But Yangco Transportation is the biggest bus company in the country. Mechanics they hire are the best.

I can compete with the best, Papa, Monching insisted. Aunt Amalia will never be sorry for recommending me. You’ll see.

You’re doggone persistent, his father shook his head. Is that all you need – a recommendation?

Yes, I need it as an opening for an interview.

I’ll try.

I’m ready any time, Papa, and thanks.

But don’t count on it, Monching, his father said. You know me, I believe in starting at the bottom.

Weeks came and went. His parents had returned to Castillejos, but still no word from Yangco Transportation or Aunt Amalia. He monitored the phone waiting for his aunt’s call, or for a letter from the bus company. Monching didn’t lose hope, however, as he continued his daily walking regimen. He couldn’t stand being idle, so to keep himself busy, he did gardening for his sister, tended her rose garden, and trimmed the trees in her backyard. Once in a while, he revisited memories of the parcel of rice land his grandfather had entrusted to him when he was only fourteen. He remembered cultivating that land all by himself, and it yielded so many cavans of rice. Unfortunately, his grandfather had to sell it, but just the thought of having worked that rice land to his satisfaction gave him a sense of personal pride and importance. He also recalled a small farm his family once owned. He had planted coconuts and bananas on it and whenever he had the chance he’d visit the farm to see how the trees were growing. Somehow, he seemed to have developed a proprietary feeling for them as if his roots had sunk into the land.

Once in a while, he would call his cousin, Vicente, just to keep in touch. They would chat endlessly about their boyhood days in Castillejos. Monching learned that his cousin had moved to a boarding house in Intramuros and was now working as a staff member for The Philippines Herald.

It was like a pang of nostalgia that prompted him to return to Castillejos for a little rest and recreation. It was almost four years since he left the barrio and, now that it was mid-summer, April would be a perfect time to visit his childhood friends in Baring, before they returned to school in June. The onset of the rainy season in July meant planting time and everyone would be very busy.

Barrio Baring, in its truly rural surroundings, was a welcome sight for Monching. The simple frame house with its rickety stairs and exterior old paint was a nice place to reminisce and forget the artificialities of the rat race in Manila.

His parents were glad to see him. He’d lend a hand to his sister, Mercedes, sweeping his mother’s mom-and-pop store, fetch safe drinking water for his family five kilometers away, gather firewood from the nearby woods, and help his father in his smithy workshop. On their small farm, he’d chop the sugar cane stalks to be milled nearby. His mother always wanted the gooey molasses stored in earthen jars for family use, and the hardened cakes of sugar stacked and wrapped in dried banana stalks. He tended to the coconuts he’d planted years ago, and harvested bananas and mangoes to sell at the town market. He hated staying idle, so he’d be at the mango orchard building smudges under the trees to get them to bear more fruit next year.

Before long word came around that he was in town and his friends and cousins showed up.

I always feel sentimental about Baring, Monching quipped as he and his cousins and friends sat under the ancient Talisay trees after hiking through their old haunts in the mountains.

I have a similar feeling, his cousin Vicente agreed. We used to watch the sunset over the Malaplap and the Silangin Mountains in the distance.

I remember it well, Monching said. For a moment, he paused to watch the summer sun disappearing behind the Malaplap and Silangin Mountains and listen to the cool winds sighing through the Talisay trees.

As they continued hiking, they came upon the banks of the Iloko River where they used to swim or fish with their bare hands. This time, they simply watched the river meander along the marshes and beyond, erasing their many joys of childhood.

You know, we used to play bati-cobra and patintero in front of Castillejos Elementary School, Fernando recalled and started to laugh out loud.

What’s so funny? Monching asked.

All of us heard about it, Fernando hesitated.

About what?

The pranks you played in San Narciso. Remember?

Oh, that! And Monching let out a loud guffaw. Imagine, the whole police force in San Narciso was called to investigate the mysterious tolling of the primary school bell in the middle of the night.

"I suppose