Fiction: Constancia's Children (Part 4 of 5)

(Published in the November 8, 2010, issue of Philippines Graphic)

Many third year girls were disappointed for they lost the chance to dance with Amir in the prom. Still nothing was enough to dampen their spirit. They partied till the last minute they were allowed to, that is, until nine in the evening.

“We must hurry up, Usman,” said Constancia on their way home. “The lights will be turned off soon.” Mamaluba’s electricity was provided by a barangay-owned generator, which was operated from six to ten in the evening only.

“Don’t walk too fast, ma’am,” said Usman. “You might trip on your heels.”

Though the lampposts were few and far between, Constancia could be seen in the dimness a dozen feet away. She was wearing a silver gown, silver stilettos, and silver bangles. If one looked closely, one would notice that her lipstick and eyeliner were silver too, gifts from Usman.

They walked in curves as they had to avoid stepping on potholes.

“Do you know how those kids fight, Usman?” said Constancia.

Usman stared at her, surprised with the sudden topic.

“While the other students were having fun earlier, I couldn’t keep those boys in the mountains out of my mind,” she said, still walking briskly, pulling up the hem of her gown to keep it from the mud.

“The rebels lack guns,” she continued. “So there would be just one gun for three kids. One kid fires at the enemy while the other two wait behind him, one to take the gun when he falls down, the other to drag his body away.”

“How awful,” said Usman. “Those kids are so brave.”

“They’re stoned,” she said. “When they’re high, they get so brave they fight like fools. In close encounters”—she let go of her gown and posed as if she was holding a rifle—“they stand in front their enemy and fire like Fernando Poe.” She fired her imaginary gun to the imaginary enemy.

Constancia looked funny, but Usman could not bring himself to laugh.

“They are such an easy target,” she said.

* * *

A week had passed after Amir talked to Constancia. He had not yet returned to school. One week then became two weeks, and still no Amir. The news said, as Usman related to Constancia, that the military’s offensive had intensified. And no military plane had apparently been struck down by any anti-plane device.

“Odin should come back too,” said Usman. “You know, ma’am, that boy should not be in section C. He’s quiet in class, but he gets good scores in quizzes. His grades are low only because he’s frequently absent and he does not pass his homework.”

“When he comes back,” said Constancia, “supervise him more closely. If he gets good grades in fourth year, I’ll ask Mayor to give him a scholarship so he can go to college in the city. Well, that is, if I’m still here.”

Another teacher interrupted the conversation. She said someone had come to see the principal. It was Odin’s mother. Like her son, she was skinny and her hair was curly.

“Mrs. Aguak, come in,” said Constancia. “This is Usman, Odin’s adviser. We were just talking about your son.”

Mrs. Aguak broke down crying. In between sobs, she told them she had come to ask for the principal’s help. She needed to go to the poblacion but she could not afford the fare. Someone had told her the military had killed some young rebels and brought the bodies in the town plaza. One of the dead rebels was said to be wearing an old CAT uniform bearing the seal of DMNHS. Mrs. Aguak feared it was her son.

* * *

As the habal-habal was speeding through, Constancia couldn’t help note that she mainly had grim memories connected with the scenery. On one side was the azure sea, where her husband, a fisherman, perished in a storm. On the other were the verdant hills, where the boys had gone to fight.

When the two women alighted the vehicle, Mrs. Aguak shared to Constancia her remorse.

“I should have not consented,” said Odin’s mother. “But there was really nothing I could do. My husband had the last say. I’m just a woman, the third wife.”

Mrs. Aguak said someone had come to their house to recruit Odin. “The man gave my husband four thousand pesos, and he promised to give the same amount monthly while Odin is up there.”

All Constancia could do was pat her shoulder, “Let’s pray it’s not Odin,” she said. “Let’s pray.”

* * *

Odin’s mother began to cry again the moment she saw the swarm of people. Constancia held her by the shoulder and pushed their way through the crowd.

The dead rebels were laid down on the floor of the basketball court. They were lined up neatly that they looked more like members of a firing squad than casualties in a battle, and someone had made a feeble attempt at decency by covering their faces with banana leaves.

Constancia scanned the bodies, trying not to focus on the torn and purplish limbs. When she spotted the camouflage bearing the logo of DMNHS, she led Mrs. Aguak to it.

Mrs. Aguak made jumping movements as her sobs grew louder.

A military man was standing near the corpses. Constancia’s eyes met his. Without any word, he understood what they had come for. He crouched near the body and moved the banana leaf away.

Mrs. Aguak wailed and Constancia gasped upon seeing the familiar face.

(To be continued.)

Fiction: Constancia's Children (Part 3 of 5)

(Published in the November 8, 2010, issue of Philippines Graphic)

The few remaining students were making their way to the gate. They were flirting and fooling around. Constancia watched them until they disappeared from her sight and their laughter faded away.

She turned away from the window and faced Amir. He was seated beside her desk. “Do you really have to go?” she asked him.

“Father sent for me, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t help in the preparations for the prom.”

“The prom!” she said. “If you were not worried about your duty as the student council president, you would have left without a word, wouldn’t you?” She shook her head. “I’ve witnessed this before, Amir, many times. Some male students would just suddenly stop attending classes at the same time. And they never told me where they were going. You’re the first one to ask permission, do you know that?”

“It is only for a week, ma’am,” he said.

“A week? I hope so, Amir. I hope this battle will stop right away.”

“It will. The military will be retreating soon. We have more men and high-powered guns now,” Amir said with pride in his voice.

“But, son,” she said, “the military uses planes to drop bombs.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got this magnetic anti-plane device.” He steered an imaginary rudder. “When pointed straight at the plane, the plane would wobble and drop on the ground.”

“You make it sound like a game.” She sighed. “Don’t go, Amir.”

Amir stood up. “I have to, ma’am. I want to. I can’t back off, especially now that we have only a year to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Victory. Separation. The whole island will be ours in a year. It’s going to happen finally.”

“Amir, it never happened for forty years. Why would it happen in one year, this year?”

“We’ve got help from the outside, ma’am. The anti-plane device I told you, it’s from them.”

Constancia wanted to tell Amir so many things, but she knew nothing could change his mind. This was no time for declamation and a bottle of Coke. “Come back, Amir,” she said. “For your diploma.”

Amir smiled. The usual sweet smile. “I will, ma’am. Count on that.”

“How about Odin, is he going with you?”

“Yes, he’s one of us.”

* * *

“If I were not a woman and fat and ugly, I would have been killed here a long time ago,” said Constancia.

Usman laughed, but he forced himself to stop lest he would choke with the tinagtag he was eating. “Don’t say that, ma’am,” he said. “You’re too harsh on yourself.”

“But that’s true,” said Constancia. “Do you think if I’m beautiful the datus and commanders here would not fight over me to be their fifth wife?”

Usman grinned. “But haven’t you thought of marrying again, ma’am? You have been widowed for a long time.”

“Oh no, never again. If I marry one of those Muslims men here, who are dominant, we would end up shooting each other. My husband was shy and rarely talked. That was why we got along well.” She laughed, brown and brittle bits of tinagtag flying out her mouth. “Perhaps he was too kind, that's why God took him early.”

Usman didn't know how to react.

“To make matters worse, I was pregnant when my husband died,” said Constancia. “I was struck with grief, but I was thankful that at least I was having his child. The baby, however, died while still inside me. It must be caused by the stress, but it might also be my age. I was already in my thirties when I got married, you know.”

“Oh, ma’am,” said Usman. “You’re life story is really something out of a telenovela.”

“Indeed,” she said. “But you know what, Usman, I realize God might have taken my child but he gave me more, a lot more . . . These students, they’re my children.”

“Perhaps, ma’am, you are really destined to be a principal.”

“Yes, this must be what God wants me to do with my life. That’s why I believe those boys who are now in the mountains will return. God will bring them back to me.”

“Does that mean you're staying here, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, Usman. I can’t decide while those boys are still out there.”

“It’s been five days now, ma'am, since they were gone. I pray Allah will take care of them. I saw in the news last night that the military had started conducting air raids.”

(To be continued)

Fiction: Constancia's Children (Part 2 of 5)

(Published in the November 8, 2010, issue of Philippines Graphic)

“Who started this?” Constancia’s voice filled the small room and could be heard outside meters away.

None of the boys answered her. She pointed at the smallest of them. “Speak up.”

“It’s Odin, ma’am,” the kid said with a jolt. “We . . . were just horsing around when he suddenly punched me.”

“Is it true, Odin?” she asked.

Odin remained quiet, staring at nothing.

“Odin!”

Still, silence.

She felt like pulling the boy’s curly hair. “For god’s sake, do I have to call out your name a dozen times before you answer me? You’re making a fool out of me.”

“He also kicked me, ma’am,” said another kid, the tallest.

“I’m not asking you,” Constancia snapped. She turned back to Odin. “What’s the matter with you? Two days ago you also hit someone in the basketball course and you would not tell me why. Can’t you speak, haah? Haaah?”

She breathed deeply. “The three of you,” she said, “come with me to the HE office. You, Odin, stay here and wait for me.”

* * *

Outside the principal’s office, Usman approached Constancia. She ordered the boys to go ahead to the Home Economics office.

“Are you done with II-C?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Usman answered. “And I don’t have a class for this period . . . Ma’am Cons, I’m so sorry.”

She glowered at him. “What did you think you were doing?”

“I can’t control them, ma’am. They’re just soo war freak.”

“You can’t control them,” she said, “But you can control yourself.”

Usman whined helplessly.

“When a teacher cries in front of her students, she’s finished. Do you think they’ll feel guilty? No. They’ll brag about it.”

“I’ll try not to cry next time, ma’am,” Usman said. “Oh, if there will be a next time, I might die.”

“Shut up.”

“I so hate my uncle. I don’t know why he threw me in this godforsaken place.”

“Be thankful the superintendent’s your uncle. You have a permanent position though you just passed the board. Many volunteer teachers had to spend years waiting for an item.”

“At least someone’s here to guide me. Without you, ma’am, I might have gone home on my very first day.”

“Stop that drama, okay? The first year’s the worst. By the way, could you get us some Coke?”

“Coke?”

“Yes, three bottles,” she said. “Bring them to the HE, or ask a student to.”

“They’re not for the boys, are they?”

* * *

It took only two minutes for the boys to empty their twelve-ounce bottles. Coke was too expensive for them, and they only got to drink it on special occasions.

Just when they thought the principal would tell them to go, she slammed the table with her palms. “Do you think I’m happy with what you did?” Her voice sounded like thunder to them. “After this, what will you do? What will you do when I’m no longer looking at you? Take a gun and shoot each other, just like what someone did years ago?”

The boys fidgeted on the rattan settee.

“You’re here in school to study, not to look for a fight,” Constancia continued, her hands waving in the air as if she was declaiming. “You should study well so you’ll become doctors and lawyers someday. You should go to faraway places. If you don’t value education, you’ll be stuck here in Mamaluba. What will you do here, farm, fish—” She was about to say “fight in the mountains,” but she caught herself. “You kids don’t know how hard life is.”

The boys’ faces reddened.

“You are all like my children, don’t you know that? I don’t want to see you hurting each other. It breaks my heart,” she said, her hand on her chest. “Every time you hit your classmate, it’s also like you’re hitting me.”

The shoulders of one of the boys started to shake and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I try my best to take care all of you. What else do you want me to do?” She was speaking on top of her lungs now. “What kind of love do you still want? Whaaat?”

All the boys were now sobbing.

“Sorry, ma’am!” said one of the boys. “It was really my fault. Odin got mad because I laughed at his shoes.”

The other two kids also said sorry.

“Do you promise not to do it again?” she asked.

The boys promised.

“Not even if he wears the shoes again?”

* * *

Odin’s toe was peeking out the hole on the side of his shoe.

He noticed the principal looking at it, so he moved the toe inward. But his effort was in vain; half of his toe was still visible.

Constancia looked away. “Odin, I don’t know what to do with you,” she said. “Please, son, don’t get yourself in trouble again.”

Odin did not seem to hear anything. Constancia had ordered the other boys to apologize to him, but he did not utter a single word in the course of it. In frustration she decided to tell the other boys to go ahead back to their class.

“Odin,” she said, “your not speaking is worse than answering back.”

He was still somewhere else.

“Though your classmates made a joke on you,” she said, “it was still not reason enough for you to start a fight. I’m afraid I have to suspend you for a day, and I think this punishment is fair enough considering that I gave the others two days.”

“Just on time,” said Odin. “I’ll be absent for a week anyway.”

Constancia was caught off guard. “And so you have a mouth,” she said. “What are you going to do for a week, go sailing in Celebes Sea?”

The boy sank again to his quiet retreat. Constancia failed to pry more information from him.

* * *

“Ma’am Cons, I found out you’ll be transferred to Bacali,” said Usman over lunch. “You’re not leaving us, are you?”

“Shhh, lower your voice,” said Constancia. They were in the canteen, and some students were sitting on nearby tables. “How did you know about that?” she said. “Did you and your uncle meet lately?”

“Yes, I went back home to the city last weekend. Ma’am Cons, I felt bad. Why have you been keeping this from us?”

“It’s not yet final, Usman. It’s just February, and I still have until March, the end of the school year, to decide. So don’t you tell anyone else about it.”

“What would happen now here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know you’re the only one who could discipline those kids, ma’am.”

Constancia laughed. “Then it’s time you got serious on being tough. Prove to them that there is indeed no soft man in Islam.”

Usman rolled his eyes. “Lord, help me. Could you ask my uncle to assign me with you, ma’am?”

“Stop that nonsense. You’ll be all right here. The superintendent is going to replace me with Mr. Abdulnadi.”

“But you can choose to stay, right?”

“I can’t just do that. What do you think your uncle would feel if I refused?”

“You’re not afraid of him. You’re close.”

“Yes, we are friends. He treats me like his personal clown. That’s why I can easily ask for favors from him. But I don’t want him to think I’m being abusive.”

“Can’t Uncle assign to Bacali someone else?”

“Well, the situation is a little complex. Mr. Abdulnadi is supposed to replace the retiring principal of Bacali. However, Bacali is a Christian barangay, so the superintendent thinks it’s better if Mr. Abdulnadi and I swapped posts.”

Usman sighed.

“Know what,” said Constancia, “I prayed for this. Remember the killing I told you that happened three or four years ago? That was the last straw for me. I asked God to send me away from this bedlam. And come to think of it, God has even been delayed in granting my prayer.”

The killing started from a petty squabble in the CAT field. Some third year students would not follow the orders of a senior officer. They found it ludicrous to march in the school grounds carrying a dummy rifle when, in the training camps in the nearby mountains, they had handled real guns, loaded and all. The senior forced them to do push-ups. After obeying the punishment, one of the third year students left the field. He took a gun at home, went back to the campus, and showed the CAT officer what he could do with the weapon.

“After that, ma’am,” said Usman, “what happened to the . . . the killer?”

“He was never caught. He most likely became a rebel for good.”

Usman put his hands on his cheeks. “Ma’am!” he said, “Since you mentioned rebels, I suddenly remember . . . Have you seen the news last night?”

“No. You know that I don’t own a TV. I have enough worries here in school to mind what’s happening elsewhere. Why, what was it?”

“Our town is so famous. Remember the two foreigners kidnapped in Sulu two months ago?”

“What’s that got to do with our town? Sulu is across the Celebes.”

“The kidnappers crossed the sea! They brought the victims in the camp in the mountains here. This general was interviewed in the city, so there was no actual video shot of our town, but he said tanks are on their way to our poblacion and the military’s going to start the attack soon.”

Constancia turned cold.

“Amir’s father,” said Usman, “His name’s Kumander Hadjiri, isn’t it? It seems he’s colluding now with the commander from Sulu. I was so shocked—” He noticed Constancia’s expression. “Ma’am, what is it?”

“The boys,” said Constancia, “the boys, Usman, they’re being called to fight.”

(To be continued)

Fiction: Constancia's Children (Part 1 of 5)

(Published in the November 8, 2010, issue of Philippines Graphic)

Constancia had been telling herself, and everyone, that she would jump at the first chance to get out of Mamaluba. But now that the chance had come, she found herself getting cold feet.

She stared at the letter for what must be the twentieth time, a needless act really, for she could now recite it verbatim if someone asked her to.

I hereby detail Constancia Batonghinog, Principal 2, of Datu Mamaluba National High School to Bacali National High School. . . .

As soon as she affixed her signature, the order would take effect. The superintendent had given her barely two months to decide, and her time was running out.

She lit another cigarette and took long drags, thinking of what she would leave behind, until the beeping of the intercom interrupted her.

The tiny screen flashed a red 7, which meant there was trouble in second year section C.

“What a great way to start the week,” she muttered.

The intercom looked like nothing but a luxury item in DMNHS, where eleven students had to share a book. But considering the number of brawl that occurred in the campus per week, Constancia felt her buying of the device was justified. Besides, the P500 bill the dealer slipped into her hand was not easy to resist.

Constancia rose from her swivel chair and snuffed the cigarette on the ashtray, which she was hiding in a drawer.

She did not go to the classroom right away. She checked herself first in the mirror and reapplied her purple lipstick. The color did not go well with her dark skin, but the beauty she wanted to project was not that of a rose. She was a rat-eating pitcher plant.

She moved back a few steps to see herself better. Her image spilled from the mirror’s edges. She cursed her girth, and she stepped back a foot more.

As she came nearer room number 7, the noise got louder. Her blood pressure also rose higher.

Usman, the newly hired teacher, was waiting for her on the door. “Ma'am, ma'am,” he said, his hands flailing on his sides. “I don't know what to do.”

She ignored Usman and went straight into the classroom. The students were huddled near the blackboard, some shouting, “Stop! Stop!” while others cheering, “Aysgo! Aysgo!”

When the students noticed her charging like a mad carabao, the circle broke out. On the floor were four male students in a confusing heap of chokeholds.

“You pigs!” she shouted.

The fighting boys froze, and the classroom was filled with silence. She had uttered a Muslim taboo, and it's even more insulting if coming from a Christian, an Ilongga, like her.

She pointed at the troublemakers. “All of you! Go to my office right now,” she said.

The boys released one another and with bent heads filed their way out of the classroom, except for one, whom she recognized as Odin.

“Odin, are you deaf?” She was hysterical now. She had stolen the show. What the students would later remember was not how the boys slugged it out but how Ma'am Batonghinog exploded in fury.

The skinny boy did not flinch, but after a moment he followed the order, walking with a defiant look in her face.

Constancia's bulging eyes scanned the room. The students scampered back to their seats, pretending to read or write something. She walked out without a word. At the door, she told Usman, “Continue your lesson.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Usman answered.

“And stop crying, for god's sake.”

As soon as Constancia was a few meters away, the classroom was filled with noise again.

* * *

The students in other classrooms were peeking out the windows. Constancia stared at them and the heads promptly disappeared.

She met Amir on the way.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, I just got here,” he said. He was the president of the student council and the son of a high-ranking separatist rebel. He could break up a brawl in no time.

“It's all right, Amir,” said Constancia. “I'm sorting it out.”

“It's Odin again, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He's been in a lot of trouble lately. I don't know what's going on with him.”

Amir was quiet for a while. “Is there anything I can do, ma'am?” he asked, giving her the smile that made the teachers wish he was their son and made the girls dream he was their boyfriend.

“No, thank you,” said Constancia. “You may go back to your class. I'll just send for you if I need something,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. But he did not turn to go. “Ma'am . . . there is something important I'd like to tell you.”

“What is it, Amir?”

“Would you be available after dismissal this afternoon? If you don't mind, I'd like to tell it to you in your office.”

“Of course, I don't mind. I'll wait for you.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said, smiling again.

She watched him walk back to his class, thinking that if her son did not die, he would have been Amir’s age now.

To be continued.