A Child of Sorrow/Chapter 1

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Those who already awaited the coming of vacation days with keen anticipation could undoubtedly better understand and imagine what delights Lucio had in entertaining the thought of spending his vacation with his friend out in the province, just as soon as he had received his sheepskin diploma from the Provincial High School, and laid up his dust-covered books on the shelves in order to resume the happy role of youthful life.

In one of the rural and sequestered plains of Central Luzon, called the Fertile Valley, where the rice-fields yielded the cup of joy to the industrious farmers, and where the harvest filled aplenty the barns of the poor, there lived simple, homely people, free from the rush and stir of city life.

It was during one Friday morning in the month of April when the sampaguita began to open its buds to receive the soothing dew of the starry evening hour, which diffused fragrance and sweetness all around; it was when the dama-de-noche, that charming and most fragrant native flower, profusely embalmed the atmosphere at the magic touch of the night which gave it perfume and life,—it was in such springtime, merry and ​blithesome, when we found Lucio at home and his friend, Camilo, who, before the closing of school days; invited him to take his vacation at their town and then to their Hacienda.

Lucio and Camilo were school chums, members of a recently graduated High School class.

"Lay those worm-eaten tomes of romance and history, and come with me, and we will gleefully spend our vacation time in the bosom of the fields, and there could you realize real life and be in close touch with human nature," nonchalantly said Camilo, smiling and looking him straight into his eyes as if wishing to convince him.

But meekly replied Lucio after meeting his eyes, and then returning his gaze upon his book again which he was reading:

"Why, confound it, man,—I'd rather remain here in this cell and read and drink of the wisdom of many great minds than linger in the fields uselessly."

"Don't you know that a sleeping dog catches no bone?"

"I do," replied Lucio.

"Then, come!"

Camilo took hold of the book and saw the title—"Sorrows and Happiness." Then he remarked, after giving the book back: "Mine! So you got that old idea—where there is sorrow there is joy. Well—you may be right, your author may be right, but joy is not always for man—the world is cold—nectar is not always in women's lips—it is everywhere—for ​it is the discerning eye which sees beauty everywhere."

"You speak just eloquently," said Lucio, and then put a thumb mark on the page he was reading and closed the book and laid it up carefully in his bookrack, and leaned on his chair and posed as if all attention to the nice chats of his true friend. "Well, what would you wish me to do—you bore?" said he smiling, in that peculiarly amiable and attractive manner of his.

"What I am driving at, dear fellow, is that—let us take our vacation in our town. Know that our town is not big, it is not grand—it is not beautiful, I wish to say,—but it is full of life. Even though it is void of gaiety, but to a man of your temperament, who is not after selfish things, such as youth is wont to enjoy, it is just full of sporting pleasure that will enchant you. Girls there are not in plenty, but you may find one to your liking. Beauty of nature is abundant and prosperity is flourishing in the veins of the fields and in the meadows green, and how the afternoon landscape will charm you—grand with all its splendor—just as the poets say; and make you forget your romances and come to real business. It is just the place where you can bring your book, lie down on the soft carpet-like grass and contemplate silently and thoughtfully on the bounties of God to man. There shall you find a truly human paradise, where there is peace, solitude and poetry in every nook of our farm, for the terraces are colored with the verdure of vegetation and the sweetness of the wild flowers . . . And—oh, mine, I cannot ​find words and really picture all to you as you often-times picture to me the beauties you see in life and in fiction!. . ." And he waved his hands high up in the air as if lost in the ecstasy and flight of his imagery.

"Well, that sounds something . . . and tomorrow we shall know."

"Good! I'll tell father. I bet you'll love it more when you behold it. Remember it, Lucio, and please keep in mind that there are many good things in store for you there, and it will widen your mental sphere on human nature—the more useful to you because you are inclined to literary pursuits, while I am more after material things than ideal ones."

With a sweep of his hands, he departed, saying:

"Good day."

Lucio was left alone.

He sighed and then gazed through the window of his room by the left side and listlessly stood looking there for about five minutes without moving—his mind wandering and his heart beating high with the strange hopes of seeing the real picture portrayed by his friend there in their hacienda, full of singing birds and fragrant flowers of the valley.

What things are more attractive and pleasing to youth than colored life, easy and beautiful life—full of rosy dreams and sweet imaginings!

Truly youth is the time when the mind loves to dwell in painting air castles in a maze of wonders,—picturing himself surrounded by greatness and honor— ​and thinking of a nymph or a muse to grace the whole existence of his life and thus make him happy and glorious, from thence and forever.

Lucio was one of those who painted brilliant lives on the nice canvas of memory, and one of those who wanted to make true at the same time what he sketched on canvas as well as in words. At heart he was romantic, but in soul he was ambitious. For he thought of life, even when as a child, seriously, for ever since he knew the value of time, he kept on pegging day in and day out in reading whatever book came into his hands, and thus at this time of writing he had been able to gather alot of invaluable knowledge—science, art, and literature.

Sometimes he was only fond of philosophizing and his mind was full of lovely things, yet he did not wonder why he did not see those in real life even though he so often saw them in print. Yes, for he very well knew that sometimes there appeared the irony of fate.

That same night he went over to see his father working in their small farm. He told him that he was only desirous of accompanying his friend for an indefinite length of time in spending and enjoying his vacation days in a certain town nearby, about two hours of carromata riding.

The father, who was kind and obliging, consented and added that he hoped he would make the most of it, for he was looking up to him for everything sometime in later life a he was then fast growing old.

​That night Lucio silently reviewed the scenes and labors of his past childhood, for now he was budding forth into the state of manhood. He also recalled to mind the words of his father, which fell into his soul_ like manna from heaven.

The next morning just shortly after breakfast time, and this time in the provinces is usually at half past seven in the morning, Lucio went away to see his friend Camilo. He found him still sleeping in his uncle's house.

When Lucio showed up, Camilo awoke; but before taking his fill, he greeted his friend and said:

"Good morning, Lucio." He took hold of both his hands, and looked him up scrutinizingly. He swung their hands together up and down and further added:

"What now! Are you going with me to our town?"

"Oh, yes. I will. My father told me so. He gave me his consent. So I am but glad to go with you."

"That is the good boy! For you will not, I am sure, repent in going with me to town. Fine, then, be seated, my dear old boy," said Camilo joyfully. "Now let us prepare ourselves for the trip today or tomorrow as you like."

"Yes. But I would better go home and prepare my trunk... Say, how long should we stay there, by the way?"

"Well, as long as you like—say a month or so—it is up to you."

​Camilo knitted his brow and then continued:

"I'll leave up things to your discretion. For that depends upon what you see there—your impressions and personal likings. I reserve that matter for your own judgment. Come! Let us rush and be ready. Early birds catch worms! Isn't?..."

"Certainly! So I'll just hold myself ready."

After talking about their preparations and what so many promises the journey held for them, Lucio departed and went home, happy and expectant. But while on the way, he discussed the whole situation in his mind. A smile curled on his lips, which foretold that he was satisfied, and his heart leaped with happy expectations.

As soon as he reached home and finished cooking dinner—boiled rice and roasted fish and fried meat—he paced up and down the kitchen singing in his mellow voice that famous, romantic song of bonnie "Annie Laurie:"

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Had a full-blooded Scotch ever heard him sing the passionate ballad, he might have envied him in his sentimental voice of love and longing and cheered him up and made him love just as loyal and just as faithful and sincere as ever man loved woman.

He was full of emotions. There he was. Slender and well-built physically, with auburn hair, gay and graceful demeanor, and dark brown eyes. He was wearing native-spun clothes, and homemade slippers. His eyes were fascinating, and his face was oval and manly handsome, among his people,—his skin was white-brownish in complexion.

​His look was thoughtful, and his actions, slow and becoming, and his bearing, noble. He was a man who loved solitude, for he often told his friends that man was not at home unless he was in solitude with himself.

His mood was calm, silent and poetic. Oftentimes he went rambling or musing in the meadows alone, sometimes singing, or else declaiming some common passages of Shakespeare, Lincoln's "Gettysburg Ad-dress," Rizal's "My Last Thought," or Mabini's "Decalogue," singing "Dulce son las Horas," or "Old Folks at Home," or humming in low tunes "Philippines, My Philippines," "Rigoletto," or some other native and foreign airs.

He had some local bits and foreign touches of literature and music in his heart. These he confessed made him happy, and inspired him to be a man, one who lived to work and to serve, that others, not he alone, might be happy, and thus make the world better than he found it. The next day both friends hand in hand set out to the home town of Camilo's family. On the way, just like ordinary schoolboys for they were yet as they were fresh from school, they were curious merry-makers, all the way through, until they reached their destination in about two or three hours' rigging.

The highway was rugged and ran zigzag, as some of the provincial roads were not always up to standard as they should especially when some of the biggest floods and storms had just wrought their heavy ruin ​and havoc upon all crops and farm life and on the streets, inundating everything and carrying away the nipa houses literally levelling things to the ground. - "What a rotten road!" observed Lucio.

"Yes, they are the worst I ever passed," answered Camilo.

"Why so?"

"They represent the broken and unfulfilled promises of the Governor of the Province of the Plains, who like a Jew pockets every centavo he gets from the people and the Government. There's politics in it, you know."

"But what has politics got to do with roads and the shelter of these destitute people?"

"Yes, what has it got to do? But it has taken root already in this section of the country. So you see that a foolish leader leads his people to destruction and retrogression instead of to civilization."

But the country scenes they saw-the local bits of color-were just as fine as could be. There were the brooklets by the roadside, and some paths crossing here and there, like small streams meandering their ways into the bosom of the sea. These grassy paths led their ways into the hearts of the meadows green, thickly grown with wild fragrant flowers and made joyful by the merry tunes of the hopping birdies.

At twilight the whole town changed its aspect.- all the varied expanse of rich fields of corn and rice was bathed with the last bright glow of the tropical ​sun, and it gradually grew dark and the shadows flitted till lost in the gloom.

It was evening when they alighted and reached the home of Camilo with his family. The house of Camilo was one of those hospitable Filipino homes. Their hearts flowed kindly towards Lucio. They were. good-natured and loving people, frank in their manners and simple in their ways of living. They were farmers and landholders, their family being one of the well-to-do in Merry Town. That accounted for the reason why so many of their tenants gathered around them, as is customary among provincials when a stranger arrives, especially so as Camilo was one of the pet boys in that village.

Lucio was given every kind attention and brotherly treatment possible, for Camilo looked upon his visiting friend as a brother and an equal, nothing more and nothing less. They were still mere schoolboy friends of the same class in school.

The people gathered around to welcome them.. The young ones spread the news around town that a certain good-looking chap came down with their master's son to spend his vacation there and study farming: life and local conditions. Many other favorable sayings spread along about his manners and his ways of treating others. This gossip covered the whole village: of Merry Town.

In that town there lived also a Governor, who failed thrice in election contests but succeeded at the: ​fourth through fraud, they, the people of Merry Town, said. People had got it into their heads that he was corrupt practising graft in the government property. Rumor also had it that he was not fair-he was a petty official-who recklessly used and expended the peo-ple's money and who did not render the services as everybody expected him to perform. He was one of those guy officials who thought that office-holding was only a matter of money-making proposition instead of manly shouldering the responsibilities of the dignified office to which he was elected and conscientiously running the ship of state of the province, of which he was, by law, father and governor. So he led, they said, and that is what they said, a truly easy governor's life in an easy way, ay, in the truest sense and meaning of the word-fine, luxurious and care-free and extravagant-his favorites and compadres bringing him gifts and presents every now and then. The story also circulated that before assuming the governorship he was soaked in debts but now he became a money-lender and a wealthy merchant and landowner besides. But the people around in the neighboring districts just com- plained, complained of his many unfulfilled promises to do this and that. But that was a thing of the past. "That was no longer the question at issue. He was already elected. He was, at the time of opening the story, governor-what more? He got and obtained what he wanted.through means fair or foul. Yes, what matters when he was already governor? For how ​nice, how dignified and how sweet does the name Governor sound, indeed!

The name of this famous Governor was Don Pancho Ismael. Yes, that don meant everything-the title: suggested its meaning--an easy life. More, he was a dangerous man to dally with, Mery Town heard him often blow his own horn, especially since he had been inaugurated as a de facto governor of the Province of the Plains.

There was another current story told that he once-had during his troublous gallant days a paramour-hidden somewhere, nobody knows.

In the same province there were peaceful, law. abiding citizens, among whom was Juan de la Cruz, a benevolent-looking, hard-working, and liberty-loving man, common among the many types of Filipino younger element. He was a restless citizen, roving and discontented; and, therefore, well known to every Furthermore, he was one who could keep no secrets. He was without a permanent residence-no cedula and, consequently, he had been a townmate of everybody.

In not a far distant barrio, there also dwelt a family of the middle class: a middle-aged woman called Felipa on whose careworn face Time had obliterated the beauty once her own, the pride of her younger days. She had a child bred in the government public. schools. She called her Rosa Garcia,-a blooming flower was she. She was fair-built, of white Malayan ​complexion, with curly hair and graceful steps. She was kind-hearted and modest in character. Her manners were simple and artless. Her beautiful body harbored a pure heart and an honest soul. Everybody loved her for her sweet disposition. She was simplicity personified in womanhood. Her bonnie face was like one of the lovely virgin creations of Raphael.

Among the wealthy caciques was the family of a young man named Oscar Ramirez. He was a fellow educated in the Spanish schools in the city of Manila, from childhood up to youth, and he was said to have finished his secondary training, but did not continue despite the fact that his family persistently urged him on to get a title. For it was the pride of the people in many provinces, in general, to have a title, reasoning that it was a sign—a degree which bespoke highly of one's attainment in the educational field. Whence one was looked upon with awe and admiration, and what was more averred to by many, was that one was looked upon by the fair sex with favor. That was the pride of some people of importance hidden somewhere in these fair isles of the Eastern Sea.

But Oscar was not so exactly of that type, and not so bad as that, inasmuch as he tried to, but completely failed; so he looked squarely upon everybody. He loved everybody who loved him; he was rather a conceited patriot in spirit, and whose feelings and desires were only manifested in words. He tried to spread and advocate the democratic principles of government ​The smatteringly read in books about France and the United States, for which he was hardly and strictly chastised and admonished by his father, who was so conservative and so old-fashioned just like the hispano-friar type, that the boy stopped it all hopelessly. But this Oscar was radical—thinking that he wanted to engage in the business field rather than in educational or professional life, firmly believing that business men nowadays earn more money and are looked upon with more dignity than so many ne'er-do-well professionals. Oscar, in short, was of the aristocratic set.

And it came to pass that, in one or more than two occasions, Camilo took Lucio to the home of Rosa, his friend and neighbor. There they met Oscar. It was during the birthday of Rosa when she informally entertained her close friends with tea and rice cakes and puddings and other native dainties and sweets. She had just finished her schooling.

Lucio and Rosa met in the ordinary course of human events, and they were happy to be acquainted.

When Lucio departed, his mind felt uneasy, knowing not why. He suffered an unknown pang of heart and uneasiness of mind. Lucio became more and more inquisitive of things pertaining to Rosa after that. She, Camilo told him, had been a dilligent and bright classmate of his in the intermediate school.

Camilo, the observer, took note of Lucio's change of thoughts from peaceful and studious occupation to ​sentimental and literary outbursts. One day he took him aside and jokingly said:

"So, my dear old boy-you found your damsel, eh?"

"When there is nothing harmful about it!"

"Harmful? But, ay, from a tiny acorn grows up a giant oak."

"Then," replied Lucio, "watch the outcome."

They laughed and forgot about it. But that night Lucio dreamed of another being and his heart throbbed the faster and with stranger emotions.

Camilo, the good friend, followed Lucio's trend of thought, for he divined it all but kept silent.

Lucio's interest in his studies was flagging and fading almost abruptly until he left it altogether. His manners became calm and pensive, and we found this passage entered in his diary:

"Met a young girl, scarcely a flower-born-called Rosa Garcia. She is as fair as the April morn-fresh as the morning dew-lovely as the June flower-not like her name's flower. But her mild look into my eyes burned into love and kindled the ambers of passion; sweet and disturbing, but soothing, wild and penetrating, but exhilarating. I do not contain myself. Let me think I am lost-lost-lost in love.... Love! How sweet, how mysterious!..." ​Awaking up from his day-dream, he clasped his hands and folded them on his breast; and closing up his eyes, murmured:

"I wish to see you again before I leave, angelic beauty. You are a vision, born of love and sweet fancy. I am yours-I will lay down my life like a cavalier of old and die for you, for you to win your love, Rosa, my adorable Rosa! While some people venture all for learning, others live to consummate a great work of art or literature, Rosa, I-I will venture all to love you and live for you, Rosa..."

He mused around and thought long. His poetic spirit aroused him from his lethargy and forced him to reproduce his strange feelings in some form. That day he showed Camilo one of the loveliest lyrics he had ever written.

The next day while Lucio was lugubriously going on his way from the farm to Camilo's house, he was suddenly tapped on the shoulders, followed by: "O! Lucio, you are here also in Mery Town?"

Turning back he met Juan de la Cruz.

"Oh yes! You surprised me, Juan, for I never thought of meeting any other acquaintance here."

"Yes, we meet old friends when least we expect them. How long should you stay here?" he inquired looking him up from head to foot as if wanting to pierce into his inner feelings.

"Well, during vacation time at least. And you are on your way to where in heaven?" ​"Ay to Fertile Valley. Any message for your old father?"

"None just now, thank you-except that I will prolong my visit perhaps a little longer."

"Hem! I was told you were introduced to a beautiful girl here?”

"Oh yes---I was. And do you know her?"

"Why not? I know her-for I know all people that attract attention, supposing this seeming man of importance this Governor Ismael; well, I know him well up and down; and this other plutocrat of an Oscar. Just the same thing, I saw him when he was born and ate with his mother when he was baptized by Padre Tolentino and a lot of others-and why not know this Rosa when she is the promising beauty of this town? Do you suppose I am so ignorant of what is taking place in the Province of the Plains?"

"And now what have you to say?"

"Nothing except that hem! I'd better be silent. For when the tongue is closed, there would be no flies entering in."

"Well, are you sincere, Juan?"

"Certainly, my dear boy, I am sincere. I know what I am talking about."

"And you say now that you know this town very well, that I believe, but what is that suspicious air of yours since I was introduced by Camilo to Rosa-have you any objection at all?" ​"Confess, young man, young man of pride! Confess! Were you not struck at heart deeply by her charms? Tell me and I'll do what I can to help you. Tell me, for what you say now is all bunk." He spoke in such a confiding tone, that the most skeptic would confide all, but the proud Lucio kept guard.

"Well? Suppose it is so what then? Is it a sin to love a sin to be acquainted with a young girl-especially when there is nothing in it? I am a young man. In what you allude to, I am innocent. Do you mean I am not a fit acquaintance or friend of her's?"

"Well, you are young and sometimes you need the advice and counsels of your elders. To say the least-Rosa is all love and all goodness, oh-my dear boy! Your warmth of feeling and rushness delude your reason.

Then he tried to go away but he was detained by Lucio, who asked temerously: "Say, stay a while, Juan. We are on familiar terms, aren't we? Then, as I told you my feelings you tell me your remarks. Is there any danger in this thing?"

"I may as well say that you are lost-lost in a broil of feelings, but as to some suspicious persons here, beware of 'em. That is all I can do at present. Of course, I'll tell you the truth there is no harm in being acquainted and it is only a pleasure and an honor to be introduced. Anyway, go on and know yourself. Till we meet again." Juan paused and then added:

"Why, Lucio, Rosa is-" ​"Stop there! Say no more. You go your own way."

"A woman without a father," continued Juan as he sauntered along, leaving Lucio to ponder on his last words.

Lucio was left in such a pensive way. He gathered up his courage and tried to realize what he had been after, and then went home. Ah! the music he loved to sing he seemed to forget, and the promise he made his father he seemed not to mind.

"What am I after all? This old bird Juan knows better than I do. But if there is any truth in what he says, let me know it later... For the present, it is safe.. He is only fond of making a humor on life. He is not serious. O, Juan is only such a talkative fellow. He loves gossip, that is all. Since there is no harm, as he says, I see nothing to fear and no obstacle to encounter, except my own conscience; and since my conscience. and my heart are silent-I am on the right plane-and. I'll just go on and see and then discover all. If a man dares not-how can he leam-if he does not see the world as it is with all its coldness and its pleasures-how could he ever learn? For we grow wise as we are taught by examples by mother experience in her most cruel moods, when she speaks in her universal. language. Bah, what does Juan, I wonder, know about her?" ​Juan de la Cruz, it must be understood, was smart and an expert on delicate matters affecting the heart.

And Lucio forgot it—for he thought only of her good-naturedness, her incomparable sweetness and simple natal beauty. Only that and nothing more—for he was in love.