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Son
by Antonio Enriquez
Papa will surely get angry when he sees this fallen fence, he said as he
came from the house to meet his girl. And he fixed it only this morning.
It’s because of the carabao of ’Ñor Piloy. I doesn’t know why he cannot
Tito pressed down the rusty barbed wire with his feet and Thelma,
carrying the food basket, held up the hem of her skirt between her brown
legs and went through the fence. Be careful with your dress, he said.
Is that why your father was so angry with ‘Ñor Piloy the other day?
He straightened the bamboo post and dug in some stones around it.
Tito and Thelma had come to the beach to fish and eat under the
shade of the trees. Tito brought along fishing lines, one for himself and the
other for her. He carried the lines himself because he remembered how
Thelma had pierced herself once with the hook while carrying her line and
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how he had to pass the hook all the way through her forefinger and how he
They pulled off their slippers and walked barefoot on the sandy bank,
going toward the trees where they would leave the food. There were dry
leaves in the shade under the trees and they crackled under their feet.
Just leave the food there, Tito told her, putting down the pail of
He said, We can watch the food from the shore while we is fishing.
Tito uncoiled the lines from their bamboo reels and made sure that
there was no break in the cords. Then he attached a small weight to each
line. He picked up the pail, and together they went on down the beach with
I hope to catch a big one, she said, smiling at him and digging her toes
You’ll get a big one, he told her. He handed her one of the lines and
She started off toward the inlet, Tito watching her from where he
stood. Then he reached down into the pail, his hand chasing the shrimps. He
caught one and hooked it through the tail so that it wouldn’t come off while
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in the water. And then he threw the line way out, throwing it like a lasso. It
Tito stood in the afternoon sun holding the line in one hand, waiting for
that sudden jerk at the line. But the fish were not striking, not even eating
his bait; so he rolled up his pants and moved knee-deep in the water,
changed the bait with a live shrimp and made that asthmatic sound by
pressing the line hard between his thumb and forefinger and pulling at it
suddenly against the other hand holding the bamboo reel. This was
supposed to attract the fish. Still, the fish did not strike and he turned and
Did you catch any yet? she shouted from the inlet.
There’s plenty there, said Tito. There’s always taraquito when the tide
rises.
Tito drew in his line, coiling it around the bamboo reel. He walked up
along the seashore toward her. He stopped and gave her his line and took
You has to jerk it at once when the taraquito strikes, he told her. Or
else it will get away. He watched the hook as it broke the surface, skimming
You put the bait on the wrong way, Tito said, breaking off the head of
You must hook the shrimp through the tail, said Tito. Then it won’t
No, you didn’t. He knew he was being contentious, unfair. But he went
on: You hooked it through the head, he said. You didn’t add any weight when
the current became strong. How can you catch any fish with that kind of
line?
Thelma did not answer. She was suddenly angry. And she had been
They went on fishing, together, without talking. A wind came down and
made little, fast-moving waves that raced interminably to the shore. Tito and
Thelma both knew it was useless now to fish, even if they pt on more
weights. So, still without talking, they went up the white-pebbled shore
toward the shade of the trees, Tito carrying the pail of shrimps and the
fishing lines and walking ahead—and she following behind. They sat under
She set the food on the banana leaves and cradled the bottle of water
in the sand. Then they ate without talking. The wind came in strong from the
Something is the matter, she said. Why doesn’t you tell me? Like you
always does.
It isn’t about anything. Tito did not want to think about his mother.
Somehow, it always upset him and usually spoiled the day for him.
You seems so upset, she said. You always gets this way when you has
I knows she loves you, she told him. But her kind of love has made you
He could not look at her. The wind was blowing gently on his back now
and ruffling the dry leaves—shrieking up the shoreline. He felt her probing
I can’t love anybody, he said. I mean, I tried ... but it’s like—
She knew he was trying to say something which often came hard when
he was moody and crabby; then he would stop even before he had finished.
The ants were crawling over the food. She started counting them in her
mind.
It’s better this way, he was saying. I can’t really love anyone, really
love anyone—freely.
Tito helped her put the leftovers and the bottle of water back in the
basket and handed it to her. He picked up the pail of shrimps and, without
But already she was running down the shore, the food basket swinging
in her hand. She ran toward the point, running quick-legged without looking
back.
Alone, Tito stood there watching the sun now low over the horizon.
After a while, he walked down the footpath which cut through the woods. He
followed the path around the schoolyard back of the house. He opened the
back gate and went around the house. Then he climbed the steps.
He went through the kitchen and into the dining room. He saw his
His father said, his voice sad: Your mother has been waiting for you.
Tito looked up from the table then. There was something in his father’s
voice, although there was nothing in his eyes. So he went into the bedroom.
from the leaves soaked in oil, from a bottle on the altar. She used the oil to
The light from the petrol lamp on the altar threw grotesque shadows
over her face. She motioned to him with a thin hand, and he moved to her
bedside. Her eyes were pale and her face ashen: the colour from her cheeks
was gone.
I’s used to it, she said, her voice harsh but faint. With her fragile hand,
she pated the side of her bed, saying, Sit here beside me.
His mother was looking straight into his eyes, with her own eyes
saying: You’s lying again, hijo. You has been seeing her, again.
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He read those words in her eyes. Still, he lied to her again, saying, I
Tito said nothing. Talking would only hurt his mother and he did not
want to hurt her. How can you tell your mother to leave you alone? Because
you’re a man now, no longer the little boy she used to spank. How can you
Her voice came in harsh whisper, Tito, does you love your mother?
Still he said nothing. Then, he felt his hand become wet on her cheek.
She caressed his hand, pressing it against her own cheek. I’ll always
Tito gently drew his hand away. He felt, all of a sudden, drained out
and tired. He stood up and went slowly out of the room. He walked up to the
She is all right, he said. I thinks she would like some hot soup.
You must not worry her too much, hijo, said his father. She’s a very
sick woman. Your mother es bien enfermosa. His father walked away to the
bedroom, carrying the hot soup in a bowl. Tito looked up from the table, out
through the window, and across the river to the forested mountain. He
watched the peaks beginning to sharpen against the sky, the slopes forming
deep clefts as the evening shadows deepened. The humps of the mountain
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looked like a woman’s breasts, and, looking at them, Tito felt hollow and
empty inside.