Chapter II: Life at the Fields
The sun begins to rise up from the mountains in the east. Morning breaks over Barangay Banggai, and the golden mist curls across the fields like a shawl spread lovingly over the land. The birds chirp with exaggerated enthusiasm, the chickens conduct their rowdy daily orchestra, and from the largest house in the area—a grand two-storey brick mansion with shining Capiz windows and flowering balcony pots—the sounds of running feet and half-suppressed laughter begin to fill the air.
Don Melo and Doña Tory, once calesa-truck-driving dreamers, now oversee not just a household—but a miniature kingdom. And the crown jewels? Their eight children: Escolastica, Al, Lucio, Carmelo Jr., Rogie, Mercedes, Restituto, and Maxi. Each one of them is a force of nature.
Escolastica, the eldest, walks with a sense of responsibility far beyond her years. Al and Lucio argue about whose chicken can run faster. Junior, true to his name, mimics his father's grunts while attempting to fix a toy wheelbarrow. Rogie sings while feeding ducks, inventing songs on the spot that rhyme terribly but make everyone laugh. Mercedes, otherwise known as Mercy quietly watches the goats from a distance. Restituto and Maxi, the youngest, run after a frog like it's made of gold.
The children spill across the vast fields like marbles, slipping through corn stalks and mud patches with complete disregard for their Sunday clothes. Tory, apron tied like armor, yells from the balcony, "If any of you drag mud inside again, I swear to San Agustin and San Antonio de Padua, I'll tie your feet to the papaya tree!"
They laugh and scatter even faster. Melo sits at the porch, sipping barako coffee. "You sound like your mother," he tells Tory.
"She was a saint," Tory replies while sweeping the balcony with full force, "but she knew how to swat ears when needed."
Inside the kitchen, Escolastica helps her mother. Today's mission? Refrigerating the leftover adobo. With no modern refrigerator, the 'Banggai or Traditional Method' is in full effect.
"Careful," Tory warns. "Not too close to the edge."
"I know, Ma." Escolastica gently places the covered basket on the high corner of the balcony where the breeze is strongest.
They use nature's air-conditioning—placing food in baskets hung high on the balcony rafters, trusting the wind to cool and preserve. Sometimes it works like magic. Other times, the neighborhood cats throw a party.
Meanwhile, in the fields, Melo helps tie a Pasagad—wooden sled—to a carabao. Lucio and Al climb aboard, pretending they're conquistadors. "Abante! Dur-as! Onward! To the edge of the trees!" Lucio cries.
"Charge!" Al adds, holding a stick like a saber.
Melo rolls his eyes. "You break that pasagad, you both pay with one month of dishwashing."
Some children care for the animals. Maxi has named all the pigs after his relatives. "This one's Uncle Lito," he says proudly. "He grunts the most."
Mercy, always a bit apart, cares for the goats with quiet devotion. She speaks to them gently, checks their hooves, brushes their coats. She claims goats understand human emotions better than humans do. Melo teases her, "Just don't marry one."
"They listen better than brother Junior," she replies with a straight face.
At nightfall, the family gathers in the sala, the wide living room where soft rugs cover the wooden floor and huge mirrors hang on the walls. The center of the room is not a table, nor a painting—but a 3.5-foot-tall statue of the La Purisima Concepcion. Sculpted with unmatched detail, her robe is blue and white, her gaze peaceful. She is stepping on a snake that's biting an apple. Some say it's a 18th-century piece. Others whisper it's a dowry. Whether inherited by Tory or Melo, no one truly knows. But its presence commands reverence.
Tory lights two candles before the statue.
"Let's pray the Rosary," she says. Instantly, even the rowdiest child stills.
They kneel, whispering evening prayers. When a truck passes by outside—its engine roaring along the nearby highway—the mirrors quiver, and the whole house trembles.
"Aggined Manen (quake again)," Melo murmurs.
"Quiet," Tory hisses. "You'll scare the angels."
Sunday arrives. The family, all in white, walks to Guardino Parish Church. The girls wear laced veils. The boys wear barong tagalog with sleeves too long. Inside the church, the family lights candles before the Miraculous Image of Our Lady of Charity. Tory presses her palms together and prays for her children. Melo stares at the altar and silently mouths, "Patience."
Melo obtains a Mercedes-Benz, the first family in Guardino to get one.
The children study at Silang Elementary School, just a few blocks away. Teachers love and fear them equally. Restituto eats during class. Maxi raises his hand just to ask what's for lunch. Mercy writes essays that make her teachers nervous. "Too mature," they say. "And what's this about goats speaking Latin?"
Escolastica becomes her mother's right hand—balancing chores, school, and correcting her brothers. She even attempts to iron Melo's shirts. She is also in vibe with Mercy, as they are the only girls among the siblings. So sometimes, she lets Mercy take it out on the brothers.
"Burn another one and you're banned," he warns.
"Maybe if you didn't sweat like a rice farmer in church," Mercy mutters.
Carmelo Jr., or Junior as they call him, becomes... challenging. One hot afternoon, Junior lies on the sofa, shirt half-rolled up, picking his teeth.
"Junior," Tory says, "Go help your siblings plow the field"
"I'm meditating," he says, eyes closed.
"On what?"
"The meaning of life."
Melo walks in. He sees the untouched mess on the table and Junior sprawled like a prince. His eyebrow twitches.
"Itlog ti pato a pangkis! (Egg of a cross-eyed duck!) —Get up!"
Junior jumps. "Pa, I—"
"Do you think the field plows itself? Do you even think laying here all day will give you some progress? Maybe you think goats are running the kitchen too? What are you? A Don? Well, I'm a Don, but me and your mama worked hard to earned all of this. Sadut! (Lazy!)"
Junior opens his mouth, then closes it. He stands, storms off upstairs.
That night, Junior is missing. His bed remains untouched.
"Pa, he left," Escolastica says softly. "He packed a bag."
"He's headed to Maynilaan," Melo says grimly. "Where all the runaways think dreams grow on trees. Let's see how that Sadut will be coming back or helping out there. Boy he needs to get a life. Just one scolding and running off 500km from here. Susmaryoseph."
Tory folds her arms. "He'll come back when he realizes laundry doesn't do itself there either."
Time passes. The house quiets slightly without Junior's antics.
Mercy grows into her own. When she enters high school, she enrolls at the Divine Word College of Hermosa, situated just behind the grand cathedral. Tory beams with pride as she sews the school patch onto Mercy's new blouse.
"Mercy, lalaingem ti agbasa (study hard)," she says. "Don't flirt with the boys. And if anyone asks about the fields and anything, deny everything."
Mercedes nods. "Yes, Ma."
She stands at the front gate, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking once more at the fields she grew up in. The goats bleat goodbye. The morning breeze carries the scent of adobo, sweat, and childhood dreams.
As she walks away, Tory watches from the balcony.
"They grow too fast," she murmurs.
Melo nods. "Like goats in the rainy season."
They laugh. The sun rises. And the house of Don Melo and Doña Tory continues to breathe with stories, laughter, scolding, and the quiet strength of a family growing under one roof, beside a national highway, where even passing trucks hum lullabies in the night.