WAITING for FATHER

A rustic simplicity of life and a sense of family togetherness are luxuries that most of the present families cannot afford.

The blazing rays of the summer sun, slowly fading in colorful hues were gently wafted beneath the horizon. The envious dusk seemed to pull the remaining light downwards so it could claim its throne. Out there in the field, the fowls chuckled as they followed the trail homeward. My teenage elder brothers saw to it that the farm animals were secured inside the respective fences. Soon the dusk triumph and darkness enveloped the place.

It’s worship time, but where is father? Mother heaved a sigh as she understood her children’s questioning look. She had that feeling of helplessness without my father around. Suppose he would come home without rice? She knew he did not have a single cent when he left home that day but somehow she was hopeful he could make another loan from his Chinese “suki”. He used to sell his produce to this businessman every harvest.

This happened in the 60’s in my hometown in South Cotabato, Philippines. There was massive rat infestation and locust plague all over the place and what the farmers saved for food could not see them through another harvest. The hardest blow fell on our family as there were fourteen mouths to feed.

I could still recall the day when a dark swarming cloud of locust headed toward our rice plant as the family was having lunch. We knew from experience that once the swarm landed on vegetation it would be a disaster. So we left our food on the table and all together rushed to the field.

My father and brothers waved the scarecrows up high, others made noises by beating cans, my sisters waved white diapers over their tiny heads while mother prayed so loud but her voice was drowned by the shouts and laughter of my younger siblings as they danced among the furrows. Slowly the dark cloud changed direction and spared our rice plants. Was our number a threat to the locusts? Mother was thrilled to see the black heads of her children bobbing up and down the field as they danced and giggled on their way back home. We raced back to our food with our dogs and cats who did not betray us during the battle. What a lovely sight!

That was a harvest ago and food supply has run out. Now this hilarious group was waiting for supper in sepulchral silence. Not even my eldest brother who used to tell endless tales and brought down the house with our guffaws spoke that moment. The second brother who initiated the building of our big bamboo house by the riverbank stayed mum in one corner. My sisters who teased the younger siblings to tears feigned sleep. They must be tired of tending the farm animals.

My thirteen-year-old brother sat at the foot of the stairs listening intently to the rustle of the leaves, a signal that someone was coming.

But it seemed nature has joined us in waiting. All around was stillness beyond compare. Not a breeze softly blew to stir the bougainvillea leaves that draped the window boxes around our dining room. The cascading foliage was as still as the cactus plants in tiny terra cotta pots which mother placed on every square of the wall divider. She loved her plants so dearly next to her family whom she was afraid would go to bed hungry that night.

I approached the table to adjust the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. The small siblings   sprawled on the shiny bamboo floor beside mother who was nursing the baby raised their heads to see if I placed something to eat on the table. In silence they accepted there was no food.

Just then my brother announced with glee,” Father is coming, I hear the leaves rustle!” His excitement died out when mother reprimanded him not to be so excited not until he made sure that father carried a bundle on his head. In a flash, he disappeared into the dark as he knew his way even if he closed his eyes. In a second I saw him coming out of the thick foliage of the corn plants carrying with him a bundle and the dark figure behind him was holding paper bags, which I was sure had some eatables for us. Father never failed to bring home something to eat if he went to town.

I made the fire, poured the rice on a clean big pot, felt the precious grains as I washed them thoroughly and started cooking. Everyone came to life. The small children were giggling as their sisters tickled them. The youngest child climbed on to my father’s lap and all of us sat on the floor facing him and listened to his experience of how he managed to get his cash advance despite the long queue of starving farmers. My father was a good storyteller who could inspire us that all was well. The aroma of the newly cooked rice and some fish for supper fueled that inspiration.

Our voices blended in a song of thanks during our worship hour and the waiting has ended in a beautiful note.