The White Handkerchief

Short Story

Maugan P. Mosaid, Ph.D.

I was raised in the remotest barrio I can imagine and consider that was circa 1960s. I recall that a team of government workers would often surprise us with their house to house spraying of DDT because malaria was rampant in almost everywhere. That was the time when the forest and cogonal grassland were just nearby. My mother would ask from them a handful of DDT in exchange for a half-dozen eggs that were just taken from the corner. My father used this DDT to spray our tobacco farm because it was found out to be very effective against all kinds of insects, both harmful and useful. Nobody would tell us then that DDT was not ideal for such use because of its harmful effect even to humans when inhaled directly.

Our house was just a box-type enclosure of carefully woven coconut leaves from the walls to the roof and what could be a better flooring than Mother earth herself. I enjoyed running around and playing with children of my age in the neighborhood. Speaking of neighbors, the nearest house is more or less 300 meters away. And so if there were more than ten of us playmates, you would imagine that we came from places within a span of more or less 3 square kilometers.

It was not until 1970s that the Muslims of Mindanao learned to live in clusters in the barrios. We were just happy carefree children who run around without a slipper and most of the time in one piece clothing. At the end of the day, nobody would tell us to wash or clean ourselves before going to sleep. Such was simple living at its simplest. I never heard about toothbrush, toothpaste, bath soap, much more, perfume. All I know was that was the best part of the earth for me. What was simply innocence that time is already the worst form of ignorance to children of today. But I love my innocence. I beg to disagree if you would call that ignorance. Anyway, I know everything that comes to my senses that time. The only thing I cannot imagine was going to school because I have no knowledge of how far was the nearest school.

Then finally a primary school was opened in my barrio in 1960. Next to the Mosque, it was the most beautiful building made of woven bamboo slacks for its walls and galvanized iron for its roof. Inside were wooden benches attached to one another. When one of us is restlessly naughty, the whole group is affected. I recall that I was just barely qualified to enroll in grade one because I could hardly reach my left ear using my right hand extended over my head. (I found out many years later, using the same technique to my son, that it was a reliable way of determining a child’s schooling age). They say that I was the brightest pupil in grade one. By the middle of the year I was promoted to grade two because I can read with understanding the English textbook Pepe and Pilar. And so, I graduated from the primary school in only three years. Yes, there was a primary graduation that time.

After primary graduation, my parents enrolled me to the public central elementary school in the poblacion. For the first time, I saw the so-called outside civilization where houses were so close to one other. I have tasted a cold sweet tasting bottled liquid which they call lemonade. Everything was so new to me. I thought from the first day of class that I will be out of place as I imagined that most of them were brighter than me. By the end of the year, I was among the top five in class, modesty aside. I long to go home during weekends because I miss my playmates and the fresh barrio breeze. I had to hike about four kilometers from the last point where the jeep could bring us from the poblacion to reach our barrio. But I realize that I was luckier than my playmates for having enrolled further into the elementary grades.

Months and years passed and everything around me seems to be moving and changing fast. I was also learning fast to adapt to the so-called civilization. When I was in first year high school in a private sectarian school I could enroll on my own. I don’t want my mother to go with me everytime I enroll. I wanted to prove to her that I was maturing fast to adolescence. And so I believe that I could already manage to do things on my own. I felt that I was already a young man even in my third year in high school. I had learned to feel ‘crush’ everytime I see my beautiful girl. I wanted to court her but I had a problem. I feared the moment that she would turn me down because I was a Moro. I also feared the day that my mother would know that I was courting a ‘kafir ’ (infidel, as they call a non-Muslim) because it was taboo that time. Until late 1960s, marriage between individuals of different religious affiliations was not tolerated by the Muslim culture in our place.

But I was seriously falling for my beautiful girl. And so I wanted to test the waters, so to speak. I wanted to find out her initial reactions. I gathered all the energy that I could muster but my knees would tremble and no words would come out of my mouth. This must be the real love at first sight! After several attempts, it was all the same. There was only one thing that I was progressing through in terms of level of confidence and that I was beginning to feel that the feeling was mutual. She would no longer turn down my invitations for snacks at the canteen. And so we were talking to each other on topics of mutual interest except ‘love’.

Finally, I said the words and expressed how much I love her and she turned around without saying anything. Until we went out of the refreshment parlor she refused to say a word and would not look at me. I must have offended her, so I thought. I don’t want to ask for forgiveness neither would I follow up what I said earlier. Maybe it was just good that I had expressed what I feel for her. Maybe time will decide in my favor. In school, she would try everything to avoid me. I wanted to look at her; she’s the apple of my eyes. I would try anything to corner her until I did finally cornered her. Without much ado, I asked for forgiveness and went back to my old trick to regain her confidence. Several months passed and I was steadfast at winning her heart. “There is no rocky hill to a man with an iron will”. These words from an old sage were all I need to keep me going.

True enough, time was on my side. In our fourth year in high school, it was different altogether. Did the summer vacation made us long for each other? May be so. At last, my diligence finally paid for me. Several weeks before graduation, I heard from her what I had always longed for - a verbal confirmation that the feeling of love was mutual. And so I heard the sweetest words: “yes, I love you too!” What a beautiful world it was for the two of us.

And then, it was graduation day. More than the apprehension that her parents and mine would know about our relationship, and the consequences that would follow, the fear of being separated from each other was a dreadful scenario I would not even dare to imagine. She knew that I could not continue to college and I knew that she would be studying in Manila.

The following day, immediately after graduation, I looked for her. I gathered all the guts I could muster to go to their house. That was the only place I would certainly find her. And so I went to their house and she met me at the gate. We agreed not to mention anything about our relationship so her parents would not sense anything. We were cracking jokes so we would feel happy and comfortable but the fear of being separated was enormous. What else can we do? Finally, we agreed to give each other small tokens that would keep us reminded of each other. We agreed to exchange white handkerchiefs.

In school white handkerchief was a must for every student. It was checked every morning during flag ceremony. We were together the whole day and really enjoyed each other’s company. As the sun was setting, she begged that I would dine with them in the house, which her mother duly seconded. I had already lunched with them and I felt that it was already too much to stay until dinnertime. And so I begged off to just go, saying, that I still had to go home to the barrio, even if I knew that it was no longer possible. The last jeep must have left at 5:00 p.m. We promised to write each other – something that I would deligently check at the Post Office on market days (Thursdays).

In the beginning, we used to exchange letters. She was doing good in her studies in Manila while I was back to my old ways in the barrio: playing with playmates, pasturing the work animals, gathering firewood and helping in our tobacco and corn farms.

Months and years passed and this time, I would no longer received letters from her. In short, our communication was cut. I deserved this, I sighed to myself. I was not going to school; there are boys in Manila who are certainly more good-looking (and good smelling too!); what will she get from me?

Then the armed conflict erupted in Central Mindanao in the early 1970s and the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) was actively recruiting young and able-bodied boys to join its armed forces. For six years, I had my stint with the MNLF, not because it was my choice, but because I had no choice. My barrio was a favorite battleground between the government and MNLF forces. In 1976 the Tripoli Agreement was signed between the government and the MNLF. For a time there was a lull in the fighting as the formal ceasefire agreement was implemented on the ground several months after.

I felt that this time was a golden opportunity for me to enroll in college but it was not until three years later that I was able to go to college. I asked for some money from my mother so I could finally enroll. She said that she didn’t have any but there was money being saved for the hospitalization of my younger sister. She was having on-and-off fever for several weeks already. I asked my younger sister if I could take two hundred pesos from her savings so I could go and enroll. As a younger sister, she acceded to my request.

I enrolled in the nearest state university where I could possibly be taken as a ‘grant-in-aid’ scholar, a special program of the University for poor and deserving students from the cultural minorities. Three days after, I went back home to see my sick sister. From a distance, as I was approaching the house, I saw an unusual number of people gathered. My God, my sister just died. Oh, I can’t forgive myself. That two hundred pesos I had taken from her savings; maybe that was the reason why she was not brought to the doctor; maybe, that was the reason why she died. I refuse to imagine anything; I felt that I was just slowly melting from where I stood. I entered the house and they were looking for a white piece of cloth. It was the practice to cover the dead person’s face with a white piece of cloth; I remembered the white handkerchief. Oh, what small thing I can do but I was willing to do anything for my sister.

After the seventh day of my sister’s wake, I went back to school. I took up a five-year engineering course. I never imagined anything that would come my way, no matter how hard it was. I only knew that I have to graduate someday. Believe it or not, there were times that I was skipping meals but I don’t want to get affected. “There is no rocky hill to a man with an iron will!”. Finally, after five years, I graduated with the degree of Bachelor of Science in Agricultural Engineering.

This time, I was not thinking seriously about my ‘beautiful girl’ anymore. I still had the white handkerchief with me, though, it was no longer the usual white that it was before. In the year 2000, the first grand alumni homecoming in the high school where we graduated from was held. The first person I was expecting to see was my ‘beautiful girl’, my high school sweetheart. I really came earlier to check on everyone arriving to make sure that I would not miss her. The thrill of seeing each other after a long, long time is still there but this time it was more for curiosity’s sake. I was already almost twenty years married at this time and I was sure that she must have married also.

Many had already arrived but she was not one of them. Not being able to hold anymore, I asked our classmates. One of them said, “you still did not know that Erlinda died of leukemia a few years back?” “My God, everything in this world will certainly have its own ending,” I murmured. But why should death occur even at the wrong time. My hands slowly drifted inside my pocket to reach out for the white handkerchief. It was already having some stain but to me it was still so white as in the intention that was associated with it was so pure.

For the second time, I felt that I was melting down but I managed to keep my calm. I was unanimously chosen as the Guest Speaker from our batch. I was the next speaker and so I had to keep my composure. After my speech my classmates told me that my speech was so passionate and eloquently personal. Believe it or not, you have just read the rehash of my speech. I would love to tell everyone my real-life experience because to me it was so powerfully inspiring to people who are about to lost hope in everything they had wished for. Not in the case of someone with an iron will and enduring faith in God.

Several months later, I was called up by my brother and told me that our mother was sick. This time, I was already head of a government office. Having little extra resources, I lost not time fetching my mother. I don’t want her to miss the doctor due to my imprudence. On the way, my brother had reminded me several times that I was driving fast. We reached the hospital in due time and I was informed by the doctor that she has hypertension. There was no cause for alarm for as long as medication is maintained. I asked the doctor if we could continue the medication at home. I had a niece who just graduated from a nursing course. I asked her to delay her plan of going abroad so she could keep watch of my mother as all the children were going to school and my wife and I are working with the government. After two months, my niece finally went to work abroad as my mother was already doing well. It was then that I traveled often as required by my job.

One evening, after arriving from Cebu City, my mother requested that we have dinner together. I acceded to her request. After eating, I told her to go to sleep ahead of me as I would be watching TV. She politely acceded. After a few minutes she complained of an intense abdominal pain. I took her to my lap. She stared at me as if she was laboring hard. After few minutes, she had one final look at me as if saying, “probably, this is my last breath”. Indeed, it was. My God, how can I believe that my mother would die when she was declared fine by the doctor. As I felt like I was melting down again, I had only fervently prayed in silence. “My Lord, at last I had one final noble use for the white handkerchief; but this time, it shall rest with my mother; I had enough of its memories; please take care of all the people I have loved and whose memories were directly associated with the white handkerchief, amen.”