Konted's Make My Day: Gonyong, Ipo Dam and Papa

* I wrote this in November, 1984, a few weeks before my father passed away.

Gonyong, Ipo Dam and Papa

Gonyong had just dismounted from his blue dilapidated motorcycle when wife Alicia yelled at him to hurry up with the bunch of tilapia which Father asked him to procure from the nearby Ipo Dam. I am not sure if Gonyong is a henpecked husband, but whenever Alicia yells, he follows.

Gonyong has been the caretaker of our summer place for more than two decades. His loyalty to Father is beyond question. He has spent a great part of his life in this sitio nestled in the vast Sierra Madre mountain range. Gonyong is that kind of person who seems to be pushing against a locked door all his life. He isn't able to pay his obligations in full or if he ever did, it was not on time. But he takes life as it comes and appears drawn to the bottle every now and then. He enjoys drinking with friends.

That early morning, he was full of energy. Perspiration was dripping down into his eyes. But I knew well that he wanted to impress Father. Or perhaps he needed money for his daughters' school expenses. He was extra attentive that time. He made sure Father would get what he wanted.

As usual, Father was already up at the crack of dawn and sitting at the porch with a good view of the mountain slopes and the lush green meadows all around as the rising sun made the colors more vibrant. He had a good night sleep and in a few minutes, he began his routinary stroll along the wild bushes as a bunch of yellow and black Orioles glided high and swayed in unison in the wide, blue skies.

What lures Father to this place which is some two hours away from the metropolis? The reason is mundane. It has that rural charm that Father cannot resist traveling here from time to time. And when the burden seems heavy, when tiredness and exasperation are at a high level, this is his sanctuary. He takes refuge and finds solace in nature. It is as if his battery is recharged. A two-day stay is not enough.

When the moon is full, when the stars glitter as mist envelopes the bamboo grove, Father finds delight staying in the open to better appreciate the beauty of nature. And when traveling with his siblings, he tells interesting stories of long ago. They talk about politics, politicos and polygamy. And they relive their happier days. I am amused no end just by listening.

There is this story that our farm in Ipo, which was called Pinagkamaligan in the early days, used to be a Japanese military camp during World War II. When the Japanese were retreating as the American Forces were bombing Manila, General Kawashima and his men took to the hills and eventually found themselves entrenched at Ipo Dam and the surrounding areas. After an intense fighting and the eventual defeat of the Japanese forces in the Battle for Ipo Dam, many were interested, not only in the details about the battle itself, but also about where the Yamashita Treasures were hidden. Some pointed to the Ipo Dam compound and some said it was buried in areas near it. And that included our place which used to be their camp.

My father's story telling is a constant all throughout. He is a good story teller. He really likes telling anecdotes and from this, I do learn a lot. I get an insight to what he actually is. It provides a window to the inner self of the man I call my father. And in the months of December and January, and even February, when the Northerlies blow strong and make the tree branches swing and sway, the story telling continues. Everybody waits for it with eagerness. But with the passing of the years, with the changing of seasons, the times have been few and far between. Noticeable. Understandable.

There was an early-morning drizzle. A common occurrence in the mountains. Gonyong was summoning Father. It's time for breakfast. The moistness of the tiny droplets made the color of the mountain grass, and the tree leaves, brighter and greener.

- Konted