The Old House

For Judy Lista

The old house was bathed in the sunlight, making it glow despite its faded, cracking paint. It’s been tirelessly standing for so many years, and it has witnessed the growth of the world. Across the house, on a nearby plain where farmers tend to their coffee farms was a vein of a river endlessly flowing out to the Bacoor bay. The businessman was inside a small shed just outside the old house. The shed is probably as old as the house itself, yet it provided shade with its creaky wooden posts which made the businessman comfortable as he waited for the host. He likes it here because the wide plain is a very breathtaking view, combined with the Maragondon mountains in the horizon. When the host arrived, it carried a tray with two cups of steaming coffee.
The businessman smiled. His eyes are on the old house. “I remember spending afternoon review sessions here.”
“Ah, child. You were so poor in memorization back then.”
“It still looked the same as it was before. Which reminds me,” the businessman sipped some coffee. “This house has been here since the spanish colonial period, right?”
“Precisely. And through some efforts, some parts of it has to be mended.”
The businessman sipped some coffee, his eyes looking at the house, then to the host who was sitting across him. The coffee kissed his tongue. “I missed the coffee here.”
“It’s been quite some time since you tasted something native, eh?”
“Coffee in the city is expensive…and tastes different.”
“Like it’s not your fault.”
The businessman grinned. “You have to know that what led to the success of my business were people like you.”
“I’m flattered,” the host sipped from his cup. “Thank you.”
“No, no. It’s me who should be thankful. If I never listened to—”
“Stop it. I feel like a saint.” They both laughed.
The businessman slowly sipped coffee. He felt its heat in his system, so he removed a few buttons from his long-sleeved polo to cool himself. “Coffee on a hot day…” he muttered.
“I’m sorry. It’s all I have to offer.”
“It’s fine, sir. Like what I said, I missed the coffee in this place.”
The businessman stared at the cup of coffee resting on the table in his front. He glimpsed at the face of the host, his graying hair and thick eyeglasses. “What happened to you, sir?”
The host’s eyebrows narrowed. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
“I know. I’ve seen you back at the town proper when I visited the place—”
“Then you know that I’m perfectly fine and well, still strong enough to do the job that I have for years.”
“I know that too. But what I mean is—” the businessman stopped speaking. He put a hand on his cup and found his fingers shaking.
“What?”
“Back then, when I was still young, I never thought that I’d amount to anything. Until you came.”
“That’s sweet. At least I know that all I taught and shared to you was not put to waste.”
“You’re one of the best—” the businessman stopped short. His lips cannot mutter the last word.
Empty cups lay on the table. “Want more coffee?” the host asked. The businessman nodded and watched as the host went back inside the old house while carrying the tray. It will take some time to brew the coffee so he lit a cigarette and strolled on the plain, beneath the scorching sun. He gazed at the sky and watched the clouds roll over, and he wondered where they’d go. He passed by the coffee shrubs, their beans red and ripe; then he visited the ever flowing thin river, its water felt cool on the tips of his fingers. When he went back to the shed beside the old house, the host was already there.
“I never knew you’re already smoking.”
The businessman crushed his cigarette on the ground. “A lot of changes happened to me, of course.” He sat on a chair. “However, much of this place remained.” He put a hand on the cup, but found it to be boiling hot. “I never knew you’d stay.”
“Stay?” the host replied.
“I thought you’d want more.”
“More?”
“I never thought that of all people, it was you who never became—”
“What more could I be aside from the one you already know?”
“It’s because of you why I’m this.”
“No, child. It’s because of you why you’re that.”
“I looked up to you, and I admired you. And now—”
“Is this why you visited me? To tell me that you now look down at me because I’m old?”
“No, of course not, sir. I didn’t mean it that way,” the businessman paused, then swallowed. “What I mean is after all this years, you still have the chalk in your hands while still trapped in that four-cornered room—”
“What, you look down on me now because you earn more than I do?”
“No, sir. Please let me finish,” the businessman sipped coffee. “I never looked down on you; I visited you because I want to know how are you. But seeing you after so many years only to learn that you’re still in the town proper talking about history gave proof that—” he didn’t know how to say it straight. “—that you’re just like your house.”
The host’s eyes glanced at him in a weary manner. “Maybe it’s what I am.”
Silence wrapped them as a smooth gust of wind blew from the west. The sun hid behind some thick cloud, ceasing the illumination it gave to the old house, and to the plain surrounding it.
It was the host who spoke. “You have to understand that there is nothing more rewarding to people like me than knowing that people like you, who came to us, are now serving the society, and not a burden to it.”
The businessman was silent, his eyes were just focused on the fading steam from his coffee cup.
“And one day,” the host continued, “I will rest peacefully, knowing that a product of my labor, like you, had served their rightful purposes.”
“I know you will, sir,” the businessman replied, his eyes gazing at the old house, his mind wondering how it had stood up all these years.