Gabriel couldn’t tell whether it was anger, or a rare sense of wonder, that gave their father’s eyes this rare sparkle as he laid his eyes on his eldest son. The old man was no longer capable of pulling his hand away when Carlos took it and pressed it to his forehead. His gnarled, veined hand did not shake as Carlos squeezed it gently, then cradled it in his two hands before laying it to rest on their father’s lap.

Perhaps it was curiosity, or even love, that filled their father’s eyes with an uncharacteristic light as Carlos took his seat beside Gabriel. Carlos had obviously aged in the years since he and their father had last met, and he was no longer a young man with war stories to tell, but a man approaching middle age who had spent the last ten years of his life behind bars. Carlos smiled in embarrassment when the old man’s staring became a little too intense. When their father didn’t flinch, he glanced away.

Their mother eased herself into a chair beside the old man, crossing her legs as she watched the young nurse wipe his drool away with a face towel. She was the third nurse their mother had hired since he had a stroke, the first one being a middle-aged woman who scolded the old man for the slightest mess he made, the second one a stern young woman who left for the United States for better paying work. This one was a recent nursing graduate. Her name was Maritess, and their mother liked her, for she was dependable and gentle on their father. But how many more years, or months, would their father have with this girl before she gave up this job in exchange for a better salary in a first world country?

“He’s getting better,” Maritess said, eyeing Gabriel and Carlos as she folded the face towel she had used to dab away their father’s saliva. “It may not look like it, but he is. He’s able to move his eyes around a little more these days.”

“She keeps track of his progress better than I do,” their mother said, squeezing their father’s hand. “She sometimes remembers the doctor’s advice better than me. She’s taking good care of you, isn’t she.”

Their father blinked, and Gabriel couldn’t tell whether he was agreeing with his wife, or was simply annoyed by the syrupy tone she put on when speaking to him. He isn’t a child, Gabriel wanted to tell her. There’s a fine mind that’s caged inside that wreck of a body.

“I hope mama’s still reading to you, pa,” Gabriel said, looking straight into his father’s eyes. There was a flickering of recognition in them as he spoke, before they turned again to Carlos, who sat erect in his seat.

“Oh, I just read to him the other night. I read from a book of poetry that his lawyer colleague wrote. You remember Attorney Flores, don’t you?”

“Are they any good?” Carlos asked.

“I like them. I’m not sure if your father does, but they speak of hope and resilience. And love. So much love,” she said, turning to their father, who had spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth yet again.

As Maritess wiped their father’s face, Carlos said, “I remember that he liked T.S. Eliot a lot.”

“Yes, I read T.S. Eliot to him all the time, and Tennyson too.” Her face brightened as she spoke—she sounded relieved that she could finally speak to this lost child of hers who loved the same poets that her husband did. “All those poets that your father fell in love with as an English major. I’m not very good at reading them aloud, of course. You were the one who had a sensitive ear.”

“I haven’t read poetry aloud in a very long time.”

“Poetry’s good for the soul,” their mother said, turning to their father, who was nodding off to sleep. “I think it’s what keeps him alive these days, more than the news reports, even.”

“It looks like he’s sleepy,” Gabriel said. “Maybe we should just leave him here.”

“If he stays here, he’ll feel left out,” their mother said. She rose from her seat and made her way to her bedroom door. “If we leave him here, he’ll get even more anxious. I’ve been telling him about this outing for weeks now.”

“His head droops when he’s tired or asleep,” Maritess explained to Gabriel, assuming that Gabriel did not know this. She often spoke of their father as though she knew him better than any of them did, and although it annoyed Gabriel at times, he knew she couldn’t help it. He could only imagine how hard it was to spend every single day of one’s life in the company of a stroke victim. Though his father could now lift his left index finger and move the side of his mouth that had been paralyzed by the stroke, he was still far from making a full recovery, and was still incapable of speech. One would have to find some joy in a life spent caring for this man, in the growing closeness one felt to someone whose silent suffering became increasingly enmeshed with one’s own.

“And how long have you been working here, Tess?” Carlos asked. He had a worried look on his face, as though he wanted to make sure that this girl truly knew their father’s needs.

“Been here for a year. It’s almost like he’s a father to me now,” Maritess said, giggling.

How easy it was for this girl to imagine their father as her own. Without any knowledge of how overbearing he had once been, and how his drinking had once driven Gabriel and his mother to despair, she was capable of constructing a hopeful, romantic vision of what this man could have been as a father to his children.

“Well, at least it’s balmy today. And he probably needs some fresh air,” Carlos said, giving Gabriel an uncomfortable look before glancing at the closed windows. Only then did Gabriel realize that Carlos was new to this ominous smell that lingered throughout the house. It was the combined smell of medicine, bodily excretions, and the sickly sweet odor of a slow and painful death.

“Are you excited, tatay?” Maritess asked, straightening their father’s polo shirt. Their father stirred awake, and his eyes scanned the room before falling upon Carlos. Carlos shifted in his seat, and when Gabriel glanced at him, Carlos’s mouth twitched in discomfort.

“You can talk to him,” Gabriel said, nodding in encouragement. “I do.”

Carlos sighed, and then said, “I’m sorry, papa.”

A low groan escaped from their father’s parted lips.

“It breaks my heart to see you like this,” Carlos said. He sighed again, and turned to Gabriel. “I’m sorry. I just can’t lie to him anymore.”

“It’s all right,” Gabriel said, as he avoided their father’s long, pleading gaze. He had gotten used to this look already, and knew when it was best to look away.

“I’m sorry, papa. I’m really sorry.” Carlos clasped his hands over his mouth, fixing a pained, supplicating look on the floor. Was there relief to be found in this apology, when it was impossible to tell if the old man had forgiven his son?

Their mother emerged from her room, all dolled up and ready. “He can hear you when you talk to him,” their mother said, touching Carlos on the arm as they rose. Maritess placed her hands on the handles of their father’s wheelchair, nodding at Carlos. “She’s right. He does hear you.”

“I know,” Carlos said, turning to look at their father, who stared straight ahead as Maritess wheeled him away. “I can tell.”

“He’s glad that you’re back,” their mother said, taking Carlos’s hand. “I can feel it.”

She and Maritess lifted their father from his wheelchair and into the backseat of her car, before she sauntered to the driver’s seat while Maritess carried the folded wheelchair into the car’s trunk. “Maritess will sit beside your father, Caloy, but you can sit with them at the back,” she said, unlocking her door before sliding behind the steering wheel. Gabriel slipped into the front seat beside her and glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Carlos opening the door for Maritess and sliding into the car, after her. His father was staring straight ahead, perhaps feeling slightly uncomfortable as he was forced to share the backseat of his wife’s car with one more person. Reconciling with his son was no longer a decision that was for him to make. Whether or not he liked it, his son was back, seeking his forgiveness.

Carlos glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Gabriel’s eyes. There was a wariness in his brother’s look. Their mother continued to twitter away about how her orchids were faring in the summertime as she pulled out of their driveway and drove up the incline of their street, blowing her horn at children who played hopscotch on the road. While it was difficult for her to take her son back underneath their roof, she also wanted this reconciliation to take place—it was as though she wanted things to be tidied up in their family as quickly, and neatly, as possible.

The last time they had made a trip to Burnham Park as a family was when Gabriel was thirteen years old—Carlos was a young lieutenant back then, and his father was more than keen to introduce him to the friends they ran into as they strolled around the rectangular, man-made lake. Here’s my son, back from the war in Sulu. He’s leading entire platoons to battle, can you imagine that? He could still remember the embarrassed smile on his brother’s face, the way Carlos shied away from speaking in detail about what he had seen when prodded by middle-aged men.

Their father stared straight ahead as his wife pushed his wheelchair across the parking lot. Carlos, Gabriel, and Maritess walked towards the lake, side by side, behind him. They stopped when they reached the lake, and stood around their father as he stared at the water. Their father liked being taken to Burnham Lake, their mother said to Gabriel once, because the water calmed him. Carlos approached the water, and rested his foot on the stone platform from which rose a low iron fence. Boats circled the water, and koi fish rose from the water’s surface from time to time, opening and closing their mouths around bits of debris.

“Remember when we took you both to the lake to feed the fish?” their mother asked, resting her hands on their father’s shoulders.

“You used to take me here before Gabby was born,” Carlos said, staring at the water. “We used to feed the fish, and later on dad taught me how to row.”

“So you wouldn’t be like those people,” Gabriel said, gesturing with his mouth at the rowers before them, who heaved and struggled as their boats spun in circles in the middle of the calm water.

“Then we had to learn to row fast at the Academy,” Carlos said, ignoring Gabriel. “I was first in my rowing class, partly because dad taught me how to row when I was a kid.”

“I remember that,” their mother said.

“He was ridiculously proud of me,” Carlos said, smiling to himself as he stepped off the platform.

“I don’t think he had time to teach me how to row,” Gabriel said. “By the time I was born, he was busier, and then he got even busier as I got older.”

“I taught you to swim though,” Carlos said. “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did.” Gabriel smiled, remembering a time when Carlos would take him to the Pines Hotel pool in the summertime. How Carlos cradled his small body in the water, telling Gabriel not to be afraid as he slowly let go.

Their chattering seemed to have had a calming effect on their father, for he was soon dozing in his chair. Their mother smiled, and patted the back of his wheelchair.

“If you want to take a walk around the park, I can stay here and sit with him,” Maritess said. “He’ll be all right.”

“We’ll be back soon,” their mother said, leading her two sons back onto the pavement that encircled the lake. Gabriel grinned, while Carlos hesitated as he turned away from the water.

“What’s on your mind, anak?” she asked Carlos, as she brought an arm around his back and rested her head against his side.

 “Nothing much. I just remembered how the lake seemed so big to me, as a kid. Then it was as small as a bathtub when I got back from the front. And now I look at it again, and it seems so big again, for some reason.”

“You’ve been away for so long, that’s why.”

“It’s just so strange, to meet him like this,” Carlos said, stepping aside to let a child cyclist pass. “Nothing prepared me for it, not even your stories.”

“His mind is still lucid. You can tell by the way he looks at you. And I think I can feel what he’s thinking, or maybe just what he’s feeling. These days, we speak to each other in our silences. I’ve learned to accept that it’s enough.”

“He has so much time on his hands, so how does he keep his mind occupied?” Carlos sighed. “I know how it is. All that monotony will drive you crazy.”

“I talk to him, don’t worry. And maybe, now that you’re back, he’ll have the chance to have some sort of peace in his life.”

“But you said he disowned me.”

“That was before. He always was your father, Caloy. We say things when we’re angry, but what’s in our hearts never changes.”

They walked side by side, past couples, families, and vendors carrying sacks of chicharon and buckets of roasted peanuts. Families spread mats on the lawn facing the lake, kicking off their shoes and switching on their portable stereos while urging on their toddlers to dance to the music. A young couple laughed when Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” came on and their baby, who was on all fours, swayed her hips to the music.

Gabriel stepped aside to allow a couple to pass, and followed Carlos and their mother as they found a vacant bench at the lake’s rim. The two were chatting like old friends—laughing, retrieving odd, random memories from Carlos’s boyhood. It was as though the past ten years had never happened, for they skirted around those painful years as though it were a blank canvas where nothing had taken place.

Gabriel eyed their father on the opposite side of the lake, through the curtain of weeping willows that cast soft, moving shadows on his father’s face. The old man continued to doze, while Maritess caught Gabriel’s eye and waved. This reconciliation felt so easy, now that his father could no longer speak—and though one could never know what the old man would have said or done if his body weren’t so broken, it also felt somewhat cruel to put words into his father’s mouth, and to assume that he forgave Carlos just because he could no longer speak.

The sound of a child’s voice interrupted Gabriel’s reverie.

“Lola Au?” Diwata called out, taking long, gangly strides towards them. Mr. Hoffer chased her across the park’s lawn, spotting Gabriel and waving before he glanced at Carlos and stared. A sad realization crept across his face, and Carlos appeared stricken as the girl approached them. He glanced at their mother in panic, and she, apologetic and helpless, merely shrugged.

“Diwata,” their mother said, awkwardly rising to her feet, “How nice to see you.” She reached her hand towards Diwata, who took it. “Do you want an ice cream?” At first, she allowed their mother to lead her away, but then stopped to glance over her shoulder at Gabriel and Carlos.

It was just too soon, and both Gabriel and his mother knew that Carlos wasn’t ready for this meeting. But it was such a small town, and meeting Carlos’s child was inevitable if they paraded him around so openly. Their mother glanced at Carlos, giving him a weak, apologetic smile, and Diwata turned to face him.

            Mr. Hoffer met them, planting his feet where the park’s lawn met the walkway that encircled the lake, and said, “We didn’t know you’d be here.”

Carlos opened his mouth, unable to speak. The girl blinked, waiting for a sign.

“Ma, did you plan this?” Carlos finally asked, in a voice so weakened that it emerged as a whisper. 

“I didn’t. But she won’t hurt you. She just wants to see you.”

“You know I can’t do this,” he muttered, rising from his bench and walking away.

Diwata stared at the spot her father had just vacated, spellbound by Carlos’s rebuke. Their mother took Diwata in her arms, while Mr. Hoffer stroked her shoulders. “I’ll go talk to him,” Gabriel said as he rose from his bench, and his mother nodded to him as she stroked Diwata’s hair.

He wove past roller skaters, children on bicycles, couples walking hand-in-hand, and a group of elderly women who sauntered down the shaded walk, smiling at the sunshine as they gossiped. He caught up with Carlos just as he was about to cross the threshold of trees that bordered the lake’s grounds.

“Hey, kuya, slow down,” he said, putting a hand on Carlos’s shoulder. He hesitated as Carlos turned to face him, the sorrow in his brother’s eyes stirring up an old, familiar shame.

Carlos fixed his eyes on the other end of the lake, where Diwata was now talking to their mother, her hands moving in the air as she chattered.

“If she knew who I was, she wouldn’t be so excited to see me,” he said, his voice trailing away as he watched Diwata from afar.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Carlos said, as he began to walk away.