Year 2004-2005

Barrio Tale: Istasyun

I heard Fredo is dead. It's sad but I won't dwell on his death even if he was only 50 years old when he died. My sister says tsk, tsk, tsk, Fredo should not die of heart attack, he was too good looking to die. He was typically the man you'd call Pampango Galante.



I don't know where his family came from. I know his father used to work for the National Railroad. In the earlier years, the barrio was one of the routes of the train that ran all the way from Balintawak to Bataan. It had many stations and one of them was the station where we all lived close to. When the railroad was closed due to the construction of the National Road which allowed buses and cars and jeepneys to transport people, the station became useless and the father of Fredo grabbed it and called it his family's home. From then on, we assumed that Fredo's family resided in Istasyun.



The Istasyun was really a passengers' station and I still could not imagine how it was converted into a home. But it became a home. Despite the railroad still leading to it, the ticket booth was converted into a window for the wife who was a dressmaker.



Istasyun stood beside the well that kept pouring like there would always be water in the barrio until all the earth disappeared. You'd wake up without a care. You would not even pump the well because the water was just there you know, a non-stop running tube, you go there and do whatever - drink, bathe, wash clothes, clean all your casseroles and plates, water the plants, brush and rinse the house, build a mini-pond, bathe your hogs, wash the corrals, clean your toilet, you can even build a swimming pool. Our barrio is on a low land surrounded by Pampanga River. I guess it being low meant it was to be full of these sibol, natural springs, and actually we had two.



The only trouble with being low land was, of course, the flood during rainy season.



But Fredo was one of those guys you would call typical Pampango. He would go to the well, and without a care, take off his clothes down to his underwear, rub his skin with a rough rock to get rid of libak(dead skin), soap himself and stay beside the well bathing himself like he didn't have a care.



And then, he'd walk towards his parents' home the Istasyun, dress in most conservative clothes, barong and all, wear the most expensive cologne, gel his hair, trim his moustache, put on his shiny shoes, put on gold jewelry and walk the road like a million dollar man.



Meanwhile, his mother would go to the store to borrow another kilo of rice. She'd say her children were dying of hunger.