Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
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By Rosalinda Orosa
Jose Prez was a clever boy. One might even say he brimmed over with intelligence. He
had always been the class valedictorianfrom grade one up. Indeed it was a source of family
pride that all the other Prezestwo brothers and a sisterhad graduated with first honors.
Jose had no difficulty maintaining his class standing. Firstly, he was quick at
comprehending and grasping things. Secondly, he had an exceptional memory. Thirdly, he
studied regularlynot much (he did not need to) but regularly. With all these in his favor, Joses
classmates frequently exclaimed in awe: Golly, that Prez has everything!
There was nothing more surprising, therefore, than the principals announcement that hot
afternoon in March: Jose Prez was not finishing with first honors. It was the greatest
disappointment in the Araullo High School campus in yearsa Prez finishing second.
But Jose was not troubled; what seemed so puzzling to his classmates was that he even
appeared glad about it. As he walked up the stage to receive his diploma from the principal, an
inscrutable smile played lightly on his lips.
What could be the matter with him? his classmates asked each other. Nobody could
answer. Nobody, that is, except Jose. He did not care to, however. That was obvious. Settling
back on his seat, he evaded his companions queries, saying there was nothing to explain really.
When he saw his rival Santiago Castrence go up the improvised platform to deliver the
valedictory address, Jose leaned back, grateful for the interruption. For the moment, at least, he
did not have to answer any more questions. He closed his eyes, and soon he was lost in
recollection.
It all happened so fast (just a week before the finals) that up to the last minute, Jose was
dubious about the success of his scheme. His rival Santiago was a new boy, a Bulakeo, and one
of a widows two sons. Unlike Jose, he was poor. How poor Jose found out when he saw Alberto
Lozada, the laziest boy in class and the most impertinent, loitering in the school grounds.
The two chatted briefly. A raucous, zestful rendition of the Rock n Roll interrupted
them. It came from Albertos gang of rowdy, unbearably smug companions hailing him.
Throwing his book at Jose with a Hold this til Im back, Alberto was off. Jose missed the
book, and papers from between its covers went flying. Hastily picking them up, Jose found
among them an open, home-made envelope addressed to Mrs. Antonia Salazar Vda. De
Castrence. On its upper left-hand corner was written Santiago Castrence, c/o Central Boarding
House, 1533 Azcarraga, Manila.
Dear Inay,
Do not worry about me. I am in good health. Inay, you and I planned that if I
were to finish as valedictorian, I could earn free entrance and matriculation fees and so
manage to study for a degree at night after working in the daytime. I am afraid I shall be
graduating with second honors only. But please believe me if I say I am trying and shall
keep on trying. I think they give a discount of fifty per cent to salutatorians. I am writing
you this so you wont expect too much from me, only to get disappointed later.
Jose did not bother to read further. He wished he had never opened the letter, but then,
well, he was glad that he had. What was the price for reading a letterthat particular letteron
the sly? He asked himself. He felt a vague tightness inside him.
The letter was still in his hand. Hastily, he put it inside the envelope, then hid it between
the book covers. He walked through the corridor. Just then, Alberto was coming with his
companions toward the basketball court. Jose approached Alberto, eyeing him closely. You live
in the Central Boarding House, dont you? Jose asked as casually as he could manage to.
Without waiting for a reply, he continued, Isnt that where Castrence lives, too?
Well, no, not exactly, Alberto replied, shrugging his shoulders. Hes some sort of
janitor in the building. There was a pause. Alberto, why should a letter of Castrence be in your
book? It fell as you threw your book to me, Jose said feeling guilty.
How come? Oh yes, Lozada replied, his face brightening up. He must have forgotten
about it when he borrowed my book last night. The sound of applause interrupted Joses reverie.
Santiagos valedictory speech was over. Jose straightened up, and heartily joined the applause.
The short story above was reprinted in 1978 by the Communication Arts in Social
Living, Social Studies Publications.