DUMAGUETE
When Carlos’ mother decided to take him to Dumaguete, on the other side of the island, he didn’t question her. One day she said, we
have to go, and they did, walking with their overnight bags to the bus station, whose uneven ground was pooled with muddy brown water in which he could detect shapes darting, tiny black minnows. He
stumbled once or twice but his mother never paused or looked behind her and he hurried to catch up.
He wondered why she hadn’t asked the driver to take them. Nanding had returned home after dropping off Carlos’ father at the office. But his mother had had the security guard call
them a cab. The cab driver had stared at his mother as they got into the back. Carlos wanted to hit him.
His mother had dressed carefully for the trip. She was wearing one of
