WE FILIPINOS ARE MILD DRINKERS

Alejandro R. Roces

We Filipinos are mild drinkers .

We drink for only three good reasons:

We drink when we are happy .We drink when we are very sad. And we drink for any other reason.

When the Americans recaptured the Philippines, they built an air base.

A few miles from our barrio ...

Yankee soldiers became a very common sight .

One afternoon ...

I was plowing our rice field with our carabao named ..

DATUI was barefooted and stripped to the waist. My pants , that there were made from abaca fibers and woven on homemade looms, were rolled up to my kness. My bolo was at my side.

An American soldier was walking on the highway.When he saw me , he headed towards me.I stopped plowing and waited for him.

I noticed he was carrying a half-pint bottle of whiskey bottles seemed part of american uniform.

Hello, my little brother.

He said patting me on the head.

Hello Joe!

He answered. All Americans are called Joe in the Philippines.

Any bars in this town?

I’m sorry Joe.There’s no bar in this barrio

Oh, hell! You know where I could buy more whiskey?

No, Joe. I’m sorry. We do not drink whiskey.

Here, have a swig. You have been working too hard.

No, thank you, Joe.We Filipinos are mild drinkers.

Well, don’t you drink at all ?

Yes, Joe, I drink, but not whiskey.

What the hell do you drink?

I drink Lambanog.

Jungle juice, eh.

I have some you can have , but I do not

think you will like it

I guess that is what the GI’s call it.

I’ll like it all right . Don’t

worry about that. I have

drunk everything

whiskey,rum,brandy,tequi

la,gin,champagne,sake,

vodka

Say , you are drink a lot, don’t you? I not only drink a lot, but i drink anything. I drank

Chanel Number 5 when I was in France. In New Guinea I got soused on William’s Shaving Lotion. When I was laid up in a hospital I got pie-eyed with medical alcohol. On my way hera in a transport I got stoned on torpedo juice. You ain’t kidding when you say I drink a lot. So, Let’s have some of that jungle juice.eh?

All rightI will just take this carabao to the mud hole, then we go home and drink.

You sure love that animal, don’t you?

I should, it does half of my work

Why don’t you get two of them?

The farmer didn’t answer .I unhitched Datu from the plow and led him to the mudhole. Joe was following me. Datu lay in the mud and was going.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSH! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH !!

Flies and other insects flew from his back and hovered in the air. A strange warm odor rose out of the mudle. A Carabao does not have any sweat glands except on its nose. It has to wallow in the mud

or bathe in a river about every three hours. Otherwise it runs amok.

Datu shook his head and his widespread horns scooped the muddy water on his

back. He rolled over and was soon covered with slimy mud. An expression of perfect contentment came into his eyes. Then he swished his tail and joe and i had to move

back from the mudhole to keep from getting splashed. I left Datu in the

mudhole. Then, turning to Joe, I said,

“ LETS GO “

And we proceeded towards my house. Joe was curiously looking around.

This place is full of coconut trees

Don’t you have any coconut trees in America?

No , Back home we have the pine tree.

What is it like?

Oh, it is tall and stately. It goes straight up to the sky like a skyscraper. It symbolizes America.

Well .The coconut tree symbolizes the philippines. It starts up to the sky, but then its leaves sway down to the earth, as if remembering the land that gave it birth. It does not forget the soil that gave it life.

In a short while, we arrived in my nipa house. I took a bamboo ladder and picked some calamansi.

What’s that?

Philippine lemon,We will need this for

our drinks.

Oh. chaser

That is right, Joe. That is what the soldiers call

it.

I filled my pockets and then went down. I went down. I went to the garden well and washed the mud from my legs. Then we went up a bamboo ladder to my h

Please sit down, Joe.

Where?

Right there.

Joe sat down on the floor. I sliced the calamansi in halves , took some rough salt and laid it on the foot-high table. I went to the kitchen and took the bamboo tube where i kept my lambanog.

Lambanog is a drink extracted from the coconut tree with pulverized mangrove bark thrown in to prevent spontaneous combustion. It has many uses. We use it as neardy for snakes-bites, as counteractive for malaria chills, as an insecticide and for tanning carabao hide.

I poured some lambanog on two polished coconut shells and gave one of the shells to Joe. I diluted my drink with some joe’s whiskey. It became milky. We were both seated on the floor. I poured some of my drink on th bamboo floor, it went through the slits to the ground below.

Hey, what are you doing. Throwing good

liquor away?

No, Joe.It is the custom here always to give back to the earth a little of what we

have taken from the earth.

Well,Here’s to end of the

war!

Here is to end of the war!

I gulped my drink down. I followed it with a slice of calamansi dipped in roughin rough salt. Joe took his drink, but reacted in a peculiar way. His eyes popped out like a frog’s and his hand clutched his throat. He looked as if he swallowed a centipede.

Quick! A chaser !

I gave him a slice of calamansi dipped in unrefined salt. He squirted it his mouth. But it

was too late. Nothing could chase her . The calamansi did not help him. I don’t think even a

coconut would have helped him.

What is wrong, Joe?

Nothing .The first drink

always affects me this way.

He was painting hard and tears were rolling down his

cheeks.

Well, the first drink always acts like a mine

sweeper, but this second one will be

smooth.

I filled his shell for the second time. Again i diluted my drink with joe’s whiskey. I gave Joe

his shell . I noticed that he was baeded with perspiration. He had unbuttoned his collar

and loosened his tie. Joe his shell but he did not seem very anxious. I lifted my shell and

said.

Here is to America.

I was trying hard to be a good host.

Here’s to America!

We both killed our drinks. Joe again reacted in a funny way. His neck stretched out like a turtle’s. And now he was panting like a carabao gone

amok. He was grasping his tie with one hand. Then he looked down on his tie, threw it to one side, and said, “ OH CHRIST, FOR WHILE I THOUGHT IT

WAS MY TONGUE.”

THE ENDSubmitted by :

Paula Mhay A. Villegas

Submitted to: MRS. Era