Last Thursday, my Spanish professor died.
And his parting words?
“Mag quiz na tayo ngay-on, dahil next week, baka wala na ako dito.”
Exactly one week after he said that, he stopped breathing. He suffered stroke in the faculty room, and was rushed to the hospital but was never revived. It was 7:00pm and the line was running flat for an hour.
Professor Obusan’s accent somehow reminded me of the countryside (not that I have any province), of Batangas, and of dead presidents. From what his stories told us, he could have been eighty, eighty-five, ninety. We never asked. Nevertheless, he had a very sharp memory. We could have pried open his head and discovered fresh pictures of World War II, or the maiden Imelda, or Quirino being sworn in as president. I tried to test this memory by vouching present for my friend, Downybearded who was running late. The old man’s memory was sharper than your shaving blade, and DB was marked absent.
There was a time in AB that an oldly man arrives promptly at 7:30am, walks in the building and opens the door to room 104 — to find four students barely awake, drinking coffee from McDonalds. The old man who fondly calls himself “retiree”, walks to the professor’s table and places his things on top of it, looks at the “class” and says, “Oh, buenas dias! Wala pa baga ang iba ninyong kaklase? Babalik ako ng, ah, 8:30…” and exits again, probably to retreat to the faculty room.
Now however, it seems we will be waiting for 8:30 for a lifetime, and that door will never show that lined face again, whatever the time.
Goodbye, professor Obusan. Your lessons are kept at heart, as are your stories.
Para usted nosotros oramos:
Padre Nuestro, Ave Maria, El Gloria.
Puedele descansa en la paz.
Amen.
