Amadeo’s Point of View
My father took me to his study room. Agad na bumungad sa akin ang amoy ng tabako niya. His room was painted in white and golden brown. Sa gitna ng silid ay naroon ang mesa niya kung saan nakalatag ang mga papeles at record ng transaksyon ng grupo.
“I’m glad you finally came, my son,” sambit niya sabay upo sa malaking swivel chair niya. Pinagdaop niya ang palad at ipinatong ito sa kanyang tuhod. Tumitig siya sa akin—kay riin at talim ng mga mata niya. “I was so ready to get you here no matter what.”
“I know what you’ll do, father. Ayokong idamay mo ang grupo ko,” mahinahon kong sabi sa kanya saka naupo na rin. “So, why are you so eager to see me?”
“You know you’re my favorite son,” nakangiti niyang sagot. “I miss you, that’s why I wanted to see you. You’ve been a
