The Compass

JM Ibanez

The room was filled with books. Some were bound volumes of scientific journals, while others were textbooks. There were books with titles as "Cotabato, '74" and "Survey of Lanao Del Norte, '76", bound volumes with names of provinces here and abroad. One shelf had a faded black and white photograph of a group of young white men with three lone brown-skinned Filipinos, faces beaming with pride. The photograph was captioned "Stanford, 1957."

"Take this," he told the young man. "It was mine for quite a while, and it served me well. It's now your turn to have it."

It was dark green and made of iron. It wasn't very heavy, but it was massive in the young man's hand. It was somewhat circular, somewhat octagonal. On its face was a silver plate, with a table of natural sines embossed on it, as well as who made it. "D W Burtons Pocket Transit" was what it said.

The old man looked at it once more. It was a compass, a geologist's compass. He opened it. The glass that covered the actual compass face was marred at the edges, and the inside of the lid was a mirror, dusty and marred with several fingerprints. The metal was slightly rusted, its edges slightly rough and dented. He passed his finger through each dent and each bump, caressing it lovingly.

The young man faced his companion. "I... I can't take this."

His companion smiled, his wrinkled skin amplifying his emotion. He shook his head. "Take it. It's yours now. I have no use for it, and I know it'll help you." The old man studied the compass once more, looked at the glass and the levels inside the compass. He watched as the needle swung back and forth. He closed the lid and smiled. "I could tell you a lot of things about this. I was in the mining expedition in '75, down in Cotabato, and it was with me. Take care of it." He sighed, the memories were too heavy to bear. He took the young man's smooth hand in his wrinkled one and placed the compass on it.

"I will, lolo." He looked down at the heavy metal box. He looked at the old man, about to ask him something. The young man looked back at the gift.

The grandfather stepped out of the room they were in, walking slowly. The young man stood alone for a few moments, before he walked briskly out of the room.

Outside, in the living room, was the young man's father. He was watching television, and when he saw the two he took the remote and turned it off.

The father looked at his son, then turned to his father. "Tatang, we'll be going ahead. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

The old man nodded. "Sure, I will. Just take care on the drive home."

An old woman entered the room, with a middle-aged woman in tow. "What did you say?," the old woman creaked.

"We'll be going now, ma," the younger woman answered loudly.

"You're drawing something?"

"We're leaving, ma"

"Aah, you're leaving. Well then, take care."

The younger woman looked exasperated. She motioned to her husband with her head. "Let's go," she said.

Husband and wife were led out by the old woman, while the young man was accosted by his grandfather. "Take care of it for me," he repeated.

"Yes I will, lolo. I'll take care of it."

Seeming satisfied, the old man smiled, and waved him goodbye as he entered their car.

"So lolo gave you his compass."

"Yes, dad."

The father glanced at his son on the rear view mirror. The young man was sitting silently, looking down at the compass. The young man stared at the gift and played around with it. He watched as the needle swung wildly around before swinging back and forth, slowly steadying towards magnetic north, but not quite holding steady in the end. The needle wavered, moving back and forth, as though unsure. It pointed north, but it wavered. It was very sensitive, and every movement of his hand disturbed the needle's aim.

He pondered on the swinging needle, and wondered how such an imprecise thing helped his grandfather.

He could remember the words the old man gave him. "This is precious to me, and I give it to you because I hope it'll help you in your life." How could an old compass help him? Geology was the farthest from his mind.

They got home, and the young man relegated the compass to his drawer. He didn't need it anyway, but he didn't want to throw it away. Might as well keep it, he told himself, after all, I might really need it someday. Of course I don't think I will, but just in case.

Two years later his grandfather passed away from a heart attack. He never really knew him, and the compass was the only thing that he had of him.