The Unraveling of Greed and Betrayal
In the heart of Cebu City, 82-year-old Lola Maria resided with her youngest son, Carlos, and his wife, Lina. Recently, it became apparent to the couple that Lola was exhibiting signs of forgetfulness; she would often repeat the same inquiries or misplace her belongings.
One evening on the terrace, Lina confided in her husband:
“If we manage to get Mom to sign the property transfer, the house will belong to us. It’s a simple scheme; she’s elderly and naïve.”
“Absolutely. We’ll tell her it’s a medical document. She’ll never realize it’s an ownership transfer,” he replied confidently.
The very next day, they deceived Lola into accompanying them to the town hall under the pretense of a medical examination and the notarization of some supposed “medical forms.” In truth, they were securing her signature on a document that falsely transferred the house—worth over five million pesos—into Carlos’s name.
Lola Signed Without Knowing
Unaware of the deceit, Lola signed the document, trusting her son and daughter-in-law.
Upon returning home, the couple announced, “Mom, perhaps it’s best for you to stay with relatives for a while. We intend to renovate the house to enhance its charm.” Lola Maria simply stood silent, a tumult of emotions swirling within her.
Her husband, Lolo Ben, infuriated by the betrayal, swiftly moved Lola out that same evening, taking only a few clothes, heading to his nephew’s residence in Bohol province.
48 Hours Later…
As Carlos and Lina plotted their renovations, a tricycle halted in front of their house, carrying a large container. Out stepped Lola Maria, dressed in her traditional Barong Tagalog blouse and a hat, holding a massive bucket of bagoong (fermented shrimp paste) that filled the air with a powerful odor.
Calmly, she entered the garden and declared, “Did you genuinely believe I was fooled? I am not senile; I feigned forgetfulness to reveal the extent of your greed.” She directed her gaze at Lina.
“I recorded every word—your discussions, the contract you forced me to sign. Proof exists with my lawyer, barangay officials, and the municipality. Over these last 48 hours, I was within my lawyer’s office, not in some province. And now…”
The horrifying stench of the bagoong intensified as she lifted the lid of the bucket.
“This is my gift to you—my homemade bagoong, fermented for two years. Do you know why I brought it? Because greedy and shameless individuals carry a smell that lingers, impervious to soap’s cleansing.”
At that moment, Lolo Ben arrived, cane in hand, with unwavering authority:
“We don’t desire your wealth or home. But do not believe you can deceive your own parents. This house is rightfully your mother’s, and if you wish to claim it, you’ll have to do so over my lifeless body.” Carlos, quaking, lowered his eyes.
“Ma… We didn’t intend for it to turn out this way… We just wanted to assist in fixing the title…”
Lola María’s smile was bittersweet yet powerful.
“Assist? Just acknowledge that you wished to take it. But remember this: ungrateful offspring will forever carry the stench of shame. Regardless of how much perfume they use, the filth on their conscience will always reemerge.”
As neighbors began to gather, whispers filled the air, mingling with the pungent aroma of bagoong—a reminder of the greed that lingers long after it has been committed, a curse that returns to haunt.
The Aftermath
Carlos and Lina believed the chaos would eventually die down. They scrubbed the pungent residue from the yard for hours, but the foul smell clung to them.
That night, Carlos awoke, startled by whispering sounds outside near the gate. Upon investigation, he discovered a small plastic bag hanging there, containing a fresh jar of bagoong and a note:
“Those who dwell in deception bear the stench not on their skin, but within their hearts.”
Frozen in fear, he turned to see Lina clutching him, trembling.
“Sweetheart… perhaps Mom sent someone to frighten us…”
But Carlos shouted defiantly, “She’s 82! She cannot terrify us! Don’t be superstitious!”
Three Days Later
A summons arrived requesting their presence at Barangay Hall to address the illegal property transfer. When they arrived, Lola Maria was already present, seated with a young attorney and two police officers.
Though dressed simply in her barong, her eyes sparkled with determination. Her attorney activated a recording:
“Just sign here… she’s forgetful and easily manipulated…”
“After the sale, we’ll split the profits and evict her…”
Lina’s voice was unmistakably clear and echoed through the room.
A profound silence descended.
The barangay official shook his head in disapproval, stating:
“What occurred here is reprehensible. This transcends a mere family matter; it constitutes fraud and mistreatment of the elderly.”
Carlos’s complexion paled, and Lina broke down in tears.
Lola Maria’s Resounding Message
Then, Lola María articulated her final thoughts. She addressed Carlos, stating:
“Carlos, I wish to avoid seeing you imprisoned. But you must understand that wrongdoing costs more than just a home; it costs your integrity.”
Turning to Lina, she added:
“You cared for me during my illness—I remember that. However, a single act of betrayal overshadows all previously displayed kindness.”
She rose, maintaining calmness:
“I have donated half of the home to the Cebu senior care center, while the remainder has been entrusted to my lawyer, safeguarding it from any further claims.”
Stunned, Carlos and Lina understood their fate.
Following that day, they relocated to Cebu, leasing a modest apartment in Mandaue. They launched a small eatery, but no matter the menu, customers consistently remarked:
“Why does this restaurant emit the scent of bagoong?”
Lina lamented, “I’ve cleaned everything countless times! Why won’t the odor dissipate?”
Carlos remained silent, aware it wasn’t the authentic scent of bagoong—it was the lingering aroma of guilt and shame, the burden borne after betraying one’s mother.
As for Lola María, after donating her estate to the senior center, she devoted her afternoons to making coffee, reading, and finding joy in tranquility.
Whenever inquired about her son, she would respond gently:
“I may have lost my home, but I’ve regained my dignity. As for them, they will never know peace again, tormented by the stench of their own wrongdoing.”
In the Philippines, it’s often said: “Ang utang na loob ay mas mabigat kaysa ginto”—a debt of gratitude outweighs gold. And when a son dares to betray the one who bestowed life, every possession attained thereafter will carry the odor of bagoong—a strong, penetrating stench that never diminishes.