Some things have changed since the incident. I had not gone home for days since Tony Boy’s death. I did not worry that Aling Taleng had been looking for me. It was more likely that she did not, and was never worried about my whereabouts. But if she did, surely she must have heard about Tony Boy’s death.
I had been wearing Albert’s clothes and had borrowed a handkerchief from him to wrap around my head to protect the wound in my forehead. The swelling had not gone down and I was carrying the weight on my left eye.
The wake lasted for a night and a day. We did not know that Tony Boy had set aside some amount of money from the share he got from the trade. His mother told us of his plan to someday go back to school. She said they had been keeping it a secret that his father doesn’t even know anything about it. Now that he’s dead, his mother used the money for his coffin, but it wasn’t enough that they were not able to afford his embalming.
When we arrived that morning at their house, we felt the relief of not having to explain to his parents everything that had happened, when we saw the black piece of cloth that hanged on the wall outside their house next to the doorway. We’ve had doubts about coming since we do not know how we could handle breaking to them the news of Tony Boy’s death. It must have been hard. Then, our only worry was how we would tell them the whole story and make them believe that everything was beyond our control.
But upon reaching the house, his father seemed even glad to see us. Standing outside their front yard, the first thing that caught my attention was the two bottles of gin that I thought had drowned his father’s sane recognition and would save us from further humiliation. His gang of neighborhood compadres, which, I doubt if they showed any open sympathy to the couple, or were just there for the drinking, there, obviously looking drunk, surrounded his father. It seemed to me that they were enjoying their own drunken stories, with the father, celebrating the time he finally got rid of the remaining son. They were like just drinking at a sari-sari store across the street, except that they have found a new venue. The father, enjoying all the attention, had the loudest voice in the group.
When he saw us coming from the street, outside the tall plants that lined their front yard, he called us in, raising his voice even louder, like we were the much-awaited guests to his son’s wake. He announced to his compadres and to everyone, including the group of about five people playing cards at the small veranda, in a sad yet louder voice of our arrival. Right then, all eyes were on us, including those of the women inside the house that I could see through the wide-open window. At that moment, I longed to run away. I was losing my face, embarrassed at what the father did. The eyes were as if accusing us of Tony Boy’s death. The stares that we received were colder than the prison cell that defied our innocence. But Albert stood through all these, and I couldn’t do anything more than to move behind his back to cover myself from the vindictive eyes.
The father stood, wobbling, and headed to our direction. Albert had no plans of leaving, his feet planted on the ground, ready to face any possible assault. He was coming to get us, and I was praying I would sprout wings and I could fly away. But the father stretched open his arms, and as he was drawing nearer, his lips started shaking and clouds of tears started forming in his eyes. He stood before us in pity, like begging of us to see the sorrows in his eyes. I held on to Albert for fear of what he may be capable of doing. He was obviously drunk and only God knows what was running in his head.
But his face slowly broke down in remorse. To my surprise, he embraced us and kissed us both in the head. He exhaled himself to cry, and struggling with his breath, he told us of his son’s death. Albert feeling the sincerity of this humble atonement was moved to reciprocate the gesture. He gave him a gentle tap in the back, saying his condolences, but was first to move free from his embracing arms. I, still feeling the shock, was arrested in his arms, locked in a choking grip, shaking with every sobbing breath he made.
He then lead us inside the house where the helpless mother sat, weeping on a chair next to the coffin. Then it was my turn to console her. I embraced her, catching her breath. Her yes had turned red of crying. Albert, who stood before the coffin, silently watching our friend had been impassive to the father who stood squeezing his eyes behind him. When it was my turn to view, Albert comforted the mother.
All the ladies in the room were watching us in mourning. I was beginning to feel like I was the one who died. As I behold Tony Boy, lamenting his eternal silence, I heard them talk about what a good child he has been, like they were his mothers. They were openly talking about to each other, sharing their own recollections of the kind, respectful and obedient child that he was as the way they come to know him. They seemed to have said all the nice sounding words that they know. I thought, if only words could lift ones soul to heaven, Tony Boy could have been dancing with the angels by then.
When the father sensed that nobody was minding him, he left and again joined his compadres with their drinking. He almost tripped on his way out. Albert had been talking to the mother about the burial. I made my way looking for a comfortable spot to rest myself. I had been feeling sleepy and was very tired. One of the ladies offered me a seat, which I refused. I stood next to them in a corner, beside the window, next to a group of ladies talking.
The room had been cleared of all the unnecessary furniture, and the only light that invaded the room was the one coming from the only lighted candle on top of the coffin, and the bright rays of the morning sun coming from the wide-open window. The coffin in a box shape was plainly done, and simple with white paint. You could still smell the odor of paint on the surface. The coffin was without a glass covering, so that you could touch the corpse in the face. It was made of hard plywood with rough edges that looked raw. It was free of all the intricate details, comparing it to my Lola’s coffin when she died. There was not a single flower that adorned it and none of those surrounding bright lights on fancy frames made especially for funerals to illuminate the room.
By the window where I stood imagining things, I got a clear view of what went on outside as much as in the inside. There were not as much people as the stories they share. The faces I saw were just from around the place and were no more new to my sight.
The men drinking outside had mellowed, with the father who had become emotional in recalling the fate of all his children, and how it caused him to fall into so much grief. He had been cursing and blaming everyone but himself, and the men never failed to pass a shot of alcohol, barely even listening.
The women inside had it all. They look more contained with grief than the mother herself. She kept all her pains hidden, even her tears she kept to herself. She had been keeping her head bent, her hands clasped, covering her mouth to prevent an uttered cry. But the women did otherwise. All the time they had exhibited an explicit display of unsolicited emotions. They behaved as if they felt the loss. It doubt if they cared at all. I doubt if Tony Boy even knew them by their names, or if at one point in their lives, they spared a moment to think about him. It’s a sad thing to think that death has many relatives, while living is a lonesome travail.
The heat was unbearable by two o’clock in the afternoon. It took the whole two hours for us to walk through the heat going to the cemetery. There was no hearse for the coffin so that we had to take turns to make the six men carry. It was difficult to keep the balance and walk, carrying the entire weight of the coffin altogether, since some of the men who helped with the carrying were drunk.
Though he wanted to, we spared the father from the responsibility because he was too drunk that he could not even manage to carry his own weight. He had been going wild and hysterical since we left the house, and had collapsed a couple of times on the way. There were only about twenty people joining the procession. Some of the neighbors opted to stay behind because of the scourging heat of the afternoon sun. Some of the father’s compadres had fallen to sleep, if not dragged home by their wives and had to excuse themselves. Some of the women had gone home sometime before we departed to avoid having to oblige them to join the burial. They do not want to burden the guilt of being regarded as having no delicadeza if they left at the time of the departure.
Albert made it through three turns with the carrying. I only accepted my turn a couple of times. I had to refuse my third turn since I was feeling dizzy and the pain on my head had become excruciating. All throughout the entire walk to the cemetery, we never ran out of people who, instead of showing at least a little amount of sympathy and respect, could not help but watch us pass them by as if we were doing something ridiculous. Running little children followed us, enjoying themselves like we were a band of circus people on parade. But I couldn’t blame them. With one or two drunken men taking their turns in carrying the coffin on their shoulders, we could not walk in a straight and steady pace. With the way the coffin was shaken and wobbling, it would not be impossible to imagine how one would hold his breath for fear that the coffin might just fall off our shoulders anytime. That, plus the fact that the father had been wailing and screaming like a hungry cow on the way. If I was an onlooker on the way, and the dead person on the coffin was not Tony Boy, or had it not for the mother, walking behind in deep pain at the loss of his son, then I would have been laughing with them myself.
When we arrived at the cemetery, we had to rest ourselves for a while and wipe off the pails of sweat that was coming out of our melting bodies before we proceeded with the digging. The gravedigger, the one in charge at the cemetery had fallen asleep on one of the shaded tombs. When we arrived, he complained that we came very late. He never cared to look at our weary faces. He has gotten used to burials and had managed to remain unaffected and detached from the rage of sentiments of those involved.
We helped him with the digging. The parents could not afford a tomb so we had to settle with the earth. All the while, while we were digging deeper into the ground, the gravedigger had been asking careless questions that were rather insulting, though at some point, somehow, a little relieving. He said our dead man was lucky to have been afforded with a decent burial. For him to have said that was a little comforting on my part. I had been opposed to calling it a decent burial when you bury a dead person beneath the ground. To me, it was like burying a dead dog. I have somehow, achieved contentment with his words. When he learned from Albert that Tony Boy died during the riot at the plaza, he added that we were lucky that it was immediately reported to us, that he could have been thrown to the river, on incinerated with the rest, or even thrown to an open deserted place on the countryside. With that, I do not know if Tony Boy was, indeed lucky. It was death all the same.
Then he started to notice the handkerchief that was wrapped around my head and my swelling left eye. He asked if I was caught in the riot too. I said yes, and told him that I got wounded in my forehead. And then again he said that I was lucky that I’m still alive. I think it’s stupid.
Finally the coffin was lowered down, and there goes my friend. All the women wept with the mother. The father once again started jumping and screaming in hysteria. Then for the third time he collapsed, once again grabbing all the attention. They fanned him to regain his breathing. One woman asked for water, but there was none.
Albert and I stood behind the mother. She was covering her mouth with both hands, and it was difficult because she was trying to hold back all her emotions as we watched the coffin slowly disappeared with every shoveled soil that was thrown by the man back into the grave. We had been telling her to let out all her cry. She was sobbing very hard and we feared that she might faint because she had turned all pale and cold.
When the rest had gone, there was only me, Albert, the mother and the father. Albert would not bother himself minding the father, so he stayed with the mother, who had been crying, with her face buried on his shoulder. I was pulling away the father, holding both his arms because he was attempting to dig through the grave. I thought, maybe he wanted to bury himself with his son. He had been crying so loud like a child. I could have cried for the loss of my friend myself, but I lost my concentration. The thought of his father crying seemed to me like a show of outright hypocrisy.
I have never seen him together with his wife since we arrived at the house in the morning. He had been on his own, and so did the mother. It was as if they are not a couple and they do not know each other. The way he acted, he seemed more affected by the death of Tony Boy than did the mother. I would be delighted to know that Tony Boy had started haunting him. I was beginning to hate him the way Albert did. I had come to think that he never really was a father to Tony Boy. I did not want to realize for him all his shortcomings and all the neglect of his being a father. All the regret and guilt, and remorse, he was already experiencing. He deserved it.
From the cemetery, we escorted the couple back to their house.
Albert went home with me. I had wanted to get a good rest after everything that happened. Albert had wanted for us to drop by Victor’s place and tell him the news about Tony Boy’s death, but my feet was giving up on the walking. I was feeling feverish and my head was breaking, so I told him that we might as well set out some other time, because there was nothing more that he could do about it anyway.
We walked the street feeling incomplete. I was beginning to feel the emptiness of the loss. I started to worry about the coming days. We have lost another one of us. We have lost the kariton, and I do not know of anything more to do. I asked Albert if what was going to happen to us, but he doesn’t have anything in mind either. I have never felt more miserable in my life than that very moment. I felt like walking on an endless street, and everything around me had turned to gray with the time standing still.
When we reached the house, I felt like I have arrived from a tiresome vacation and I have not gone home for a long time. Then I heard Aling Taleng calling out my name from their window as we were coming through the gate. We pretended not to have heard her and went straight inside the house. The house was empty. There was nobody there. I went straight to the long chair and laid myself. Albert, sensing the hollow silence of the house, decided to leave. He asked me to go to their house in the morning and I said yes. I closed my eyes as he made his way out and in no time, I had fallen half into a sleep. But in about less than a minute, he came back.
"Leon, wake up."
"I’m trying to get some sleep, ‘Bert."
I turned to my side, my back facing him and he spoke no more. I waited for a while and when I turned to him, he was already sitting on the other chair, motionless, staring blankly through the window. I got up, my head aching and heavy, and sat down. I knew then that he was not feeling okay. Other than the pain in my head and the weariness that I felt, I had been feeling the heavy air of loneliness myself, the cold wind of the sunny afternoon that meets the warmth in my skin, the heat rising from my neck up to my ears. I could hear the deafening echo of melancholy, lingering with the gloomy stroke of the still air.
"How’s your forehead?" He asked. I know he was faking me.
"Aching."
Again he was silent, and it took him a while to finally say what he wanted.
"Leon, why don’t you just come with me to the house, stay there at least for tonight."
He sounded proud but I know inside he was begging. If there’s one thing that had to be said about Albert, he is one who always wants to show how strong his emotions are even if he was at his lowest.
It took me a moment to gather myself. Though I never hesitated the offer and had not given myself the thought of declining, I was thinking about another long walk going to their place. I thought of asking him if we could just rest for a while, but he seemed eager to leave and could no longer wait.
"Let’s go."
We barely talked on the way. He was following the setting sun in a deep thought of his own. It was a little unlikely that he was dwelling on some serious thoughts in the middle of a walk. He was behaving like Tony Boy on that very day before he died. I was never used to this twist of behavior, but I understand him no less. The feeling was like, suddenly in the middle of a new battle that we have not prepared ourselves for. It seemed to me that we have reached a certain crossroad in our life and we had not a single idea as to where our feet would lead us.
There was a letter that was inserted on the wooden gate that we found when we reached the front gate. We know then that the old man was still out and had not yet returned. I didn’t mind the letter so much. I would be more surprised if it was addressed to me. Albert had gotten used to receiving letters. His mother often sends him letters and parcels from America. When we entered the house, I went straight to the sofa and laid myself to sleep.
Time passed. A faint sound of voices traveled through my ears, and when it went louder and louder, I realized that the old man had arrived and I was awakened by their heavy conversation.
The bright florescent light struck my eyes and I found out that night has fallen. I had wanted to stay lying but it occurred to me that I was not in the confines of my own house. They had been arguing about Albert, and his not coming home the night before. Albert had been giving him all sorts of alibi that gets in his head so as not to lengthen the argument.
All throughout dinnertime, Albert had been very quiet. Lolo Ishmael asked me what happened to my forehead. I had removed the handkerchief that wrapped my head and had cleansed the wound with soap and water before we started eating. I told him I slipped in the toilet of our house and my head hit the wall. I had prepared myself in case he would ask how we got to the police station but he never asked. I thought, they must have resolved the matter while I was sleeping.
When everything was done and the old man had gone to his room, we proceeded to Albert’s room. He lighted the wick and pulled out a chair from a small table in the corner and positioned himself. I climbed up the upper bed and lay down. I thought he would follow, but when I turned to him, he was playing with the flame on the wick. He seemed in a thought of something. I thought, he was thinking about Tony Boy.
"’Bert? Don’t you feel sleepy yet?"
He then pulled the drawer on the table and brought out the letter. The thought about it has already slipped my mind until he brought it out.
"My mother is coming home."
He handed me the letter, and quickly, I got up and reached for it. I went down and read the entire content of the letter beside him, next to the wick. I checked the date and found out that it was sent over a month ago. There was nothing more that registered in my mind than that it said, his mother is going home next month, and that he should make up his mind about coming to America with her. It came to me like another blow, and though I was pretty sure that the thing about going to America was far from Albert’s mind, I know that it came at the right time when everything around us have become uncertain.
"This was sent over a month ago."
"I know."
"Have you discussed this with Lolo?"
"No. I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow."
"But this means she will be arriving any day from now."
"I know."
I was silent. I felt something alarming was underway. There was something about his silence that anticipated the next thing that I would say or ask. I wanted to ignore it but my conscience was telling me to do what I ought be doing, regardless of my own personal intentions. I had to discuss the matter with him.
"So what’s your decision?"
"I don’t want to think about it."
Again I fell into silence. I know then that I had to confront him, and I was afraid because I knew then that I would not like everything that I would have to say. Then I wished that I were never his friend, so that I would not have to make clear to him the extent of his freedom.
"For sure Lolo won’t be going."
"I’m not going. Don’t worry."
The last thing he said struck me. I know he knew exactly everything that was going on in my mind. I don’t want him to leave. He knew me so well and I knew then that I had to retract myself for him.
"Things have not been going very well here ‘Bert. What are you going to stay here for? We no longer have the kariton. Do you expect to find a job soon enough? That’s impossible. And if you do, you won’t be getting enough to support yourself. You’re not even assured that you will live through the day. Look what happened to Tony Boy. There is not so much hope of a better life here in Zaragoza. Everywhere you go your life is always in danger. Even if you’re innocent, you live your life as if you are a criminal, always hiding, always running away from the judgment of the gun. You know that. You will never experience the good life unless you go to America. In America there is freedom, and you can do whatever you want to do, have everything you longed for. Look at your mother, she’s living a comfortable life in America."
"People are different in America. I’m contented with my life here."
"You’re only saying that because you have never been there yet."
"You’ve never been there yourself."
"I know, but this is about you. Who knows, maybe in time you will learn to like it there. Maybe you will become a famous guitar player in America. Isn’t that what you always want to do? Maybe you will make it big in America."
"What about you."
I paused for a while, searching for words. It’s been the very same question that was hovering at the top of my head all along. What I would become if ever he would decide to leave.
"Don’t worry, I won’t leave you here, Leon."
“We are different, ‘Bert. I am not as strong as you are. Maybe someday I will be. Maybe I will never find that day. I don’t know. Maybe I would grow old this way. Maybe I would die tomorrow, we don’t know. But if that happens, then at least I had said everything to spare you from being dragged into my grave. That would be enough. I would be happy with that."
"I cannot leave Lolo here."
"He’s done his part, ‘Bert. Why do you think he insisted on staying? Because he has found contentment. Unlike you, you still have your whole life ahead of you. Think about it ‘Bert. Don’t waste your chances."
He got up and walked to his bed. He lay down with both hands cupping his head on the pillow. He was not fully convinced but I know then that he was already thinking about what I said. The grim look in his face was telling me that he was battling all possibilities. I know then that I had said what I had to say. When I laid myself on the bed, I had to repeat my words in my head. It was hard because I had to face it. A part of me was telling me that I did just right, but another part was telling me that I would soon regret that I had to explain his options to him. It was like allowing myself to let go of the only remaining person that I could turn to and who was looking after me in the same way that I have depended on to for refuge. I thought about Tony Boy and thought him lucky to have finally found his rest. He was lucky that he will no longer be thinking about all these things.
It was almost noon when I woke up the following day. When I got down from the deck, Albert was still lying awake in his bed. I asked him if he wanted to come to the house with me, but he didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving his bed. He opted to stay. I thought, maybe he was not able to sleep through the night. I borrowed another one of his handkerchief and had it wrapped around my head, covering the cut in my forehead. The swelling had gone down a bit, and so did the pain, but I could still feel it aching. I had not seen the old man on my way out. I was not expecting to see him anyway. I thought he had long left.
On my way back to the house, I have tried to clear my mind of all the thoughts about the past. The long sleep I had, gave me the feeling that I was rejuvenated back to a new life. With some stray thoughts of how I had been conducting my life, even before the incident. I have finally found the importance of my eyes. Little by little, I was gaining strength from the things that I see around me. The sun shone with a different light, the kind that made the flowers grow and bloom after surviving the sweeping waters of the pouring rain. Perhaps I had grown tired of thinking about my fears. For a while I got to think about all the things that I had said to Albert about his going to America, and it made me smile to think that I had learned to speak about the good life. I touched my aching forehead and felt the running blood, pumping with renewed strength. I was like a newborn all over again. I could not understand the feeling, and I could not explain it much less. The faces, the voices of the people that I have come to know, they seemed to have planted a seed of courage that outgrew the fears that consumed my heart, without my having noticed it. All the things that I had been through, seemed to have imparted one and the same lesson. I could not tell exactly what it was in particular, but I thought, it had something to do with the reason that I went on living, and I knew that I will never be the same again.
When I reached the house, Aling Taleng was sweeping the cemented walk that, and had reached the gate, clearing the way from all the dried leaves that scattered on the way from days ago. When she saw me, she started complaining about my sudden disappearance and showing up again when she least expected me. She asked me why I was wrapping my head with a handkerchief. She said I looked like a quack doctor. When she saw the swelling on my eye, she found the answer, but went on to ask me what I did with it. I smiled at her and told her that I got it from a fistfight. She exclaimed her usual susmariosep, and I left her.
I went inside the house in a snappy stride. I did not mind her so much. I was still suspicious about her, but I had gotten rid of the bitterness. It was close to being a perfect day for me. She had prepared some food on the table for my breakfast, and I ate it. I was halfway through the food when she called out from the gate. She said she had prepared some food at the table for my lunch.
After eating, I took a bath and stayed inside the toilet until the lady went inside the house and told me that she was leaving. I thanked her for the food and when I could no longer hear her footsteps, I finally went out and changed. I put on my clothes, but then I had to remove my shirt again to go back in and wash the clothes that I borrowed from Albert.
I was almost done with the final rinsing when Mira arrived. I saw her coming through the doorway. I was delighted to see her. I saw her first. Her face was beaming with innocence. When she saw me, she smiled at me. When she found out that I was doing some laundry, she uttered a single laugh. Her face glowed, and she was like an angel to my sight. She joked about my washing the clothes.
Then she approached me. She was carrying a book and a notebook, the size of the book, and she looked like she just got out from class. When she saw my face, the smile disappeared. I had not put on the handkerchief around my head, so she was able to see clearly the bare cut in my forehead,
I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed that I do not have my shirt on, and that my face was all swollen. I thought I had blushed then.
"What happened to that?"
"There’s a riot at the plaza. I got hit."
"It’s swollen."
"Yes."
I was a little coy. When she drew herself nearer for a closer look, I was locked in a stare at the freshness of her face. I did not intend to look at her with delighted eyes, but I had not even noticed it myself. There was something about her that never ceased to mesmerize me. Anyway, I thought, she looked back at me like she accommodated the stare, and gently, she touched the surface around the wound, softly, with her small finger. It made me jerk myself back.
"We should better be treating that."
"It’s slowly healing."
"No, no, come follow me up to my room. Wash your hands. You leave that for a while. I have some bandage upstairs."
I was taken aback. I was not able to move. She left, hurrying, and when she reached the foot of the stairs on her way up, she turned back.
"Let’s go, Leon."
I followed her going up. I was hesitant to enter the room, but she called me in. I tiptoed inside the room and stood by the doorway while she was making her way through one of the cabinets. She brought out a medicine box. My eyes journeyed to the four corners of the room, while she opened the box and checked its contents. The room was still the same, except for the bed that was wearing a new cover. The table next to Lola’s bed was already covered with plastic and had become a study table, with some of Mira’s things, and a lampshade that she must have brought with her when she moved in. The giant statues of the Virgin Mary and the two saints were still the same.
When I looked at her, she turned to me and I had to fold my arms to cover myself because I was feeling naked without my shirt on. She walked to the bed and sat on its side. She asked me to sit beside her, and I did. She dampened a piece of cotton with alcohol. She asked me to lean a little closer and told me to bend my head a little, and I did. She stretched herself, reaching for my forehead, and gently pressed the cotton on my wounded skin. I jerked my head back when I began to feel the pricking pain and the alcohol started seeping through my wound, but she followed it up with a soft blow of air and it eased the pain away.
While she was treating my wound, I could not help but smell the sweet fragrance of her scent, my eyes caressing the softness of her skin, the curves of her breast, up to her neck. I was tempted to kiss her, but had to control myself. When she was done cleaning my wound, she pulled herself away and took a bandage from the box. This time, I could no longer take my eyes off her. I know she noticed. She would look at me and smile, and would only touch my cheek, gently pushing my head away on the side. But I would resist and look back at her with smiling eyes. All the time we had been feeling each other in silence. Then again, she drew herself closer to me and I had to bend my head close to her chest. She raised both hands as she plastered the bandage on my forehead.
A sudden surge of heat came over me, and I knew then that I shouldn’t lose the chance and allow her to escape me. I touched her on the hips and her other hand slipped down my face. She kissed me on the forehead, pulling my head close to her. My lips, having reached the skin below her neck, started taking its own course. My hands were quick to wrap around her and traveled to the different parts of her body.
We threw ourselves to bed. We became one with the feel of her naked skin against mine. It was a different feeling. I wished it never had to end. It was late when I realized what I had done, but it was not something to regret. We both wanted the passion of surrender. For a while the feeling of the intimate high, body and spirit captivated me. Her head lying on my arms, her hands clung to my sliding body, the tip of her breast touching my nakedness, my lips buried in her head.
Moments passed. She got up and put on her clothes, while I stay lying weak on the bed, drained of all my strength. But I never grew tired of watching her. She fixed herself. I watched her, gently running her fingers through her hair. It had been a while and time seemed to have flown so fast. I closed my eyes and imagined her. I had just been completed.
When I opened my eyes, she was sitting on the chair by the table. I turned to my side and I realized that there were those steady eyes that watched us, and more, I felt the presence of my grandmother standing next to the three giant statues, spying on me. I got up and sat on the side of the bed, our backs facing each other, I looked at my bare self.
"Put on your clothes. They might catch us."
I could not see the expression on her face when she said that. She never turned to me. She was searching for something from the piles of books and papers on the table. I put on my garments, and then I got up and walked behind her. I lay my hands on her shoulder and squeezed it. I shoved her hair and kissed the back of her neck. She seemed to like it at first but she pulled herself away. She got up and handed me a small envelope. It was a letter. All of a sudden the passion that possessed me disappeared. My heart started to rumble.
"What is this?"
"The mailman delivered that yesterday morning. It’s for you."
When I looked at the back of the envelope, I saw my name written in it in the middle, and the name Rafael Corpuz, with my father’s address, written on the upper left side. I could not believe what I saw. I was about to open it when she spoke.
"Who is it from?"
"My brother."
"You shouldn’t be reading it here. They might arrive anytime."
I was going down in a hurry when the front door slammed open. A rich-looking middle-aged man appeared on the doorway. I halted in the middle of the stairs surprised at the sudden entry. He glared at me. Then two more men appeared behind him. Immediately, I secured the letter in my pocket. The man took a step in and his eyes started to search around.
"Where is Miranda?"
He was obviously angry. I was not able to speak. Then the door to Mira’s room sounded open, and out she came, looking disturbed yet unaware of all that was happening. She didn’t saw them at first.
"What’s that noise, Leon?"
"Miranda!"
"Daddy?"
On his interruption, Mira rushed back inside her room. The man then ordered his two companions to go after her. The first one who rushed up the stairs pushed me on the side. The other one quickly followed. I rushed back up and followed them, the angry man catching up with me. When the two men ahead of me entered Mira’s room and I was about to make my way in, the man behind grabbed me by my shoulder and pushed me back against the wall.
"Stay out of this!" He said, sounding a threat.
Then I heard stumping and pounding sounds from inside Mira’s room. I trembled in confusion. When the man finally entered the room, he started shouting at her, demanding to pack all her things and leave with him. Mira, in a struggling voice was asking him to stop his bodyguards from restraining her. But the man was in rage, and he ordered one of his bodyguards to gather all her belongings and the other, he ordered to take Mira to the car.
They came out of the room. One of the men was holding Mira and both her arms. She was struggling to escape him but she was too weak. I have seen how the angry man slapped her in the face, but I had myself pinned on the wall and could not come up with something in mind to help her. When she passed by me, she just glanced at me. She didn’t say anything, still pulling herself away from the man who was holding her. I would have followed her but the angry man on his way out again pushed me against the wall. He warned me with gloating eyes, never to follow. He said I would be paying for all that I did to her Mira. Then he left, and the other man who was still in the room finally came out and followed them, carrying two large bags that must have contained all of Mira’s belongings.
I made my way down when they finally descended the stairs. I rushed towards the door and when I finally got out, I saw the shining black expensive-looking car. The man who went out last has just entered the front seat. I had a faint view of Mira, crying at the back seat, with the rich man beside her. The door at the front seat slammed close and the car speeded away.
Again, I was gripped with fear. I looked around and nobody seemed to have seen everything that happened. There was no one at the store and I saw nobody looking from the windows of the surrounding houses. There were two men on the street, walking in opposite directions, but they did not seem to have noticed the agitation. I looked through the other side of the gate to Aling Taleng’s house and I have seen Aling Mareng, sweeping their backyard. I suppose, she didn’t notice all that happened as well.
I went back inside the house and had my shirt on. I had decided to tell Aling Taleng everything that had happened, but when I went back out, standing by the gate, I had a sudden change of mind. I was actually confused. Everything happened so fast. I walked the whole length of the path walk from the gate to the steps and back. I did not know what there was to do. I had decided to go see Albert but then I gave up on the idea.
I was thinking about Mira and how all of a sudden she had become a complete stranger to me. It was so strange how one moment I held her in my arms, and the next thing I know, she was gone. It was unfortunate to think that when the time came when I thought I have seen through her, I was instantly confronted with an even stifling mystery of her being and had totally lost the person that I know her to be.
How a person thought to be her father showed up and dragged her out of the house was something I could not fathom. So many questions arise in my mind as to where she really came from and who she really was. I never thought her to be capable of hiding some dark little secrets inside her. She was too good to be too deceiving, and too good to have deceived me. What was sadder was handling the thought that my heart will forever mourn the death of loving.
If she felt the same, I did not know. Perhaps to her, what happened to us was just something within the ordinary, but I know then that my heart will forever wander at the dark shadows of the secrets that she successfully concealed behind the person that I know her to be. Just when I thought I had conquered the world around me, my heart lamented its own defeat.
I walked toward the steps and rested. All of a sudden, I was filled with flashing images of Tony Boy reading the book, sitting on the same spot where I sat. Then followed the thought of my brother’s letter. The thought of it was supposed to assure me that finally I have found what I have always longed for, a guarantee that I was not totally stripped of all hopes. I have long dreamed of this letter, but I could not afford to feel the happiness that goes with it. Nevertheless, I pulled out the letter from my pocket and I had to read the names and addresses at the back of the envelope again. I ripped the side and pulled out the letter. It was rather short, comparing it to the letter that I had sent them. The way it looked, it was obviously done in haste. I checked the date and found out that it had been sent almost two months since it was written.
Dear Leon,
I am your uncle Ruben. I write to you as soon as we received your letter. From what I learned since I came here, your father have been wanting to hear from you, so that everytime that I get the chance to visit Zaragoza, I have never failed to ask about you. But Zaragoza is too big and it was almost impossible to find you. You must have heard from the news on the radio everything that is going on in the countryside, and it would not be a big surprise if I tell you that San Martin have always been a big part of the story. I could not fully explain to you, everything about our situation here. Things have become complicated, even with your father and your brother. I understand the difficulties that you are going through, even as you speak of your own survival, and therefore, I could never compare our conditions. There is so much that you still have to learn about your family here, and I think that it would be best that you find the time to go home and find it out for yourself. Your brother, Rafael, is working in a merchandising store in Toledo, but if you decide to go home, it would be better that you send us a letter to inform us as to when you will be arriving and I can wait for you at the station. Please go home if you can, and make it soon.
God bless you.
Your Tiyo Ruben
I did not understand what the letter suggested. Nothing that it contained was elaborate enough for me to understand. Or it was just I who never cared enough to understand. I could not afford to spare a moment to analyze its content. Half of me was still thinking about where Mira was at that moment. I felt the urgency to visit my father in San Martin, but now, a greater part of me wanted to stay and look for her. It's sad how these things had to come all at the same time.
The last night, I went to sleep with nothing left for me to hold. In the morning, I seemed to have resolved my own fears, or so I thought. I came back to the house without a clear sense of direction. Perhaps, I have crossed some bridges, and all of a sudden, there was so much across, to do and face anew, and it brought me so much confusion that I was torn by my own raging desires.
All the time, I had longed to see my father. I had been hoping that I would soon find him, even when everything would go beyond the possibilities that hope could provide. But whatever it was that my heart felt for the first time, so differently and it was getting in the way. It sets my heart into flames, burning strong I could not take it for granted. All the while, I thought I had clearly defined my only and remaining reason for living.
I inserted the letter back inside the envelope and kept it in my pocket. I went inside the house to stay and wait till Boyet and Julian would arrive and I could tell the whole story of Mira’s abduction. I had forgotten about Albert’s clothes and spent the rest of the afternoon at the living room, pondering about everything at hand and what could be done about it.
In as much as I want to think about my father, the thought about Mira had gained control over me. Everywhere I turned, it was her face that I saw. I was reading and rereading the letter, but it was her voice that I kept on hearing. Even the loss of Tony Boy, or the thought that Albert might finally decide to go to America with his mother, could not catch up with my troubled heart. A feeling so bold I had forgotten the meaning of fear.
