He died just after the 747 took off. The smartly, impeccably dressed
stewardess was the first to know. The seat next to him in 1B was empty.
Business is slow these days. It shows specially in the first class section.
Only four passengers here. The newly weds. The Japanese businessman, and the
old gentleman.
He did not say much, the gentleman, except Thank you, ma'am.
Trained like a nurse, she did not panic. It has happened before. And presence
of mind is what got her into this sought after position. It helped that she was
pretty, too. She felt for a pulse. There was none. Still warm, she thought to
herself.
She looked for the carotids at the sides of the neck. Nothing.She looked at
his face, his eyes. They were glazed. That was when she noticed them. His eyes.
She saw the sadness there, a penetrating contagious loneliness.
Damn !
She sighed, sat on 1B, buried her face in her hands.
And cried.
=================
He saw her in Cubi-cubi Beach for the first time on the third week of his
vacation in Butuan. She was playing in the water, shimmering and dark, even for
a Filipina. Her black hair glistened as she walked to the shade. Frisky, like
a kitten playing with a moving shadow.
Hmmm, that, I like, he thought. Acts like a virgin.
Sixty eight years old. Retired from the U.S. navy, he still felt young,
although he had a paunch as soft as a baby's bottom. He had his cataracts
removed two years ago and the new lenses really worked wonders.
Arranged for an introduction. Arranged for a meeting. Arranged for another
meeting. And another.
Dinner here, party there. Nang Goring, her mother, always there. What am I
doing? he asks himself.
This is dumb! He saw the futility of it all. He knew acquisition was not in
the horizon and hurt is all he is going to get and give. But still, who knows?
The girl, child really, is overwhelmed by the attention, flattered, and
bothered. Is this old man flirting with my mother?
But then, one day, seated next to each other at the cooler section of Aling
Cora's, across from Gaisano, their thighs touch. Electricity sizzled . She was
puzzled, confused, so she moved away. Yet, again, in a party, he danced with
her, an old fashioned thing they called slow drag. She stepped on his shoe. And
his lips brushed against her cheek, a prelude to an irreversible tragedy. So
beautiful, so pure, so disastrous. An expression of affection, exchanged, that
could never be withdrawn.
He knew. She knew. Even in the silence that followed. He takes her back to
her table even before Johnny Mathis' "Warm" ended. Nang Goring pretended not
to notice.
He goes back to the Inland Hotel, resolving This has got to end! If not for
him, for her. A fragile, tender tendril will break under this weight. Selfish.
A feeling of guilt overwhelms the old man. Why am I acting like a lovestruck
puppy? All I am really looking for is just a good roll in the hay with a young
chick. There are dozens out there, for the price of a round of golf. I should
remain a lecherous dirty old man, grabbing for her tits. Why is sex so
unimportant with this girl. Just like my first love. Love? Is this love? Or is
this what one feels before prostatic hypertrophy, when urinating becomes a
struggle and an erection would have been just a memory?
Stop, old man. No fool like an old fool. Oh, shit!. Why do I feel like
ringing the bells and telling the people I can still feel this way. I wonder
how it would be to be loved by her. The hopeless longings of a foolish heart
of a foolish man. Imagination running wild, he laughed to himself.
The girl, Ana, let us call her Ana. This awakening in her loins, the palpable
sensation of his hand on hers. What is this feeling? Is this it? Can this get
worse? Better? My heart beats so fast when I smell his aftershave. My head
reels with his voice. Something gets awaken in me by the thought of him. My
breasts swell and I get wet. Can't he at least tell me he cares? Even just a
bit? Each song I hear whispers his name. But he is old enough to be my
grandfather! This is so dumb. But his eyes! He looks at me and I get goose
pimples all over.
Oh, 'nay, can I tell you what I'm going through? Are you blind? Can you not
see what is happening? My best friend will laugh at me and tell the others. She
won't understand. Must I go through with this alone?
Does he even know? He knows. He must know. No, how can he know? No, maybe
not. He is just being nice. God, I'm so confused. Is this what love is,
unbearable confusion? He'll probably just laugh at me. My chest hurts not
seeing him. How long has it been since I saw him, three days? Perhaps I'll see
him tomorrow. He has his fancy cellphone. But he never calls. Why can't he
just text me, just a simple "Hi".
I don't want to live if he leaves. Oh, God, I know he'll leave, go back home
over there. Far away. And after a week, he won't even remember my name.
Sir, my name is Ana.
=========================================
You are a foolish old man, Nang Goring said. Why do you torture yourself? She
is just a child. 17 years old, my youngest child. You know she just finished
high school. Why do you insist on torturing yourself?
You know she will find herself a boyfriend her age. And she'll forget you
just like that, as she snaps her middle finger and thumb. You're a foolish old
man. Do you really think you can buy her love? Let me tell you something. She
is not for sale. We are not for sale.
She had tears running down her cheeks. She spat out the words but she could
not even convince herself.This man, she saw, was a victim of that inexplicable
force that have crushed better men than him, pulverized between the pincers
of reason and emotion.
She could not really blame him. That earnest wrinkled face spoke of love
better than all the sonnets in the world. She turned away from Sir.
Sir. She smiled between her tears as she bit the inside of her lower lip. She
had always known him as Sir and Ana had always called him Sir like he had no
name. Somehow, when her daughter said Sir, it had sounded something else. Like
the sound of water rippling unhurriedly between the pebbles down to the river,
like the sound a baby makes after a deep slumber, like the exhaling sound of
love after a long caress.That was when she knew what was in her daughter's
heart.
I liked this man. I like this man. Probably always will. Just a victim of a
chance encounter. I guess, just like all of us. A victim. But not my daughter.
Not if I can help it. She shall live a normal life, have love affairs, suffer a
broken heart, several times, then marry a man her age. But can I let this man
break my daughter's heart now. She is too young, so very young.
She turned to face him, feigning anger but failing when he started to speak.
He sounded so pitiful, he sounded so true.
Manang Goring, he begins, as if reading a prepared speech. I came to confess
to you not to ask for forgiveness. What I feel for your daughter, it is not a
sin. I love Ana more than I have ever loved anyone or anything before in this
long miserable lonely imitation of life. And it is because I do love her that I
have come to say goodbye.
He was not making any sense at all but Manang Goring understood.
I can not say it to her. She does not know how I feel and she might just find
it amusing and funny the way she does everything else. It is best this way. No
please bear with me. The last four weeks have been heaven for me. No, they have
been hell for me. All the years that I have lived before had only one purpose
and that is for me to spend these four weeks in May with your daughter. The
future no longer counts.
No, don't say anything. Don't call me a foolish old man. I can see you don't
know how to lie. Please take care of her and tell her I came to say goodbye to
you. And if she asks why I did not wait to say goodbye to her tell her I wanted
to but that I had to go. It would not have mattered with her anyway.
Are you leaving? Will you be back? She felt a sudden panic. But why? Let him
go. You want this man to leave your family alone. No, Nang Goring thought to
herself. You like this man. Your daughter loves this man. He does not know it
but a mother knows. And she knows that if he leaves now, Ana will never be the
same again. The scar would be too deep. But then, if he stayed what would
happen to their lives?
She trembled as if in a feverish chill as she struggled to decide for her
daughter's life and this man's sanity. She looked at him waiting for an answer
but he was quiet, lips pursed and quivering, unable to control them, trying so
hard to keep his composure.
She turned away again as another tear was running over the brim of her right
eyelid, down to the corner of her mouth. Guino-o, another minute of this and I
shall hug this poor man to my bosom like the son I never had. She did not turn
to face him again. In a whisper that sounded like she had a bad cold, "Then,
just go."
They were talking under the nipa hut built by her husband before he died.
That was eight years ago. Eight years ago her daughter used to sit under that
same nipa hut, scrawny and as dark as the faded nipa leaves, dusty, topless,
watching the cars and pedestrians walking by in front of their house. Nobody
paid her any attention, not even the dirty faced, foul mouthed tricycle
drivers. Now she has bloomed, so beautiful, dimples on the cheeks, eyes bright
and shiny.
Tonight, when she comes home from her dance practice, after dinner, when I
tell her Sir is gone, she'll pretend she could hardly hear. She'll get up,
excuse herself, go to the bathroom and stay there until her eyes are dry again.
Like when Muffy, her dog, died. Like when her father died.
I dread tomorrow.
Nang Goring heard him leave, unsure steps on the dried leaves that fell from
that tree next door. I will never see him again, she thought. She wiped her
eyes and face with the back of her hands and walked back into the kitchen and
started chopping up the onions as if the onions had just committed a crime.
Stupid onions, she sniffled. Stupid onions. She must hurry and cook dinner.
In an hour, Ana will be home.
The End
