Well, not exactly, boy, that is. Because she was a girl. The girls at Dunkin'
Donuts told me she was a deaf-mute.
I was having a craving for sugar that Wednesday evening. It was one of those
middle of the week do-nothing nights. Our mahjong schedule was for Tuesdays,
Thursdays, and sometimes Fridays. I was seated near the glass wall facing J. C.
Aquino Road, idly watching people go by, protected from the noise, dust and
summer heat by the air-conditioned environment of this American chain franchise
which was finally established in Butuan and which made the city the place in
the entire province of Agusan del Norte. The inauguration of Dunkin' Donuts was
an event almost as significant as the grand opening of Mac Donald's.
I was by myself, my driver having refused to join me. I guess a driver and the
boss eating together in public was frowned upon. At least that was my
conclusion. The other reason, that my driver was embarrassed to be seen with me
was just not acceptable. Jun Text, that is what his several girl friends call
him, is a bona fide heterosexual. I am not gay, either. But then, people talk.
Jun Text was probably worried about his reputation.
So there I was, by my lonesome self, enjoying my white sugarcoated,
peach-filled doughnut. I periodically wiped my lips and mouth to remove that
powdery stuff, engrossed in observing all kinds of people passing by. They were
mostly students from the Agusan High School night classes. The girls wore
checkered green skirts. The street lights were dim. Some older people were
waiting on both sides of the road for their bus or jeepney rides home. Three
uniformed traffic control city salaried men were huddled together in the
corner, laughing among themselves. You could tell they were exchanging dirty
jokes.
Then I noticed a still figure at the far end of the glass picture window, just
standing there, looking at me. At first I was a little miffed. I was not in the
best of moods that night. And I hate it when people watch me while I'm eating.
One of my minor idiosyncrasies.
She was about fourteen. Could have been younger. Except that the expression on
her face spoke experiences beyond her years. It was the kind of face that could
tell you a story without speaking a word. I asked the young lady cleaning the
next table and she said, Oh, never mind her. She's just one of the rugby boys.
How they ever coined the term to to describe young people hooked on drugs,
specially shabu, escapes me.
She's a real deaf mute, the girl said, with undisguised scorn, smiling, like
she just told me a joke. She had ugly teeth and a bad breath. I did not smile
back. I could not help but return the rugby boy-girl's gaze. She was watching
my every bite of the doughnut which at this time was getting less and less
sweet. Actually, it started to taste sour, like it was spoiled, left over from
last week's batch.
Her clothes were not torn or raggy, except that they showed the wear and tear
of having been worn often. Unlike the dirty clothes of the other rugby boys
roaming around the plaza in gangs of four or five, approaching anyone who
showed any interest in them, desperate for money to satisfy their cravings,
willing to do anything, anything. I have seen some of the well dressed
degenerates cruising around the plaza, in their dark tinted SUVs, shopping.
Her eyes were big, round and black. They were not begging or pleading but they
spoke of hunger. She had no interest in me, just the doughnut. My appetite was
gone. Her eyes followed the doughnut as I placed the half eaten one on a napkin
that I had spread on the table. She then looked at me. We looked at each other
for a good thirty seconds. Within that span of time, me and myself discussed
human tragedy and poverty, the evils of modern society, drugs, government
inadequacies and apathy, my own inadequacies and indifference. Am I my
brother's keeper? Or more precisely, in this instance, am I my sister's keeper?
I am not a rosary beads carrying religious person and I hardly go to church,
unlike my friends and relatives who are more ecclesiastically inclined. Am I
unworthy of charitable thoughts? Well, maybe, if I did a charitable act, my
gout will go away and my hair will grow again. But then, I don't believe in
miracles either.
I shook myself from my soliloquy and made another eye contact with that poor
creature, fifteen feet form me, on the other side of the glass window. I
cupped my right hand and made motions with it in the universal language of
eating. I arched my eyebrows to indicate that I was asking her a question. I
saw a spark from those eyes as she nodded, "Yes!".
I stood up, turned to the door. The uniformed guard executed a smart hand
salute and opened the door with an ingratiating flourish, believing I was
leaving. Even Jun Text started the black Pajero, thinking I was leaving, too. I
waved to the girl in a come hither motion as soon as I turned around the door.
She understood and almost ran to the doorway. The guard did not know whether to
stop her or to salute me again, as I went in right after her. The counter girls
were about to open their mouths in protest but I stopped them with an
authoritative stop sign with my hand.. After all, she did not smell bad. I
motioned for her to sit on a chair three tables away from me, which she did
without hesitation. She glanced at the counter girls with what seemed to me a
smug expression of victory.
I went to the counter and ordered a pineapple-orange drink and two pieces of
doughnuts, one with chocolate glazing and one with multicolored sugar
sprinkles. I took my order and a placed them on the table in front of the girl.
I then went back to my table and concentrated on the business of eating. The
doughnut tasted sweet again. Maybe a bit more.
I did not look at them but I sensed that the other customers were not just
passive witnesses to this minor drama in this insignificant doughnut shop in
this insignificant spot in the universe. I like to believed that they approved.
She literally swallowed the doughnuts with hardly a chew and she dispensed with
the drink in one big gulp. She sat demurely, looked around, then focused on me.
She smiled. I smiled back. The counter girls were not smiling. I was tempted to
stick my middle finger up at them. Instead, I stuck my forefinger and middle
finger up in the air, at the deaf-mute, indicating number two. She nodded. I
went back to the counter and ordered two more doughnuts of a different flavor
and another cup of fruit flavored drink.. I brought them to her table and went
back to my own. I was done eating. I observed her. This time she was eating
more slowly, drinking her drink like a real princess, slowly chewing and
swallowing. After her third doughnut, she wrapped the fourth one in a napkin,
made eye contact with me, then indicated she wanted to leave. I nodded okay.
She got up and walked towards the door, avoiding me. I think she was hesitant
to trust me. The guard opened the door for her and she smiled sweetly at him.
He did his eloquent salute, almost bowed at her. I must talk to the management
to give this man a raise.
I watched her cross the street to the other side of the road. I saw her hand
over the wrapped doughnut to a group of rugby boys who apparently were waiting
for her. A passing bus obscured my view. I could not see her anymore.
A week later, as I was going up the steps to Gaisano's on the pharmacy side, I
felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was the deaf mute. She was going the
opposite direction, towards the parking lot. She wore the same clean clothes.
She gave me a great big smile then went her way.
A few days before I left to come home to Georgia, Jun Text informed me that she
was run over by a run away truck hauling illegally cut logs. This happened past
midnight, near the foot of the Magsaysay Bridge. The driver did not stop to
surrender to the authorities. I don't think they ever caught him. Jun Text said
she died instantaneously. Hardly any blood on the road. Nobody claimed the
remains. The city had her buried in a pauper's grave in that cemetery going to
San Vicente. I don't think anybody knew what name to put on the cross over her
grave.
This happened almost two months ago.
I can't picture her smile anymore.
The End
