Pansit

December 6, 2007

   “Nay, where’s Tatay?”

    A pair of sad-looking eyes gazed up to the frail woman in an old shirt, so worn-out that her drooping nipples threatened to break out from the thin fabric, and her disheveled hair trying to cuddle up together and hold onto her hairpins, as if ashamed of their slovenly existence.

     “Nay, where’s Tatay?”

    The woman tries to busy herself with the already burning firewood. Blowing air into it from strained lungs, breathing life into the fire and, more importantly, buying herself some time to think of an excuse.

    Finally, she faces the little boy of four, no, five. Today’s his birthday, dressed in his best shirt, worn only three times, on special occasions like this. They had bought it two sizes larger so the possibility of outgrowing it until his next birthday would have been slim. Now, the shirt already fits the boy, so maybe they have to buy him a shirt again sometime soon. She gave him her best smile and said:

    “He’ll be here soon anak, don’t worry.”

    “But its’ already nine o’clock and Josephine and Estong are already here.”

    Though there’s no clock in the shanty, the boy knew the time because the local bingo game from next door had already started – the time when husbands are already home and the wives finished with their household chores.

    “Pansit is not that easy to cook anak, and besides your father’s shift ends at eight,” the mother said. “So go play with your friends, he’ll be here soon with your pansit.”

    It sounded fake, even to herself. But the boy, with that faith inherent in most children, let the offense pass. Her husband’s shift actually ended at seven and Toning should have been home a while ago since the construction site where her husband works as a carpenter was just one ride away from their home.  So she has every reason to worry.

    The drizzle, as if mocking her, now erupted like an unchecked tantrum. Wreaking havoc to the makeshift shack next door, ending the bingo game prematurely as the players scuttled to their homes.

    Her husband is a good carpenter, judging by their home which he built himself along with a few friends.  They had to spend money for the beer and the pulutan for that but it was all worth it.  There’s no hole in the roof for the rain to pass through and the walls hardly sweat because the house is not made up of patches of cardboard and rotten plywood or rusty sheets pieced together by second-hand nails and screws.

    It’s a good house and she’s quite proud of it. With uncustomary viciousness, she smiles to herself as she thought about what’s happening to Mareng Tonya’s house right now. She imagined her panicking, as she usually does even in the most trivial of problems, placing buckets to catch the raindrops dripping to the decomposing floor, while shouting invectives at the storm.  She also imagined Mareng Vicky’s house drenched in rainwater because there’s no one home right now.  Well, their children can now have the swimming pool they’ve always wanted.

    She laughed aloud at that one, but it was not a spiteful laugh. It was an attempt to mask the gnawing anxiety that’s slowly eating her resolve. Maybe her husband was on overtime, or maybe he was on his way home and the rain caught him so he had to seek shelter somewhere, maybe he couldn’t catch a jeepney, or maybe he found a child somewhere, shivering at the bestial coldness of the night wind, and he had to help first.

    Or maybe… no, she shuddered and cursed herself for even thinking about that one. Death only happens to other people, not to her, not to them. She decided to put that thought away from her mind. As it always happens when you’re determined not to think about something, she grew to think about it even more. She couldn’t think of anything else. Drug addicts roam the city like pack of wolves looking for some solitary animal to pick on.  The fear hung thick in the air that she could smell it, the aftertaste staying in her quivering mouth. The fear is so great that she thought her heart would burst.

    She decided to do something, anything. But what? She couldn’t go to the construction site in this storm. And what if she did go there, what would she do if she found out that Toning had already left a long time ago? No. that wouldn’t be practical. Maybe Kapitan Fred can help…that’s it! She’ll go to Kapitan Fred right now and ask for his advice.

    She left the kitchen to fetch her umbrella and sweater from their small room, and just as she was about to leave, she heard Toning’s voice calling from outside the shanty.

    “Choleng, Choleng, open the door.”

    Relief run past through her whole being as she rushed to the door, but her son beat her up to it. Welcoming his father with a gap-toothed smile and almost simultaneously reaching out for the soaked cellophane containing what he already assumed was the pansit.

    She could have strangled her husband or what he made her went through, and she would have embraced him for proving her morbid thoughts wrong, but she held back. Not for her drenched clothes, nor out of embarrassment, not even out of pride, she was beyond those a long time ago. She held back because of his expression and his bloodshot eyes. She watched carefully as his smile as he greeted his son “happy birthday” didn’t reach those crimson eyes.

    She knew something was wrong, her husband, this stranger, had committed something awful, something he could have avoided but didn’t, and his guilt is now slowly eating him up like a malignant disease. She’ll ask him later, she thought.

    First, she’ll have to prepare the pansit for the children. She looked at her son talking animatedly to his father as Toning tried so hard to listen.  After the table was set, she called after the children to eat. The children scurried, laughing and squeaking with delight on their way to the table.

    She went to where her husband was sitting, in a rattan chair they purchased six months ago. Her husband was looking in her direction but she knew he wasn’t seeing her. She sat beside him, tracing his thick hair, the usually wild strands now subdued by the rain or maybe by his transgression. She gazed at those strong features, the chiseled chin and thick nose, the thin lips, the unusually humble and kind eyes, so out of place from his sturdy looks.

    “Toning, what’s wrong?”

    “I had to do it Choleng.”

    It was a statement of a guilty man trying to reassure himself what he did was necessary.

    “Why, what did you do?”

    “Look at Boboy, he’s so happy. I finally kept my promise. I bought him pansit for his birthday,” Toning said.

    She knew what that meant. He had always promised to bring their son pansit for the past two birthdays but something always came up. She had witnessed her son’s disappointment and her husband’s frustration. Another spoilt birthday. But not tonight, he made good his promise. But why isn’t he happy? Why doesn’t he feel triumphant?

    “What did you do Toning?”

    Her husband looked at her with a painful expression. His eyes were pleading her to understand for something she didn’t know yet but is about to.

    “I stole money from Mrs, Cordova,”

    “You what!?!”

    It was all she could do from shouting. She was expecting him to say that he had a fight with the foreman and was fired from the job. Or he gave the rest of the “advance” from his salary to some sick mother. But this! Her husband, a thief! Then she was suddenly afraid for him, for their son, for their future.

    “You have to give the money back, Toning,”

    “I can’t,”

    “What do you mean you can’t? How much did you…”

    She almost said “stole.”

    “…borrow?”

    “I don’t know, about eight hundred I think.”

    “Did you spend it all?”

    “No. I just spent some of it for the pansit.”

    “Then give the rest back, and tell Mrs. Cordova that you’re going to pay what you have spent. She’ll forgive you.”

    “I can’t. The maid saw me taking the money, when I was about to run and she blocked my path, I panicked and hit her.”

    “God, Toning! Sometimes you can be so stupid.”

    “I’m sorry Choleng. I saw the money and thought of Boboy. How much pansit I could bring home to him…how I can keep my promise… shit! I didn’t mean to hit her.”

    He was crying now. Choleng had to shift her position so that her body blocked Toning’s face, hiding it from the children’s view. The tears mingled with his salty sweat to try to purge his guilty expression. She recognized the pleading from the drowning man, the cry for help. She was also incensed by the helplessness she felt. Like the only way to save a drowning man is to swim after him and you suddenly realize that you don’t know how to swim yourself.

    “I know you’re sorry Toning but what do we do now?”

    “I don’t’ know Choleng. I don’t know,” Toning said as he buried his face in his hands.

    To see this man, this strong man, god of their heavens reduced to mortality, was a pain she could hardly bear. What could she do? She doesn’t know anything about these things. There’s nothing she could do. Nothing…no, wait. She’ll ask for Kapitan Fred’s help. He would know what to do. Yes, she’ll go there right now. She smiled, feeling better already.

    The rain, which just moments ago taunted her, seemed to regret its actions for now the rupture humbled itself to a mere sprinkle.

    “Give me the money, Toning. I’ll go to Kapitan Fred and tell him the truth so that he can help us.”

    Her husband looked at her with searching eyes before he understood what she was trying to do. Indeed, Kapitan Fred would help them. He was their kumpare, after all. Godfather to Boboy. He was groping for the money in his pockets when they heard Kapitan Fred’s voice calling from outside. Good! She thought. She doesn’t have to go to his house. Kapitan Fred is here. She was so relieved she didn’t stop to wonder what Kapitan Fred would want at this time of the night. If she had, maybe the shock of what she was about to see would have been abated.

    When she opened the door, she saw Kapitan Fred with the barangay tanods but that wasn’t so unusual. He usually tagged them along wherever he went. What caught her eye was the two policemen. She had to muster all her resolve not to shout to Toning to run.

    “Choleng, good evening. Sorry to disturb you but these two policemen would like to have a talk with your husband. Where is he?”

    She suppressed a shudder and she knew it is not because of the cold air.

    “He’s in the room changing clothes.”

    “Can you call him, this is sort of important.”

    The barangay captain looked uneasy; perhaps ashamed that he knows them or be a godfather to their son. At that moment, Toning emerged from the doorway, saw the policemen and quickly understood.

    “Are you Antonio Ramos?” one of the policemen, presumably the higher ranking officer of the two, asked.

    “Yes.”

    “We’d like you to come to the station with us. There’s a complaint against you.”

    “Okay. Just let me change my shirt.”

    Toning went back to the house and Choleng made use of the opportunity to talk to Kapitan Fred to help her husband.

    “Pareng Fred, please look after Toning. You know him, you know he didn’t mean to do it.”

    “I’ll try Choleng, but there’s nothing much I can do.”

    “Just go to the station with him and help him in whatever way you can.”

    “Okay Choleng. I’ll try to do anything I can to help but I’m not promising anything,”

    “Thanks. That’s all I ask.”

    Toning loomed in the door with the three curious children in tow. Their eyes were wide as they saw the policemen and almost all the inhabitants of Barrio Maasim in front of the house. Toning came down from the stairs with all the dignity he could muster. Choleng stared stupidly at the fading shirt her husband was wearing and thought rather absurdly: “Why did he have to wear that shirt, I haven’t mended the hole in its right underarm yet.”

    As her husband brushed past her and their eyes met, she couldn’t think of anything to say to assure him that they’ll be alright without him. She couldn’t even lie although she knows he will settle for it. She knows this is the part where she should cry, plead, cuss, swear and shout, just like they do in the movies, but she couldn’t do it. Maybe the shock dulled her senses. She just watched him being escorted through the sea of people who parted and made way for them just like in the Old Testament. Moses parting the red sea.

    The moon now appeared from behind the somber clouds to set its eyes upon its celestial domain. Casting a dull and surreal gleam to the grieving district.  

    Choleng wiped away a morsel of pansit from Boboy’s mouth as she pushed the children back into the shanty and away from the nosy neighbors who now are eagerly weaving their own versions of the story. Each story felt more accurate than the other.