by: Cas Garcia
The Philippine Airlines one o'clock flight left on time. Seat 1F was occupied
by chance passenger Dr. Manny de la Verdad. The front seats are usually
reserved for prominent local politicians but three hundred pesos could do
wonders. Manny stayed in his car with the driver and boarded the plane at the
very last moment and heaved a sigh of relief when the airplane door was closed.
The stewardess with the slicked-down hair crisply gave her standard
instructions in something that resembled English, followed by what seemed to be
recently invented Pilipino phrases - "Magyari po lamang, manatiling nakaupo.."
Manny looked out the window and felt the plane take off, it seemed, almost
vertically, as he craned his neck to his right to see the mango and coconut
trees, and the mirror-like fishponds getting smaller and smaller and wondered
if he would ever be back again. Maybe not. Maybe not.
From Manila, he would take Japan Airlines for Narita and on to Madrid from
which he would take the bullet train south to Marbella where he had a villa
along Costa del Sol. Fatima, his trusted old Moroccan housekeeper and cook of
seven years, originally from Tangiers, would be very happy to see him again. It
had been more than six months since his last vacation there when she took him
across the Strait of Gibraltar to Casablanca where she helped him choose and
bargain for the beautiful hand-made Bokhara Persian rug which now gave some
depth and color to the foyer of the third home he seldom goes to.
Like the last time, thirty odd years ago, his flight from Butuan was
unanticipated and unplanned. He imagined Aunt Betty would be fuming mad when
she finds out that he had left again without saying goodbye. He did not bid
anybody farewell, except of course, Condom, his year old pet who acted like he
was still a puppy, slobbering over him and who insisted on napping on the
lavender couch, claiming it as his own. His household help did not know about
his plans until the very last minute when he told them that provisions have
been made with the Bank of Commerce for the staff's salary and other regular
household expenses.
He could not remember where he was the night before. He woke up naked, his
clothes having been amateurishly washed and left to dry, hanging from the
master bathroom showerhead. He was nursing a pulsating migraine that was
unresponsive to two extra-strength Tylenols, a nagging headache that affected
his vision. The black bag where he kept his stethoscope and sphygmomanometer
was open and his surgical instruments were scattered on the floor. Nothing was
missing but the tip of his favorite scalpel was bent somewhat. He cursed when
he made the discovery that the cutting edge tip had a tiny soft bone fragment
embedded on it. He used that knife purely for the fine tissues of the face. And
he usually took real good care of his equipment. That made him start thinking
and worrying. What had his feral alter ego done this time?
He had a late breakfast of mangoes, mangosteen, lakatan banana and half of a
small papaya at his favorite nook, the nipa hut at the west end of his native
zen garden. It was while he was drinking his decaffeinated Folgers coffee when
he heard the newsflash on ABS-CBN. "Nagbabagang Balitaaah !.."
"Please, God, no..." He groaned when he heard the partial report.
"..behind Weegol's Restaurant..identified as Jennifer Varona, a nineteen year
old Butuan resi.."
Manny bolted up as if he was sitting on a hot stove and spilled the coffee on
his robe, broke the porcelain creamer cup and found himself rushing across the
garden back to his bedroom, Condom right behind him. After a while and numb
with comprehension of his possible involvement and being aware of the possible
consequences, he quickly decided to proceed with his only recourse and pressed
the buzzer once, a coded call for the head maid.
"Ginging, please come."
She knocked on his door gently. She knew he was usually in a foul mood in the
morning and he sounded worse today.
"Yes Sir?"
"Pack the usual. I am leaving for Manila at noon."
She looked at him for a while, asking with her eyes but he refused to say
anything more. "Yes Sir" she answered dutifully. She liked her employer. He was
kind and considerate and he taught her many things, never abusing his authority
although he insisted on not being addressed as Doc or Dokie by the help. He had
some hang-up about cleanliness, almost an obsession, insisting that the
doorknobs be wiped daily even if they were not smudged or the floor vacuumed
not swept. But he made cooking for him a joy rather than a chore and all his
carefully selected guests behaved themselves and never soiled her white
tablecloths. Her salary was almost double the salaries of the other maids in
their subdivision. She knew her place and never spoke unless spoken to.
This morning, it was obvious he had other important things in his mind and
seemed to be in a worse disposition than usual. He had come home very late last
night when she heard the automatic garage door go up and down at about three or
four in the early morning. He had never come home that late before. She made
the conclusion that he was suffering from a hangover.
The stewardess smiled sweetly at him. He did not smile back. "Sir, would you
like a newspaper?"
"No, thank you." He leaned back on his seat, closed his almost teary eyes.
"Jennifer, oh Jennifer!" he whispered softly to himself.
A couple of days later, retired plastic surgeon, Dr. Manny de la Verdad, under
the shade of a massive green and white striped beach umbrella, is found
lounging by the pool along Puerto Banus, feet propped up on a stool, his
favorite sunglasses on, drinking his specially mixed sangria, swimming trunks
still dry. A lithe, raven haired, blue eyed, seventeen year old in a luminous
tangerine string bikini, noticing his white, still untanned body , and came
gliding by, holding an unlighted cigarette. She primly sat down across the
table from him and extended the cigarette in his general direction, "Senor,
favor?" Manny sized up the vision before him as he lit her cigarette with his
gold plated cigarette lighter. He liked what he saw. He displayed his charming
little boy smile before he asked, "Cuanto?"
========================
Tony Lee went directly to his room and locked the door behind him. Sgt. Loloy
went to the kitchen and was joined by Jin. The two were talking almost in
whispers, respecting Tony's grief.
Tony sat on the edge of his bed staring into the mirror of his dresser in front
of him, looking at himself, seeing nothing. Jennifer's death is just really
beginning to sink in. What he would give just to see her smile again. What he
would give just to see her again. What kind of life will it be for him without
Jennifer? Will it be a life of waiting? Waiting for what? To finally die and
they would be together again. But then, why wait at all?
He stayed in his room and at about two o'clock, four hours later, his worried
mother knocked softly on his door.
"Tony?"
"Go away. Leave me alone."
"Don't you want to eat anything? Drink anything?"
"No, please leave me alone."
Jin felt some relief. At least her son is communicating and not doing anything
stupid. She felt so bad for him, knowing that Jennifer was his first true love.
Why did this have to happen to him? He was so childlike and gentle. Her only
child. He was so different from his father. Perhaps his genes favored the Manco
side of the family.
Tony kept staring at his image on the mirror but he did not see himself. He now
saw Jennifer's death mask. He saw her everywhere he looked. He wanted so much
to remember her the last time they were together when she was alive and love
was new. He realized he had not even kissed her on the lips and that the only
time he touched her breast was when he tried to replace the almost severed
gland and fatty tissue back on her chest. Now all he saw were pale drawn-back
lips and dilated pupils. He shivered and groaned at that thought and tore at
his shirt and undershirt, leaving linear bleeding scratch marks on the skin of
his own chest! He could not take it anymore! He rushed out of his room to his
motorcycle and careened out into the dark drizzly night, accelerating,
unmindful of the traffic as he rode the massive Kawasaki towards Bancasi and
back to the city. "There goes that damn idiot again," yelled the drunk who
regularly spent most of his nights drinking beer in the sari-sari store across
the Toyota Dealership.
Bare chested, Tony rode his bike all over town like there was no more tomorrow,
screaming Jennifer's name out loud, his motorcycle, seemingly on autopilot,
which finally took him to the SanVicente Road. He barely missed the newly
installed electric post outside the Banaag residence, proceeded to the new
bridge, past the guardhouse, never slowing down, and at the very end, near the
middle of the river, smashed against one of the vertically stretched
stabilizing side cables with a loud and terrible crunching sound.
Tony Fidel Manco Lee was never seen again, his motorcycle, a grotesque pile of
metal and rubber, wrapped around the two inch steel cable of the unfinished
second Butuan Bridge which the people now refused to call the Diosdado
Macapagal Bridge. Only one shoe was found, fifteen feet from the site of
impact.
The Philippine National Police, Fire Department, and friends of the family
spent four days scouring the river and the Butuan Bay but Tony's body was never
found. The National Bureau of Investigation entered the picture and tied the
two deaths together as related events because of the time element and other
significant data. Rumors were circulated all over town, and among Butuanons
around the world, that a cover up had been hatched up, a conspiracy of silence
involving the police, the NBI, the coroner, and almost everyone in the local
and national government, perhaps even including the First Gentleman, and that a
good amount of cash had changed hands. Thus, everyone became an expert on the
sinister subject and the least knowledgeable were the most certain that Tony
Lee, the rich crazy slinky Chinese was the main suspect. His disappearance was
staged, they said, and that he was hiding out in Manila and had plastic surgery
not only to change his face but to change his entire body habitus by
liposuction. His mouth was reconfigured by having some of his crooked teeth
removed, replacing them with implants. His palpebral fissures were widened and
his nose straightened. Not unlike some of the special effects of Mission
Impossible starring Tom Cruise. And why did Dr. de la Verdad suddenly leave for
a vacation, too? The most damning evidence was the presence of blood on the
tanto knife that dangled on Tony's white SUV rear view mirror. The DNA findings
were conclusive. The blood was that of Jennifer.
Tony had no credible alibi. His own mother did not know where he was the night
Jennifer was killed. His bodyguard was on an errand in Ampayon and the maids
could not confirm that he was asleep in his own room. The doctor's absence was
not the only suspicious disappearance that bogged down the investigation
according to the self proclaimed experts who frequented the Tres Marias
Carinderia on Burgos Street for lunch. The trisikad driver, the hotel guard,
the hotel registry books all disappeared without a trace. Even the original
autopsy report seemed altered, the Mc Donald wise men were certain. And the
hotel secretary as well as Neri June would claim that they were both asleep the
whole night. So, for almost a year, the newspapers, radio commentators,
television, and the internet clamored almost daily for an explanation if not a
resolution to the murder of Jennifer Varona, the teen-age beauty queen who used
to live on T. Calo Street.
The two year anniversary of that hideous incident has come and gone. The
elections are done and over with. The winners won and the habitual losers,
well, they lost again. But 2010 is another day. The citizens have gone back to
their usual bitching about the usual things, the complaints building up to a
crescendo during fiesta time when the balikbayans are in town, and dying down
before the month of May is over.
There are thirty three applicants for the Mutya ng Butuan contest. Twenty three
would be eliminated. And from the remaining ten, only one would be chosen.
And life goes on.
-The End -
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