Outside we stopped to talk to his classmates. “Look at my sipas,” he said. And they stopped to look.
“That’s a lot of candy,” one said, peering into the paper bag.
“My brother bought them all for me,” he said. He didn’t offer them any. “He works for one of the big banks in Manila, you know. So he’s got a lot of money.” Vince kept talking about me and the other boys listened with respect. I should have noticed Vince then, how he changes around people, changes himself and anything else. But I thought he was just a proud brother. And, although I was embarrassed, I felt good.
I couldn’t see then that I wasn’t doing nearly enough for him. But I can’t transform myself, time and time again, as he does. I can’t become whatever it is he wants me to be. And much as I’d like to, I can’t disappear either.
Rains
of
August
Today, like every year on my birthday, it’s raining. Mila says “Ay, Gemma” looking out the window. I stand beside her. The rain is cool and so clear I wish I could hold my face up to it. Mila sits on the bed. I step away from the window and the curtain drops.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to play any games.” Mila pulls me to her so I’m standing against the bed, her knees in my back. The rough skin on her arms rubs against my shoulders. She smells of kalamansi and Dial soap. Clean. I wonder if she has been squeezing kalamansi for juice. “What will you do for your party?” Mila asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Stand up straight,” she says and pushes on my shoulder blades. She pulls the comb through my hair.
“Ow!” I try to turn around but Mila holds me in place. “It hurts,” I tell her.
But she doesn’t say anything and she pulls hard on my hair as she braids it. She pulls my eyes back. The light in the room isn’t very bright. I want to open the curtains again, but I can’t move.
“Your daddy just left to get your ice cream cake.”
“Um.”
Mila is quiet, waiting for me to say more but I can’t think of more. She pushes me away but holds my arm. “You’re so skinny,” she says squeezing my fingers. “The bones of a bird.”
I’ve always been skinny. I was skinnier when I got out of the hospital after my pneumonia.
Mila holds my hand and looks sad, kind of like when I came home that time. “Bird bones,” she says again, softly. Her fingernails are plain like mine. No polish. Just the color of blood underneath. She pats my hand. “Go eat your breakfast.”
In the dining room Mommy sits wearing her glasses, looking at a recipe written on a little, white card. I lean on the arm of her chair and it squeaks.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Hmm?” She looks at me as if she doesn’t see me. Her eyes get this way when she’s thinking. I think she’s pretty like this. “Oh, this is a recipe your Tita Baby gave me.” She lays it on the table. “Have you had breakfast yet? Go tell Naty what you want.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, iha.”
Naty is listening to the radio and drinking her coffee. “There you are,” she says. “About time you got up.”
She stands and walks to the stove. She isn’t old, but she walks the way old ladies do, her feet shuffling on the green tile floor. “You better wake up your brother and sister. I’ve got a lot of things to do this morning. I have to start preparing for your party and I can’t do that until you all eat your breakfast.” She sighs like she’s tired and a little angry. “Your father had to invite all those people. Do you want one egg or two?”
“One,” I say.
I don’t tell her how to make it because sometimes she gets mad when we tell her. She cracks the egg against the pan and none of it drips out until she opens the shell. Her hands have big green-blue lines and I’m a little afraid of them. I don’t like her to touch me. When the breakfast is ready she puts it all on a plate. Fried rice, two links of longganisa sausage and one egg. I go out to the dining room with my plate.
“You eat all that now,” yells Naty from the kitchen. “You don’t want to be getting sick again.” Naty always reminds me I was sick. I wish she wouldn’t because I’m better now.
I carry my plate to the dining room. Mommy is gone, but I can hear her in one of the bedrooms talking to Mila. I sit in a chair by the window so I can watch the rain fall on the trees. Ate Marisa walks in with her hair still wet from her shower. Her t-shirt is wet too because of her hair. I don’t know how she can stand it. She looks at what I’m eating.
“Is there any pan de sal?”
“I don’t know.” I prick the fried egg so it runs onto the rice.
“That’s sick,” Marisa says. She gets up and looks around the dining room. On the side table with the coffee pot and vitamins she finds the brown paper bag with the pan de sal. She takes out a roll and squeezes it. “I think these are from yesterday.” She takes two. “It doesn’t matter. Do you want coffee?”
“Yes. With lots of sugar and cream.”
Ate Marisa is the only one who will give me coffee and she makes it so it tastes like coffee candy. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this,” she says. She always says this. The coffee is sweet and milky. She dunks part of her roll in her mug. Some of the coffee drips off the roll onto the white tablecloth and makes it brown.
“Marisa!” Naty yells from the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Just pan de sal!” Marisa says.
Naty is quiet and I think maybe she’s mad. I always eat some of her food even when I’m not hungry because she gets mad. Except when I was sick. Mommy and Daddy were worried because I couldn’t eat and I felt bad for making them worry.
“Where’s your milk?” Mommy asks. She stands behind me. “What’s this you’re drinking? Coffee?” She turns to Ate Marisa. “Why do you keep giving her coffee? I told you not to. It’ll stunt her growth. Go get her a glass of milk.”
Marisa makes a face and sighs. Mommy looks at Marisa’s back like she’s not sure what to say. Naty, from the kitchen, says that Marisa may as well eat. She’s been keeping the food warm and it’s a shame. Mommy sits down and presses her fingers to her temples.
“Marisa, dry your hair after you’re done eating,” Mommy says. “You’ll catch a cold walking around like that, especially on a rainy day.” Daddy walks in the door with his umbrella in one hand and a big, white box in the other.
“My cake!”
He hands the box to Mommy. Raindrops have fallen on it.
“Can I see it?” I ask.
“We have to get it into the freezer before it melts,” says Mommy.
“Please?” I ask. “Just a peek?”
“All right,” says Daddy. Mommy sighs.
With his keys, he slices through the tape on the lid. The cake is white with pink candy flowers and “Happy 8th Birthday Gemma” in pink.
“Do you like it?” He’s smiling.
“It’s pretty.”
I smile at Mommy, but she doesn’t see. She’s wiping the coffee stain Marisa made.
“OK,” says Daddy. “Now we have to put it away.” Mommy covers the cake and carries it into the kitchen.
“Where’s Emil?” Daddy asks. “Where’s your kuya?” he asks us.
“He’s still sleeping,” says Marisa. She says it like she’s trying to get him in trouble.
“Emil!” Daddy yells. He knocks on Emil’s bedroom door. “Get up! It’s ten o’clock already!”
But Emil doesn’t get up. Daddy keeps knocking on his door. “Emil!”
“Please don’t yell. I have a headache,” says Mommy. She goes to her room to lie down.
Marisa folds her legs so she’s sitting cross-legged in her chair. “Kuya’s going to be in trouble when he wakes up,” she says. She dunks the second roll into her coffee. I start eating again because I know it will make Mommy and Daddy happy.
* * *
Mila is ironing clothes in the back room and humming to a song on the radio. It’s her bedroom, and Naty’s. Back here,
the rain is louder and the light flickers. It bothers my eyes.
Mila has lots of pictures over her bed, mostly movie stars. Her bed is soft and I’m warm wrapped up in the blanket that’s faded and has Marisa’s name on it because it used to be hers. I can smell roast chicken and frying lumpia from the kitchen.
“Do you have any new comics?” I ask Mila.
“Go see,” she says.
I look in the box beside her bed until I find one I haven’t read before. I think it’s one of those love ones. It looks like it from the cover. Mila always has lots of comics. Mommy and Daddy won’t let me buy them. Marisa buys comic books anyway, but she’s good at hiding them and she’s not so afraid of being caught.
When I was sick in the hospital Marisa used to bring me comics. She came after Mommy left. Sometimes Emil came with Marisa. He always had White Rabbit candy in his pocket because it’s my favorite. I would lie in bed sucking on the candy while they talked. The pictures in Mila’s comic look like the pictures from the comics they brought me. I don’t think it’s the same one, but I think it’s about the same woman. She looks like Aurora Amor, the actress.
“Isn’t this a pretty dress?” says Mila. She has to talk loud because of the radio. On the ironing board is my pink birthday dress.
“Yes,” I say but I really don’t like it.
Naty comes in holding the round, woven tray spread with rice. She sits down on the bed beside me to clean the rice. I think she wants me to help, but I pretend not to notice her. She slaps at my legs underneath the blanket. “We made your favorite. Fried rice with shrimp.”
“We can smell it in here,” says Mila. “Isn’t that right, Gemma?”
I nod. On the radio I hear the sound that means the news is about to begin. “Today,” says the announcer, “his excellency President Ferdinand Marcos granted the request of Benigno Aquino to go to the United States. Mr. Aquino will undergo heart surgery while there. Actress Lorna Concepcion is being sued by Vicor Pictures for breach of contract. Miss Concepcion denies the allegations.” Mila and Naty don’t talk at all while the announcer gives the rest of the news.
“That’s surprising,” Mila says when it’s over.
“Probably didn’t want him to die in prison.”
The ironing board squeaks as Mila runs the iron across it. Naty squints at the comic book I’m reading. “You better be careful. If Mr. and Mrs. find out you let her read those…” she warns Mila.
“She only reads them in here,” says Mila.
“Well, they might get mad. Especially Mrs.” Naty stands up and moves closer to Mila. “She’s already mad at Mr., about last night. You know.”
The radio announcer says “This is DZRJ!” real loud. “The heart of Manila!”
Mila turns the radio down. “Well it doesn’t happen often.”
“She’s very mad. She thinks it’s Mr.’s friend Romy, the one from work. You know, the one with the beauty queen girlfriend.”
“I thought he was married,” says Mila.
“He is,” Naty says slowly, the way Marisa talks when she’s trying to get Kuya Emil in trouble.
Mila looks at me because she doesn’t want me to hear. “You better get ready, Gemma.” She comes over and pulls me out of bed. “You go take your bath. And have your ate help you with your dress.”
Naty sits down on the bed with the tray in her lap. She’s picking through the rice again. I leave with the dress I don’t like. Through the open door I hear Naty say, “I don’t know why they’re starting the party so early.”
“Because it’s Gemma’s party and she can’t stay up late. They have to be careful with her…”
* * *
Kuya Emil is sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. He’s wearing his favorite shirt, the blue and white one, and playing with a black umbrella. He presses the automatic button and the umbrella shoots toward me, but it’s tied closed. “Bang,” he says. “Happy birthday.”
“You’re mean,” I say.
I pull the other rocking chair away from him. I tilt it forward so I can sit in it. It rocks slowly then finally stops. I sit and pick at the white embroidery on my dress. Emil reaches over and pushes my chair so it starts to rock again.
“Stop!” I say. He pushes it again, harder. “Stop that!” I hold tight to the sides of the chair and try not to fall. He stops the rocking and smiles at me.
“You know I don’t like that.”
Someone calls us from the gate. Kuya Emil gets out of his chair with his umbrella. “Hello!” The voice from outside calls again. Above the gate I can see a red umbrella moving.
“Hello, Tita Baby,” says Emil.
“Oy, Emil,” says Tita Baby. She peeks over the top of the gate. I see her eyes then all I see is red umbrella. “Are you the gatekeeper today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emil can’t unlock the gate because he’s holding the umbrella over his head. He sets it down and gets wet, but finally gets the lock off and holds the gate open.
“Emil.” Tita Baby kisses him on the cheek. Her daughter, who’s lots younger than me, stares at Emil and at the yard and driveway with her mouth open. She looks dumb with her mouth like that. She holds my present like she’s going to drop it.
“Gemma!” Tita Baby hugs and kisses me also. “How is our birthday girl? You’re looking much better, iha.” She takes the present from her daughter and I’m glad. “Nina,” she says to the little girl, “say ‘Happy Birthday’ to your cousin.”
Nina puts all her fingers in her mouth and looks away. She says something and Tita Baby pushes her hair from her face.
“Too bad it’s raining for your birthday,” Tita Baby says.
“It always rains on my birthday,” I tell her.
“Baby!” Mommy hugs her sister and they talk loudly. “Just leave the gate unlocked,” Mommy says to Emil. She and Tita Baby walk up to the house.
“I thought you’d be here later.”
“We left Baguio early.”
“Where are Ninoy and Tito Tonio?”
“Parking the car.”
“You wouldn’t believe all the people Nickulas has invited,” Mommy says.
“Aba, why?”
“Because of his promotion. This is a birthday and promotion party.” I think Mommy’s mad. She just called Daddy kulas. “It’s that Romy friend of his. You know, the one I told you about.”
“Ay naku.” Tita Baby shakes her head. She picks up Nina and they walk up the steps into the house.
Emil’s in the rocking chair again playing with the umbrella. I sit down on the top step of the porch, where it’s smooth, not where the prickly stones are stuck in the concrete.
“You’re going to get your dress dirty,” says Emil.
I know he’s right so I get up and walk to the empty rocking chair. “Do you promise not to push me?”
“I won’t push you,” he says. He’s looking far away when he says this, like Mommy does sometimes. He’s not paying attention to me so I know he’s telling the truth. I get into the rocking chair. The rain falling is making a drumming noise. I wish I were in bed under the blankets.
* * *
The house is full of balloons. They’re pink and red and white and the white ones say “Happy 8th Birthday Gemma” with the date, August 18, 1974, underneath. I like them because I’ve never had balloons for my birthday. Ate Marisa and I tied red and white ones to the table my presents are on.
Lots of our neighbors are here, but Tita Baby, Tito Ninoy and Tito Ninoy’s father are the only relatives. That’s OK because I’ll see everyone else at Christmas. Daddy’s friends from work are here. Mr. Guttierez, Daddy’s boss, says I should be proud of Daddy. Sofia, who is shy and has long hair, says “yes” and nods. Romy, the one Mila and Naty were talking about, kneels down when he gives me my present wrapped in gold paper. I don’t like him. He has a very red face.
“She’ll be a very pretty young lady,” he says to Daddy who smiles. “A real Miss Philippines,” he says and pinches my
cheek.
Lydia, from next door, is here with her brother Ramon and their parents. Daddy is taking pictures with his new camera. He’s turned on all the lights in the living room, the dining room and the kitchen so he can take good pictures. But it’s hot so Mila and Naty have to bring all the portable fans out from the bedroom to cool us. Lydia and I follow one of the fans back and forth, back and forth as it turns.
“Stop that,” Daddy says. “You might fall and hurt yourselves.”
The fans are blowing the balloons and one keeps bouncing against Mr. Guttierez’s back.
“Where is Tito Tonio?” Mommy asks Daddy.
“Still outside directing traffic.”
“Ay!” Mommy walks to the door and looks outside. “He’ll get sick standing out in this rain.”
“I tried to get him to come in earlier, but he wouldn’t,” says Daddy. “He’s helping the guests park.”
I follow Mommy out to the porch.
“Tito Tonio!” Mommy yells. “Emil, give me your umbrella,” she says. With the umbrella over her head, she goes outside, into the street to bring back Lolo Tonio.
Mommy says we should call him Lolo. He’s Tito Ninoy’s father and an old man, older than our Lolo. Lolo Tonio used to be in the army fighting the Japanese and he always directs traffic. We go to his house sometimes with Tita Baby. Mommy always tells us to be nice but not to believe everything he says. Mommy and Lolo Tonio walk in the gate.
“Are you sure everyone is here?” he asks. I think Mommy’s made him mad.
“Yes, yes,” says Mommy. She’s holding him by the arm.
“Hello, Gemma,” he says. “Happy Birthday.” He holds out his hand.
“Mano po, Gemma,” Mommy says. She’s reminding me to be respectful. I take Lolo Tonio’s hand and hold it to my forehead. I can still smell his hand after he’s already inside. It’s old and dusty, like the closets in Lolo’s house where the ghosts live.
Daddy takes a picture of me when I walk in the door. He laughs and bends down so I can give him a kiss. He smells like beer so I hold my breath then kiss him quick on the cheek.
Mango Seasons Page 8