Mango Seasons

by Michelle Cruz Skinner

  Lotlot told me that Angeling was seeing a Kano. “Lucy saw them in a bar on Magsaysay.”

  “What was Lucy doing in the bar?”

  “She wasn’t in the bar. She was in her parents’ car. They were going to dinner.”

  “So how could she see in the bar?”

  “It was that one with the open sala. The… You know which one.”

  “Sure.”

  “You just don’t want to believe your girlfriend’s a hostess,” she said. It was the closest she could come to saying “prostitute.”

  “No she’s not.”

  Lotlot backed away, holding her books against her as a shield. “Yes she is. And I’m only telling you because I thought you should know.”

  But that wasn’t the only reason Lotlot told me. She wanted to see what I would do. Everyone did. I didn’t do anything because I didn’t know what was true and what was not. Then I met Tom.

  Angeling said to meet her at Shakey’s at eight-thirty that night and I said yes before I remembered that Ric was going to be in town. He was visiting for the weekend. Tito Gil had decided he was old enough now to visit on his own. Mama I knew was happy because she hated having the whole family over at once. I wondered what I was going to do with Ric.

  After dinner, I asked if we could go to a movie and Tatay said OK. Marisa, of course, wanted to come, but I said it was just us boys, we wanted to talk. And Mama and Tatay agreed. All the way to the movie theater in the jeepney, I wondered what I was going to do with Ric. Finally, I decided not to tell him anything.

  We got off the jeepney in front of the Kimara. “Wait here,” I told him.

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to do something.” I was backing down the street. “I’ll be right back. If I’m late go on in and I’ll catch up.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “All right. But don’t say anything about this.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Shakey’s.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Just down the street.”

  We were sweating by the time we got there. I wiped my face with my handkerchief, then stuffed it back in my pocket. Ric wiped his face too. Inside, Angeling was waiting for us with Tom. I hadn’t expected him. I saw them across the room and Ric, who knew I was looking at them, asked “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Angeling. She’s a friend.”

  “Who’s the Kano?”

  “Tom.”

  Angeling waved at me. I looked around for Doctora Campos and her husband because they owned the restaurant. I didn’t want them to see me. Ric and I weaved through the tables to where Angeling and Tom sat.

  “Sorry we’re late,” I said. Then I switched to Tagalog so Tom couldn’t understand. “This is my cousin, Ric. He’s visiting from Manila.”

  Angeling smiled and nodded in greeting. Then she turned to Tom and said, “These are my cousins, Emil and Ric.” She gestured toward us.

  Tom stood up and shook our hands. “You’re the first relatives of Angel’s that I’ve met.”

  The way he said Angel it sounded as if he was talking about another person. Some golden Angel person with curly hair who wore white or pink all the time. Not Angeling who was sitting in the chair that was scooted up next to his. Not Angeling wearing tight jeans and high heels on her long legs.

  “Let me buy you guys a drink. What will it be? San Miguel for both of you?”

  And we nodded yes at the same moment we both realized we could take advantage of his offer. The waitress brought beers for everyone except Angeling who sipped at her Pepsi.

  Ric and I told Tom we were studying to be engineers, which I truly think Tom believed because he couldn’t tell how old we were. I couldn’t tell how old he was either. Later, Ric and I decided he was probably in his early twenties. Angeling sat and smiled as we told our stories. She looked like she was about to laugh. Tom’s hand slipped down to her lap as he told us how beautiful our cousin was. He said this several times, each time differently. Beautiful hair. Gorgeous. Fine-looking. And he was right. Angeling did look beautiful that night.

  Still, I watched Tom’s hand considering what I would do if… I could imagine all sorts of “ifs.” Ric glanced at me a few times as if looking for a reaction. But I knew I wouldn’t do anything. Angeling would get angry. He did seem nice. Friendly, funny. And he bought us another beer each.

  After we finished the beers and had a few slices of pizza, Ric and I left. Tom invited us to go with them, but I didn’t think he was serious and I didn’t want to go anyway.

  “That’s all right,” I said magnanimously. “You two go. Have a good time.”

  “We will,” said Tom.

  Ric and I walked back to the Kimara. We were both dizzy, and the heat made me feel sick. So I walked slowly and Ric did too.

  “What was that all about?” Ric asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he just asked to meet some of her family.”

  “Why didn’t she introduce him to her real family?”

  “I don’t know if she has one.”

  “What? She’s an orphan? Where does she live?”

  “It’s just that I’ve never met her family. I know where she lives, but I’ve never seen anyone else there.”

  “Well she can’t live by herself.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. But maybe all she has is her lola who’s too old and sick to go out and meet people.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t know much about her.”

  “How’d you meet her?”

  “She’s my classmate.” I turned to him. “We’re friends. I’m the only one she talks to.”

  We kept walking. “She looks older than she is,” Ric said. He looked down into the river. “Do you ever worry about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. She seems sad.” We both stared at the water so black it made me dizzy. I got a taste on my tongue as if I was going to throw up, so I stepped away from the rail. “To be lying about us,” said Ric, “that’s sad.”

  “She is, a little.”

  We were almost back to the Kimara and I realized there was no reason for us to be there. The movie had started long ago. “What should we do now?” I looked at my watch. “We can’t go home yet.”

  “I don’t know.” We glanced around to see if there was anything to do. “Is there a video game parlor around here?”

  “Oh yeah.” I remembered and started walking. “Follow me.”

  “You can’t even walk straight.” Ric weaved and stumbled, imitating me.

  “I’m not that bad,” I said. Still joking, he lurched toward me. “Hey!” I tried to catch him, but we both ended up half-falling, leaning against a telephone pole and laughing.

  Angeling came to class for only one more week, then she disappeared. I wasn’t sure she was truly gone until I hadn’t seen her for two weeks. Then I knew she wasn’t coming back. I hoped she had left with Tom and they were on their way to California. I hoped they would have tall children.

  The others whispered. I overheard Lotlot tell Remy that she’d been told Angeling was working in one of the nightclubs. Efren and Freddy said Angeling’s boyfriend, Jimmy or Joey or whatever his name was, came back from Manila and got mad when he found out about Tom. They said he tried to beat her up, but some people stopped him. Who? I wondered. Lucy told everyone that Angeling was pregnant and had been pulled out of school. By whom? I wondered again. Her parents? Her lola? Freddy said she moved away, but Efren said he didn’t think so.

  “Where would she go?” asked Efren.

  “To Pampanga,” Freddy replied. “I heard that’s where her mother’s from.”

  Efren turned to me. “What did she tell you?”

  “Not much,” I said. “She never told me much.”

  Recounting

>   the

  Days

  Tita Pilar is sleeping now, after she nearly killed herself with the sewing scissors this morning. I don’t think she really was trying to kill herself as she said because as soon as Mama got Lolo Tonio out of the room, she fell down on the floor and cried. The way she fell I thought her legs would break under her. Gemma and I stood pressed up against the doorway while Tita Baby talked to Tita Pilar who lay with her skirts above her knees.

  Tita Pilar is Lolo Tonio’s oldest daughter, but I don’t know how old she is. Mama and Tita Baby say she was beautiful once. They say they have seen pictures. Tita Baby’s husband, Tito Ninoy, has told them stories. She had the most beautiful singing voice among his sisters. And she always made sure he had a clean handkerchief and polished shoes when he left for school in the mornings. Now that her brother and sisters are gone, I suppose she checks Lolo Tonio’s handkerchiefs and shoes. I’ve never heard her sing, and looking at her lying in twisted skirts on the floor, I could not imagine any beauty.

  Mama called us from the other room, trying to get us away. But we stayed because we could not stop watching the accident that had happened in front of us. In the room with the neatly-made bed and bleached curtains, an accident. It was like looking into bright lights. Mama and Tita Baby were too busy with their numbing talk to force us away. They didn’t want us to see what can happen or to hear the things they don’t tell us.

  “I hate him,” Tita Pilar cried. We all knew she meant Lolo Tonio. Later, when Tita Baby had her in bed and covered up with the sheet she said “How has this happened?” as if her life had crept up on her.

  Sitting in the living room, I wondered, if Tita Baby had a lemongrass bush in her yard, would this have happened? We only came to pick lemongrass for something Tita Baby is making. I was going to buy some new blouses at Makati Commercial Center with Mama and Gemma and Tita Baby. But first, we picked lemongrass. Then, as we sat at the dining table sipping guyabano juice from blue frosted glasses, we heard a crash from Tita Pilar’s room. It was the sewing box. Needles and buttons and pins and thread lay on the floor. Was she simply preparing to sew a button back on a blouse when the contents fell from their neat stacks to lie at her feet?

  I know this was coming. Not knew, but know, now, after it has happened. After, it’s clear this was going to happen. Sometime. If we weren’t here, I think Tita Pilar would have buried herself in the sheets, left the box lying open on the floor and stayed under the sheets crying, alone. And maybe this would have been best. Now everyone knows and they’re going to think things like “maybe we should hide the knives,” or “she should have married.” Answers when they don’t know the problem, the questions, at all.

  I don’t believe Tita Pilar understands this herself. Maybe while sorting through the box for a button she realized she had spent I-don’t-know-how-many years sewing buttons in the same house and she was no longer singing. Her skirts had faded considerably.

  I can only guess, but why do we think this has never happened before? And why are Tita Baby and Mama, now that they have handled this situation, suddenly quiet?

  All afternoon the broken lemongrass has lain on the table. The smell has hung in the air and none of us has said anything about it, or picked it up and placed it inside a bag. We let it sleep like Tita Pilar, and Lolo Tonio in the room next to hers. Mama and Tita Baby are sleeping with their eyes open while they sit in their chairs. In the back kitchen, the maid walks quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

  Gemma and I are hiding among the newspapers. Lolo Tonio and Tita Pilar have a week’s worth of them in the little rack under the coffee table. We brought all seven newspapers out, thick with newsprint that bleeds onto our fingers, and spread them on the coffee table. A menu. We both started with the oldest and traded the sections back and forth. We are in Tuesday.

  We’re trying to stretch the days out as long as we can. In Monday’s paper I reviewed the horse racing and pelota results. I looked at pictures of movie stars, the president at a rally. I read about the child actress, Lea, standing on chairs at rallies and singing for her grandfather who is running for Senate from prison. I said the prayer of the day. Under it the Monday weather forecast was sunny. Tuesday is almost the same but with different news.

  I think there are many ways to this moment, after the accident, when relatives one scarcely knows sit in the living room reading newspapers. Tita Pilar could have married, bought a new sala set, and one day still found herself standing above a spilled box or broken plate with food scattered around. She could have been a teacher, a doctor, moved to the States and still, one day, someone would be picking up the pieces on the floor. Another would sit in the living room and wonder, “Should we call the doctor?” In the kitchen, the maid would hide the knives.

  I wonder if someone will hide knives from me someday, or from Gemma. How have we gotten to this point?

  Our hands are black from Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Mama and Tita Baby sit next to the window in the dining room. They talk softly as they drink and leave a multitude of wet rings on the glass table top. The sewing scissors sit in front of them, as evidence. They are waiting for something and I don’t believe they know what it is.

  Gemma and I are tired of waiting. The accident has twisted up our plans. We’re tired of waiting, waiting through the smell of this afternoon, with our hands dirty from all the days. Our eyes hurt from looking.

  Katorse

  On the day after the day I turned fourteen, Emil and Marisa came home from school and brought Ric with them. Ric came with a present of a necklace, which he gave me without looking at me because I was fourteen and he was nineteen and my cousin. I wore the necklace the whole week he stayed with us, and after. The necklace had a small “G” for Gemma. “Real gold,” Ric said when he gave it to me. I wear the necklace to remember him, in memory of him, the way I would light a candle in church.

  Ric didn’t talk much and I liked that about him. Even when he wasn’t talking I wanted to sit with him and pretend I knew what he was thinking, that we knew things no one else knew. Sometimes I wished he weren’t Tito Gil’s son and my cousin. Like in that Norma Villanueva movie when she finds out that the man she’s in love with is really her brother because they were both adopted when they were young. I remember them walking by the bay in sunset and she’s crying because she knows.

  Mama and Papa and everyone are always telling me what I should and shouldn’t do, so I know all that. I know what’s wrong, but that’s easy to know and hard to imagine. And I can imagine a lot. Almost all the things I’ve imagined, like our car flying off the Zigzag one night on the way home, or Lito kissing me, have never happened. The things I don’t expect and never dream of are as real as the sweat under my gold “G” necklace.

  Ric once made me fall into the fishpond at Lolo’s house and Lolo got mad at him. So did Tito Gil and everyone else because I was only four or five. Ric was the same age as Emil and they always teased me, but they never let me get hurt.

  Ric, Marisa and Emil came home after my birthday because they didn’t want to miss too much class. Both Emil and Ric were studying architecture at UP. “Upo,” Marisa calls it. She goes there too and writes for the newspaper she calls the “Balitang Upo.” “Read all about squash,” she says. Sometimes I don’t understand the things she thinks are funny.

  Ric was supposed to study at La Salle, but he went to UP instead. Emil says it was because he wanted to be farther away from his father. “Tito Gil wanted him to study finance,” Emil told us. I think maybe that’s why Ric visited us so often.

  “Let’s go out tonight,” Marisa said their first night back. She doesn’t like to go out alone, so she always gets others to go with her.

  “OK,” Emil said.

  “Let’s not stay out too late,” Ric told them. “I’m still tired from the trip.”

  But they stayed out late anyway. I heard them talking and Marisa giggling softly, tripping on her heels as they walked in the front door, Marisa saying “Aray!” as
she bumped against the steps, then “good night” to them as she opened our bedroom door. She took off her clothes and earrings. She only washed her face so that when she dropped herself onto her bed she smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat and beer.

  I looked at her lying on top of the sheets with only her underwear and a T-shirt, her breasts moving up and down slowly as she breathed. Sometimes I want to be like her, going to sleep nearly-naked, but Mama would find me like that and get upset. Mama never comes into our room when Marisa’s home. And besides, I’m not like Marisa.

  Ric looked tired the next day. He sat at the breakfast table with Emil and drank two cups of coffee. The whole time he sat with his head leaning on his hand. I wanted him to notice that I was wearing the necklace.

  Naty told us she wasn’t going to wait any longer for Marisa. “What do you want to eat?” she asked and told us what she could make.

  “Longannisa and rice,” Ric told her and I asked for the same.

  “Give her a lot,” he said. “She needs to eat.”

  “Where’s Marisa?” Emil asked me.

  “In the bathroom.” He and Ric looked at each other. “She’s not sick.” Ric raised his eyebrows at me so I had to look away.

  Marisa came out of the bedroom with her hair still wet from the shower. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she poured a cup of coffee. I nudged the cream and sugar toward her. “So,” she said, looking at Emil and Ric, “how’s your love life?”

  They looked at each other as if they weren’t sure whom she was talking to. Then they looked at me. “What love life?” said Ric, as if what he said was a joke.

  “What about…” Marisa thought as she stirred her coffee. She looked up. “What about Ana?”

  Ric held his empty hands over his mug. “Nothing.”

  “And you?” Marisa said to me.

  “No boyfriend,” I told her.

  “What about that guy who used to call and wouldn’t tell you who he was?”