Monday, December 28, 2009

Fidel's March: A Screenplay of a Novel (Chapter 11)





FIDEL is sitting by the screened bay window of their bedroom, the equally-screened ventanillas beneath this large window left open to let some wind blow on his feet as well. He says: “Hindi siya kumander. Siya ang chairman ng propaganda arm sa Eastern Visayan islands command.”

@ @ @

March 15. It’s late in the afternoon. Fidel and his wife, along with Pablo and Sienna, are on the campus of the University of the Philippines at Tacloban. They are among a crowd of artists (Jesse and Robert—the latter wearing his Army captain’s uniform—are there), academics, and U.P. Tacloban students, all standing outside the college auditorium, waiting for the Vicente Apostol films due to arrive from Tacloban’s airport and be welcomed here with a ceremony. This whole affair was planned by Jesse, chairman of the Waray Arts Foundation, in cooperation with the UP at Tacloban Regional Arts Development Program.

@ @ @

The plane arrives at the Tacloban airport. After some waiting, the Vicente Apostol cargo is loaded in a van and leaves the airport parking lot, speeding through the city districts along the way to the film festival venue at UP.

@ @ @

The van arrives at the university. There is wide applause.
     Someone opens the box and pulls out the film’s containers. Someone else shouts a leading “Mabuhay ang mga pelikula ni Vicente Apostol!” The crowd responds with their “Mabuhay!” “Mabuhay ang pelikulang Pilipino!” “Mabuhay!” Applause, That may have been a bit corny, but you have to admit, these kinds of cheer with their accompanying political fervor could somehow still turn out to be moving.
     An announcer climbs the stage and says this:
     “Pinaaalam po natin sa mga estudyante na nag-submit ng entries para sa ating Vicente Apostol video awards competition dito sa film festival nating ito . . . na mamaya na po natin i-a-announce ang finalists sa contest na ito. Kaya after today’s showing of one Vicente Apostol film, huwag po tayong aalis sa auditorium for that announcement! Salamat po.”
     The usual speeches with the usual words follow, including the university dean’s, a professor’s, and—finally—Joanna Apostol’s, a fragment from which goes thus:
     “Labas sa maraming napaslang mula pa noong rehimeng Marcos magpasahanggang ngayon, sa hanay ng mga aktibista, mga unyonista, mga ordinaryong mamamahayag at akademiko, meron ding mga nawawala na hindi natin alam kung ano ang nangyari sa kanila, sino ang may hawak sa kanila, at kung nasaan na sila ngayon. Diumano’y ang aking Papa na si Vicente Apostol ay umalis patungo sa isang bayan sa Samar malapit sa kampo militar sa Calbayog, Samar, ang Kampo Kambal. At sinasabi ng ilang mga opisyal ng Armed Forces of the Philippines na ang Papa ko raw ay sumanib sa mga komunista, sa anyaya raw ng ilan niyang mga dating kaklase at kabarkada. Nguni’t paano magiging komunista ang Papa ko gayung siya’y huling namataan sa gate ng Kampo Kambal. Oo nga’t dito sa ating rehiyon ay nagkalat ang magkapatid o magpinsan na naging mga opisyal ng AFP at ng Communist Party of the Philippines, kung kaya’t hindi isang beses lamang silang nakikita ng ilang testigo na nag-iinuman lamang sa isang baryo. Nag-iinuman po at hindi nagbabarilan. Ngunit gayunpaman, . . .”
     It was a speech of both hope and nostalgia, and you should get the drift of something like that already. By sunset, the ribbon cutting was through, promptly followed by cocktails with finger food and plastic cups right before the auditorium screening of the day’s Vicente Apostol film.
     So, now, inside the auditorium, the curtains—set up by the Waray Arts Foundation—start to rise to reveal the installed projection screen ready for a 35 mm film.
     The fast-rising young neo-social realist film director Manuel White soon delivers his lecture (with slides) about “The Arts and the People.”
     After Manny’s lecture, the professor-announcer climbs up to a podium left of the screen and says to the microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, ang screening po ngayong gabi ay para sa pelikulang Tatlong Buwan. Pero bago po ito, ipapalabas po muna natin ang isang short film ng ating guest, at alam po natin kung sino siya, ang mahal po nating ka-unibersidad, at ang minahal ng kanyang ama na si Vicente Apostol, si Ms. Joanna Apostol-Roxas. . . . Ang pamagat po ng short film na ito ay alam niyo na po yun, Ating Christmas Tree. Palakpakan po natin.”
     Applause.
     The lights go off and Joanna’s black and white 16 mm film begins.
     Joanna’s short film is a comedic silent movie about a white Christmas tree. In the movie, there is a funny father and son pair in a living room with a white Christmas tree. The young son, about ten years old, asks his father (through subtitles that Joanna chose for her silent film instead of the dialogue intertitles that’s usually used in silent works) what the Christmas tree means. He says he knows what the star on top of the Christmas tree refers to, but doesn’t know what the Christmas tree is supposed to signify.
     Joanna watches her film with a smile, the projected light’s flickering reflected on her face.
     The father in Joanna’s silent movie explains (through the subtitles), “I only know that the Romans . . . decorated their houses with evergreen trees . . . during their festival in honor of the god Saturn. . . . This was held from December 17 to 23, in their calendar known as the Julian calendar. . . . Then, in the poem titled Epithalamium, written by the Latin poet Catullus, the poet narrates about King Peleus’ home being decorated by the gods with laurel and cypress trees. . . . Later, the writers Libanius, Tertullian, and John Chrysostom spoke about the same use of evergreen trees, but this time for the adornment of Christian houses. . . . The earlier Roman custom had nothing to do with Christ, but, of course, anyone can put a Christian meaning into anything. . . . So, it’s possible that that’s what the early Christians did for that Roman tradition of decorating with trees. These early Christians likely turned these Roman symbols into a Christian symbol.”
     While all this above lecture is going on, there are either comic animations or comic dramatizations of what are being described.
     “Itay, those are so hard to remember, all those words you said. I only remember your mention of Saturn. And there are no trees on Saturn!”
     “Well, you’re right. Never mind all those things I’ve said, then.”
     (There is laughter in the audience during this exchange.)
     “And why should a Christmas tree have to be a pine tree, ‘Tay, . . . pine trees are scarce in our islands! They’re only abundant in Baguio City. . . . Why should we even bring a tree into our houses? They’re quite safe outside, even in Baguio! Huh, Itay? Huh?”
     (Some scattered laughter)
     “Well, son,” says the father, “I think you can answer your question yourself.”
     The father there knocked a finger on his son’s head.
     “Use your coconut!”
     The kid holds his head and is excited to hear what his father said. He says:
     “Yes! That’s right! That’s right, Itay! Why not use a coconut tree for a Christmas tree!”
     The audience in the auditorium laugh.
     Joanna is teary-eyed as the audience laughs, happy that the audience gets her film’s absurd humor. She watches the flicker reflected on this audience’s faces.
     The film finishes with the father and the son leaving their living room, a living room that now displays a new coconut Christmas tree, They bring out with them the white pine Christmas tree. Walking, they see Santa Claus sleeping underneath a coconut tree by the beach, and they give him the pine Christmas tree after Santa is awakened by a coconut that fell on his head. In this black and white film, Santa Claus’ costume is colored blue, red, and white. The father and son pair tells Santa the pine tree conifer might be of use to a family somewhere else in the world, and Santa is happy to accept the donation. He shrugs, puts the tree in his speedboat, which speeds off, with Santa not on it but on a water ski dragged by the boat. He silently shouts his usual hohoho. The driver of the speedboat is an animated red-nosed dolphin, who waves its fin every now and then to Filipino fishermen  in their respective bangka boats, each of which Santa’s expensive boat passes. The camera zooms in on the dolphin’s fin as the word ‘Fin’ appears on top of it.
    The crowd applauds, laughing.

@ @ @

Fidel is walking in the dark in the campus with Manny. Now they are behind a building where an old woman in a black dress is sitting on a school chair outside the building, under the eaves, in the dark. The old woman is wearing a pair of half-tinted sunglasses. Sunglasses in the dark, hmm, Fidel thought.
     Fidel asks Manny in a whisper, “Sino ‘to?”
     “Puntahan mo, may sasabihin siya sa ‘yo,” Manny answers.
     Fidel refuses, so Manny pulls him toward the woman, pulling a nearby chair in front of the woman so Fidel could sit on it facing the stranger.
     Now Fidel could recognize her. She was that old woman in red she once saw in front of their house gate in Soria, wearing mysterious half-tinted sunglasses.
     “Nakita na kita sa may gate namin, a,” says Fidel. “Sino kayo?”
     “Alam kong sooner or later sasabihin mo ke Joanna ang tungkol sa akin; hindi mo matitiis ang ilihim ng ilang taon ang mga pinahiwatig sa iyo ni Manny noon,” says the woman with a man’s voice.
     “Pa,” Fidel half-whispers.
     Vicente takes off his sunglasses and looks at Fidel.
     “Pa,” Vicente says. “Gusto ko yan. Pa. Mas gusto ko ‘yan kaysa sa Sir.”
     “E, mabuti naman po at nakita niyo ‘tong parangal sa iyo na binigay ng university. Kung alam lang nila na narito kayo, matutuwa at mabibigla ang lahat,” says Fidel, who can’t help but giggle and be in tears at the same time.
     “Maliban sa iba na tatawag sa mga pulis.” Before Fidel could say anything, Vicente continues, “Fidel, ang pinunta ko rito ay ikaw. . . . Gusto kong ikaw ang mag-ayos ng surrender ko, kasama ng tatlo kong mga kasama.”
     “Po?”
     “. . . Pinag-iinitan kami sa itaas; hindi ko alam kung bakit. Natatakot sila, at ako nama’y wala nang makitang dahilan para manatili ro’n.” He sighs. “Nakaka-disappoint pero ganyan talaga sa lahat ng politikal na bagay.”
     “B-bakit ho ako? Bakit hindi si Manny?”
     “Di ba ang isa mong kaibigan na Leyte artist ay isa ring captain sa army? Captain Robert ba iyon? Nandito siya ngayon, alam ko.”

@ @ @

The auditorium is now showing the last scene in Vicente’s early Eastmancolor 35 mm film, Tatlong Buwan.
     The screen images seem to parody a Fernando Amorsolo painting, showing mestizos and mestizas in traditional Filipino costumes riding carabaos. The End.
     As the credits flow, the audience applauds wildly. When the lights are later turned on, an announcer walks up to the stage and to the podium to say, “Nga pala, . . . we’d like to thank the French producers of the film . . . who have the rights to this Vicente Apostol film, and also the French Embassy, for lending us this copy of the film and letting it be featured in our film festival. Thank you, thank you so much. Mademoiselle Martin, of the French Embassy, who personally delivered to us this copy of the film, thank you po, mademoiselle, and welcome po to Tacloban and our little campus here. And to the students of UP Tacloban and of all the other universities and colleges who joined us on this first night of our festival, good night po, maraming salamat po sa inyong pagdalo! . . . Oops, nga pala, huwag po muna kayong aalis, i-aannounce . . .”

@ @ @

In the car, Fidel looks for a CD.
     “Asa’n na rito yung CD na may blue and yellow na cover? Oh here it is,” he says.
     “Bakit?” Joanna asks from the backseat with Pablo sleeping on her lap.
     Fidel plays the CD. It is an EP CD. It plays a happy melody on the car’s CD player, Regine Velasquez singing “Sa Piling Mo.” Fidel drives out of the still-rowdy parking area in the campus as fast as he could.
     On the road now, Fidel whistles along to the happy tune, and when they reach the San Juanico Bridge he plays the CD again and sings with the song recording again among the bridge’s lamppost lights and the strait’s sparkling water where the boats help the waning crescent moonlight light the murkiness of the night.
     Joanna keeps looking at Fidel, smiling, puzzled at his behavior, asking “ano ba’ng nangyayari sa ‘yo?” and getting no answer apart from a “wala lang, masaya lang, ganda ng showing” and a smile and even a laugh.
     Later, seeing Joanna’s now-impatient puzzlement, says, “Galing ng speech mo a.”
     She says, “Thanks,” smiling at him.

@ @ @

They arrive home. Fidel lifts the sleeping Pablo out of the car and up to the front door and straight into the master bedroom.
     “Kawawa naman si Pablo Picasso,” says Joanna, laughing. “Napagod!”
     The couple make love in their room, initiated by Fidel.
     Afterwards, tired, satiated, Fidel tells her the news.
     “Joanna, nandun ang Papa mo.”
     “Uhm, . . . I’m sorry?”
     “ . . . Binulong sa akin ni Manny . . . na naroon siya, . . . kaya pinuntahan namin sa likod . . . sa likod ng isang building do’n sa . . .”
     Joanna does not know what to say. She looks sad now.
     “Joanna, . . . gusto nang mag-surrender ng Papa mo. . . . Kung hindi raw ako nagpunta sa kanya sa bundok, hindi niya maiisip yun, . . . baka raw namatay na lang siya ro’n. Pinag-iinitan ang grupo nila ng isang paksiyon na mas nakararami na raw. . . . Kaya kakausapin ko si Captain Robert, . . . Gusto ka nang mayakap ng Papa mo.”
     
Joanna closes her eyes, biting her lips, and silently cries.

@ @ @

The grandfather clock in the dark living room says it is now 10:00 o’clock.
     The camera-girl walks with her camera, beaming her camera at her moving path as she walks. She moves down the corridor toward Fidel’s studio. The studio’s door is half open. The camera sees Fidel frantically at work on a canvas, the easel’s back toward the door so that the camera-girl can’t see what it is Fidel is painting.
     The girl puts down her camera and smiles at Fidel. Fidel sees her.
     She approaches Fidel and kisses him on his left cheek. He kisses her back on her forehead. The 17-year-old girl morphs and becomes Joanna naked on the studio floor, paint smudges on her skin as her body touches palettes and still wet paint on tarpaulin sheets on the floor. They make love again.
     Fidel lies beside Joanna. They are lying on the studio’s floor, both naked, exhausted, paint on their bodies catching the balcony and garden lights, at times laughing, looking at each other, with the sound of crickets in the background.

@ @ @

March 16. Joanna is in her backyard garden with her old camera. She is shooting Sienna, who is watering the plants as Pablo runs around the backyard lawn and the garden’s sand and pebble parts and plays with the water and lilies in the fishless concrete pond. He throws petals from a flower into the pond.
     “Uy, Pablo, alis ka riyan, baka malamok diyan,” says Sienna.
     Pablo runs to his mama, laughing as he jumps at her, asking to be lifted.

@ @ @

Fidel drives his car out of their house gate. He is soon on the road. Cut again and he is almost across the San Juanico Bridge on his way to Tacloban. Cut again. He stops in front of his friend Jesse’s house. The house is in one of the city’s poor districts, you all already know that.

@ @ @

Jesse, painting, hears a knock on his door. He opens his door and sees Fidel, there in the doorway, holding a large sketch pad, promptly telling him, “Pare, nakita ko na.”
     “Nakita mo na? Pare, ano yun? Ano iyang nakita mo na?”
     “Nakita ko na, pare. Ang politics sa art ko, pare. Ang bago kong theme, pare. Nakita ko na.”
     “Aah, ganun ba? O, e, di wala ka nang problema, pare. Teka, teka, teka. Yun lang ba ang pinunta mo rito, ‘pare? Ano yang nasa sketch pad mo?”
     “May kasama ka ba, pare? Inom tayo, pre.”
     “Wala, pare. Pasok ka.”
     As Fidel enters, he says, “Pare, ito.”
     Fidel shows what he has in his sketch pad’s first page. There’s an oil pastel drawing involving two panels. The right panel has Fidel’s old art in orangey monochrome featuring an old woman’s profile looking out to sea during a sunset. The left panel, mainly sea-blue, has what clearly looks like dynamites; these are in a red circle.
     “Ano sa tingin mo, pare? Ang epekto nito, may pagbabago, ngunit ang importante, hindi ko binigla ang fans ko. Naroon pa rin ang dati kong art.”
     They laugh, doing high fives. “Woohoohoo!” says Jesse.
     “May beer ka ba riyan, ‘pare?" Fidel asks, “Pahingi naman o.”
     Jesse walks over to the kitchen to bring in a couple of beer bottles from his fridge.
     “Okay yang naisip mo, pare,” says Jesse.
     Jesse, back by the dining table, adds, “tama nga yang pagpunta mo rito, pare. Dis calls por a celebration, indeed! At ako ang unang nakakita ng bagong art mo! Wow! Dis is an honor por me, you know?”
     They laugh, doing high fives again.
     “Siyempre, pare, ikaw yata ang isa sa mga best friends ko sa lungsod ng Tacloban!”
     “Isa sa mga best friends mo? May iba ka pa palang best friends?”
     They laugh again.
     Later, Jesse, after some silence, says: “Pero ewan ko lang, pare, ha. Kung magiging honest ako sa iyo, kasi alam ko na iyan ang hahanapin mo sa akin, . . . sa akin lang naman ‘to. . . . Baka ‘ka ko naiisip mo na kelangan mong maging socially relebant, . . .”
     “Pare, naman, ano ba ‘yon?” says Fidel. "Sabihin mo na. . . . Pangit ba? Corny? Baduy? Ha?”
     Jesse, half-smiling, nods.
     Fidel smiles. “Okay, . . . kuha ko.”
     They laugh. Then the girl model Karissa comes out of the bedroom, looking like she was awakened by the noise. She says hello to Fidel, sits down on the living room settle, begins to read a magazine. Fidel looks at Jesse.
     “Dito na nakatira yan, ‘dre,” says Jesse. “Parang . . . inampon ko na. Pa'no, wala naman akong anak, e, di, ba’t hindi gawing anak-anakan ang model ko ngayon?”
     They laugh, Karissa smiling along.
     “Okay,” says Fidel.
     Jesse and Fidel get drunk, now and then laughing together. Soon Karissa is there drinking with them, bringing in more bottles from the sari-sari store across the street. She occasionally glances toward Fidel with those amused and flirting sad eyes of hers. Later Jesse and Fidel paint together on one single canvas this kebab girl-cum-model now lying naked on the settle with a glass of Tanduay rum. They all happily drink under some loud Tagalog rock music.
     “Sino’ng kumakanta niyan, pare?” asks Fidel.
     “Di mo alam ‘yan? Libreng downloadable mp3 yan, pare, kaya sumikat. ‘Binola, Ni-Rape, Minarder’ ng bandang Groupies’ Panciteria. Taga-rito sa atin ang bandang ‘yan, pare, kahit ang kinakanta nila ay Tagalog,” says Jesse, without lifting his eyes off his brush and the canvas.

@ @ @

Jesse has fallen asleep on a living room chair, drunk. Fidel himself can hardly drink more now, feeling he could puke anytime soon. But he and Karissa keep on talking at the table, if only because he can’t leave her to herself without company, as she still seems to be enjoying her bottle of rum she’s drinking with Coke.
     He says, quite drunkenly, “so, kelan ka nagsimulang nagmodel ke pareng Jesse?”
     “Matagal-tagal na rin.”
     “Magsyota ba kayo?”
     “Ano!? Excuse me! Me boyfriend ako, ano? Wala nga lang dito, seaman siya e.”
     “E, seaman pala, ha. Di pa kayo kasal, tama ba ako? Ba’t di ka pa niya pinakasalan, para di ka na nag-ba-barbecue ng satti!”
     “E, ewan ko. Ayaw pa niya akong pakasalan e, siguro hindi siya seryoso sa ‘kin. Baka may iba.”
     They are silent.
     “Actually may iba nga,” she says.
     She looks at a wall, then at the table, then at Fidel. Fidel looks at her.
     She laughs, looking at the sleeping Jesse, then goes over to Fidel’s side to cuddle up to him. Then she looks at him, then kisses him on his left cheek.
     A little later, still leaning on Fidel, she looks back at him and kisses him again on the cheek and then on the neck.
     She looks at him, moves her face closer, then kisses Fidel on the lips and then the mouth with her tongue. She stands up and takes off her shirt. Fidel kisses her chest.
     “Huwag natin ituloy ‘to. Baka magising si Jesse,” says Fidel.
     “Hindi ko boyfriend si Jesse. Bakla si Jesse, di mo ba alam?”
     They end up having sex in the kitchen. Karissa tells Fidel he can come inside her as she is on the pill. He withdraws during orgasm.



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Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Fidel's March: A Screenplay of a Novel (Chapter 10)



AFTER having consumed, albeit slowly, 5 bottles of beer and a whiskey and Coke through the day, Fidel is now driving home slowly in the dark, several cars/jeepneys/trucks overtaking him. He remembers that movie with Sean Penn in it, 21 Grams, and shudders. He crosses San Juanico Bridge, catching the bridge’s lamplights and a glimpse of the sparkling waters of the strait under the quarter moon’s light.

@ @ @

He arrives home, Sienna opening the gate for him. He climbs up to the porch and is surprised to see Joanna dining and talking with a fortyish obviously-gay man.
     “Hello, love,” says Joanna. “Naalala mo si Direk Manuel White, of course.”
     “Of course, of course, Manny. What a coincidence. I was just having a drink with Robert in Tacloban, remember Captain Robert? And he mentioned your name.”
     “Oh, of course, I remember the Captain,” says Manny.
     “Kumusta ka, mukhang di busy a. Wala kang pelikula?”
     “Naku, wala akong project ngayon, R&R ko ‘to,” says Manny. “Kumusta kish? Ha? Hmm, lashing ka yata. Uy, ha, galing lang ako ng Catbalogan ha, at may nadaanan akong nasagasaan ng lashing na driver ha. OMG, bata sha, three years old lang, kawawa naman, day. Naiyak ako! Kaya, ingat sa driving while UI.”
     “Three years old. Diyos ko, Fidel, kaidaran lang ni Pablo yun a. Sabi ko nga kay Manny, nasaan ang Nanay? Bakit may three-year-old sa highway? Nagbababad sa ilalim ng quarter moon?” comments Joanna. “Anyway, Fidel, nabalitaan kasi ni Manny na nandito sa Leyte si Kuya Federico. Pero naisip niya na baka nandito si Kuya sa atin sa Soria, kaya sinilip na tayo ni Manny rito.”
     “Naku, Manny, hindi titira si Kuya rito nang matagal, ayaw nun natutulog sa oras e. Ayaw nakakaistorbo sa bahay ng may bahay, kaya ayun, parating naka-hotel. Ngayon nasa MacArthur Park Beach Resort na. E kahit nga sa bahay namin sa Tacloban ayaw matulog nun do’n e, baka maging istorbo raw siya sa mga caretaker at sa may-ari ng coffeehouse sa baba.”
     “Naku ha, sobrang considerate pala ng kuya mo,” Manny says.
     “Hehe,” laughs Fidel, “actually ayaw lang no’n nalulungkot do’n. Marami kasing happy memories, pero wala na ro’n ang mga taong nasa memories niya. Ang Nanay wala na, matagal na. At kahit ako, nandito na sa other side of the strait.”
     “Teka ha,” says Joanna, standing up, “babasahan ko lang si Pablo.”
     “Ang reason kung bakit gusto kong makipagkita sa kanya, Fidel, is because yung bahay ko sa Calbayog di pa niya natatapos kasi kinapos nga ako sa pera no’n. E sana puwede na niyang balikan ngayon. I got the moolah now,” Manny says, laughing.
     “Naku, ba’t di niyo pa pinagawa sa iba? Sa mga senior niya ‘don.”
     “Ikaw naman, alam mo naman na wala akong ibang kukunin kundi si Federico Roxas, ano.”
     “Oo nga naman; alam mo, gusto actually ng kuya na makarami siya ng gawa niya rito sa atin, e.”
     “Aba, dapat lang.”

@ @ @

“What do you think?” Fidel asks.
     “Alam mo,” says Manny, “kilala ako bilang isa sa mga bagong social realist filmmakers ng bayan, ano. Ibig sabihin, political na talaga ang mga treatments ko; some would dare say na ako raw ang reincarnation ni Lino Brocka. Hindi totoo, pero nakaka-flatter talaga.”
     Manny and Fidel are having midnight-snack coffee on the porch.
     Outside, a huddle of men and women across the street, below a streetlamp, sees the two on the porch and starts to gossip in lowered voices. One says, “Sabi ko na nga ba bakla yan si Roxas e, tingnan mo ang bisita, bakla. Hay, dumadami na ang bakla sa mundo ngayon, Diyos ko!”
     Another one says, also in a near-whispering voice, “manloloko lang naman yan si Roxas e, mga drowing nyan kaya ng pamangkin ko e.”
     Back on the Roxases’ porch, Manny is saying:
     “Tinagurian din ako bilang aktibista, kaya masasabi mong talagang may pulitika na sa art ko, ano, kahit yung hindi obvious na political. At alam din ng lahat na meron akong access sa Communist Party at sa New People’s Army, dahil iilan sa mga classmates ko noon ay nando’n, and I did a documentary once. Kaya lang, alam naman ng mga otoridad na hindi ako kaliwa at isa lamang akong hamak na bakla who’ve also done films for the government’s cultural pretensions, kaya walang red-baiting goes my way. . . . Pero alam mo, ang daming artist sa NPA ha! Mga makata, kompositor, at alam mo bang merong batikan na direk—”
     They suddenly turn silent, Manny covering his own mouth, perhaps theatrically. Fidel is looking at Manny.
     “Nasa’n na ba ako?” continues Manny. “Ah, yes. Sa tingin ko ba ang politics sa art possible lamang sa pamamagitan ng pag-portray ng . . . ng mga tunay na tao? I mean, tunay as in tunay, hindi in fantasy form na may mga green na mukha o mahabang tenga? Well, for me, oo. Kasi nga, ang pag-portray ng isang realistic na karakter, yun ang magpapamukha sa atin nitong reyalidad ng estado ng ating lipunan ngayon, di ba, hindi ng reyalidad ng lipunan ng isang era sa isang malayong planeta, would you agree? Dun kasi makikita ang simpatya ng artist, ng direktor, sa kasalukuyan. Pag ikaw lumihis sa mga karakter ng reyalidad, halimbawa mga karakter na halaw sa mga banyagang sine na hindi mo naman makikita rito, aba nawawala ang pulitika sa mata ng masa, sa mga kontektong alam ng masa. Pag ganun, nagiging pampaganda lang ang mga karakter mo sa iyong kaartehan, e dapat yung kaartehan mo ang nagsisilbi para sa mga karakter, di ba? Naalala mo ba yung pelikula kong Ilaw Sa Kuweba?”
     Fidel could still imagine a scene from that film. The hero, a carpenter, sits on top of a roof’s wood frame under construction, hammering away. Then a giant Philippine eagle pushes him off the roof.
     “Yun ang pinakaayaw kong gawa ko,” says Manny. “Ang mga tunay na nangyayari sa tao nakalimutan dahil sa exaggerations. Naiintindihan ng tao ang sinasabi mo, pero hindi nila nararamdaman sa buhay nila ang mga nangyari pagkatapos nilang mapanood ang kuwento ng karpintero ko.”
     Fidel looks away and is silent. Manny looks at him and becomes silent himself.
     Then Fidel whispers to him:
     “Manny, alam mo yung sinabi mo sa akin dati na ayokong paniwalaan?”
     “Alin?”
     “Yung sabi mong huwag na huwag kong ipapaalam ke Joanna? Totoo ba ‘yon?”
     Manny is taken aback and then says:
     “Yes?”
     “Well, . . . gusto ko siyang makita. Gusto ko siyang makausap.”
     Manny merely looks at him.
     “Fidel, ayoko nang bumalik do’n, gubat yun e. . . . Are you sure?” he asks.
     “Kelangan ko siyang makausap,” says Fidel.
     Joanna shows up again and joins the two.
     “Hay, nakatulog din si Pablo,” Joanna says with a sigh and a smile, sitting on a third chair.
     “Uy, Fidel, alam mo ba maglelecture pala ako sa darating na film festival sa U.P.? Yung para sa father-in-law mo? Ngayon ko lang nalaman, e. At, aba, alam mo ba ang topic? ‘The Arts and the People’. Say mo! Ang heavy! Di ba?”
     They laugh, because maybe there was either pretentiousness or ambitiousness in the title that they all saw, or perhaps because of Joanna’s acknowledgment of the fact that it would indeed be hard to tackle such a topic in twenty minutes.
     “Hayaan mo na, e pang-estudyante yun e,” says Fidel.
     “Pero hindi ha, may sinasabi sa atin ang topic na iyon,” says Manny. “Such topics, such titles, are only possible in places where the arts are not sitting very well with the people. Otherwise it would not be tackled at all, since there would be no point anymore in talking about it.”
     They agree.
     Manny adds, “Pero, at least, may effort to connect, o to reconnect.”
     Fidel and Joanne both say yeah.
     “Sandali, kuha ako ng cup ko,” says Joanna, standing up to go to the kitchen.
     “Manny,” says Fidel.
     Manny’s eyes follow Joanna as he says, “kawawa naman si Joanna, Fidel.”
     “Manny.”
     “Huh?”
     “Kelangan ko siyang makausap.”

@ @ @

March 9. Manuel and Fidel turn from the highway at dawn to a gravel road.
     Much later they arrive at a quite still jungle village in the middle pf the island, at the foot of a dark and craggy mountain, a part of a mountain range. They leave Fidel’s truck at the village’s only sari-sari store. The owner of the store has the car pushed into a small barn, covering the vehicle’s front with dry grass from the day’s cutting even while already hidden inside the barn. They got here with puzzling approval from the military checkpoints, thanks to Manny’s connections and the presence of his camera.
     Manny and Fidel hike through thick cogon grass while climbing the steep slopes alternating with boulder crags. Much further, nearing the top of the mountain jungle, they arrive at a clearing. Then, unexpectedly, a platoon of men and a woman come out from behind trees, approaching them with blank faces, except a woman in a green jacket who is grinning. She has a sickle and hammer symbol on her breast pocket. The woman’s voice calls, “Manny!” Manny, too, is grinning, his arms wide for an embrace. She and Manny hug each other, with tears welling in Manny’s eyes, which makes the woman laugh.
     Fidel and Manny climb about a kilometer further up, accompanied by the platoon. Then, in a grass-covered dark hut nearer the top of the mountain, they see Vicente.
     “Mang Vicente, sir! Direk!” calls Manny, running to hug the old man.
     Vicente is in a camouflage-patterned green jacket, and wearing a Maoist cap. He is an almost-seventy-ish Vicente. He has in his mouth a lighted North Luzon-made cigar. Manny embraces more old friends. Then Vicente stares at Fidel a long time. He smiles and offers his hand, which Fidel takes.
     In a trembling voice, which Fidel took as a hint of sadness, Vicente says to Fidel, “Pasensya ka na at hindi ako nakadalo sa kasal niyo, at sa binyag ni Pablo, ang apo ko, ano. . . . Pero, alam mo, anak, . . . binibisita ko kayo madalas. Hindi niyo lang alam, of course. Pero alam mong hindi dapat malaman ninuman, kahit ni Joanna, kung nasaan na ako ngayon, kung nasaan ako sa mga bayan at lungsod, kung saan ako makikita sa susunod na linggo, at lalo na kung ano ang nangyari sa akin. Sa katunayan, hindi nga ito ang tunay naming kampo e. Ang tunay naming kampo ay nasa kabilang bundok pa, o nasa gitna ng lungsod ng Calbayog, o simpleng kung nasaan man ang aming puso, hehehe. Ang kubong ito, na matagal nang nandito, ay hiniram lang namin. So, . . . okay? Okay? Nagkakaintindihan ba tayo? Alam mo, nagugulat nga ako na wala pang impormasyon tungkol sa akin ang militar. Unless nagkakamali ako. . . . Gayunpaman, ako ay nag-iingat pa rin.” Sighing, he continues, “Natutuwa ako sa pagpunta mo rito, anak. Fidel, di ba?” He laughs. “Fidel Castro, hahaha. Baka magkakilala tayo nang lubusan, Fidel. Nga pala, bakit ba puro mangingisda lang ang pinipinta mo at walang magsasaka?”
     Vicente and some of his men laugh. Fidel smiles.
     “E, mangingisda ho kasi ang Tatay ko, e,” says Fidel. “Well, mas malaki naman ang bangka niya kaysa sa pangkaraniwan, pero mangingisda pa rin. . . . Tapos, isang araw, biglang nawala na lang siya sa dagat. . . . Sabi ng iba naaksidente, sa pagdidinamita ng isang kasamahan. Sabi naman ng iba, nabangga ang bangka niya ng trawler at nahulog ang Tatay. . . . Pero ang sabi ng dalawang kasama niya sa bangka no’n na nakasurvive sa insidenteng iyon, it was actually all of the above. Sabi, . . . una, nagka-injury ang Tatay sa dynamite incident malapit pa sa isla, natumba siya sa bangka. Tapos nung nabangga sila ng trawler sa malayong dagat habang naghahanap ng bluefin, di makalangoy nang maayos ang Tatay dahil sa injury at nagka-cramps. Natangay ng alon palayo sa kanya ang mga kasama niya at sumigaw daw siya sa mga kasama niya na mamasahiin lang niya ang cramps niya sa ilalim. . . . Pero hindi na lumutang uli ang Tatay, so, . . . nung dumating ang rescue ng malapit na mga bangka minutes later, silang mga nakakita sa nangyari mula sa malayo, nasa tabi na ng tumaob nilang bangka ang mga kasamahan ng Tatay, minsan pa nga ay pumapailalim dito, at hinahanap pa rin ang Tatay. Dalawang oras silang naghanap sa area na iyon. Magpapahinga, tapos hanap uli, sa iba’t-ibang dako ng area. Ayaw nilang sumuko, para bang kakilala nilang lahat ang Tatay. Sa iba kasi sa kanila, si Tatay ko ay simpleng kanilang kainuman, kabarkada. Kinabukasan, naghanap pa sila uli. . . . Sa ikatlong araw, nagdala na lang sila ng pari para magmisa do’n sa lugar. At habang nagmimisa, lumabas ang fin ng isang maliit na pating.”
     There is a little silence before Vicente speaks to break it. Then he says, “Alam kong mangingisda ang Tatay mo, Fidel. At alam ko ang kuwento ng kanyang pagkawala na ikinuwento mo. Pero, ang tanong ko, bakit wala kang pinipintang mga magsasaka? Yun ang tanong ko. Dahil ang karamihan dito sa mga ‘to, . . . mga magsasaka sila,” Vicente says, pointing to his men, but perhaps asserting that to only try to change the subject. Then he says, “Iniisip mo pa rin ba ang pagkawala ng Tatay mo paminsan-minsan?”
     Fidel does not answer, unsure of Vicente’s motives.
     “Anyway, . . . huwag natin pag-usapan ang mga patay dahil lahat tayo rito ay may malapit na kapamilyang namatay. Maliban sa akin. Matagal nang namatay ang asawa ko. Pero, alam mo, nandito na rin lang tayo sa topic na ‘to, I think . . . dapat hindi tayo nakatutok sa sarili, di ba, hijo? Dapat hindi lang kuwento mo ang pinagbabasihan mo. Ang kuwento ng buong bayan ay mahalaga rin.”

@ @ @

Inside the hut, they eat taro and drink diluted orange powder juice.
     Vicente says to Fidel:
     “Magkaiba ang paniniwala namin nitong si Manny tungkol sa pulitika sa art, alam mo ba? Para sa akin kasi, walang kuwenta ang maglagay ka lang ng pulitika sa art mo. Kasi nga, ang art mo mismo ay isa nang pulitika. Naroon ang tunay na pulitika, anak. At alam kong alam mo na iyan, kaya lang baka minsan ay nakakalimutann mo na. . . . Ang art mo ay isa nang pulitika. So, iyon yon. Di ba, mga kasama?”
     His men, some of whom are also eating, smile at Vicente.
     Vicente opens a can of sardines to go with their taro, puts the sardines in a plastic bowl and wipes his hands.
     “Alam ko hindi ka nagpunta rito para makarinig ng lecture sa akin tungkol sa art o sa cinema, Fidel, pero, . . . alam mo, ang art parang itong lata ng sardinas yan e,” Vicente continues. “Ang paglagay ng sardinas sa lata kelangan ng kapital. Di ba? Pag gumagawa ka ng art, meron nang pulitika ro’n, dahil naroon na ang pulitika ng kapital. Ang anak-mangingisda na magaling magdrowing ba makakagawa ng painting gawa sa mamahalin at imported na oil? Hindi. Kung gagawa siya, enamel lamang sa plywood. Kahit yun magastos na sa kanya. Maliban kung nakakuha siya ng scholarship, tulad mo. Ang isang makata sa squatters’ slum, makakapaglabas ba ng mga tula niya? Kelangan niya ng ₱70,000 para makapaglathala ng 500 pieces ng kanyang unang manipis na aklat! At saan niya puwedeng ibenta iyon, ganung wala siyang tindahan? Sa National Bookstore? Gimme a break. Hay naku, Fidel. . . . Pero, oo nga, ang mahihirap meron ding art. Sarili nilang art na minsan ay di nila alam na galing sa kanila.”
     “Nakaya ko lang ho mag-fine arts dahil nga ho sa scholarship sa U.P. At sa mga pinapadala ng Nanay,” says Fidel.
     “Of course,” says Vicente, “alam ko yun, anak. At alam ko rin na you know your Marxist criticism, dude. Walter Benjamin and all those. Kaya lang, ang gusto kong itanong sa ‘yo, ina-apply mo ba sa art mo ang alam mo?”
     “Yun,” Manny butts in. “Dun tayo magkaiba ng tingin sa mahihirap, Ka Enteng. Ano ang art ng mga mahihirap? Dito mo rin kasi makikita ang pulitika nila, sa tanong na ‘to. Alam nilang kaya nila ang magdisenyo ng mga jeepney, magagarang handicrafts, . . . pero ano ang mga nilalagay nila sa mga iyon? Ganun pa rin. Ilalagay nila ang flag ng US. Artistang Hollywood. Mga US jet fighters.”
     Again, if this were a movie we could definitely insert some pictures of those here. But this is not a movie. Not yet. And this is not going to be my movie, as far as I can imagine. This is only my screenplay of a novel.
     Vicente is laughing. I, that’s me, Vicente, am laughing. And I, the one writing this novel as Vicente’s co-writer and editor, am laughing.
     “Well,” I, Vicente, now say, “tama ka nga. Buti na lang di nalalagyan ng American flag ang masasarap nilang pagkain tulad ng suman at daing na dilis. Pero, gayunpaman, kahit ano pang nasyonalismo o kung ano mang ismo ang ilagay mo sa art mo, kung di mo rin nakikita ang politics sa sarili mong paggawa ng art mong ‘to, sinungaling pa rin ang art mo. In short, self-awareness. Halimbawa, ikaw, Fidel. Gumagawa ka ng paintings tungkol sa mga mahihirap? Sino’ng bumibili no’n? Mga mayayaman? Ano ang dahilan at gusto nilang pinapanood ang mahihirap sa dingding ng payapa at malinis nilang mga salas? Para ba makaramdam ng tuwa ang kanilang mga katulong sa mga painting na ‘to?”
     “Alam ko naman po yun, e,” Fidel says, finally. “Pero alam ko rin na di ko maiwasan iguhit ang nakalipas ko. At least sa bandang akin, hindi ko ineexploit ang mga mangingisda, dahil malapit ang puso ko sa kanila.”
     “Of course, and I commend you for your true sympathies. Pero ang ibig ko lang sabihin, ang simpatiya mo sa mahihirap ginawa nilang pangdekorasyon sa magagara nilang mga bahay. Pinaganda mo ang kalagayan ng mahihirap sa mata ng mayayaman sa pamamagitan ng kulay, ng ganda ng oil, ng galing ng iyong kamay, at ang kalagayan ng mahihirap ay nagiging esthetic subject, hindi na political or economic subject. Taliwas ito sa tunay na social realism. Nabaliktad na ang mensahe ng social realist painting ngayon.”
     “Well, sa bandang akin naman, iniisip ko na at least pinaabot ko sa kanilang mga magagandang sala ang reyalidad na may mga mangingisda na nagtataya ng kanilang mga buhay araw-araw para sa hapag-kainan ng lahat,” Fidel says, in defense.
     Vicente stands up and gives Fidel his Maoist cap. He is smiling.
     “Siyanga pala. Pasensiya ka na, Fidel, ha, ito lang ang mabibigay ko sa ‘yong pasalubong. Pero bagong tahi ‘yan, ha, kanina ko lang sinuot, kaya medyo mabango pa, amoy sastre pa,” Vicente says. “Baka hindi mo alam, alam ko na mahilig kang magbasa ng Pablo Neruda na mahilig magsulat tungkol sa mga sastre. Kaya, . . .  ‘yan.”
     Fidel puts on the cap. My men smile at this.
     Then I walk away.
     “Bakit po ayaw niyong magpakita ke Joanna?” Fidel calls out, finally able to confront me with the question.
     But I, Vicente, disappear down a slope with two of my men. Fidel keeps calling, but I keep on with my walk away from the area until I can’t hear him anymore.
     Fidel and Manny look sadly at each other.

@ @ @

Late in the afternoon, almost evening, Fidel and Manny move down the mountain with some of the Maoists, Fidel wearing Vicente’s cap, which Manny said would be a dangerous thing to wear in the village.

@ @ @

Fidel climbs up to his house’s porch. Joanna meets him, asking where he got the cap.
     “Uy, ganda nyan a. Sa’n galing yan, China?”
     “Joanna,” Fidel says, “may ipagtatapat ako sa ‘yo.”
     Joanna is silent, curious, somewhat afraid of what she might hear.
     “Puwedeng dun tayo sa kuwarto?” Fidel asks.

@ @ @

“Nung araw after ng kasal natin bago tayo umalis for Zambales for our honeymoon,” Fidel starts, “. . . may gustong ipagtapat sa ‘yo si Manny noon sa little post-reception party na binuo ng mga kaibigan natin. . . . Pero hindi niya nakayang sabihin kahit sa ‘kin, maliban sa vague na mga pahiwatig. . . . Kagabi, nung nandito si Manny, sinabi niya na totoo ang hinala ko sa mga pinahiwatig niya sa party na iyon tungkol sa Papa mo. Hindi niya masabi sa ‘yo noon dahil baka raw masira ang saya ng araw, mag-ha-honeymoon pa naman tayo. Tapos, kagabi nga, dahil pinilit ko siyang magsabi ng buong katotohanan, hiningi naman niyang ako na ang magsabi sa iyo. Sa part ko naman, hindi ko rin naman sinabi sa ‘yo no’n ang mga pinahiwatig ni Manny tungkol sa Papa mo at ang mga naging hinala ko tungkol doon . . . dahil hindi ko alam kung totoo nga, at dahil inisip ko rin na, kung macoconfirm ko man, baka mas lalo ka lang magalit sa Papa mo. Baka maiba ang tingin mo sa kanya; baka masuklam ka sa kanya nang lubos, dahil nga parang iniwan ka na lang niya nang basta, nang walang pasubali.”
     Joanna is puzzled by what’s going on and then at herself for not even interrupting Fidel.
     “Of course I was being presumptuous sa ‘yo,” Fidel continues, “kasi maaari ring hindi nagbago ang tingin mo sa kanya, at all, kung sinabi ko man sa iyo ang lahat.” After a pause, Fidel continues, to free Joanna finally from an unceasing frown, “Joanna, . . . nagkita kami ng Papa mo kanina. Buong araw kaming nag-usap. Hindi ako sa Calbayog nagpunta. Sinamahan ako ni Manny sa kampo nila sa gitna ng isla.”
     Joanna shakes her head in disbelief and begins to shake and cry, realizing what Fidel just told her meant, but also relieved to know that her father is alive.
     Fidel hugs her.
     “Naging komunista ang Papa mo, Joanne. Kaya siya nawala at di nagpakita o nagparinig nang matagal.”



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