Just then, a gas-guzzling Ford Expedition approached the entrance to the bridge, about to cross to
Standing by a rock behind the "To Soria" sign, sixtyish Vicente and his comely-faced 17-year-old cameraman, actually a cameragirl, watched the Bridge tremble a bit as a bus headed for the
Vicente giggled. “Tingnan mo, tingnan mo, ang ganda ng mga halaman sa garden na ‘to.
“If we are to do another flashback to the same period,” Vicente said, yes a flashback like the one he did above, we’d see the high-schoolish Fidel again addressing Vicente who would be on the Apostols’ front porch with a newspaper, “sige po, Mang Vicente, alis na po ako,” to which bidding Vicente would simply reply with a grunt, and Fidel would walk a couple of steps backwards on the pavement leading down to the gate while waving to Joanna (whose then younger face would pretty much look like that of our present invisible cameragirl's) by the window with the capiz shell blinds. Then Fidel would step on a flowering plant in a pot, with Joanna laughing at the sight.
Vicente sighed, sadly smiling, and then said, “ganito
The cameragirl surveyed with her camera the living area of the beautifully-restored old house that looked like something created for a TV show on interior design. She went to the adjoining dining area, and the kitchen—where, in the last, a blubbery maid in blue dress was cooking, her back to the cam-girl’s camera. On every wall in each of the rooms would hang a large painting by Fidel Roxas the portraitist and smaller ones by other painters. But the hanging was not overdone as to look like a studio or saturated gallery on an art bazaar day. In short, no wall was over-decorated with paintings. In the dining area was an antique grandfather’s clock, which was my grandfather’s.