IN the master bedroom, Joanna was still brushing her hair when she was startled by Fidel calling her name. To my would-be casting director, all I can tell you for now is that the actress who would play Joanna must be quite an attractive young woman herself, and though it is true that such beauty might be diminished somewhat and might become just another bit of uninteresting face once placed in the person of a young housewife in a muumuu dress busy with housework and gardening, Joanna’s youthful attractiveness was of a kind that filled the house with cheerfulness, her mundane sweat (over newly-bathed skin) and still-wet hair (smelling of fruit-scented shampoo) accessories to a brown-tanned glow in happy harmony with the red hibiscuses on her pale yellow-green muumuu that she chose to wear today. Here, then, was a cheerfulness that had taken the role of a wife in her post-teenage-years, in knee-length house dress or otherwise sweaty blouse, but yet one that can’t be brought into a world of disorder. She put her wooden hairbrush down on an old dressing table and gracefully hurried out.
@ @ @
Wana came into the studio smiling.
“Bakit?” she asked.
Fidel gestured to her to come closer. They were quite a couple that any other couple similarly in their salad days would definitely envy: young, as we said, good-looking, smart, nouveau-riche. And although Fidel’s recurrent expressions toward Joanna could make one doubt he was a happy man, typical though this disposition might be of artist-husbands, Joanna looked without a doubt to be very much in love with her husband as well as his art, in fact looked joyfully contented with this rare life of the now-well-off young and settled.
“Halika muna rito. Ito ba yung gusto mo? Blue na buhok?” Fidel asked, gesturing toward the painting he was working on. “O ganito?” He was now pointing to a sketch for the same work with a different color scheme.
Wana, now right beside Fidel, was suddenly ecstatic.
“Wow. Mas gusto ko siyempre ito,” she said, pointing at the canvas. “Alam mo naman ako, maka-blue ako e. Para kasing nasa lumang black and white TV pag blue ang mukha at buhok e, kaya gusto ko.”
“Pag blue ang mukha at buhok parang galing sa isang lumang black and white na TV,” echoed Fidel. “Ibang klase yun a.”
They laugh.
“Pero, okay, nakuha ko. Sige. Thank you. Ano’ng ginagawa ni Pablo?”
“Nandu’n, nanonood ng cartoons, as usual. Sige ha, bantayan ko muna ang malikot na yun, baka makuryente na naman sa kalikutan.”
“Pero mas maganda yata ‘tong violet e. I-test ko muna ha, okey lang?”
Fidel quickly, jerkily, reached for the color on a palette and instantly applied it on the hair. Wana, now by the door, sighed, disappointed at the disappearance of the blue, but still smiling.
“Kasi . . . tanong ka pa nang tanong sa ‘kin, e, alam mo naman pala ang gusto mo. Ikaw ang magaling diyan e, ano bang alam ko riyan, except, . . . alam mo naman ako, . . . magugustuhan ko ang lahat ng gagawin mo sa canvas, tapos.” She hurried out of the studio.
There was a crash.
“Uy, Pablo!” called Joanna, running to the master bedroom. “Ano na naman ‘yang nilikot mo riyan?!”
@ @ @
The portly maid ran through the corridor. She reached the studio, where she found Fidel in the studio’s balcony, rather in a kind of mood, with a frown on his face.
“Kuya,” carefully said the maid, and using the Tagalog kinship term, “may long-distance po galing Maynila. Sa gallery raw.”
@ @ @
The maid and Fidel emerged from the hallway and were now in the open living room where the breeze from the front porch and the bougainvillea tree and the street right below it mixed with the perfume of the house and the aroma from the kitchen. He headed for the telephone, she ran toward her kitchen.
“Hello!” said Fidel. “Uy, Ma’am Leni, opo! Opo, matatapos ko na po yung tatlo para sa Artwalk exhibit—. Opo. Tapos sisimulan ko na po yung orange series para sa Mandaluyong gallery niyo po. Opo. Opo. O sige po, andiyan po ako first week next month. Definite na po yun. Definitely, po. Okay po, sige po. Gusto niyo po i-email ko sa inyo ang images ng orange series? O sige po, no problem. Okay, pag natapos ko po ang preliminary sketches. Sigurado po ‘yon. Sige po. Ok, ‘bye.”
Wana came into the room with Pablo in her arms. Pablo was playing with a small toy truck.
“Si Ms. Lanuza ‘yon?” asked Joanna, with a smile, as usual. “Na-schedule na ba exhibit mo? Kelan daw?” But before Fidel could answer she added, “uy, Fidel, remember, may pinangako kang painting kay Governor, tsaka sa pinsan ko. Bayad na sila pareho ha. At ang mga commissioned works mo ha, huwag mong pababayaan. Na naman.”
“Di ko pa yata kaya yung mga yun a, baka pangit lang magawa ko kung pipilitin ko.”
Joanna laughed.
“Kelan ka ba nakagawa ng pangit? Ha?” she said, moving toward Fidel to touch and kiss him. It’s now obvious to the cameragirl’s camera that Fidel is not quite a happy man with his art (an actor must be able to create this effect) although he acknowledges his wife’s caresses. Anyone who sees him in a close-up shot would wonder what he is uneasy about, what his state is.
Pablo said he wanted to pee. Joanna ran him to the bedroom toilet room (“dito na, sa bedroom toilet,” she said, laughing).
@ @ @
A dog began to drop its canine shit outside the Roxases’ house.
Wana was in the front garden of their house with her maid. Her three-year-old toddler was playing with a toy dump truck and the pebbles around a palm plant in a large pot. Wana was trimming some shrubs and plant stems, the maid was watering some other plants.
“Gupitan kaya natin ang damo rito, Ate?” The maid called Joanna Ate even if she looked years older than the latter. She was pointing her finger at a part of the garden where an island of grass was already a tad tall.
Joanna was happy in her garden. So was the housemaid with her Ate.
“Hindi na kailangang putulin diyan,” Joanna said. “Alam mo, Sienna, ang damo halaman din iyan. Hindi sa bawat makakita ka ng damo ay gugustuhin mo agad na tanggalin ito, o di kaya putulin. Kung di makakaapekto sa ibang mga halaman, okay lang ang mga iyan. Tsaka puro pangdekorasyon lang naman ‘tong mga ‘to e, di ba? Wala naman prutas dito, di ba, Sienna?” They laughed together. “Ibig sabihin, pati damo puwedeng gawing pangdekorasyon, ililimit mo nga lang sa isang parte. Maganda rin naman tingnan ang damo, di ba? Importante, alam mo kung sa’n mo patutubuin ang damo, at saan hindi. Di ba?”
“Opo, Ate. E, maganda sana kung Bermuda grass, Ate. Pero kahit po ba yung masamang damo tulad niyan, Ate?”
Again, they laughed together.
“Aba
Joanna extended her sermon as she worked with trowels and shearers, while Sienna kept on saying “opo” in agreement.
“Parang tao ‘yan e. Ang mga bahay-mahirap ba dapat itago sa likod ng isang malaking pader o di kaya tagpasin? Hindi, di ba? Merong makikitang ganda sa mga bahay-mahirap. Oo nga, tinuturing ng maraming pulitiko na nagpapapangit sa bayan ang mga bahay-mahirap. Pero kung susuriin nga, ang daming bahay mayaman na ang babaduy ng disenyo.”
“Oo nga, Ate.”
They chuckled in amusement at the thought.
“Ewan ko ba sa ibang mayayaman, nakakalimutan na yatang kumain ng banana cue at gusto ang bahay nila parating mukhang Amerikano.”
Sienna made a face in agreement.
“Iba kasi ang isip ng mayayaman, Ate e,” Sienna said. “Kayo po, iba kayo ni kuya. Isipin niyo itong lumang bahay pa ang binili niyo, samantalang puwede naman kayong nagpagawa ng kongkretong bahay.”
“Kongkreto na rin naman ang maraming bahagi nitong bahay. Pero, diyan sa sinabi mo, hindi kasi kami galing sa mayamang pamilya, Sienna, alam mo naman ‘yan. ‘Bagong yaman’ lang naman kami.”
They both giggled.
“Pero alam mo, tama ka rin,” Joanna said, “ang karamihan dyan, kahit ang mahihirap, isip-aircon agad pag nagkapera. Di ko rin naman sila masisisi, dahil marami sa kanila wala o di makapaglagay ng bintana. Pero yung puwedeng maglagay ng bintana, gugustuhin talaga nilang puro salamin ang bintana nila at ayaw pa ng jalousies na bagay sa klima natin, dahil di na raw uso yan ngayon.”
They laughed loudly, with the knowledge that the Roxases’ house doesn’t have a single aircon’d room, with the bedrooms the only rooms with screened doors and windows.
The whole facade and gate of the house seemed to likewise enjoy that moment as the two talked and trimmed and watered the shrubs and the orchids and the flowering plants, and plowed the soil with the trowel. Happy were they, as happy as the guarded birds and flimsy butterflies and triumphant leaves and the light through the leaves that made shadows on the sandy soil and the colors, the laughter in Joanna’s and Sienna’s conversation pummeling the front walls of the house and the pebbles in the pots to all be free from their erstwhile peace.
In front of the house outside of the fence the invisible old man Vicente talked again to the invisible camera, continuing to talk even as a motorized tricycle and a bicycle went through his body. The gate was open. He was saying:
“Itong aking si Joanna, nakuntento na lamang sa pag-aalaga ng bahay at bata. Di nga ba’t tinuruan ko siyang humawak ng kamera noong nasa kalagitnaan pa lang siya ng kolehiyo, dahil nga gusto ring maging direktor ng mga sine tulad ko? Di ba? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sayang. Mas minarapat niyang ialay ang kanyang buhay sa ganitong buhay kesa sa sining.” He paused. “Subalit, baka naman hindi sayang, dahil . . . kahit di man nasa likod ng kamera ang mga mata niya, marahil ay nakakatulong naman ang mga ito sa asawa niya sa pagbuo ng mga obra maestra. Kung di man parati, at least paminsan-minsan, di ba? So, may art pa rin sa kanyang buhay.” He smiled. “Kaya okey lang siguro. Kung sabagay, may kasama siya sa gardening art niya: itong si Sienna. At kung sabagay, sino ba naman ang nanonood ng mga short films niya? Well, mga estudyante, at pagka-graduate ng mga yun iba na ang tatangkilikin na mga pelikula at artista. Puro love teams na, o mga latest na pelikulang Amerikano. Wala na kasing nirerequire na panoorin.” He sighed. “Kaya, okey na rin siguro ‘tong ginawa niya. May audience na totoo, kahit isa o dalawa lang.” He smiled.
The old man Vicente started to go back into the yard past the open house gate, a bird flying through his chest. The invisible cameragirl said, “Oops, Pa, me tae ng aso.”
“Sus, ano ba’ng ginagawa ng meyor sa bayan na ‘to? Pati aso sa daan, di kayang alisin.”
Now, back inside the yard, Vicente sat on a step of the front stairs that led up to the porch. “Mahal ‘tong bahay na ito, alam niyo ba? Binili nilang mag-asawa mula sa isang matanda na nasa Hawaii
@ @ @
As we said, Fidel’s portraits were all of fisherfolk looking over their shoulders. Or otherwise were full-body profile portraits of fisherfolk. Or mere heads with their back to the viewer, foregrounding a seascape or beachscape.
Vicente was all over the house’s living area and adjoining dining area, looking at Fidel’s portraits on the walls. One of these portraits depicted two coconut-tree trunks looking like Greek columns in a classical painting. Another had a fisherman at the center of the painting standing on his boat in the sea looking out to a dark beach, waving his hand to dark faces on this beach, one child’s silhouette on the beach waving back. The star of the painting was the orchestra of palm tree leaves in the background profiled against a dark orange sky.
“Mga portrait ng mga mangingisda,” Vicente said to the cam-girl’s camera, “na parang ayaw humarap. Tumitingin sa kaliwa o sa kanan, di kaya nakatalikod. Ito ang style ni Fidel Roxas. Nagpapahiwatig ng kanyang pagiging malapit sa mga mandaragat at nagpapahiwatig din ng kanyang pagiging malayo sa mga ito. Alam kaya ito ng kanyang mga taga-hangang mga mayayaman?”
Joanna was suddenly in the living area beside the invisible Vicente, going through Vicente’s cloud of a body as she called to Sienna, “Sienna, palitan mo na nga itong mga paintings ng kuya mo rito. Itong mga ito sa wall na ito, palitan mo ng mga green na paintings dun sa kuwarto ni Pablo.”
Fidel passed them on his way to the kitchen refrigerator to get a can of beer, saying, “palitan mo yung iba riyan ng gawa ng mga kaibigan ko.”
“Huwag na, luv, gusto ko lahat sa iyo. At least sa wall na ‘to,” said Joanna, referring to the wall directly beside the dining area.
Fidel came out of the kitchen with his can of beer, shaking his head and passing Joanna as she continued to take down the paintings to be replaced.
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