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
@ @ @
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
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.
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 Baguio
(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.
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?”
“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, . . .”
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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