MARCH 5, 2010, late morning. Fidel is in his studio gathering six of his works in progress. He throws them out of his studio, down from his studio balcony to the garden ground below.
Some people at the Vicente Apostol wake are troubled by the sounds they’re hearing from the back of the house. Joanna runs toward Fidel’s studio.
@ @ @
One at a time, Fidel burns his orange portraits in progress at the edge of his backyard garden, by the corner of the yard between the western fence and the back southern fence, specifically in the concrete pond that is now without water and where what used to be Pablo’s rock tomb is now a broken island of medium-size pebbles and cement fragments.
Joanna sits on a chair on her husband’s studio balcony, watching her husband, her face expressionless. Two visitors at the wake are now by the doorway to the balcony, standing behind Joanna, also with expressionless faces. One of the visitors is Board Member Atty. Sevilla. They all look at Fidel busy burning his new paintings one by one; he is busy at this destruction absent any expression on his face. The air smells of burnt acrylic paint and burning canvas, the smoke going in the direction of the trees behind the fences. Despite this seeming outburst, Fidel is careful not to allow the fire to get high and dry the tree leaves.
@ @ @
On a Manila TV channel a newscaster reads this news:
“At sa larangan ng sining, mga second copies ng limang pelikula ng yumaong batikang direktor na si Vicente Apostol ang ipinadala sa Pilipinas ng isang French company na may-ari ng rights sa nasabing mga pelikula. Ang mga pelikula ay ipinadala sa Philippine government, partikular sa pangulo ng Cultural Center of the Philippines. Maaalala na ang apat sa mga pelikulang ito ni Vicente Apostol ay ipinagbawal ang pagpapalabas sa loob ng bansa ng dating Presidente Marcos, at ang isa naman sa panahon ni Presidente Corazon Aquino, dahilan kung bakit ang rights for international distribution ng mga ito ay binili ng isang French producer para maalagaan ang kaligtasan ng mga pelikula. Ang mga ipinadalang pelikula sa Pilipinas ng French producer ay mga kopya lamang mula sa orihinal o master copy ng mga ito. Ibinigay din ng French producer sa Cultural Center of the Philippines ang rights for distribution ng mga pelikula sa loob ng Pilipinas.
“Ang labi ng yumaong si Vicente Apostol ay ngayo’y nakaburol sa bahay ng kanyang anak, ang short films director na si Joanna Apostol Roxas, sa Soria, Samar.”
@ @ @
March 7, 2010. Vicente’s body is reduced to ashes at a Tacloban crematorium. Later, Fidel leads Joanna to their car.
@ @ @
On the road, Joanna asks Fidel: “sa’n tayo punta?”
“Ayoko munang umuwi. Gusto ko lang munang maglibot. Okay lang sa ‘yo?”
Joanna leans back on her seat, saying, “Sure.”
They arrive at the Leyte Landing Memorial Park. They walk toward the ocean side of the park, passing the statues of Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s landing team. They are both looking out to sea.
“Kung narito si Pablo, magtatatakbo yun, diyan sa grass lawn,” whispers Joanna as she looks back at the grassy part of the park.
“Shh,” says Fidel, putting an arm around her.
They are silent for a while.
Still looking out to sea, Fidel asks, behind the statues of MacArthur and his team, “Ano ba ‘tong mga dumating sa buhay natin, Joanna? Ang mga gusto ko noong makamit ay nawala na bigla ang pagiging abot-kamay, . . . nawala rin sa atin ang mga tao’t bagay na mayroon tayo, . . . ngayon naman ang isang bagay na nawala na sa iyo ngunit nagbalik, binawi uli, at binawi na nang tuluyan.”
She hugs him tight. Joanna’s eyes start to water while in this embrace. Fidel narrows his eyes toward the waves of the Pacific Ocean.
After sitting on the dike, they stand and climb up back to the front of the pond where the statues of the team of MacArthur and President Osmeña are standing. They sit on the pebbly concrete seat that goes around the pond, their backs to the statues. They watch the walkway to the park from there. After a minute, suddenly Fidel gets up. Joanna sadly looks at him.
“Sandali lang, ha,” Fidel says. “Dito ka lang, may kukunin lang ako sa kotse.”
He runs.
When he gets back he has in his hands a large sketch pad, a box of pastels, and a camera.
Fidel starts to draw a bunch of fish, fish that appear to be in large metal basins. When he finishes his drawing he asks Joanna to remove her shoes and get into the pond to stand in front of MacArthur’s statue with the drawing. He takes a picture of the drawing and Joanna and MacArthur. He draws a fishing trawler. He takes a picture of it with Joanna holding it, standing in front of MacArthur’s team this time, not in the pond this time to avoid the whistle of a park security man who has appeared from somewhere. He draws a bomb explosion. Takes a picture of that with Joanna. Draws dynamites. Takes a picture. Draws a large mosquito. Takes the picture with a now-crying Joanna. And so on and so forth.
His memory rewinds to what Joanna said that night of the wake, that night before she cried in front of the lawyer: “Ganun nga ang pulitika ng tao, hindi lang sa mga bagay na gusto niyang makamit, nasa mga bagay din na ayaw niyang mawala, kahit pa ang mga bagay na mga alaala na lamang.”
@ @ @
March 9. In the Roxases’ living room, Joanna kneels in front of the house altar with a new holy-family-in-one figurine, a broken similar figurine, seemingly more expensive, lying near it with a headless Saint Joseph. Joanna prays the rosary. It is about 10:00 a.m. according to the grandfather clock.
Fidel is on a bamboo scaffolding in front of their Soria house, painting the front walls with pictures of fishes in metal basins. Also a large drawing of dynamites, enclosed in a red circle but without a diagonal red stripe. Some dynamites are in blue circles. Some in orange circles. He is painting using enamels in cans. People are gathered outside watching Fidel.
One of those watching is Mang Juaning, the manghihilot. He calls out to Fidel: “Fidel, kelangan mo ba ng tulong diyan?”
Fidel looks down at Mang Juaning.
“Salamat ho, Mang Juaning, kaya ko na ho ‘to,” says Fidel.
One of those who had been saying bad things about Fidel from the banana-cue stall is also there. He extracts phlegm from his throat and spits it out, and then calls toward Fidel:
“Kuya Fidel, baka ho gusto niyo ng tulong ko riyan, marunong ho akong maghalo ng ganyang pintura, pintor ho ako ng bahay.”
Fidel looks at him.
@ @ @
April. The front of the house is done, filled with drawings of fishes and dynamites in circles. Across the house, Fidel and his new assistant, the phlegm-spitter, are at work on another stall beside the existing banana-cue stall. The new one has words on it that tells us that fish balls are going to be sold from it, and Fidel and his assistant are painting funny fishes in bowls that look like basketballs split in half. The stall is called “Gary’s Fish Balls.”
Soon, crowds of community people would be posing in front of the Roxas house, taking pictures. Joanna also happily takes a picture of the house front, and then the front of the fish balls stall, and then many other parts of the town where Fidel had painted pictures of fishes in basins, along with pictures of dynamites, each inside a red or blue or purple or orange circle with no diagonal stripe.
@ @ @
At the San Juanico Bridge, metal plates displaying Fidel’s fishes in basins and no-to-blast-fishing logos are seen tightly tied to the bridge’s rails every 100 meters. Fidel had a hard time getting the permit for this, but he had the backing of the governor.
The Roxases’ Toyota Corolla drives by the railings, with Joanna shooting the paintings on metal with her digital video camera.
Fade out.
@ @ @
Fade in.
The Roxases arrive at an old house in Tacloban. On the gate, welded iron letters fancily spell the words “Apostol Residence,” but in an art-deco fashion instead of in the usual script. A caretaker lady and her daughter come down from the house.
“Ma’am,” the caretaker says, “maglilipat na po ba tayo?”
“Manang,” Joanna says, using that Filipino honorific, the feminine of Manong, smiling there, holding the caretaker’s arm when the latter reached her, “kumusta? Alam mo, napag-isip-isip ko kasi, hindi na lang kami lilipat dito, do’n na lang kami sa Soria. Kaya pasensiya na at nag-impake pa kayo, ha.”
“A, wala ho iyon, ma’am.”
“Alam mo kasi,” Joanna continues, as if to further explain, “napag-isip-isip ko, hindi naman importante kung saan tayo nakatira, Manang, e. Importante lang alam natin ang mga lugar na malapit sa puso natin, di ba? . . . saan man tayo naroon, o saan man tayo naligaw. Alam mo kasi, Manang, ngayon ko lang naisip, e, . . . ang buhay kasi ng tao . . . totoo, hindi naman dapat puro paghahanap lang ng mga bagong bagay, di ba? May saysay din ang . . . ang tumingin ka sa luma at nakaraan. Ngunit hindi para manatili ka roon kundi . . . kundi para maipasok mo sa isip mo ang mga mahahalaga rito para sa mga nagaganap sa kasalukuyan. Pero, siyempre, kung may mga wala nang halaga o saysay ngayon, importante lang na aware tayo na baka magkakaroon sila ng bagong halaga o saysay sa mga darating na panahon, maging ang bagong pagpapahalagang ito ay magiging importante man o pangdekorasyon lamang.”
“Totoo po yan, ma’am,” the lady had been saying. “Kung saan ba ang makabubuti, e. At kung saan ka komportable, ganun.”
Joanna doesn’t know if Manang understood what she’d been saying. She realizes she had been rambling. She lets go of her arm and says:
“Sige, pasensiya ka na, ha. Talagang gusto kong sabihin sa iyo nang personal, para di ka magalit sa akin at nagbago ako ng isip.”
“Naku naman, ma’am, bakit ako magagalit sa iyo? Ang bait-bait niyo nga po e. Napakapangit po ng ugali ng taong magagalit sa iyo, ma’am,” Manang says, laughing after.
“O sige po, salamat ha, mag-go-grocery pa kami, e,” says Joanna, also laughing a bit, but as she walks to the car adds, “Kumusta naman ang mga anak mo?”
“A, okey naman po.”
Fidel waves goodbye to Manang from the car.
@ @ @
Sunset. Now Fidel is taking a picture of real fishermen walking around Tacloban near the Apostol house, carrying candles and pictures of fish in galvanized tubs. One placard reads, “Salamat sa paglaban mo sa interes naming mga mangingisda, direk Vicente Apostol!” Now they’re sitting in front of the Apostol residence in a sort of belated vigil, with Joanna looking down from one of the house’s windows, the house caretaker beside her, both waving to the people at this rally.
@ @ @
Now Joanna is moving around a mini-mausoleum (with angel sculptures) being built for Pablo in the Roxases’ backyard garden. She is shooting the men working on the mausoleum with her camcorder. Later, a fishmonger carrying two pails of fish hanging from opposite ends of a pole that run across one of his shoulders enters the open gate and goes straight to the backyard, comes into the garden asking the men there if they want to buy fresh fish for grilling. A couple of the men look inside the pails. Joanna stops shooting and looks at the fish herself, thereafter calls to Fidel to hand her a basin.
@ @ @
July 4. It’s a date that previously commemorated the Philippines’ independence from the United States in 1946, but was turned into a “Republic Day” in 1962 by President Diosdado Macapagal. The current “Independence Day” now falls on June 12, the date in 1898 the murderer, dictator and collaborationist Emilio Aguinaldo signed, along with a retired American artillery officer, the Filipino nation’s independence from Spain.
The Cultural Center of the Philippines shimmers in the night. Inside one of the center’s bigger galleries, a crowd is applauding. Fidel’s photographs of his fish installations and Joanna’s videos are on exhibit, and copies of a book containing the photographs titled Fishing Towns: Installations & Photographs by Fidel Roxas and DVDs titled Pablo’s Fishes by Joanna Apostol-Roxas are all displayed on a table, obviously for sale.
From a platform, Fidel is speaking to the gathered crowd. He says:
“Mga kababayan, alam po natin na tatatlo ang technical stages sa pagbuo ng isang painting. Naroon ang paghanda ng canvas para sa gagawing painting, kung saan papahiran natin ang canvas ng latex paint o ng gesso. Pagkatapos naroon ang painting proper, ang simula ng pagpinta hanggang matapos ang pinipinta, kung saan gamit ang oil paint o acrylic o anuman. Tapos, kung oil ang ginamit mo, pagkaraan ng isang taon na paghihintay, naroon na ang ating paglagay ng varnish sa ibabaw ng painting, at least para sa mga gustong nilalagyan ng varnish ang kanilang oil paintings, at dito sa stage na ito masasabi natin na tunay na ngang tapos ang painting dahil tuyong-tuyo na. Subalit, ladies and gentlemen, merong mga lebel ng paggawa ng painting na wala sa mga physical layers ng pintura at varnish, na wala sa mga nakikita sa canvas, na wala sa mga nakikita sa painting. Ito po ang mga lebel na minithi kong ipakita sa mga bago kong gawa, sa mga instalasyon at larawan na kinunan ng kamera ng iyong lingkod at ng filmmaker kong maybahay . . . mga larawan na minadali naman naming prinoduce bilang framed photographs at para sa isang libro at video CD upang maging available sa arts festival na ito.
“Noong nakaraang Marso po, nakita ko ang matagal ko nang hinahanap na pulitika sa aking ginagalawang sining, ang sining ng painting. Maaaring hindi ito ang pulitika ng sining na nakikita ng iba sa atin sa ating mga sariling sining, ng mga kapwa ko artists, ibig kong sabihin, subalit ito po ang set of politics na tila dinala sa akin ng mga bagong pangyayari—mga pangyayaring kasama na po ang pagkamatay ng aking tatlong-taong gulang na anak na si Pablo, ang pagkamatay ng aking father-in-law, ang kilalang direktor na si Vicente Apostol, at ang mga matagal nang nasimulang mga pagtatanong sa aking pagkatao ng aking kapatid na si Architect Federico Roxas noong Marso rin two years ago, mga tanong tungkol sa relasyon ko sa aking mga obra. . . . Wala po akong regrets sa aking mga dinaanan at iniwanang mga istilo, mga istilong maaari kong balikan sa mga darating na taon kung magiging makabuluhan uli ang mga ito sa akin. Subalit, ngayong taon, sa aking palagay, napapanahon na po na tahakin ko ang isang bagong lipi ng mga pagbabago sa aking sining, tanggapin man ito ng merkado o hindi. Dito niyo po makikita ang totoong ‘ako’ sa kasalukuyan. Of course, ang mga obra ko noong mga nakaraang taon ay may totoong ‘ako’ rin naman, huwag po kayong mag-alala, mga dati kong collectors. Ngunit ang mga bagong pagbabago na i-a-apply ko mula ngayon sa aking sining ay nagmumula sa aking paniniwala na mayroong phases sa buhay ng isang tao. Kaya may Blue Period, ikanga, may Orange Period, at may kung anu-anong period. Hindi ko po maipaliliwanag nang husto ang mga gawa ko ngayon; hahayaan ko na lang pong pumasok ang mga kritiko sa ating bansa sa mga mental spaces sa aking mga obra kung saan ako ay tahimik, dahil mahirap naman kung aagawan ko pa sila ng trabaho, di po ba? . . . Dito ko na po ilalagay ang period sa aking speech, kaya po, maraming-maraming salamat.”
There is laughter and wide and loud applause among the cocktail crowd in the big gallery.
@ @ @
Fidel and Joanna are in their not-so-expensive hotel room in Manila. Fidel calls for a bottle of wine from room service through the room’s phone.
After tipping the room service man, Fidel and Joanna turn off the TV and go over to their hotel room balcony with the wine.
They are obviously not very happy. Joanna says:
“Nami-miss ko si Pablo. Sana kasama natin siya rito.”
Joanna puts her head on Fidel’s shoulder. Fidel sighs. He puts an arm around Joanna, and they listen to the sounds of the city. Gradually bit of tears well in Fidel’s eyes. Joanna looks up at him, at his eyes, and bits of tears begin to well in her own. They watch together the light-polluted night sky of the city.
@ @ @
Fidel and Joanna get ready for bed inside their not-so-expensive hotel room. Only then does Fidel notice that one of the very-small paintings on one side of the room, of three people looking over their shoulders and walking toward a far sea, is a reproduction of one of his works.
He approaches the painting, saying, “Tingnan mo nga naman ang pagkakataon. Sa lahat ba naman ng hotel rooms na ibibigay sa atin ng CCP, ito pang me ganito. Reproduction pa.”
Fidel and Joanna laugh sadly.
“Public art na ba?” Joanna says.
“Yeah,” says Fidel, chuckling. “Tila pinapahiwatig na kelangang lingunin na natin ang lahat ng mga lumipas habang tuloy ang pag-iibayo ng ating mga panaginip para sa hinaharap, mga panaginip na ating tatahakin hanggang sa ating sariling kamatayan. . . . So, ito na ba iyon, Joanna? Ang pagtatapos ng ating mga pangamba tungkol sa kung ano pa ang maaaring mawala sa atin?”
“Wala nang masama na dapat dumating pa, Fidel. Natapos na ang malagim na mga pagbabago,” says Joanna in reply.
Fidel goes to her, clutching her head. “Patawarin mo ako, ha.”
Joanna embraces him while wearing a soft smile.
@ @ @
A stewardess announces that the couple’s plane is getting ready to land on Tacloban’s airport runway.
Soon they’re at the airport terminal, later exiting toward a group of men offering taxi service with their jeepneys or AUVs. The couple passes this group and sees Federico who leads them to their car, the Roxases’ Toyota Corolla. Federico is wearing a T-shirt with Fidel’s fish design on it.
Two young men at the airport recognize a now-popular Fidel (“pare, si Fidel Roxas yun o”; “yun ba yun?”).
“Salamat kuya, ha,” Fidel says.
Federico says, laughing, “Wala yun, ano ka ba? I-drop niyo lang ako doon sa coffeeshop na iyon sa bahay natin.”
Soon they are on the road, a billboard on the side of the road displaying Fidel’s fish-and-dynamites art, with the words “Nasa iyong mga kamay / ang kinabukasan nating lahat” above the drawings. Some houses they pass have also put up fishes-and-dynamites stickers with those words.
“Uy, nga pala,” Federico says, “kelangan ko nang magpunta uli ng Thailand. Tapos na ang mahaba kong bakasyon. My congratulations sa inyo ha, and, of course, . . . my prayers for Pablo’s and your Papa’s soul, Joanna, nagpamisa ako kanina.”
“Kuya,” Joanna says, “itong bago naming art, ito ang monument natin ke Pablo. Maraming salamat sa iyo sa tulong mo, kuya. Binuo natin ito, tayong tatlo. . . . Ngunit kailangan pa bang mangyari ang lahat ng nangyari para makita namin ang aming mga tunay na sarili sa kasalukuyan? (Joanna almost begins to cry, but stops) Para makita ang mga bagay na makapagpapasaya sa amin, kapalit ng batang nagpasaya sa amin?” (Silent tears finally come)
Fidel ignores his wife’s silent crying. “Maraming salamat, kuya,” he says.
Federico doesn’t know what to say, except “walang anuman. Wala iyon. Actually, ako man may malaking napulot na aral mula sa inyong dalawa. . . . Nabago na rin ang political-art perspectives ko ng . . . ng lahat ng nangyari, guys. Naging modernist ang post-modernism ko, my bad. Para akong Marxist na may dalang maraming sagot na nakalimot nang magtanong ng kanyang maraming tanong, lalo na yaong mga tanong tungkol sa sarili.”
There is momentary silence.
“Sana nandito ka uli next year,” Fidel says, breaking the silence.
“Of course, of course. Una ko kayong pupuntahan.”
@ @ @
Fidel and Joanna are now alone in their car, cruising along on San Juanico Bridge.
The car CD player plays Yano’s freedom song “Naroon” as Joanna adjusts her seat to lie down and look at the empty backseat.
When their car exits the bridge, a sign that points “To Soria” has Fidel’s fish-and-dynamites art on or above it.
Another Yano song is playing on the car deck when they arrive on their street, passing by the dental clinic now sporting a billboard sign bearing the name of the clinic and a large drawing of a cartoonish boy with Fidel’s shiny fish art for teeth.
@ @ @
Joanna plays “Naroon” again on the CD player in the Roxas house’s living area where Sienna appears and hugs Joanna and bows toward Fidel. Fidel is carrying a rolled poster. So Sienna is back in the Roxases’ house.
“Ma’am, kuya. Kumusta po kayo, ma’am?” says Sienna.
“Okay naman, Sienna. Okay lang kami. Salamat.”
“Ma’am, sir, ito po yung diniliver na mga kahoy na isda, order nyo raw. Ito po, totoo po ang mga banyera. At tulad nang sabi mo sa phone, ma’am, ilagay ko sa isang banyera ang lahat ng toy car ni Pablo,” she says, smiling at the smiling couple.
“Ang ganda,” says Joanna, as Fidel examines the metal drum basins.
“O, Sienna, pag-uwi mo mamaya dalhin mo rin ‘to. Para sa bahay niyo,” Fidel finally says, handing Sienna the poster.
@ @ @
Sienna goes to her family's small house in Soria. She puts up the poster of Fidel’s fish-and-dynamites art on a wall in the house beside the posters of Filipino actors and actresses and a large photo of Pablo. The poster, too, had the words “Nasa iyong mga kamay din ang kinabukasan nating lahat” at the picture’s top.
@ @ @
If this was a movie, we might here imagine a fade to a black screen from where we can fade back in again.
@ @ @
“Hindi na mga ilaw o props o actors ang inaayos kundi mga damo at bulaklak.”
Vicente laughs, but also with a certain melancholy, as he walks around Joanna and Sienna among the flowers in their front garden one morning.
“Pero walang nasayang,” he says to his 17-year-old camera-girl’s camera as he approaches the Roxases’ front stairs.
“Naabot din o nakita rin ni Fidel at ni Joanna ang totoong pulitika sa kanilang mga ginagawa araw-araw. Kasi nga naman, hindi porke pulitikal kang tao tulad ni Federico ay may pulitika ka na. Iba ang pagkakaroon ng pulitika sa pagiging tunay na pulitikal. Sino ba ang polity kundi ang tao? Ang pagkamulat mo sa relasyon mo sa tao, magmumula roon ang kalayaan mong magbuo ng tunay mong pulitika, kung saan makapipili ka kung sa nabuo mong pulitikang ito ang tao ay kasama o hindi kasama.”
@ @ @
Joanna, not the 17-year-old camera-girl, calls, “is that a shot? Is that a wrap na?” toward a cameraman behind whom stands a woman holding a boom mike pole.
Fidel, in front of the Roxases’ gate, wearing the same bloodied clothes Vicente was wearing on that day he died, gets up from the ground, saying, “That’s a wrap.”
People by the banana-cue stall applaud, but with no one excessively joyous, even as two kids mimic Fidel with “datsarap”, “datsarap”. This is not your perfect ending, after all, as neither Joanne nor Fidel would wear a smile during this scene. Our story could here either very slowly fade to black or slowly zoom out to a drone shot of Soria, where the sound mixer could place Lucio San Pedro’s “Sa Ugoy ng Duyan” on the sound strip here, . . . on toward the credits where Yano’s “Naroon” may be played again.
— TAPOS —
