Chapter 13: HOW TO DRAW WITH YOUR BUTT


With nothing better to do, Juan Tabagwang and I were walking again along the busy street where the bird shop, “Mga Ibon ni Adarna,” was located. We noticed from a distance that the talkative, foul-mouthed, cursing, and blasphemous parrot, Periko, was busy doing something. Out of curiousity we approached the bird. We were surprised to find out that it had a pencil tucked between its beak and was busy doing some unusual and interesting scratches on a pad of paper. For a time Periko ignored us. But when it noticed that we were intruding on what it was doing, it gave us a malevolent look and then the finger. We got the message and went away.

“Periko is a bird genius!” Juan remarked.

“With those scratches, Periko will go places,” I said in jest. Then I burst out laughing.

But Juan was dead serious. He looked at me and said, “And we’re going nowhere with what we are doing?”

“I thought your Super-Butt is doing great?” I inquired, a bit surprised.

“Nope!” Juan said. “And lately most of my super ideas were rejected, including the last one, The Super-Shit.”

“Same thing happened to me,” I said half-heartedly. “A guy I know advised me to use my left hand to draw, because they won’t hire me if I use my right hand.”

“What happened then?”

I did not answer Juan and instead gave him an impish smile. “Use your butt, Juan,” I said jokingly. “You’re a much better artist than me.”

A smile lingered on Juan’s face in reaction to what I said. After that I did not see him for almost three months. I was concerned that something may have happened to him. So I gave him a visit. Do you know what he had been doing all this time? He was literally drawing with a pencil taped to his butt when I found him.

“Juan, you’re an idiot!” I remarked, surprised. “That’s not what I meant when I said you should draw with your butt.”

“I know,” he said. “But this is the last of my butt drawings.”

While Juan was busy with his butt, I looked at all the drawings he did that were tacked onto the wall. “It’s similar to the scratches of Periko,” I said. “What’s the title for these butt artworks?”

“Super-Butt II,” Juan answered in laughter. “I want you to go with me when I present it to Ed A. D’tor, the editor and art director who rejected my Super-Shit.”

We went to this well known publisher and studio, and Juan bravely presented his buttworks to Ed.

“What is this?” Ed asked, his eyes wide and bulging in disbelief as he looked at the drawings. “It seems to be drawn by a butt!” Ed said in an insulting way.

“Absolutely!” Juan exclaimed as he looked down on Ed with an air of superiority. “You’re not worthy to behold my left or right foot drawing, more so with my left hand, and even more so with my right hand.”

“Get out of my office!” Ed angrily shouted. “And take your buttworks with you.”

“You can have it,” Juan remarked. “You deserve it. It’s for buttheads like you!”

“Get out!” thundered Ed.

“I’ve already been out for a long time now,” Juan countered.

We exited the building, still able to hear Ed’s shouting. But Juan was very happy. “Oh, I feel good,” he said. Then he laughed. “I feel like I’m as free as a butterfly, free from the tyranny of those editor and art director buttheads.”

“Yeah, you’re free, but jobless,” I said. “What now?”

“To Tomadors’ Tavern,” Juan said, excited. “Let’s celebrate my freedom and joblessness!”

“But we were ‘excommunicated’ by Maria, or Super Kapre,” I reminded Juan.

“Oh, she’ll forgive us once she sees us,” Juan said. “It has been a while and I have a feeling that she already misses us.”

Juan was right. Even before we entered Tomadors’ Tavern, Maria looked excited upon seeing us. I don’t know why. Probably she missed our foolishness. Anyway, Juan chose the center table of the tavern and we ordered 13 bottles of “agua de pataranta.” As the bottles were emptied by us one after another, the tavern was slowly filled with Juan’s laughter. I never saw him so happy in all the times we’ve been together. “Freedom,” in whatever form, is indeed “liberating.”

We were drunk when we left the tavern. Juan blew a kiss goodbye to Maria, who gave us a winsome smile in return. Along the way we passed by the bird shop, “Mga Ibon ni Adarna.” We noticed that people were lining up to get a signed print drawing of Periko, the parrot’s scratches.

“Look at that!” I exclaimed as I nudged Juan who was too drunk and could barely walk straight. “Periko is becoming a millionaire while we are becoming penniless.”

Probably out of envy, Juan curses Periko. The bird gave him the finger. I hurriedly pulled Juan out of the way because Periko’s fans gave us angry stares. Far away from the bird shop we noticed that the sun had already set. As usual, due to our drunkeness and also to somehow mitigate our misfortune, we belted with gusto the drunken song of “how to draw with your butt.”

“La la la, sing with us now all you buttheads of the world, la la la ....”

By the way, before you readers go to the next story, do you know what happened to Periko after it became famous and earned a lot of money? Lately, I heard that it was represented by a “liar,” the same guy who represented the monkey who won the art competition, because its master was only feeding it crackers and pocketing all the money. Periko, like Juan, wanted to be free from subservience to its master. The call for freedom is indeed also for the birds and monkeys, heh heh!

Chapter 12: THE ORIGIN OF THE CROP CIRCLES

Juan Tabagwang and I could not go back to Tomadors’ Tavern. Maria D’Kapri, or “Super Kapre,” expelled or “excommunicated” us because of her misconception that we had blasphemed her religious beliefs. Instead, we went to “Kuwatro-Singko,” a tavern selling “kuwatro kantos,” a cheap and false imitation of the drink “agua de pataranta,” for 5 cents a bottle if you drink at least four bottles. Unluckily for us, the tavern ran out of “kuwatros.” But there was another tavern, the “Lasinggos’ Tavern,” selling “Lapad,” an imitation of “kuwatro kantos.” Since our throats were dry and the “spirit” of the “agua” beckoned to us strongly, we decided to go to Lasinggos even though it was a long walk.

    

Along the way, we passed by the house of Kurso, The Great. There was a celebration of Kurso’s wedding at their beautifully decorated guest house made of bamboo. We saw him in his tuxedo beside his radiant, beaming bride in her wedding dress.

    

“So, that’s the reason why he stole that money,” Juan said as he looked wide eyed at Kurso.

    

“Possibly,” I said. “I think he won’t be cursing us anymore during the night time.”

    

“How do you know that?” Juan asked as he looked at me not getting the meaning of what I just said.

    

I did not answer Juan. I just gave him a mischievous smile. We continued walking and we passed by the bird shop “Mga Ibon Ni Adarna.” As usual, the talkative, foul-mouthed, cursing, and blasphemous parrot, Periko, gave us all kinds of curses, expletives and blasphemies ever said by anyone. “!@#$^%*&,” Periko squawked rapidly at us.

    

“You know who reminds me of Periko?” I asked Juan.

    

“Kurso, The Great!” he answered.

    

“Right!” I said. “I think we should call Periko, The Little Kurso instead.”

    

“How appropriate,” Juan agreed. Then he chuckled.

    

But Periko gave us a malevolent look again. Juan gave him the finger and it cursed at us some more. We left the place, however, from afar, we still heard its curses, expletives and blasphemies.

    

At Lassingos’ Tavern we ordered 12 bottles of “Lapad.” Like a liquor famished drunks, we chugged the drinks so fast even though the taste was so horrible, and the side effect was like being kicked on the head by a wild cimmaron. Instead of seeing double, I saw triple. Juan saw quadruple.

    

“I think I am already drunk, Juan,” I said as I tried to stand up with my knees wobbling.

    

“I-I’m not!” Juan remarked. “It-It’s the tavern that’s drunk ....” He turned to the other drunks and said, “Right!?”

    

“Correct!” the drunkards roared back in agreement.

    

“S-see!” Juan said as he looked at me with drunken eyes. His pupils seemed to be moving from side to side, and up and down. Then he crashed to the floor. I picked him up. He was barely able to stand up. Before we left the table Juan grabbed a half-empty bottle of “Lapad.” “We need this to sober up,” he said as he looked at me again trying to open his weary eyes.

    

On our way home, we bumped into people and electric posts. We were ignored by everyone because of our drunkenness. We passed by the bird shop again. The parrot Periko lambasted us once more with curses, expletives and blasphemies. Juan was so irritated that he sneaked into the shop and forced the parrot to drink the “Lapad.” After a short time, it moved in circles in its cage, tumbled, and then collapsed. I thought it was dead, poisoned by the drink Juan gave it. Suddenly, Periko perked up and started singing drunken songs instead of cursing.

    

“W-What happened?” the shop owner inquired, bewildered. “What did you do?”

    

“Nothing,” I uttered. “I think your parrot is drunk.”

    

We left the bird shop while Periko was still singing. The shop owner was scratching his head, confused by the sudden change in attitude of his bird. Juan and I could not control our laughter. We stopped laughing only when we passed Kurso’s house again. We noticed that everybody was still having a good time at the wedding celebration at the bamboo guest house, especially Kurso and his bride. It was almost dark, and stupid ideas suddenly hit me. I glanced at Juan and gave him an impish smile.

    

“Follow me, Juan,” I said.

    

Without asking and thinking, he followed me. We crawled under the basement of Kurso’s bamboo guest house. I looked for the main support, a huge bamboo, and found it. It was reinforced by another big bamboo brace for additional stability. I quietly beckoned to Juan to help me remove the brace.

    

“What are you going to do?” Juan asked in an undertone.

    

“We’ll shake the guest house,” I answered in a subdued voice.

    

“Then what?”

    

“You’ll see.”

    

With great difficulty we were able to remove the brace, and with all our strength we managed to push the main support bamboo back and forth, slowly at first.

    

“Push harder,” I whispered to Juan.

    

“Earthquake!” we heard Kurso exclaim from inside the guest house above us.

    

“Yeah, a small earthquake!” said one of the guests.

    

“Push harder Juan,” I said softly.

    

“The quake is getting stronger!!” some of the visitors remarked. They were starting to panic.

    

“The earthquake stopped!” uttered Kurso’s bride. There were sighs of relief from the people above.

    

“Now, push with all your might Juan,” I said in a low voice.

    

“The earthquake is getting stronger and stronger,” we heard Kurso say in fear.

    

“Here we go again!” I shouted very loudly as Juan and I pushed the main support bamboo of the guest house very hard.

    

“What!?” Juan exclaimed, baffled at why I shouted.

    

“This is no earthquake!” Kurso remarked.

    

“It’s a prank!” said one of the visitors.

    

“After them!” shouted another.

    

“Run Juan!” I said. “And fast!”

    

I ran out of the basement. Juan followed after me, still confused. Behind us were Kurso and his visitors with baseball bats and clubs. They chased us round and round in the cornfield of old Ago. Luckily for us we escaped from them. The excitement of the chase sobered my drunkenness. I lost Juan, but I found him later hiding inside a hollowed tree trunk. He was trembling with fear, but otherwise okay and sober.

    

“They’re gone, Juan,” I said. “You can come out now.”

    

Juan slowly came out of the trunk as he looked left and right, still scared. “You really are an idiot!” he remarked. “They could have beaten us to a pulp.”

    

“C’mon Juan,” I said. “I just wanted to scare Kurso.

    

“Yeah right!” he said indignantly. “They are the ones who scared the crap out of us!” Then he turned and gazed at old Ago’s cornfield. “Old Ago will be really mad at us. We made circles in his cornfield.”

    

“We’ll see him in a couple of days and apologize. He’ll understand,” I said. “You’ll pay for the damages to his crops.”

    

“Why me?” Juan asked, irked.

    

“I-I mean we,” I said with a smile as I looked at him through the corner of my eye.

    

After two days, we woke up early in the morning to see old Ago. Still at a distance, we were more surprised to see many people around the shack of the old fool on the hill. And many more were carrying gifts and going to his cornfield. Old Ago met us far from the crowd.

    

“We’ve come to apologize and pay ...,” I was unable to finish. Old Ago gave me a sign to shut up.

    

“I know, everything has been paid for, more than a hundred fold,” old Ago said. “ In fact, I’m mighty grateful for what happened.”

    

Before old Ago left, he gave us a wily smile and chuckled as he turned his back. I laughed, but Juan scratched his head, unable to comprehend why the old fool was happy. Anyway, Juan tried to be funny. “Isn’t it we’re supposed to be singing a song?” Juan asked. “We forgot to sing two days ago after the chase.”

    

“Don’t be a fool Juan,” I said. “We’re not drunk. Besides, it’s very early in the morning. People might think we’re nuts.”

     

With a mischievous playful smile on his face, Juan said, “Aren’t we?”

    

“Only you, Juan,” I said to to annoy him.

As we started to leave the place, I gazed back at old Ago’s cornfield one more time. I saw that the people were now placing their gifts at the center of the crop circles. We learned afterward that those people believed that the old fool on the hill had the good fortune of being the only lucky host of god-like alien visitors from outer space, who made the crop circles in his cornfield as a sign of a covenant between him and the aliens. How all these things came to be we had no idea. However, we found out even later that Kurso was hired by old Ago as his congregator.

    

That answers many of the questions. Recently, I heard that old Ago, the old fool on the hill, is now highly revered and believed by many as the old saint on the hill.

    

It is sad though, the old fool whom I highly respected was corrupted by money and human worship. He reminds me of the wise king and prophet of old who became a stupid fool in his old age.

Chapter 11: "COMICS" IS A RELIGION
It was one of those days when everything seemed to be wrong. My friend Juan Tabagwang and I had nothing better to do but waste our time aimlessly walking along a dirty, noisy, busy, and crowded street. And along with that the air was full of smog, the people looked morose, and the honking of cars was very annoying. Even the trained, talkative, foul-mouthed, cursing, and blasphemous parrot, Periko, which we used to annoy in the bird shop, “Mga Ibon Ni Adarna,” did not return our greetings as we passed by it. We noticed that the shop owner had tapped its beak. Unable to curse us, the bird gave us a malevolent look instead. We ignored it and continued with our desultory walking. Suddenly, we heard shouting and commotion. We saw the guy who was always cursing us, the great Kurso, running very fast and carrying a big, bulging bag. His face looked almost white with fear and his dogs were running with him. Right behind them was an angry crowd.

    

“Hey, what’s the big hurry?” I asked one of the men chasing Kurso.

    

“Kurso, our shepherd  and congregator, stole the money of our congregation!” the man answered as he ran with the crowd.

    

Juan turned to me as he scratched his head. “He’s a congregator!?” he said in disbelief. “Unbelievable!”

    

“Yeah!” I said. “He blesses his god in the morning, steals money from his faithful in the afternoon, and curses us in the evening.”

    

“Great guy!” Juan remarked.

    

“Indeed!” I agreed. “He’s not Kurso, The Great for nothing.” Juan and I then chuckled.

    

“I think we can go back now to Tomadors’ Tavern,” Juan said. “Kurso and his dogs are not around.”

    

We jogged to go to Tomadors’, excited at the thought of drinking again the strong drink, the ambrosia of wines, the “agua de pataranta,” which we haven’t tasted for quite a while. It was the only good thing that happened that day, or so we thought. At the tavern entrance we were met by Maria D’Kapri, or Super Kapre as she was popularly called.

    

“What apocalyptic winds brought the two of you here?” Maria greeted us in an unpleasant voice. She must be in one of her moods again.

    

“C’mon Maria,” I said. “By now you should know that it’s the spirit of the ‘agua’ that beckoned us to come here.”

    

She pouted at us. Anyway, we discreetly went into the tavern so as not to upset her, and we ordered 11 bottles of “agua.” After we got the drinks, we immediately chugged two bottles and became tipsy. That was when Juan started to talk about religion.

    

“I am averse to religion and everything about it,” Juan said. He looked serious.

    

“Oh, you’re just jealous of other religions,” I remarked nonchalantly.

    

“Why should I be?” Juan asked, a bit agitated. “Why should I be jealous of other religions like that of Kurso’s? He’s despicable!”

    

“I know,” I said. “You two are of the same kind, but of different religions. Yours is 'comics'.”

    

“Comics!?” Juan exclaimed in amazement, unable to comprehend by what I meant by it.

    

“Yes, comics!” I said as I looked at him straight into his eyes. “ 'Comics' is a religion, your religion.”

    

Juan pushed his chair away from the table to get a good look at me, and then he put his hands on his hips. In a sarcastic voice he said, “I think you’re drunk!”

    

“You’re the one who’s drunk with your obsession with your comics religion,” I countered. “Let me elaborate. You’re a comics ‘creator,’ a comics ‘god.’ You created the Super-Butt. Your comics stories were compiled into one big book and became a ‘bible.’ Your Super-Butt is a superhero with superpowers to help the oppressed and battle the bad guys. He is one of your ‘canonized saints.’ Your ‘believers’ or fans love your saints and idolize them. They go to comics convention pilgrimages as a kind of gathering of the faithful.”

    

Juan looked at me with his mouth open, aghast. 

I continued with my sermon, “The comics stores are your ‘churches’ where your believers ‘donate’ to get a copy of the Super-Butt comics. Actually, you are similar to Kurso. You also stole the donations from your believers since you give them trashy and worthless stories. Your diehard believers become your ‘disciples' and 'preachers’ who propagate your comics stories, your ‘teachings.’ Other comics creators are your rival gods. Not only their comics religions but other spiritual religions are competitive to your religion. That’s why you don’t like them and are jealous of them. In other words, you’re protective of your comics religion.”

    

Juan was exasperated and unimpressed with my preaching. “How about you?” he asked. “What’s your religion?”

    

I did not answer him. Instead I said, “Actually, anything that becomes an obsession becomes a religion. For example, the love of money is another form of religion.”

    

“I am not interested in those things,” Juan remarked. This time he was really losing his patience. “What’s your religion?”

    

I chuckled. “My religion is also another one of your religions,” I answered.

    

“I don’t have another religion!” Juan countered.

    

“That’s the problem with you,” I said. “Yours is a case of ‘agua’ induced amnesia.”

    

“What!?” Juan said with a confused look on his face.

    

“You desire and obsess over something and you practice it, but you’re not conscious about it,” I explained. “That’s because of the effect of the spirit of the agua in you.”

    

“Whatever,” Juan said, impatiently. “Let’s go back to your religion.”

    

“This is my religion!” I said proudly as I put a bottle of “agua” at the middle of the table. “Agua de pataranta! It is also your other religion.”

    

“I think you’re really drunk this time,” Juan said as he looked at me through the corner of his eye.

    

“Hah!” I exclaimed as I gestured my hand to brush Juan off. Then I pushed the bottle of “agua” closer to him and said, “Drunk or not drunk, this is our religion.” And I quickly emptied the contents of the bottle, wiped my mouth dry, and reclined on my seat. Then I burped, farted, and let out a contented sigh as I slid down the seat. “That, Juan, are the blessings of the ‘agua’,” I said with a smile. “Aside from the hangover and swirling head that I get as the side effects.”

    

“Are you a moron or what!?” Juan remarked as he gave me a blank stare. “The ‘agua’ probably fried your brain already.”

    

“Far from it! It’s you, the ‘agua’ reduced your head to a pinhead,” I said a bit irritated. “Let me explain it to you in simple words. You see, the Tomadors’ Tavern is our church, the spirit of the ‘agua de pataranta’ is our god, and these good for nothing drunks here, including us, are the faithful. And our donations are the money we paid for the ‘agua’.” I then turned to the drunks around us who were listening to our conversation and asked them, “Right?”

    

“Absolutely!” all the drunks answered in chorus. Then they raised their glasses of “agua” and roared together, “A toast to ‘agua,’ our religion!”

    

“See Juan!” I said as I looked at him with my glazed eyes and pointed at the drunks around us. “And Maria ...”

    

“What about Maria?” Juan asked nonchalantly.

    

I moved closer to him and whispered, “Maria is our religious minister.”

    

I did not realize that Maria was behind me. She overheard what I said and gave me a whack on my head. “Idiot!” she exclaimed.

    

I turned to her as a I rubbed my head. “What did you do that for?” I asked meekly.

    

“You are not only blasphemous like Periko, you are also trying to influence all those half-wit drunks here,” Maria remarked angrily.

    

“It’s just a harmless joke, Maria,” I reasoned.

    

“Silence!” she said forcefully. This time she really lose her patience with us. “You two pay up now and get out of the tavern!”

    

“B-but...,” Juan complained.

    

“I said pay up now!” Maria insisted.

    

“Juan, pay up,” I said. “Hurry!”

    

“How come I always end up paying for our drinks?” Juan said sulking. “For once, you pay up and change your bad habit.”

    

“Remember, I am an absolute fool,” I said, “and absolute fools don’t change.”

    

Anyway, Juan paid for our drinks and we were expelled from the tavern, “excommunicated” by Maria for our irreverence. However, we did not easily give up. We belted our out of tune, drunken, penitence song for forgiveness in front of the tavern. It made Maria angrier. She came out of the tavern and threw empty bottles of ‘agua’ at us. It missed me but hit Juan. He woke up in the hospital with stitches on his head between the eyes.

    

“W-what happened?” he asked wondering.

    

“You were hit by Maria’s ‘celestial lightning bolt’,” I answered.

    

As we walked home, from afar, we looked like repentant sheep. But up close we looked like humiliated drunken goats humming the “comics" is a religion song to somehow lessen our longing and desire for “agua de pataranta,” doused by Maria’s “excommunication” of us from the tavern. For a time after that, we were branded by most drunkards in the neighborhood as the “atheistas de agua.”       

Chapter 10: THE ART OF CATCHING THE CROSS-EYED SHARK

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It was a perfect, lazy afternoon. Juan Tabagwang and I were eager to go to Tomadors’ Tavern, but we were afraid of Kurso’s doberman who bit Juan’s butt. Instead, we decided and bought 10 bottles of “kuwatro kantos”, a fake imitation of “agua de pataranta,” from another tavern. Then we went to a perfect secluded spot with an excellent view of the sea. Many colorful fishing boats along its shore were haphazardly parked. We made ourselves comfortable under the shade of the coconut trees. After drinking several bottles of “kuwatro” we became tipsy and our noisy laughter competed with the ocean waves breaking on the sandy shore. Eventually, the gentle breeze from the sea made us drowsy. We didn’t notice the calls of Itay, Juan’s father, until the last minute.

   

“Tabagwaaaang!” Itay called. It sounded like a sudden booming crack of thunder.

    

Juan reacted with surprise. He turned around, trying to find out where the voice came from, and saw behind him his aging father standing with his hands on his hip and with a look of displeasure on his face. “Dad, it’s you!” he uttered with eyebrows raised and a slight smile.

   

“Who did you expect, you drunkard!?” roared Itay. “You watch over our boat! The rising tide might carry it away.”

   

“Don’t worry Dad, I’ll watch it,” Juan said coyly as he scratched his head.

   

“And you two lazy drunk bums,” Itay said in a commanding voice as he pointed at us, “before the sun sets I want you to stop drinking.” He turned but gave us a sharp glance and a parting warning to Juan before he left. “No foolishness this time, Juan!” he said. I don’t know if Juan understood what his father said, but he looked at me and gave me a drunken smile.

    

We continued with our drinking. Once in a while Juan watched the boat of his father. But the boat was slowly being carried away by the tide, until it was a good distance from the seashore. Juan climbed halfway up the trunk of a nearby coconut tree, still watching the boat.

    

“Juan!” I called to his attention. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

   

“I know!” Juan answered. “I’m watching the boat.”

    

“I don’t think that’s what your dad meant.”

    

“He told me to watch the boat. So that’s what I’m doing.”

    

My jaw dropped in disbelief at Juan’s idiotic remark. “You’re already drunk Juan,” I said. “Let’s go swim after it while it’s still nearby.”

   

“No! I have to watch it, as ordered.”

    

I sighed and said, “You know what, Juan?”

    

“What?”

   

“You remind me of a guy who did the exact same thing that you are doing now.”

   

“If you’re referring to John Dokling, then I’m different,” Juan said. “I’m watching.”

   

“He was too,” I insisted.

    

“Yeah, he was watching,” Juan said. “But, he covered his eyes. He’s a moron.”

   

“That makes two of you.”

    

Juan ignored me. Instead he climbed to the very top of the coconut tree to get a good view of the boat being carried away by the rising tide. “Omigosh!” he suddenly exclaimed. “It snapped the boat in two.”

   

“Who snapped the boat?” I asked.

    

“A shark!” Juan answered.

    

“That’s Duling!” I exclaimed. “The huge cross-eyed shark.” I then hurriedly left Juan without waiting for him to come down from the coconut tree. As I ran toward our house I shouted, “Duling has been spotted! Duling is here!”

    

I reached our house and took from the wall two of my fifteen feet long spear guns. Each one was powered by four pairs of stretchable bands of black rubber. When released, the force of the spear is enough to penetrate an oversized unhusked coconut. At the tip of the spear was a moveable hook secured by a ring and at the other end it had a long rope. The other end of the rope was usually tied to a boat to make sure that a big fish quarry cannot escape.

    

As I came out of our house, I saw a horde of fishermen carrying their long spear guns and excitedly shouting like crazy. Though the sea of other nearby towns were shark infested, almost all the sharks in our area were hunted to extinction by these hungry fishermen. The only one left was the elusive cross-eyed Duling, fondly called “Moby Dick.”

   

I found Juan coming down from the coconut tree. I tossed him the other spear gun and we ran to one of the fishing boats. We pushed it to the sea, jumped in, and paddled furiously toward Duling. Other fishermen on their boats also converged toward Duling, who burst out of the water as if daring everyone to come and get him.

    

“Why you and these fishermen are obsessed with Duling?” Juan asked.

    

“Duling is food for these fishermen,” I replied. “Me, I just want to get my other spear stuck to its tail when I hunted it 25 years ago.”

    

Juan had a blank look on his face. He couldn’t believe what I just said. “I think you’re the one who’s drunk,” he remarked. “Why kill that thing for a worthless spear?”

    

I gave Juan a serious drunk look as I pointed to Duling. “That thing destroyed your father’s boat because of your foolishness,” I explained. “That shark is food for these hungry fishermen. And it took my prized spear.”

    

Our attention was suddenly diverted due to the commotion of the hunt. Duling was cornered. Being cross-eyed, it charged every which way. It smashed our boat and we were thrown overboard. Underwater, Duling bore down upon Juan, who was tangled in the rope of his spear gun. Juan panicked as I aimed my spear gun and fired. The spear hit Duling’s fin. I vigorously pulled the rope attached to the spear. This prevented Duling from snapping at Juan. It then violently veered, breaking the rope I was pulling. Duling swam away toward the deep blue sea as the spears of the fishermen criss-crossed the water, missing it.

    

Juan was glad because he was saved from his close encounter with the shark. He untangled himself from the rope of his spear, and we swam to the seashore. The excitement of the hunt sobered us up a bit. I sat on the shore a few feet from the water while looking at Duling, whose still visible fin was fast receding away. Meanwhile, Juan stretched himself out comfortably on the sand. And from afar we saw the fishermen discontinue their hunt.

    

“Good!” Juan exclaimed. “I’m happy that the cross-eyed shark escaped.”

    

“Yes, it had to escape,” I said, agreeing with Juan.

    

Juan turned to me with a quizzical look on his face. “I don’t get you,” he said. “I thought you and those fishermen wanted to catch it.”

    

“Yes, but that cross-eyed shark gives us reason and hope,” I explained. “It gives your father reason to keep building fishing boats and hope that you, Juan, are going to stop your foolishness. It also gives the fishermen reason to continue fishing and hope that someday they will catch Duling, the biggest shark of all.”

    

“How about you?” Juan queried.

    

I gave Juan a mischievous smile. “That cross-eyed shark gives me reason, after 25 years, to go back to the sea again and hunt it,” I answered. “That time I hope I’ll get my two spears stuck to it. So Duling has to escape, otherwise...”

    

 “Otherwise what?” Juan asked.

    

“Otherwise, everybody will know that after all these years, they are also cross-eyed like Duling.” Then I laughed.

    

Juan betrayed a blank stare. He didn’t understand. I elaborated, “Otherwise Juan, everybody will realize that there is just no reason and hope in everything. That is, everything is just foolishness.”

    

“So, if everything is foolishness, then there’s no need for me to change my foolish ways, right?” Juan asked with a leering look on his face.

    

“You see Juan, with or without Duling, you are unreasonable and hopeless,” I answered.

    

“You’re worse!” Juan remarked. “You’ve known this all along.”

    

“I know, but you and all the others don’t,” I said. “That’s the difference. Besides, I was drunk.”

    

“Me too!”

    

“But I drank to it and played along all this time, because I can’t do anything about it,” I said. “Anyway, knowing it or not, all of us are actually unreasonable and hopeless fools.” Then I roared into laughter, and so did Juan.

    

The fishermen, on their way home, passed by us. They laughed with us. But old Ago, the fool on the hill, was among the fishermen who made the loudest laugh of all. He also knew. Even before the fishermen were gone, Juan and I belted the cross-eyed shark drunken song.

    

“La la la, sing with us now all you unreasonable, hopeless, and foolish cross-eyed sharks of the world, la la la.”

Chapter 9: THE ABSOLUTE ART

It had been a while when Kurso and his pitbull chased us. I had assumed that he had forgotten the rock I threw at his house. So, my friend Juan Tabagwang and I were back again at Tomadors' Tavern. After nine bottles of "agua de pataranta" we talked about a very difficult topic. It was about the artist's dream of the possibility of creating the most beautiful art ever, the absolute art.

It all started after I drank another glass of "agua", when Juan asked, "I bet it tastes good?"

"Are you kidding me?" I answered back. "You know that it tastes exquisite in our palate. But once in our stomach, it rumbles like a volcano. It sucks!"

"But the look on your face shows absolute contentment," Juan said. "The outside betrays the inside, huh!?"

"Correct!" I agreed with Juan. Then I took a bottle of "agua de pataranta" and looked at it. "This drink is definitely going to burn us someday," I said.

"But we love to drink it," Juan remarked. "And it's like the love of an artist for his artwork. Initially he is full of exquisite inspirations, only to find out in the end that his work sucks. And some eventually 'burn' themselves figuratively to oblivion."

I looked at Juan as I grinned. "You never stop to amaze me with your incredible comparison," I said.

"And I also never stop trying to achieve the most beautiful artwork ever," Juan added. Then he asked, "How about you?"

"Nope!" I replied. "I never tried because I believe in the philosophical idea that beauty, in art or whatever, is the standard by which ugly things are measured. That is, by comparison, the greater the beauty of a thing, it lessens the greater ugliness of the other. Similarly, the less beautiful the thing is, the less ugly other things are compared to it. Eventually, at a certain point, what is beautiful and ugly becomes one, implying that the most beautiful thing is also the ugliest.

Juan's face portrayed a blank look of confusion. He could not comprehend the philosophical idea I just articulated. So I simplified it.

"Either all are beautiful, or all are beautiful and ugly, or all are ugly," I explained. "It depends on how you look at things. If you choose to believe the first possibility, then you can say that just like the flowers in a garden, anyone is the fairest of them all-all are beautiful. In other words, Juan, every artwork you conceived, or any artist's artwork, is the most beautiful."

"Okay. Granted that you are right," Juan said. Then he asked, "But have you ever found the most beautiful thing ever, unchangeable by time, and lasting for all eternity?"

Juan's question was now in the realm of the absolute. I gave him an appropriate poetic reply,

"I have found it.

In the labyrinth of the perfect and sublime.

I have seen it.

Its beauty is beyond description.

My brush is unworthy to paint it.

My canvas cannot contain it.

And I have lost it.

In the wilderness of my dream."

"So, you're implying that the absolute exists," Juan commented, "but only among the perfect and sublime, and in our dreams."

Before I could say anything to Juan, Maria D'Kapri, or Super Kapre as she is popularly called, dropped by to check on us. "Wasting your time again talking about idiotic things," Maria said. "You two never change. You guys are really incorrigible, absolute fools."

"Maria, I agree with you," I remarked. Then I elaborated to her the philosophical meanings of the 'absolute' and 'change.' "The absolute never change, but it causes change. And change cannot cause something to attain the absolute because there's an infinite of transformations and an eternity just to reach the threshold of the absolute. Moreover, if there's no absolute, there's no change. Besides, change implies imperfection".

My mistake, she didn't like philosophy. "Spare me you absolute philosophical foolishness," she remarked. "You're not only an absolute fool; you're also a perfect absolute fool through and through!" She then left us abruptly and looked at me through the corner of her eye with disdain for my philosophical idea.

Juan burst with laughter. Then he said, "Maria proves you wrong. An absolute does exist, not only among the perfect and sublime, and in our dreams."

"You're right Juan, the absolute does exist among us," I said with a mischievous smile of assent.

"Aside from you being the absolute fool, I bet the absolute art exists also?" Juan teasingly asked.

"I need an actual demonstration to show it to you," I replied. "Right now I'm too drunk. You pay for our 'agua', Juan."

"Why me again!?" Juan asked, slightly annoyed.

"Because Maria said that I am an absolute fool, an absolute fool doesn't change his habit of not paying," I replied. "Besides, I have no money."

Juan grudgingly obliged and reached for his wallet. "Omigosh!" he exclaimed. "I accidentally left my wallet at home." He became very uncomfortable as he looked around and didn't know what to do.

"Definitely, Maria will not let us wash dishes this time," I said flippantly. "This time she is going to give each of us an uppercut. Anyway, you order a steak."

"What!?" Juan asked, his eyes wide open with disbelief. "This is serious! Are you kidding!?"

"I'm not, I need time," I replied. "Just do what I told you." I then picked up my canvas and oil paints in a box which happened to be with me during that time.

"What are you going to do?" Juan asked again. This time he was really nervous.

"Just get that order of steak from Maria. I'm going to do an oil portrait of her," I answered.

Juan called Maria and ordered a steak while I painted her. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible so as not to arouse her curiosity as I looked at her once in a while. After a short time, Maria served the steak before us. Juan ate all of it, possibly due to fear of Maria or hunger. At the same time I finished the portrait.

Juan tried to hide under the table when I called Maria. I showed her the portrait oil painting. I said, "Maria, I did this painting just for you as a token of our appreciation for putting up with our folly all this time."

Initially, Maria was suspicious, but when she looked at her portrait, her face lit up with absolute satisfaction and delight. She then showed it to all the drunks in the tavern. All exclaimed in admiration. She then came back to us.

"Thank you very much," Maria said with a great smile on her face. "How much will it cost me?"

"Nothing!" I replied.

"I won't take it for free!" Maria insisted. "In return your orders are on the house. I'll cover for it."

"That includes our tip?" I asked.

"Yes, yes!" she answered.

"And how about additional free agua?"

Maria gave me a very sharp look and then said, "Don't push your luck too far!" But she left us absolutely glad.

I turned to Juan, who raised his head up from under the table and made a deep sigh of relief.

"That painting, Juan, is a good example of an absolute art," I explained. "It captures the beauty of Maria in a brief moment of time. She will change and grow old. I will change, and so will you. But that portrait of Maria's beauty will last a long time. Also, it satisfies one of her innermost desires, it makes her absolutely happy."

It was very late, past midnight, when we left the tavern. We were jolly, due to the effect of the "agua", as we walked the dark, same, old street we always passed by. As usual, we sung our broken and irritating drunken song of absolute art when we passed by the house of Kurso, the Great. But after we finished singing, I stopped walking because I noticed that there was no cursing from Kurso and also no howling and meowing of his dogs and cats.

"Let's go back," I said to Juan.

"For what?" Juan curiously inquired.

I did not answer him. We went back to the house of Kurso. I picked up three big rocks and hurled it, one after the other, to the wooden door of his house. The rocks made terrible crashing sounds. Kurso shouted his cursing and profanities. Also, his dogs and cats howled and meowed.

"Run Juan, quick!" I exclaimed while I was running very fast. However, Juan ran faster.

"You really are an absolute fool!" Juan remarked. "And what you did is absolute stupidity."

"Blame it on the absolute drink, agua," I reasoned.

However, this time Kurso chased us with his Doberman. The dog bounded past me and bit Juan's butt. He ended up in the hospital with a lot of stitches on his butt.

"Why did the dog pass you and bite me instead?" Juan asked.

I did not answer Juan. Actually, he was bitten because he seldom changes his briefs. Dobermans don't like smelly butts. Hehehe.... Besides, he is not a "Tabagwang" for nothing, which also means "the absolute father of all those with smelly butts."
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