Chapter 18: IF ONLY I COULD HOLD BACK THE TIME

Juan Tabagwang and I found ourselves again walking aimlessly along the same dirty and crowded old street we used to pass by. We caught sight of the parrot, Periko, on his perch in the bird shop, Mga Ibon ni Adarna. He was drunk and singing a drunkard's song. Nearby was a bottle of agua de pataranta, boxes of crackers and many different fruits. He was fed lavishly by his owner who was afraid of Periko's attorney, the "Liar," who might demand more rights and benefits for his client.

We also happened to pass by the corner street where a little girl was selling sampaguita flower necklaces. Though very poor, the girl was spirited and cheerful. But it was her confident innocence that impressed me most. Not far from the little girl was a beggar, an old woman. She looked very sad, in pain and despondent. And her trembling hand held an empty alms box. I gazed for a while at the pitiful old beggar. But my attention was distracted when I heard the voice of the little girl.

"Mister …," she said smiling as she offered the sampaguita flowers to Juan, "fragrant necklaces?"

"Ok, give me one," Juan said.

"Just one!?" the little girl said as her smile suddenly vanished and became a frown. She gave the flower to Juan, and then she turned to me. "You two are cheapskates!"

"Only my companion," I said as I gently elbowed Juan who looked at me in disbelief, "we're jobless right now but once we have a lot of money, we'll buy all of your sampaguitas."

The little girl stuck out her tongue at me, took the money from Juan, and then she turned her back from us. As she swaggered away, she said, "hmph!"

I just raised my eyebrows as I smiled at her. But before we left, I looked at Juan through the corner of my eye as I smiled and pointed my thumb at the old woman. He knew what I meant.

"Now, who's the cheapskate!?" Juan said in a sarcastic tone. "Again, don't tell me you don't have any money?"

Juan was right. Nevertheless, he obliged me and he dropped his last money, a change, into the alms box of the old woman. And the sound of the coin caused a slight pained smile on her face, a token of gratitude for Juan's generosity.

As we walked away I turned to look once more at the old woman. Even after a week, her haunting very sad face still lingered in my mind. So I decided to capture that look on a canvas. With my oil painting box, brushes and a small canvas, Juan and I returned, and from a distance, unnoticed by the old beggar, we positioned ourselves. After three hours, I finished the oil portrait.

"By the contour of her face, she was beautiful when she was still young," Juan remarked as he admiringly looked at the painting.

"Yes," I agreed with him, "even after all those many years that had gone by."

"She reminds me of Mona," Juan said as he pondered, "and the only difference is that there's a pained sadness in her smile."

"Now, Juan, let's make her happy," I said as I tapped his shoulder, "you give your money for dinner as payment for painting her without her permission."

"Again!?" Juan exclaimed, aghast at what I said as he scratched his head. "How am I supposed to eat tonight?"

"Stop complaining, Juan," I said as I gathered my oil paints and brushes, "your generosity will be highly commended by someone above."

Though Juan whined and murmured, he again obliged me. A month after that, I entered the painting in a contest. I didn't win, however it was bought by a collector for a decent sum of money. Juan was extremely delighted when he knew about it.

"We can drink agua de pataranta everyday for three weeks with that amount of money," he said wide-eyed and looking up as if thanking someone above for the unexpected agua blessing.

"Yeah, right," I said, "and end up thoroughly burned inside."

"But there is enough money left over for our medical bills," Juan said, and then he roared with laughter.

I deadpanned for a moment as I looked at Juan, sighed, then just smiled at his idiocy. Actually, my plan was to give all the money to the old woman. Sadly, she died before I can give it to her. She was buried near the edge of a forested area in a nameless grave, at the government's expense, marked only by a cross made from two small branches which were tied together by a discarded plastic sheet. Nevertheless, dotting and growing on her grave and round about are colorful little wild flowers. The place was very peaceful, broken only once in a while by the chirping of the birds. Nearby were the garish graves and mausoleums.

"Why don't you just donate it to the religious charities?" Juan suggested.

"No," I said, "they have very deep pockets.

"How about giving it to the poor?"

"Maybe."

"We're poor and jobless," Juan beamed, "we can give it to ourselves and drown ourselves drinking the agua."

I almost smacked Juan's head with my hand for his stupid remark. "It's your fault Juan for being poor and jobless," I said with a grin, "why don't you go back and apologize to Ed A. D'tor, tell him that you're sorry."

"He won't forgive me," Juan said.

"No, he will forgive you," I insisted, "all you have to do is stop doing superheroes, it's simply not in our culture."

"Ed A. D'tor is a moron," Juan said firmly.

"No," I said, countering him, "It's your superheroes that are moronic."

Juan was too proud to apologize. Anyway, I decided to buy all the sampaguita flowers of the little girl. She couldn't believe her good fortune; she’s wide-eyed as she smiled at us.

"See, did I not tell you that I'll buy all your flowers," I said as I winked at the little girl, "now, you know who the cheapskate is."

Juan perked up, but he said nothing. He just scratched his head and sighed as he looked up. But as we were leaving, I sadly missed the old woman. Even the loud drunken singing of the parrot, Periko, in the bird’s shop as we passed by it and Juan's light-hearted jokes did not alleviate my sadness. We eventually ended at the cemetery where the old woman was buried. Juan noticed the gaudy, gated mausoleums.

"I bet you, during the resurrection, these people cannot get out of their tombs," he said looking at the gated mausoleums, "those concrete and iron bars will prevent them from getting out."
I looked at Juan as I marveled again at his idiocy. But just to humor him, I said, "they have no intention of getting out, they're so comfortable in their air-conditioned mausoleums."

Juan turned to me amazed. But getting the sense of what I meant, he roared into loud laughter. It distracted the two crows, Jack and Jill, feasting on the food offerings for the dead. They flew away carrying some of the food.

"Aren't those food offerings for the dead?" Juan asked, confused. "To be eaten by the dead in their reincarnated afterlife or resurrection?"

"Yes," I answered as I flippantly laughed, "and those two crows, Jack and Jill, are the resurrected dead.

Juan looked unconvinced; my foolish explanation caused him to scratch his head. Even at the grave site of the old woman, Juan was still thinking about the food offerings for the dead. His deep thought was only distracted when I draped the sampaguita flowers over the grave site.

"What use are these flowers for?" Juan queried. "These cannot resurrect the old woman, could it?

"No, Juan," I answered with a sigh of frustration, "It's just one last little obligation and respect for someone unrelated to us who has departed."

On our way home, we dropped by at the Tomadors' Tavern and ordered 18 bottles of agua de pataranta. After drinking several bottles, serious thought flashed in my mind when I glanced at Maria D'Kapri, the Super Kapre. She looked strong-willed, very sure of herself with neither care of the past nor the future. And Juan, just like me, was reckless and proud, eating, drinking, and enjoying the present as if there was also no tomorrow. The old beggar was the future, and it saddened me when I thought about her. But I longed for the spirited life of the past, the life of innocence, when I thought about the little girl.

The Sun was setting when we left the tavern. Neither I nor Juan was singing a drunken song that night. But our homeward bound journey into the darkness was inevitable just like the setting Sun which we have to face someday. Oh, how I wished that day if only I could hold back the time.