Birthplace

by K. S. Villoso

  I looked at her, confused. “I didn’t mean that,” my mouth immediately countered, just as my brain tried to work around the idea that she was still pissed off. Not pissed off like normal, where she’s dramatic and comical at times—she was angry, really angry. I couldn’t stand that look she was giving me. There was no getting around it—no teasing her out of it, or letting her hit me to take the edge off. It was a look of utter indifference. Like if I could find a culvert to crawl in and die, she wouldn’t give a tiny rat’s ass about it. She wouldn’t be happy...she just wouldn’t care.

  Some people say that life changes happen in the blink of an eye, as if life by itself is a dungeon and a single trigger can cause the floor to collapse or spikes to rain down on you from above. I don’t believe that kind of bullshit. I think that there are certain equilibriums in life that make it difficult for changes to occur unless there’s a catalyst involved. Rachel Ann was angry at me more than she had ever been, it was true, but when I look back at it, I’m sure she would’ve gotten over it somehow. She’d bring it up once in a while just to make me feel bad, but we’d go back to the way we were. And there wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with that.

  I think that’s why I didn’t try nearly as hard as I should’ve to get her to forgive me. Seven years had spoiled me into thinking any friction between us could be solved with a few milkshakes and time. What else was there to expect? We were so used to each other that I stopped thinking about half the things I said to her. Worse things had happened before—that is, I’d done worse things to her—and we just got back to that same old rhythm, because I was lonely when I didn’t hear her voice and I always believed it was the same for her. And so what that Enrique was there, charming, handsome, and jaw-droppingly mysterious? She’d had six other boyfriends before Mark and I was still here.

  So I just sat there and allowed Enrique to take her out for a walk. It didn’t seem like he totally cared for her one way or another before, but our “fight”, if you could’ve called it that, bothered him more than he let on. I figured he just wanted her to cool her head so we could make up and get the hell out of his home. As soon as they disappeared down the path behind Ciskong’s badly-erected bamboo fences, I sat on the couch and tried to find something worth watching on the TV. It was awkward having to bend over to press the buttons, since the TV lacked any sort of remote, but having only four or five channels to pick from made up for it.

  Someone came up and knocked on the door. I chose to ignore it—I figured I would just turn the TV off and pretend there was no one at home. But then a definite female voice called out for Enrique and my curiosity got the better of me. I leaned over the window to try to get a look without her seeing me. I must have made too much noise, because as soon as my head touched the curtains she turned to me and smiled.

  The first thing that popped into my head was that Rachel Ann was not going to be happy about this. I mean, a good-looking guy like Enrique—of course he already had someone. And that someone was gorgeous, as women went. She didn’t wear makeup, but her lips were full and red and her skin, though brown-toned at the edges, was pale. She had what we called a Filipiniana look—big eyes with full lashes, a somewhat broad nose, and a petite figure. I could already see Rachel Ann tearing her hair (the girl’s, not her own) to shreds.

  My treacherous mouth smiled back. “If you’re looking for Enrique, he’s not here,” I said. I casually leaned against the windowsill. “Can I take a message?”

  She laughed. My treacherous heart skipped a beat. “And you must be his guest. He asked to borrow some of my clothes earlier—for your, ah, friend, so he said.”

  “That was you? Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” I went up to the door and met her by the steps. She stood about as tall as me, which surprised me. I had thought her to be much shorter.

  “I wanted to see if Riko needed anything else, and how your friend was doing with my clothes. I hope they fit.”

  “They do. I’m sure she’d say thanks, if she was here.”

  “Where did they go, anyway?”

  I gave a shrug. “For a walk. I guess Enrique wanted to show her something.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I see.”

  “What do you mean.”

  “Nothing.” She tucked a lock of hair over her ear and smiled.

  “That tells me it’s not nothing. What aren’t you telling me? Come on.” I pretended to grin. “I can keep a secret.”

  “It’s just that Riko—well, let’s just say he has a way with the ladies.”

  “He’s not your boyfriend, then?”

  “Of course not!” She looked embarrassed to have said so much. “That’s just—he’s like my brother, Riko. We grew up together. Anyway.” She peered through those long lashes of hers and glanced up at me. “We’re already talking and we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. You do have a name, don’t you?” And she placed a cold hand on my arm. I could see her smooth throat from where I stood.

  A flowery scent drifted up my nostrils, distracting me from any further thoughts of Rachel Ann and Enrique traipsing about in the dark. Let them get lost, for all I cared. They were the ones who left me in the first place, anyway. “Pablo,” I squeaked.

  “Hi, Pablo,” she said. “I’m Rebecca. You can call me Bek-bek.”

  “Really? That doesn’t suit you at all. You should get a new nickname. Like Becky. Or Becca.”

  “You’re the first guy who’s ever told me that. Is that how you talk to girls in Manila?”

  “No.” I offered her an arm. “But if you want, I can show you.”

  I’m no Mark. I’ve had about two girlfriends in my life and my relationships with them weren’t anything to write home about. The first was actually back in First Year—Gracie, this pink-cheeked transfer from some fancy international school. She was immediately pegged as a rich kid and was alienated to the point that she’d sometimes go home in tears. I lent her an eraser one day without realizing that it was probably the first time anyone in that school had treated her as a human being. She latched onto me like a limpet. Back then, I didn’t have the kind of stony heart and sharp tongue that would’ve made me tell her that I wanted a new eraser, anyway, and had been looking for an excuse to throw away my old one.

  So she started following me around like a starving puppy. I couldn’t exactly say no—she always brought amazing lunches, like sandwiches with actual meat, or spaghetti that didn’t taste like garlicky candy. At some point or another it got into people’s heads that we were an item, and I didn’t mind. Having a girlfriend at that age elevated you from the average loser. I started smoking that year, too, just to add to the effect. It worked. People actually let me sit at their tables after that, instead of scoffing that I would dare ask.

  We “broke up” after she had to move again to another school about six months later. We still wrote to each other sometimes. Right now she was in the United States and her last letter was still in my desk back home, unanswered.

  The second girlfriend, as you can guess by now, was Joy. A friend introduced us last summer during a late-night beer session at some bar in Makati. I didn’t realize we hit it off until she called me one night, incoherent and blubbering about her fool of an ex-boyfriend. I didn’t really pay attention to her story, but I must’ve said the right amounts of “I understand” and “screw him,” because she kept calling me after and we kept having dates. We became official right after the start of school.

  Being older had everything to do with it, of course, but I couldn’t help but remember how simple my relationship with Gracie had been in comparison to Joy. The former consisted of group dates in the mall, holding hands, and sharing soda from a bag. The latter was a complete basket-case. First of all, she belonged to a different school, which was about two jeepney rides away. She insisted we see each other at least twice a week, if not more often. Sometimes she would flaunt our relationship in public, and kiss me or lean up against me with her hand in my lap; other times she insisted we walk apart so people wou
ldn’t know we were going out. The highlight of it all involved her ex, who constantly texted me about my last day on earth, or how much teeth I was going to lose, or the size of my penis.

  Of course, the crazy thing was that I actually thought things would work out between us. All things considered, I liked Joy. She was the kind of girl you’d be proud to point out and call your girlfriend. She was attractive, smart, funny and charming in social situations. You were never really embarrassed to be around her. And then four months later I heard that she was seen walking around with her ex. She never even gave me the chance to confront her about it—she just stopped speaking to me. So I decided I was the one dumping her, and a couple of weeks later I heard that Rachel Ann went over to her school and had to be thrown out by the security guards.

  But that’s that. I started thinking about both girls when Becca excused herself to use the CR. About how I never really pursued them of my own will—they just kind of fell into my lap. Talking to Becca had made me realize just how clueless I was in carrying a conversation with a girl. I mean real girls, of course, not tomboys in denial like Rachel Ann. Okay, so it started out fine while we were outside, but it all went downhill as soon as we got into the living room. A lot of the things I said confused her. Maybe it was her lack of Tagalog, or my shoddy attempt at the dialect, but I think it was mostly that my sense of humour was just too crude for her taste. Like, we were watching TV and I made a joke about how this game show host had a face that looked like it got smashed under a train, and she just looked at me, you know? I mean, she was smiling and all, but it made me uncomfortable.

  I was still sitting there trying to figure out what I would say to her next when Rachel Ann and Enrique strolled in. I think the confusion was plain on my face, because Rachel Ann said, “What?” and Enrique asked, “Is everything alright?”

  “Becca—Rebecca’s here,” I stammered.

  Rachel Ann looked confused. Enrique looked worried.

  “Riko!” Becca came up from behind them and grabbed Enrique’s bicep. “I was just getting acquainted with Pablo. Hello, nice to meet you,” she added, turning to Rachel Ann. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Rachel Ann,” she said coldly. She gave me another glance, and that was it. That damn girl could read me like a book. She gave Rebecca a polite smile and disappeared into her room. I snorted. What reason did she have to get pissed now, anyway? Because I was talking to another girl when I should have been grovelling at her feet? Please. I’d already told her sorry—she could take it or leave it.

  Enrique grimaced, as if he just shat himself. I swear to God, you could really only take that brooding look so far. He turned to Becca and then me and there was this awkward silence that lasted a few seconds.

  “Well,” Becca finally said, cocking her head towards me. “I should go.”

  “I’ll take you home,” Enrique grunted, looking for all the world like he would rather be doing something else.

  We smiled and parted ways.

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  * * *

  So um, okay... that night, I dreamt of Rebecca. We were at this waterfall, swimming, and she came up and looked at me with this hunger in her eyes the way I’d never had a girl look at me before. She licked her lips and my heart leaped to my throat. I became aware of how her wet dress clung to her body, from her cleavage and all the way down to her hips. Then I woke up, sweating and heady and uncomfortable, and I realized I was alone again.

  This time I was sure that Ciskong and Enrique were there before I had gone to bed. I got up and trudged to the kitchen, where I dipped a glass in a clay basin of water for a drink. While I stood there thinking, the wind came in and blew the door open.

  I walked across the living room, meaning to shut and then latch it behind Ciskong’s and Enrique’s backs (just to teach them a lesson, you understand), but for some reason I didn’t—I stepped through the doorway and stood outside in the dark while the chill ran over my skin. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, which had been flattened while I slept.

  The moon was out—very round and very bright, without the usual blanket of pollution. As soon as I gazed up at it I heard the distinct sound of a dog howling.

  I had to grin at myself, even with the cigarette hanging halfway in my mouth. Clearly, I’d been watching too many horror movies. Ciskong didn’t even own a dog, and I hadn’t seen one since we’d been here. I guess I got a bit busy trying to pat my pockets for my lighter and fiddling around with it in the dark, because when I finally saw the hump move from the corner of my eyes, I freaked out and burnt my thumb.

  I stood there in that grey darkness, fighting the urge to curse my clumsy fingers. Okay, so I was wrong. Ciskong probably owned a dog. A part of me insisted that was enough information and that if I was in any way sane, I would go back inside and sleep. I lingered half a second longer and noticed that the chicken coop lay in that exact same direction.

  I had no reason to care about Ciskong’s chickens. But it was an excuse, a way to justify finding out that whatever I saw really was just a dog. I pulled out my wallet, which had a tiny LED flashlight attached to the keychain holder, and stumbled into the grey darkness. I was barely two steps away when I saw the shadow again. “Hoy!” I yelled, and gave chase. The shadow darted into a clearing and I saw that it was indeed a dog—a black-furred, mangy-faced dog. As if it could have been anything else. I laughed, realizing that my palms had grown cold and sweaty, and grabbed a rock to throw at it.

  It swerved before I could even raise my arm. But it didn’t run off. “Shoo! Get, now!” I started again, stomping my slippered foot for emphasis.

  It slowly approached me. I was too surprised to move. It bared its teeth and bit me on the toe. I jolted, kicking it under the jaw. It screamed and scampered into the bushes.

  This time, I really did curse myself. I swore all the way back to the hut. Jesus—the damn thing probably had rabies. I should have learned that I wasn’t myself this early in the morning. I dragged myself back to the hut, suspecting that my toe was bleeding and would probably be swollen come dawn.

  A tall shadow hovering outside Rachel Ann’s door startled me. I was still holding the flashlight, so I flicked it up and shone a light straight into Lolo Ciskong’s face. He drew back, clenching his teeth. “Lolo,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh...” he managed, as if just recognizing me. He rubbed his jaw. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

  “I came out wondering where you went off to,” I said slowly.

  “Ah.” He smiled. “You shouldn’t ask an old man that. I’m embarrassed to admit that my bowels trouble me in my sleep. But there you go. I should return to bed. So should you, if you want to be alert tomorrow.” He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

  “Thank you,” I grunted. I watched him walk to the mat on the floor and curl up in a corner. It seemed to me that he was very exhausted. Probably from grunting and straining all night long. It occurred to me, too late, that I didn’t ask about Enrique. Did he have weak bowels, too?

  I managed to get a better look at my wound when I woke up sometime before lunch. It was smaller than I’d anticipated—just pretty much a small tear around my big toe. Cleaner, too. To be honest it looked more like a cat bite, if the cat had the jaw strength to go with those sharp teeth. I always thought a dog bite had more bruising than tearing, especially considering how the dog only nipped me.

  It did hurt like hell. I didn’t have any band-aids, so I went and found one of Enrique’s shirts and tore out the bottom to tie around my toe. I didn’t ask his permission, of course, since it’s not like he had the courtesy to wake me up for breakfast, which was cold coffee and cold bread. The heartless bastards. I slumped in the empty kitchen and pretended to enjoy myself and not worry about where Rachel Ann or Enrique had gone off to. It wasn’t like I needed anyone to keep me company, anyway. I’d had brunches like this most of my life. I opened up my phone and saw I had four messages.
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  One came from Daryl, asking if I was all right. Sweet cousin. I was wondering if he had known I was gone. I sent him a smiley face. Wasted load, but hey, it was Mike’s money, not mine.

  Another was from a classmate back in Manila, asking me how our vacation was going. He must’ve found out that I took Rachel Ann with me here. I said we were fine, no problem, and made a joke about how we were five days away from Christmas Eve and I hadn’t done any Christmas shopping at all. I also told him that Rachel Ann had met someone new. I tried to imagine the kind of trouble this would stir up with Mark’s people and couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

  The last two were from Mike. One was sent yesterday, about a couple of hours after I’d turned my phone off to conserve the battery. It said that Rachel Ann’s father had stopped his gun-toting vigil, but that he was still staying at my aunt’s place, refusing to leave. The other was a note of dismay about the impassable condition of the roads this far up the hills, due to all the rain.

  I glanced outside. It was true that it had rained most of last night, but the roads were perfectly okay yesterday. Why would he say such a thing? While I thought this over, someone from the other side of the back door knocked softly, and I got up to answer. It was Becca, hiding under an umbrella with this sheepish smile on her face.

  A flicker of last night’s dream ran through my memory. I struggled to keep a straight face and invited her in. She folded the umbrella outside the door and pulled herself into a chair. “Thanks. I saw Riko and your friend by the store and wondered why you weren’t there. They said you were still sleeping.”

  “I was pretending to,” I said. “Didn’t want to interrupt them.”

  “You look like a mess. Didn’t you get a good night’s sleep? Your eyes are so...” She reached over and pressed her thumb against my chin. I flushed. It was such an overly intimate gesture for a country girl. She noticed my discomfort and immediately pulled away.