Runaway across the sea

Chapter 7: Shifting environs

27 Unanimously, we renewed our separation; yet, all concurred to meet back at Espana Boulevard the upcoming day. An easy task for these foreign nationals since a mere two minute destination away from Quiapo. Except...Rosal obligated us to produce something as an offering. To whom and why?...We let go pressing into details due to nightfall was looming forth. Contrastingly, such was improbable for Vincent to keep his yapper out, "Are we being sacrificed?"; Rosal placidly replied, "...Something like that.". Prior this whole business, we catered to our appetites inside a carinderia, confined below the mass transit system. For your reference Froi, Carinderia is broadly identical to a small-scale restaurant here. Twa's an inimitable adventure, with meals of your choice that lined-up internally in these silver containers called Calderos. The tables are generally set up for a quartette; which our group fits the bill. Each table was assailed by a plastic cover which illustrates fruit doodles in them. I recognized a similar scenario - everybody there were apprehensive to strangers, especially the freckled skinned. Detected as to personate inmates under wary eyes twenty four seven. Nevertheless, we settled down and Rosal treated us to some Filipino food which presented themselves foreign to our tastebuds. Just the same, we barely bothered knowing what's incorporated since according to her oral affidavit, "It is better to enjoy the taste alone.". Julianne demonstrated some apprehensions and pitching the lines that she was a picky eater. "...but didn't you enjoy eating Mrs. Chang's bean curds", telltaling some of her consumption habits when I bivouacked over at her apartment. She mustered an aspect that typically is reserved for St. Nick; about this once was meant for me. In order to not offend Rosal, she decided to delve in. And delved she did, in the mould of a toddler encountering sweets for the very first time. Vincent likewise dived head first when the meal arrived on our corner. The feast was indeed divine that it left all of us kneading our bellies later. Rosal then conducted some more of Manila hot spots: the most veteran of Chinatowns located in Binondo, Manila Bay and Downtown Makati. Every single place was distinctive apart in scene but all with one common denominator - men in military regalia that infested these areas. Ms. Policarpio was apprehensive around them on average; given any possible time, she would distance herself. As for Julianne though, she fostered excitement regarding the last locale I mentioned; considering that it's a host to a lot of retail brands. In spite of the fact that we found ourselves inside a large shopping district, Rosal somewhat neglected reminding us to purchase those supposed gifts as tributes. May be related with her oftentimes reflecting deeply all by herself lonesome on one corner. Whenever her name is summoned, she unfailingly wipes that expression off of her; notwithstanding, I already jutted it down my notes. My secondary farewell to Rosal relayed something to at least distract her from whatever it was bothering her. "I can't wait to see your farm...and your family.", my mouth plainly delivered. She beamed in exchange. I therefore sensed her relief. Seeing Rosal grasp that family will always be the solution to any conundrum. Her hand graced mine and she said, "Thank you.", before embarking conclusively. Stamping our presence again at the meantime, the evening in our quarter was of ruckus in nature. Julianne would be spreading her purchased items on my mattress while Vincent scour over his shots and pleads for opinions. Aye aye!...we turned in on our beds late consequently. The adjacent daybreak and threadbare, we prepared ourselves for our rendezvous with Rosal at earliest of 8. While they grouch about their enervated sense of being, I was facing the mirror inside the bathroom and subtracting the bandages off. A long serious look at the reflection; and unlike a soldier, I was deficient of pride about the scar. A deep-seated gush of wind from my nostrils was a makeshift handle on things to what was staring back. Vincent hollered outside, "Time to Audie 5000 and get our caboose on gear, Man!"; simultaneously striking the door loose. Julianne debuted with a turban of some sort. "Is that a towel over your head? Your hair...still wet?", Steichen fired first. Julianne retaliated, "No! That's fashion darling."; along with a strut plastered in front of the cameraman. The Saint had additional ammo in handy, "Well...if that's Fashion then I'm...". Again, I became the arbitrator that nobody requested for...mainly me. His yapper was going to the clumper which was my digits before it will ruin anyone's day. Thence, rendering them separation at once. Vincent forcibly taken said, "She's such a spaz. Gawd!". I interconnected with him in a language only he would comprehend, "Vincent, close the shades. Now!". He was considerate enough to stop...briefly. Eager for departing, we surpassed the antique halls of the house and the television set was transmitting an achromatic program...or according to Vincent, the 'Boob Tube'...Forget that last part. Anyways...it was playing one of Marcos' political brandishing. The plight outdoors was of the same feather. One each meter was plastered in their TVs hearkening a man on his luxurious presidential chair being crowded with microphones. Vincent was never short on ridicules, "He'd be careful. He might swallow one of those mouthpieces.". Their daily lives linked back after the broadcast wrapped. Right behind this, we gesticulated our farewells for the other guests and Tita Maricon especially. "Buah-bye to you too.", she acknowledged in return and waving that flamboyant fan every which way; her blast of wind generated we had confronted all the way to the door. Although, a minor problem introduced itself. We flailed ourselves silly when the gifts for this enigmatic stranger were called back to mind. Dame of Fortune was on our side though when detecting a public market nearby. A woven basket for me, Julianne's accessory taking the shape of earrings and Vincent?...A handicraft composed of shells and dried twigs. Our luck prolonged when we were able to meet Rosal on time at the bus stop. Her composition greeting us was straightforward. "Just on time. I thought you guys would be late.", she asserted. I had to address her last as Vincent and Julianne contest directly straight up for the bus. Foremost words of mine to her were "Nice morning, Ms. Policarpio.". She gave me a warm smile and conversed "To you too, Mr. Bailey.". A short pause swirled its way amidst us. On the other hand, we can always assure on Vincent to cut the tension, "Say Jack? What are you waiting for?...Winter? Let's go!". She admitted herself ahead of me. Vincent planted himself beside her; Julianne and I?...were situated with two other commuters. The public transpo was loaded; in view of the foregoing, the engine rumbles and away we did go to some undisclosed destination. 'Tis the moment to say adieu to the infantry-filled Manila for now. My inner compass was pointing me into the fitting direction; in all sincerity, I can affirm that then and most especially, this present. Seven and a half hours scalding inside the bus, we have ample time on our hands. In routine, Vincent armed himself with his camera perched beside the laminated window. Julianne was initially minding her own business when the old woman befriended her. They tackled on a lot of truismatic topics, expressly the matriarch's grandchildren. One foregone conclusion that Ms. Cherub is susceptible to are children absolutely. As for me, a cane burdened by a veteran fast asleep was my seat buddy. Every opportune time that the bus hastily breaks and wiggles its passengers, I was on guard for his safety. Just opposite me were Rosal and Vincent in attendance; I was capable to amuse her by my heroic actions to not let the elder injure himself. Throughout, we would endeavor to summon comical hand and facial gestures at one another. Hehehe...it became adventurous more so when other passengers being supplemented from another bus that broke down. Clucking chickens, farmers protective of their produce and scampering children were all accounted for. Once more, a glimpse of Rosal takes lead and I saw a scarf ruled around her neckline; illustrating that she was invaded by the cold. Bounded by the West Philippine Sea, another characteristic was at play; scenic coastal views outlay its sights with a warm handshake and a smile. Counterclockwise were heterogenous hues of blue while we were cushioned by the vast green vegetation on our right. Nature dons the landscape in this portion of the country. Truly, my retained image of this was for the scrapbooks. Five hundred kilometers conquered, we landed on route pointing to Rosal's farmhouse. We bid our co-passengers our valedictions as we got off the bus stop. Thereof, a little boy prideful in his shorts and sleeveless undershirt met us intermediately...Hey. What's that snigger about?...Anyways, Rosal arched in a mile a minute and yielded this four-foot boy a homecoming gift, one big hug. "Guys. This little guy is my younger brother Beboy.", she informed us gaily. How noticeable Julianne was in preventing herself to pinch the boy's cheeks. I leaned over and submitted myself for his acceptance, "Hello there. Are you the man of the Policarpio house?". 27