The Courier in Payawon

1

The strong scent of newly roasted coffee signaled Tasio to pick up the pace. He raced through the cobble streets of Payawon. Kalesas and pedestrians phased past him as the morning breeze greeted him with a hug. It wasn't like him to be this late, but days like this always came. Its always caused by alcohol or a wake, staying up late seems to trigger his tardiness. But yesterday was a fine day, tiring as all days were, but no worse than before. He decided to blame the neighbor's rooster. The darn thing didn't crow all morning. If it did he'd be up and gone an hour ago. Perhaps a purchase of an alarm clock would help him, given he could save to buy something so expensive. He wondered if it would even wake him up, he wondered even more if he knew how to use one. Won't be too hard, he hoped.

His chains paused in their rattling as the colorful houses shifted into the brick walls of the municipal center. It was an old, Spanish fortress converted into the town's municipal hall. A two floored monstrosity made of red, brown, and white. He made his way inside, watching the imperfections on the walls. They always made his skin crawl. They were riddled with bird nests and insect tunnels, many holes and depressions that lead deeper into the bricks. There was something about it that made the courier uneasy.

Down the flight of cold stairs he arrived at the underground offices. Tasio knew the slow paced morning of coffee and pandesal had long past. Brushing his way through the white and brown faces he found the post office in quite the scene.

"Please, he must receive this package! I have the money for it here. See?" An old woman said. She was stiff as a board, handing some cash on top a strangely wrapped box. Her accent was thick but she spoke the language in an educated manner. She was an old Filipina, hair growing gray and her Spanish dress wrinkled and smudged with dirt.

The giant of a man, Postmaster Wiley Scott, shook his head. His wrinkled, birch skin flared like hot oling. He scratched his nape with large, hairy palms.

"How many times do I have to tell you, we can't send a package without a person's address!" The postmaster answered.

"I can't tell you his address! It's not- um, it's forbidden."

"My God, a forbidden address! I swear all you old fashioned islanders are a bunch of loonies."

The woman raised a sharp index towards the American. "How dare you! I am a graduate of Iloilo's Colegio de San Jose! I own a sugarcane industry with my husband. I am no loonie, Mr. Scott!"

"Well, you were raised by Christians, graduated from a Christian college. Just tell me the damn address!"

The woman pulled back for a moment, steam blowing from her nose. As the two began again with their arguments Tasio took the chance to sneak inside. He stuck to the wall, creeping his way into the office before the furious postmaster could catch him. He kept his back to the bricks, feeling every pit and jagged edge skim his skin and palms. It felt terrible. His stomach chewed itself from the inside with every step. But every step behind the giant was another step from being caught.

"And where do you think you're going, Mr. Isogon?" Tasio froze by the door frame. Mr. Scott's bloodshot eye peered over his wide shoulders. "You're late."

"The neighbor's rooster didn't wake me up, sir. Sorry." He grinned, stifling a chuckle behind clenched teeth. Tasio caught the heel of the old woman as she melted with the moving crowd of clerks. "Did- did she want to send a package of sorts?"

Mr. Scott walked into the office, placing the wrapped box on a table. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was going to get a lawyer if I didn't at least take it. That woman's mad, I tell ya." Mr. Scott often wore a face of steel. A stoic, unmoved manager like that Hedis character Tasio once saw at a vaudeville.