Persona Non Grata

Scene 2 - The Journalist

As soon as I finished my business with the chief editor, I immediately made my way towards the end of the street of Calle Cabildo where I'm supposed to meet two contacts of mine. Of all the places they could pick to meet, they chose a small panciteria. A PANCITERIA, of all places! Dios mio!

Disappointing, to say the least, as it's just beside La Cathedral Cafe, where the view is undoubtedly more scenic and the ambiance is more suited to our exchange. But...well, beggars can't be choosers. These two young gentlemen are by far the best source of information that I have right now regarding the goings-on in the 'business' district of Tondo, for they are the only ones daring enough to venture that far into the belly of the beast. For some seemingly tame students from a higher institution, their work is quite impressive. It was actually thanks to them that I got my hands on the manifest of the shipment of goods relating to the recent heist made by the tulisanes. Where they get their information, I will never know. However, I'm glad that I have these young men on my payroll. Because without them, my articles would never gain traction in the market and Diario de Manila would not bask in the prestige it enjoys today.

I approached a small stall situated just beside La Cathedral that matched the description Quintino gave me. The entrance is rather wide, and is adorned with two, red oval-shaped paper lanterns with familiar Oriental characters written on them. The front of the store is rather strange for a panciteria, because the only thing that separates the outside from the inside of the store is not a door, but a long strip of banner-like curtains that hung near the entrance, covering the upper half of it. The lower half of it, however, is visible from the outside and you can see a long stool set in front of a table counter - and from where I stand, I spy a pair of pantalones that's all too familiar for me not to recognize. 

I casually entered the premises of this 'panciteria', and lo and behold, before me is a young man slurping noodles from a large, black bowl using a pair of palillos (chopsticks). An elderly man wearing a white traditional robe stood behind the counter, tidying up his table.

"I have never seen anyone as sloppy as you with palillos." I remarked as I took a seat a few paces beside him.

"Will you cut me some slack, Vidañez? This is my first time! I'm trying my best! Unlike you, you've stayed in countries like Japan long enough to know how to use these damn sticks! I've never had experience with these cursed utensils!" Quintino complained in a frustrated tone, trying to put his meal into his mouth in an awkward pincer.

"Then use a spoon for goodness's sake! You eat like a damn child!" I parried. "You're ruining the ramen!"

"Ra....what? That's a weird way to say 'lomi'." Quintino commented.

"That's not lomi, you oaf. You do realize that you're eating in a Japanese noodle stand?" I rebuked.

"Japanese? Nonsense! There are no Japanese in Intramuros!" Quintino countered. "This is a panciteria owned by an old Chinese entrepreneur. Francisco and I have been frequenting this store for years. We know the owner! I mean, he doesn't speak a word of Tagalog or Castillan, but he usually acknowledges us with nods of familiarity."

"I've been in Japan long enough to know that this place is indeed Japanese, Quintino." I argued.

"Then I suppose, since you know some Nihongo, you can converse with the owner, then?" Quintino challenged, wearing a smug smile on his face.

"You really don't believe me, do you? I'll show you then." I muttered softly as I turned to the owner. "Obaa-san (Uncle)."

"Hai? (Yes?)" he responded neutrally. Apparently, this is what his customers think his name is.

"Sumimasen. Kore wa ikuradesu ka? (Excuse me. How much is this?)" I asked politely, as I pointed at Quintino's meal.

The man's face brightened and with a smile he replied. "Ahah! Siiiko peso. Siiiko! (Perhaps he was saying five pesos? Rather cheap, I'd say)"