Beautiful
by Dale de Leon
I.
"inviting you (stop) come and visit my place (stop) pick up Joni's stuff (stop) signed: Andres Lorenzo"
I read the telegram again, just to be sure, and put it on top of the cabinet. I placed some coins over it. Spotting some Marlboro's nearby, I took the box and tapped out a stick.
Andres Lorenzo was my sister's lover before her untimely demise. I haven't thought of that name for nearly two years since Joni's passing. Lighting my cigarette, I looked at the city view spread out before me in the wide expanse of my condominium's glass window. Has it only been that long? It felt like a century. God, I missed Joni so much. I did nothing but mope and cry inside my room during those 22 long months.. Joni. My beloved twin sister. Dead at the tender age of 25.
In my depression I tried to blot out those months with alcohol, sleeping pills, and endless work. The pain was just too much to bear... the emptiness too hollow, the silence too loud. My sister was gone forever! My Yang. My life. My love.
But not even fatigue nor altered states of consciousness could alleviate the emptiness that engulfed me like a hungry, fallow beast. I walked through life as if in a daze... as if I was going through a really bad black and white movie where there was no plot, just endless shots of film to mark what otherwise was a dull and pathetic life.
I should have died with her. At least I wouldn't have had to live through all this pain.
My lungs expanded to let as much nicotine into my system as my breath would allow me. What use was there in living when life no longer held any color for me? I let the smoke out from my lungs, willing my mind to clear itself of similar toxins.
I let go of the pain... even for just a moment.
My thoughts went back to the telegram. I tried to recall what I could of Andres Lorenzo. A portrait of a brooding, introspective man popped up in my head. I recalled that Joni had introduced him to me during those rare occasions when her work led her to Manila. My sister was a top-notch freelance photographer and journalist. While working in Mindanao covering the San Isidro expose, Joni met Andre at one of the political rallies held in Davao City. He was a political scion... the grandson of a prominent Congressman and the nephew of the incumbent Governor of one of those guerilla-infested provinces down south.
Joni and Andre were a study in contrasts. Where Joni was outgoing and outspoken, Andre seemed shy and reserved. Where Joni was politically-active with her causes and her journalistic work, Andre actually hated politics altogether and preferred to stay clear of anything that reeked of the government. Physically, the contrast was even more apparent. Joni and I had mixed Chinese and Spanish blood. From our genes came our lean but compact build, fair skin and slightly-brownish hair. As a result, we both looked younger than our actual age. Andre, who looked every inch an aristocrat, came from bulkier Spanish blood. He was big-boned and stocky, with masculine features that lent him a dark and brooding air. I thought Joni and Andre made a handsome pair.
I've got to admit though, the two did have one romantic similarity. Both were dreamers and hopeless romantics. Joni, aside from being a photographer-journalist, was also an accomplished painter and gifted pianist. Andre, who had one of the most masculine voices I've ever heard, was the front man for an up-and-coming metal rock band called Splinter.
I had never seen Joni being that smitten with anyone in her life. You couldn't pry her away from Andre when she was here in Manila. Naturally, I felt jealous. He was someone someone that I had to compete for Joni's affections with. But I didn't let that get to me when I saw how happy my sister was to be with someone who clearly loved and adored her. Besides, Andre genuinely seemed to be a nice guy, although he was a bit distant. I didn't take that against him. We'd just met back then. Still, like a typical concerned brother, I tried to get to know more about Andres Lorenzo to see if he was going to be a good man for my sister. It was a good thing that I was with the media.
From what my sources tell me, his background checked out, although from what I gathered, there was a lot to be desired from his family's political practices. Also, I didn't like the fact that Andre and I never warmed up to each other. He was always clinging to Joni. We never talked much. There was definitely something odd about that guy, but I decided that I was just being paranoid and customarily told my sister the usual warnings (get to know him first before doing anything rash; don't let him push you around; don't let him lay a hand on you; etc.). Joni just laughed and told me I was acting like Dad. I gave her a hug and told her to be happy.
A couple of months later, she was dead and looking ethereally beautiful inside her coffin. Reports say that she died from a boating accident that left 3 people wounded and Andre lying comatose in the hospital. We buried Joni a couple of days after and I never heard of Andres Lorenzo ever since.
Until now.
I took a hold of the telegram and took another long drag at the cigarette. God, I miss Joni. I read the words all over again and considered it. Well... the truth was that I really needed a break. After Joni's death, I just went through the motions of my editorial job in City Magazine and refused all invitations to go out and socialize with all my concerned friends. Also, there was the curiousity of seeing how my sister had been living in those months that she was in Mindanao. I hope I could recover all of Joni's artworks, photographs and writings left over at San Isidro. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll find the inspiration to go back and write. It's been so long since I had written anything substantial.
I took the phone off its cradle and dialed the number of my contact who was working at the telegram office.
"Hey Ella? Yeah, it's me, Jules Vallejo. Listen, can you send something out for me in this address? Yeah, the message is: 'Dear Mr. Lorenzo, I accept your offer. I'll be flying in within 5 days. Jules Vallejo.' Got it? Great, just put it on my tab, okay Ella? Thanks. Buh-bye."
I put the phone down and took my last drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out on an ashtray. I hope they had Marlboro's in San Isidro.
II.
It felt unusually hot and muggy inside the fastcraft, although the airconditioning was up. It looked like a cloudy day outside. It had been 5 hours since my arrival in Cagayan de Oro via plane. That counted as 2 additional hours for the land trip and 3 more on this boat. I was more than anxious to get out and recuperate from my fatigue.
I tried to focus on the cheap B-movie that was playing on the boat's in-house TV, but the corny antics of Chinese actors only heightened my impatience to get out. Willing myself to remain calm, I looked outside to pleasantly find that the distant island of San Isidro couldn't be more than 30 minutes away. So, I stood up from my seat and walked out the cabin unto the salty deck.
Leaning on the railings, I contemplated on whether the unease I felt was due to travel fatigue or whether it was because of the anxiety of meeting up with Joni's ghost. My hands were trembling. I tried to rub them to keep them warm. Joni's death never made sense to me. My sister and I were both good swimmers. Should anything have happened, I know Joni could have swum to safety. But the reports were sketchy at best, and I had to concede that anything could have happened in that accident. She could have bumped her head. She could have been trapped by the boat underneath the water. She could have been a victim of foul play.
No, no, stop it, stop it, STOP IT! I put my hands on my head and massaged my throbbing forehead. It was useless to torture myself any further. How could anything have happened? It was a boating accident. Other people were also injured. Andres Lorenzo was even in a coma for 5 months. And yet... Joni was the only one who died.
Suddenly, the boat was too small and the water too close for comfort. The smell of salty water became nauseating and my stomach heaved from panic. I slumped weakly on the deck and tried to think of anything BUT the swaying of the boat and the murky blue depths of the sea. Twenty. Twenty more minutes and we'll be docking on land.
Hands trembling, I just sat there numbly until someone from the boat's crew found me and led me back inside the cabin.
III.
After what seemed like an eternity, the fastcraft finally docked on the pier. The grimy half-naked dock hands from on shore clambered in and tried to bully the craft's passengers into letting them carry their bags and packages. Although I didn't doubt their honesty (these men just wanted to make a living), I didn't really need much help with the few baggages that I carried. I politely but firmly told the man offering to help me that I could carry it on my own. And so I stepped outside, relieved that I was finally on solid land.
Putting my dark glasses and baseball cap on, I surveyed the scene that was laid out before me. It was a tropical paradise. The dark-brown beach front looked inviting. Coconut leaves swayed lazily with the wind while quaint nipa huts dotted the landscape. Humble fisherfolk clad in salt-stained clothes went around slowly, either mending their nets, hawking their catches to the tourists, or tending to their weather-beaten boats. The fishermen's children with their unkempt, sun-bleached hair and dark complexions looked on shyly at us before going back to play with their friends.
The sight was a welcome comfort from the vertigo that was the cabin deck. I smiled a bit and then shifted my gaze back to the busy pier to look for my welcoming committee.
The pier was a ruckus of passengers, dock hands, fishermen and peddlers. Everywhere, people were rushing in and out and making their way to their vehicles. Some were haggling with the many tricycle drivers plying their services by the roadside.
After a few minutes of scanning, I could make out three people who were headed towards me. I could easily identify Andre. He was an imposing figure at his tall height. Sporting the clean-shaven head that he had when I met him in Manila, I was surprised to find that he'd gained a lot of weight since I last saw him. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, you would've never guessed that his grandfather was the most powerful man in San Isidro.
Right beside him were two other men who looked like his assistants. One guy looked gaunt but a closer look at his arms revealed that he was tightly corded with sinew and muscle... the physique of an all-around laborer. The other guy was shorter, and squat, but he looked just as sturdy as the other guy, despite his big beer-gut.
I walked on over to them and offered my hand to Andre, who gave me a firm handshake.
"Welcome to San Isidro, Jules," he said simply, giving me a brief but reserved smile. "How was your trip?"
"I arrived here safe, that's all that concerns me," I wryly told my host. It was the fatigue talking. I didn't feel very congenial. Was it my imagination but did that strike a chord with him? "You've got a very beautiful island here," I said amicably, trying to counter the sarcasm in my first reply. "I'm glad I came. It's almost a vacation after the grueling pace in Manila."
Andre nodded in understanding and instructed his boys to bring my bags. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I was there a couple of months ago, trying to cut a new track with my band. The traffic there has gone worse."
We walked together back to where a dusty pick-up truck was waiting. Andre's men put my bags at the back and covered it with a tarpauline. Both men then clambered at the back for the ride home.
Andre got to the driver's seat and I sat at the passenger's side. He then got the car running and before you knew it... we were on our way.
IV.
We made some idle chit-chat along the journey.
I asked Andre some questions about the sights we saw on the road, how the guerilla situation has been... things like that. He mostly asked me about my job, the mutual acquaintances we had in Manila, how my folks have been doing.
All in all, there was this unspoken agreement to skirt around the issue of Joni's death until we both had the emotional and physical energy to deal with it.
Andre inserted a tape in the car stereo and soon the slick tune of electric guitars and drum beats filled the truck. "Your new cut?," I asked him.
"Nah, it's actually a B-side of something we did that never made the cut on our last album. A pity. I liked it," he said, never taking his eye off the road.
I listened to the song. Yeah... I agreed with Andre. This was pretty good. The song began with a harsh and explosive guitar riff then suddenly stopped. A slow, rhythmic strumming of the bass then followed through with some lazy finger work on lead. Andre's rich, gravel baritone then floated in the foreground. "You cannot be my misery/ I won't let you be my agony/ No, you just wouldn't understand the reasons why..."
"This is pretty good," I told him honestly. Andre just nodded. The song played on, "...I cannot love you this way/ I cannot bear for you to stay... I'm sorry but I don't have the heart to love you..."
"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." a female voice echoed back. It was too eerily familiar.
I looked in surprise at Andre, who was intently looking at how I would react. He anticipated this and nodded in confirmation.
"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." Joni's voice echoed back.
Andre's voice was terse and sad. "There were... personal reasons why that track never made it in the cut. Otherwise... it would have been... a hit..."
I just kept quiet and looked outside my window. The view was beautiful. The forest we were driving beside made way to a ricefield clearing that was being fed by the tranquil waters of a crystal-clear pond. The setting sun reflected on the pond's silvery surface. I could almost imagine Joni's eyes on those waters... honest, tranquil and yet, enigmatic, giving nothing away.
But when you least expect it... you see a hint of starlight.
"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." Joni sings from the stereo.
"Uhm... can we stop this tape? Please...," I quietly begged of Andre who wordlessly ejected the tape from the stereo. I never looked at him. I never let him see how vulnerable I was and how much I missed my sister.
Andre gripped me on the shoulder comfortingly. "I'm... sorry. I had to play that."
I nodded and looked on ahead. It was going to be night-time in a few minutes. At least I could grab some much needed sleep.
V.
Pretty soon we arrived at a Lorenzo hacienda. It was a beehive of activity, with the sacada laborers bringing in the day's harvest, to the various animal keepers going in and out to take care of their charges, to the various hired guns warily eyeing the surroundings for any sign of trouble. Likewise, I found many hangers-on and toadies looking for any opportunity to curry political favor.
"We've got to stop at my uncle's place for now. We'll make the trip to my family home tomorrow. Hope you don't mind the crowd... it's nearly election time," he apologized. Afterwards, he barked some orders to some people and pretty soon arrangements were on their way to make our brief stay at the mansion cozy.
I looked behind me and saw a black Nissan Pajero come inside the gate. The front passenger seat opened, and a burly man in his fifties, wearing a barong and smoking a cigar, came out of the car. He was obviously related to Andre.
Andre walked on up to him and held the man's back of the hand against his forehead. "Mano po, Tito," he said respectfully and conversed with the man in a half-Spanish and half-Visayan dialect. From what I could make out of the conversation, Andre was obviously asking for permission to sleep over at the mansion that night. Then he pointed to me. I guess that was my cue to go over and introduce myself.
I walked on up to the two as they were talking. "Tito Noel, this is Joni's brother..." Andre was saying when I got to them. I gave them a warm smile, took off my baseball cap and dark glasses, and extended my hand. I was shaking Noel Lorenzo's hand when I noticed that both men were staring at me with surprise. I was confused but I tried not to show it.
Andre, especially, seemed to be stupefied for a brief moment when he remembered himself and finished his sentence, "...uhm, yeah, this is her twin brother, Jules Vallejo. Jules, this is my uncle, Noel Lorenzo, Governor of San Isidro"
The older man said something in their tongue which I couldn't catch. Then he smiled warmly at me and firmly shook my hand, "I'm pleased to meet you Jules. Welcome to my humble abode. Please, enjoy yourself here and make yourself at home."
Noel then led me inside the house, all the while holding on to my back. "I am sorry to hear about your sister's tragic death. Everyone in the family loved her so much, especially Andres here. Please accept my condolences."
"Uhm... thank you kindly, sir," I replied awkwardly and proceeded to walk with him. I looked over my shoulder, surprised to find Andre looking intently at me. For some strange reason, that made me feel uncomfortable so I blushed. Hurriedly turning away, I kept watch of where I was going.
VI.
The Governor had one of his servants direct Andre and I to our guest rooms.
This was a very big mansion... the part of the house that we were assigned to probably had 5 other guest rooms as well as a cozy lounging area. It was almost like being in a small 5-star hotel.
The room that I was assigned in looked really comfortable and tastefully furbished. It had a spacious twin bed, a TV set, airconditioning, as well as other amenities. I spotted a door leading to a common patio shared by all the other rooms in that side. Standing outside the patio, I had a beautiful view of the estate grounds. A vast farmland stretched out before me... fields of corn, palay and other crops as far as the eye could see. Right nearby was a stream with an irrigation system installed beside it. Up ahead, framing the silver crescent moon, were distant mountain ranges... tall and majestic in their ancient timelessness.
I got back inside the room. Feeling sticky from the trip, I hurriedly stripped from my sweaty, grimy clothes and located a nearby towel. I stepped inside the bathroom and saw to my hygienic requirements. I was taking a crap when I heard the sound of the bathroom door being opened. In my haste, I didn't notice that the bathroom I was using was shared by the two adjoining rooms... mine and Andre's. Andre walked in, wholly naked except for the towel draped around his lower torso. Startled, I reflexively covered my groin with my hands and bent forward.
"Oops, I'm sorry," Andre apologized when he saw me in my vulnerable position. "I thought you had gone out of the room."
I grinned weakly and said, "Yeah, well I forgot to lock the door. I'll be done in 5 minutes. Just let me finish here and then I'll take a quick shower. You won't have to wait long, I promise."
For the second time that day Andre had that weird look on his face and he just stopped and stared at me. I didn't know what he wanted, so I just sat there waiting for him to say something. Andre then walked over to me, standing close. Way too close for comfort. He was close enough for me to have a good view of the sparse trail of fine dark hair running down from his broad chest to his belly and finally disappearing down to his nether regions. So close. Close enough for me to smell the scent of stale cologne, cigarettes and day-old sweat on him. I felt uncomfortable. The air around us was statically charged with sexual tension.
I looked up to find him looking down seriously at me, his hand outspread but hesitating, as if he didn't know what to do with it. I was bothered to feel the pooling of that familiar tension in my loins... I was getting aroused. "Uhm, yeah Andre... I'd like some privacy here..." I said half-jestingly, hoping that he'd snap out of it.
It took around 5 seconds before Andre remembered where he was and spoke up, "Huh? Uh... yeah. Sorry, I just...."
Then he held my cheek with his right hand and looked longingly at my face. His hand felt warm and rough against my cheek. I looked up helplessly at him, startled by this unexpected display of intimacy. I was shocked. I didn't know what to say.
I coughed politely. That brought Andre to his senses. He looked away from me and backed up farther from the toilet.
"Uhm, yeah, I was just wiping away a smudge on your cheek... Sorry, I'll leave you alone now. Just lock the door behind me." And with that, he walked out the bathroom, forcibly closing the door behind him.
I rubbed my hand where Andre held my face and pondered on how strangely my sister's boyfriend was acting. But my brain was just too fatigued and my energy sapped from my long travel. Nothing made sense. A smudge on my cheek?
Before Andre went in, I had been thoroughly washing my face.