About St. Nick

The following are my answers to a questionnaire sent by the nephew and niece of the late national artist for literature Nick Joaquin, who are at present working on his biography. 

How did you first get to learn about Nick Joaquin and what was your reaction? Did it leave you curious? Indifferent or unmoved? What were your thoughts about him at that time?

I learned about Nick Joaquin (NJ, from hereon) because he was my father’s kumpare. NJ was the ninong of my elder brother Joey, so he always seemed to be around the house whenever it was Christmas or some such holiday. Though Joey was his inaanak, this did not mean we the younger siblings did not get crisp bills whenever he visited. His voice would fill the house so that even if we were in our rooms we would know that NJ was around because of his booming voice. Always teasing us kids as well his kumare, my mom, about her weight. There was one instance when he kept referring to me as Joey and to my elder sister Mayi as my eldest sister Beth. Finally, I told Mayi, don’t listen to him, he’s a fool. This only served to further crack NJ up.

Could you please describe your very first meeting with Nick: was there anything in particular that made it memorable? Was there anything about him that struck you? impressed you? How did you feel about him after that meeting? Did it affect any possible preconceived ideas you may have had about him? 

He always seemed to be in a taxi with friends and making that taxi wait while he was at a friend’s house for some food, beer and conversation. As a boy I remember having field trips to Pateros at the Lacabas place, and NJ and my father would be there.

One evening NJ and Ding Nolledo would drop by our place at Maginhawa, UP Village, and the dog Igor would lick their shoes under the table. To this NJ would say, “I don’t need compassion, I need passion!”

How would you say Nick compared to other writers or artists you may already have known or met before? What aspect of his character stood out in your opinion? 

During the necrological services for my father at the CCP in August 2002, it was NJ who delivered the main address, ending his speech with, “See you soon, Franz!”

While we were in our seats waiting for the program to begin, NJ had tried shooing away Sionil Jose from the VIP seats reserved for National Artists, saying “That’s what you deserve.”

Some time later, when I showed my son who was 10 years old at the time his lolo died, a picture of NJ, he remembered the phrase, “That’s what you deserve.”

Billy Lacaba recalled that after the burial, NJ and he went to Sulo Hotel and my late father’s kumpare raised a beer, saying, “This is for you, Franz.”

In what way did you relate to Nick after that first meeting? Did you get to know him better and meet him often? What types of situations did you have the occasion to get together? Could you please describe those situations and share them with us? How was Nick during those occasions? Quiet? Boisterous? Withdrawn? 

He was always teasing us younger writers. Once at a gathering at Heritage Gallery at an art exhibit, one kibitzer accosted NJ, “Nick, painom ka naman!” To which the National Artist replied, and this has become part of literary folklore, “Painumin mo titi mo!”

Confronted with a boisterous non sequitur, “So you’re a great man,” that was in vogue during the ’70s and ’80s, NJ might well have riposted, “Great man mo titi mo.” 

Was there any special event that you remember in particular that will always stand out in your memories about Nick Joaquin?

About a month before leaving for the US as an exchange student in my fourth year of high school, I was asked by my dad to go with NJ to get fitted for a suit at Linea Italiana in Cubao which he would pay for. But since I knew NJ was a board of censors member and could gain free entry to the movies, I asked if we could see a movie after the fitting. It was a “bold” or soft porn type, and when one of the actresses bared her breasts, NJ suddenly hollered in the dark, “Look at those peaches!”

Eventually we repaired to the old Alibangbang for some beers and to watch ago-go dancing. One of the dancers whom we “tabled” was named Olga, a strange coincidence since my high school crush at the time had the same name.

We were at the tricycle stop in Homesite, UP Village when I left him while he was emptying his bladder. I somehow managed to crawl home in the drizzle; it was the first time I got drunk.

NJ was proud of this, and whenever we would meet at literary functions or gatherings, he would always point out, “The first time this guy got drunk was under my auspices...”

Where would you stand in terms of the critiques written about Nick both at home and abroad. Would you agree with all the favorable things said about his writings as well as certain points of view that you might disagree with. Which of his writings are the ones you would always go to first, and why?

I remember weeping when I first read Portrait of the Artist as a Filipino. It was so good I wanted to throw the book across the room. Candido’s Apocalypse also greatly influenced my way of thinking as an adolescent, much more than Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye: it taught me to embrace the so-called ugly and despicable, that we were all the same frail human beings anyway. “May Day Eve” inspired my siblings and I to try looking in the mirror at midnight of April 30, good for a few childhood creep fests. “The Mass of St. Sylvester” is both eerie and beautiful and brings to life the cobblestones of Intramuros under the moonlight. “The House on Zapote Street” is an absolutely riveting true-to-life suspense thriller, and the movie version Kisapmata had actor Vic Silayan fitting the role to a tee.

“The Legend of the Dying Wanton” made me want to go to Ma Mon Luk and order some mami.

Kindly add any additional information that you feel should be included in both of the man as well as his works.

I interviewed him for Sunday Inquirer magazine in 1989 at Calle Cinco while a loud all-female rock band played. He was with his best friend Elena Roco.

He also made a UP writers workshop fellow weep, one Peachy Lontoc, who was perhaps overwhelmed by his presence and overall boisterousness. But NJ seemed traumatized too after that, and vowed never to attend a workshop again.

Would you happen to have a photo with Nick, preferably an action shot which you might want us to include in the book?

Nunca.