Lunch With The Trickster
July 5, 2003 | 12:00am
We hadn’t done a family lunch in a long time and I was craving cocido, a dish you never cook if you live alone unless you want to eat it for a whole year. So off I went from Laguna to New Manila to see my first cousins Mia and Tato, their families and friends. Apa would be there, they said. I hadn’t seen him in so many years. Raffy has become almost family. He would surely be there. As a special treat our nephew Carlo and his new bride Katz came, too. I sent my driver Boying out for lunch because I needed something from Makati.
As usual, I overate. Since I’m alone again, I’ve changed my eating habits. I don’t have breakfast because my stomach is closed in the morning. I have liquids until noon. Then I have lunch fit for an elephant. I hardly eat at night. Because it was cocido, I ate enough for two elephants, so I couldn’t move from my chair. There I sat waiting for coffee and dessert to come to me.
One by one the guests left. I was still too stuffed to move from my chair. Besides, Mia and I were having an interesting chat about marketing. I’m not all frog and fish. I have brains, too. "Mai’s coming," my niece Sanya said. She and Mai had taken my writing class and so we had a new relationship. "We’re going to buy these belts we absolutely must have."
"What’s the name of the store?" I asked.
"’Rebellion’," she said.
"There, that’s great positioning," I told Mia, apropos of our marketing discussion. "Perfect for their market segment – young, rebellious." Sanya and Mai left for the mall. Finally I got up to go. Mia saw me out to the street which, at three in the afternoon, was eerily clear. No cars in sight, not even mine.
I called my driver’s cell. Number not in use. I texted. No reply. I repeated a few times. Nothing. We went back in. I called and texted again and again. Same results. Mia and I tried not to show each other how panicked we felt. "Boying is very reliable. He wouldn’t do this. . ." We began to ask others in the house: When did they last see my car and driver? The kitchen crew had not seen him since he dropped me off. Mia got her bag and keys intending to go to Makati to check if he had gotten into an accident. Only two possibilities, I thought. Boying got into an accident, got terribly hurt, someone swiped his cell phone OR the car was carnapped and he was in it.
Tato, Mia’s husband, found us in the living room wrapped in anxiety. "How old is your car?" he asked. Old, more than five years. They won’t want that, he said. But where is it? What am I supposed to do? Call the police, he said. I hate that. I don’t want to. I’d rather die. . . Maybe I should call my powerful son-in-law. My daughter for some reason didn’t answer her cell but responded to my text with a phone call. She asked her husband what I should do. He said: Call the police. Gee, thanks, I thought. Why is that answer so unsatisfactory? What did I want to hear? A few hours later I realized I wanted a name. In the Philippines, you need a name. Next time I need help, I’ll ask for a name. Why couldn’t this have happened in Laguna where I know people in local government?
Since I imagined this happened somewhere in Makati, I asked my daughter if she has Edu Manzano’s number. They are old friends. He used to be in our house quite often. Maybe he could help me. I sent him a text, he didn’t respond. I guess I should write down the number that’s on TV. So much for public service. So much for old times.
In the meantime Tato was on the phone with Raffy who asked for my car make and plate number. Better be sure, he warned, because if I call General — I don’t catch the last name but it’s a name — he’ll send an all-points bulletin and they might shoot and kill your driver. Mia called her brother Pato who saw my car when he was going home. So Boying had made it back from Makati. Okay, shelve the accident theory.
What happened to my car and driver? Almost an hour passed. Felt like a week. I thought I should wait longer before calling the police. But if they stole the car, that would give the bad guys more time. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to call the police. That would be such a horrible experience. Private citizens should not feel this way about the police but . . . I would rather die than talk to them. Oh God, please, don’t let this happen to me. . . what will I do?
Tato called up Sanya. "Did you see Tita’s car when you left? What?" he burst out laughing. "You’re in it?" And suddenly it was all so funny. Sanya and Mai going to Rebellion, right? So excited they got into the first car they saw. It happened to be mine. Boying drove them because he knew Sanya is my niece and thought I’ve lent her the car. Sanya thought she was in Mai’s car. Mai thought she was in Sanya’s car. Mia and I were overjoyed that nothing happened to my car and driver. Most of all, we are immensely relieved that we didn’t have to go to the police.
"Why didn’t you answer?" I asked Boying, who said that he hadn’t realized that his cell phone had accidentally turned off. It happens to me, too, so I couldn’t lose my mind over that. So it was just one of those crazy things. A comedy of errors, Shakespeare would have said. A visit from the Trickster, my Jungian analyst would have said. Yes, without a doubt the Trickster, that force, that energy that shows up to deliberately confuse and mislead you, gate-crashed our Sunday lunch. Maybe he had it in for me. Maybe without knowing it, I ate his share of cocido.
BrandSpace Articles
<
>
