Positive, she said cheerily, as if I shouldn’t go
setting out with her imitation Gucci handbag
out and hang myself this instant. I held on to
and several dozen gold bracelets to se ll her
the phone for a long time; I was w as sure that if I let go I would fall down. The coffee tur ned to mud
husband’s watches. Or was it Mrs. San Juan, I can never remember.
in my mouth— mouth—I ran to the sink and heaved. Congratulations, it’s a fetus. You frigging idiot.
A nervous breakdown would’ve been in order,
Afterwards I sat at the kitchen table and tried to
or a fit of tears and keening, the kind that comes with a runny nose and smeared mascar a.
make sense of the stuff swirling around in my
But I’ve never been one for hysterics. Thanks to
head. Visions of blood and umbilical cords and
my parents, by the time I was eight, the sight of
feeding bottles whirled before my eyes like malevolent frisbees. The newspaper was lying
a chair being hurled across the room was no longer cause for alarm. Maybe there is
next to the platter of toast; I read the headline
something to be said for a lousy home life.
about two hundred times. “May use poison gas,
Ramon says my emotional range is limited to
Iraq warns.” Next to it a picture of a dead Kurdish woman clutching the body of her dead
rage, guilt, and occasional hilarity. He neglected to mention blanknesss— blanknesss—there are times when I
child. Mother. Child. I felt like throwing up all
just don’t feel anything.
over again. I imagined a creature ripping out of my stomach in a gory mess, like the monster in Alien.
Ramon also claims he can read my t houghts by looking at me—he me—he says I’m transparent. I hope so; it’s embarrassing to tell somebody there’s a
There was a Post-it Post-it note on the mirror: “Lunch
fifty per cent chance that he may be a father in
with Lawrence, 12:30,” Lawrence being a fiftya fiftyfifty candidate for the father. I painted a face on
several months.
and stared at the mirror. I saw my belly swelling
By the time it occurred to me to catch a ride I
up, my clothes rising like a circus tent, and all I
was halfway to my office and decided to w alk
could think about was the ten pounds I’d j ust lost, and the new dress I bought to mark the
the rest of the w ay. I was swallowed up by the crowd of people hurrying to work; rising above
occasion. Finally I got my new dress out of the
the din of traffic, their footfalls sounded like t he
closet and put it on while it still fit.
marching of a distant army.
In the elevator my next-door neighbor smiled
In front of the church where rosaries and good-
and said Good morning. She had this sort of
luck charms were sold under the baleful stare of
knowing smile, and I found myself wondering if
the Archangel Michael’s statue, a strange figure
she knew about me. I wasn’t just j ust being
appeared on my right; a filthy man with long,
paranoid; this is Manila, the neighbors know
matted hair. A tattered bag was w as slung across his
everything. They are extremely sympathetic,
bare chest, upon which his ribs protruded like
and if you let them they will take over your life.
spikes. A thick layer of soot covered his
It turned out she was just trying to sell me a watch. Her husband had managed to get out of
emaciated body— body—he looked like a walking pile of ashes. He started speaking to me in urgent
Kuwait by driving across the desert, and when
tones, as if he were revealing important secrets,
he got home the banks refused to change his
and there was a crazy glint g lint in his eyes. I
Kuwaiti dinars. That’s why she was selling his
understood nothing. He was speaking either in
watches. I felt kind of sorry for Mrs. Santos,
dialect of in gibberish, I couldn’t tell, I looked o n
stupidly. People stared, expecting perhaps that
stands in their church.”
he would produce a cleaver and hack me to death. The man went on with his weird recitation; why he chose me I had no idea,
“St. Martin on a horse?” I said. “Maybe it was St. George or Joan of Arc. I don’t think St.
maybe he could see past the designer clothes
Martin rode a horse.”
into my dark and grimy soul. After a while he frowned like a teacher who had just given up on a particularly moronic student. Then he
“No, stupid,” he said. “You’re thinking of St. Martin de Porres. We’re elating about St.
wheeled and dashed into the church, stopping a
Martin of Tours. And you know what? My aunt
moment to rub with his filthy hand the scowling
says they saw the same vision just before World
face of the Archangel Michael.
War II. Then the Japanese arrived.” He r an his fingers through his artfully moussed and
Through the glass I could see the cashier,
tousled hair. “Oh my God, what if it’s r eally the
Wilma, on the telephone, spewing vile words
end. I mean, I don’t even have a kid yet.”
like poisoned toads into the receiver. She was screaming at some poor bastard who owed her
I looked away so he wouldn’t see me grimace,
money. Across from me, Pocholo, in his pink
and was just in time to see Wilma spitting into
shirt and red paisley necktie, sat flipping
her wastebasket.
through the morning papers. All morning I wondered whether I should ask “It’s exactly as Nostradamus said,” Pocholo said.
Wilma for her abortionist’s address. She would
“He predicted earthquakes signaling the end of
give the address, I knew, even accompany me
the world, and we had that big one last month. Then he said a leader from the Middle East
to the place. Probably some decrepit wooden house in the fetid alleys of Tondo, where the
would launch a world war. I thought it would be
gangs hunted each other down with homemade
Khadaffi but no, it’s Saddam Hussein.
revolvers. Wilma hid nothing, she wore her
“Sure,” I said. I watched Wilma slam the phone
brazen honesty like a soiled and rusty halo. She had had four abortions, she told me casually
so hard it fell to the floor. Cursing mightily, she
while I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom;
stopped to pick it up. On this particular day she
the washerwoman down her street performed
was clad in polyester cloth abloom with pink and purple flowers, which made her look like a
the operation, she owed Wilma money. I imagine Wilma’s insides, as torn and bloody as a
demented sofa.
battlefield. She said she’d regretted her last abortion: it was a girl, she’s always wanted a
“Anyway,” Pocholo continued, “my aunts say
baby girl. She put the fetus in a jar of formalin
they saw this vision in Taal.” His voice dropped
and kept it in the drawer where her wedding
to a whisper. “They saw a horseman in the
dress, which had outlasted her marriage, lay
sky.”
yellowing among mothballs and dead flowers.
“A what?”
The others she’d flushed down the toilet.
“A man on a horse. Riding across the sky. A hundred schoolchildren saw it. According to my aunt it looked like the statue of St. Martin that
Lawrence ate his lunch the way he lived his life:
very carefully, as if he would choke on it.
large, red-nosed white man in an ill-fitting
Everything about him was resoundingly correct,
brown suit was approaching our table.
from his hair to his Italian shoes, from the schools he’d attended to the fashionable gym
“Mr. Fowler,” said Lawrence.
where he wrestled with machines three times a week. I knew that as he read the menu he was
“Alvarado,” said the man, shaking the hand
figuring out how much cholesterol, how much sodium and fat were in the entrees.
Lawrence extended. “How was the beach?” Lawrence said. I had to
“It’s going to be bad,” he was saying. “By next
restrain myself from calling the waiter and
year the official exchange rate could be 28 pesos to the dollar. That’s a conservative
asking for a receptacle I could puke into.
projection. We haven’t considered oil prices
“Fine,” said Fowler, “Well. Enjoy your meal.”
and the damage from the earthquake.” Daintily, he chewed on his vegetable. “Inflation will go through the roof,” he added, almost with
“Is that the asshole from the main office?” I said.
relish. “Sssh,” Lawrence hissed. “He might hear you.” While he delivered his analysis of the economy, I twirled the noodles around my fork but I
“Let him.” I reached over with my fork and
hardly ate anything. No appetite. Idly, I
speared food off his plate. He hated it
wondered if Lawrence was sleeping with
whenever I did that. Lawrence had a very
someone else. One of the girls from his office, someone tall and svelte who worked in PR,
definite concept of “mine.” For instance, all his books were stamped “Private Library of
shopped in Hong Kong, and wore linen suits
Lawrence R. Alvarado.” The strange thing was,
with tiny skirts. I concluded that he wasn’t—I
he didn’t even read his books. They were lined
had no illusions about his undying love and fidelity, but I trusted his fear of AIDS.
up according to height on his antique bookshelf, neatly covered in plastic. One time I took a book out of the shelf, and it had been there
“Am I boring you?” he said at last. Mr. Se nsitive.
unopened for so long the pages stuck together.
He put his hand on my knee—maybe he expected me to salivate like one of Pavlov’s
“Anyway,” Lawrence said, “where were we?”
dogs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know we haven’t seen each other much lately, but it’s been hell
“You mean until your sahib came along?”
at the office.” Without missing a beat he slid his hand up my skirt. Boy, he was smooth, no one
“What’s the matter with you?” he said. F unny
would’ve suspected that the earnest-looking
he should use the exact same words he said
young man in the pinstripe shirt could be doing
coming up to me at Diday’s birthday party while
something as ignoble as giving a girl a feel in a restaurant. “That guy from the head office is a
I stood in a corner holding my breath t o get rid of my hiccups. He said he was Lawrence and I
major asshole. Goes around trying to catch
should breathe into a paper bag, so we went
people loafing. The office feels like a...”
into the kitchen and rummaged in the c losets. There weren’t any paper bags, and when he
Abruptly he withdrew his hand and stood up. A
found a plastic shopping bag I didn’t need
anymore, my hiccups were gone. He got my
department, as the credit card people will
name and my telephone number, it was as easy
attest. Anti: The lack of a husband, the r esulting
as that.
social stigma, and if not that, my own paranoia. I would drive myself crazy wondering if
“Miggy,” he said. Miggy, for Chrissakes. I knew
someone was going to cast stones at me. Anti:
Lawrence wasn’t going to follow me, he hated
my mother would freak. She’s in California,
scenes—and I walked out of the restaurant, it was as easy as that.
running a Filipino restaurant, and she’s always going on about the decline of traditional Filipino values. I don’t think she would appreciate
I wandered around the mall for a w hile. I went
having me prove her theories. I can just see her
into stores and looked at things. There was this outfit that looked like our uniform at the
talking to my father, blaming him for dying young and leaving her to raise his daughter to
Academy of Our Lady’s Seven Sorrows—white
adulthood (I was always “his daughter”
blouse, blue necktie, and a navy-blue skirt—
everytime I screwed up).
only the skirt was too short. At Seven Sorrows, skirts had to cover the entire knee area. If your
When I got back to the office people were
knees were exposed the nuns would give you a
scurrying about like newly-beheaded chickens.
lecture on modesty. There was no spanking— the nuns were an enlightened bunch—but after fifteen minutes of having guilt laid thickly on
“What’s going on?” I asked Pocholo. He was alternately squirting his asthma medication into
you, you’d wish they’d give you ten lashes
his mouth with an inhaler and stuffing folders
instead and get it over with.
into his briefcase.
Corporal punishment would simplify everything.
“There’s going to be a big earthquake at 2:30,”
For sleeping with a guy you weren’t married to,
he said, only there were no pauses between his
you’d get, say, five hundred lashes. For sleeping
words.
with two guys, neither of whom you were married to, one thousand lashes. For even
“Says who?” I demanded.
thinking about abortion, ten thousand lashes. And I’d been such a good girl too, until recently,
“It was on the radio,” he said. He snapped his
anyway, so I’d probably get five hundred extra lashes for being such a disappointment.
briefcase shut. People were running into elevators. Wilma let loose a steady stream of obscenities while she stuffed into shopping bags
I made a mental list of the reasons for and
the fake Benetton shirts she sold on
against having this baby. Pro: This child would
installment.
be mine, really truly mine, which couldn’t be said of a lot of things. Pro: Maybe I’ll turn out to
“That’s crazy,” I said. “You can’t predict e xactly
be a genius who will invent something
when an earthquake will happen.”
beneficial to mankind, like a device that would cause world leaders to self-destruct if they got
"It was on the radio,” Pocholo repeated, as if
the urge to wage war.
media coverage were an infallible confirmation of truth. “2:30. Powerful earthquake, intensity
Anti: I’m not sure I’d be such a hot parent. I have serious deficiencies in the responsibility
nine.”
“Well, I’m not leaving,” I declared. “I’m not
“Where to?” the driver snarled.
going to fall for an idiotic prank.” “Salcedo,” I said. “This building could collapse!” he screeched. “Like the Hyatt Terraces!”
“Too near,” he snapped, zooming off before I could get in the cab. Taxi drivers! This was not a
“You can’t predict an earthquake e xactly.”
great moment for humanity: everyone was being an idiot or an asshole.
“What if there is one? Be reasonable!” All the taxis were taken, and the buses were so Reasonable! I nearly laughed at that. Pocholo gave up, gathered his briefcase and inhaler, and
full people were sprouting out the windows. I could see the passengers crammed together
ran to the elevator.
like fillings in an enormous sandwich, bumping and rubbing against each other with every lurch
“Come on,” said Wilma, “It’s almost time.”
of the bus. Maybe if something asks who my kid’s father is, I could say I took a really
“It’s a prank,” I said. “I’m not leaving.”
crowded bus and got knocked up.
“They’re closing the building,” she said. “Everyone’s getting out. Do you want to get
By the time I got back to my apartment my feet were throbbing. A menu from a pizza parlor
locked in?”
that delivered had been shoved under my door; reading it I had a sudden wild craving for
She had a point. I got my bag—I could use the afternoon off, anyway.
anchovy pizza. Pregnant women are supposed to have these wild cravings, but I was slightly worried. I’ve heard old people say that what you crave during pregnancy determines how
I figured I’d go home and get some sleep;
your child will turn out. For instance, if you crave guavas, your child will be stubborn. My
maybe when I woke up this whole thing would
friend claims her clumsiness was caused by her
turn out to be a bad dream like the one that
mother’s fondness for noodles. And singkamas
killed my Uncle Danding. One night he ate too much rice and stewed pork, then went to bed
is supposed to produce fair-complexioned children, no matter how dark their parents are.
and started screaming horribly in his sleep. They
I thought, if I ate a lot of anchovies, would my
slapped him, poured cold water on him,
child have scaly skin, or look like a fish?
pounded and bit him, but he never woke up. He died uttering strange garbled noises. The official
I phoned the pizza place anyway, and when I
cause of death was cardiac arrest, but everyone
put the phone down it rang. “Hi,” said Ramon.
said it was bangungot, the sleeping sickness. “How did you know I was home?” I said. It did seem like a dream, the crowd of people gathered at the parking lot and looking at the
“You’re always home on Sunday.”
building, waiting for the swaying to start. Idiots, I muttered, as I flagged down a taxi.
“It’s Monday.”
“Oh. Are you going out tonight?” he said. “Can I
your own mother plotting to get r id of you.
come over?” “Okay.” Ramon came in at six. His hair looked like he’d When I hung up I noticed how quiet the building
cut it himself, which he often did. He brought a
was. No radios blaring, no TV, no brats squalling down the hall. For a second I wondered if there
take-out box of friend noodles and a videotape of Road Runner cartoons. I heated the pizza
really was an earthquake. The last time, w hen
leftovers and he ate them on the card table on
the tremors started there was a stunned
the terrace.
silence. The phones stopped ringing, the printers stopped whirring, conversations
He looked exhausted. “I stayed up late filling
paused in mid-sentence; everyone sat gripping
out the forms for my grant,” he explained,
their desks, their eyes wide open and their
rubbing his eyes.
mouths shaped into O’s. Then people dove under tables and Wilma was saying
“I had a weird day,” I said. I told him about the
“OhGodOhGodOhGod” and there was a loud
street crazy in front of the church, and his
wailing in the air. When the tremors stopped I
strange message.
heard Pocholo’s radio, and the B-52s were singing, “Cosmic! Cosmic!”
He rubbed a spot of sauce off my chin with his thumb. “Maybe it was an obscene proposal. Or
I switched the TV on. There was this soap opera
maybe he was speaking Aramaic. Repent or
about a little girl whom everyone maltre ated. The actress was played by a little girl was so
else.”
good at being a martyr, it was as if she had a
“My officemate says the world is ending,” I
sign on her forehead that said, “Kick me.” The
said.
soap was interrupted by a news broadcast: 262 more Filipinos had fled Kuwait. A middle-aged
He ate the last crumb of pizza. “Maybe.”
woman told a reporter she had been raped by Iraqi soldiers. Why should I be ashamed, she
“Doesn’t it worry you?”
said, I didn’t want it to happen. It was amazing how casual she was. How could she be so cool?
“It’s not like I can do anything about it. If it’s
War could break out any second, and that
true. What’s scary is being the last person on
madman could use chemical weapons. I thought
earth,” Ramon said.
of worldwide recession, rioting for food, and pictures I had seen of Hiroshima after t hat
"Everyone else is dead, and you wander around
blast.
the rubble and slowly realize you’re alone.”
Maybe Pocholo and his aunt were right, the world was coming to an end. What a lousy time
“God,” I said. “What would you do?”
it was to be born, with madmen waiting to gas
“Keep looking for another survivor. Try to go
you or blow you away, and the earth opening
crazy,” he reached over and picked a noodle
up to swallow you. On the other hand, with
from my plate. “We’re being morbid tonight.”
everything going against you, you didn’t need
“I can’t help it,” I said. “All this talk about war.” It started to rain, so we got up and went inside. As I closed the door to the terrace I thought I saw something in the sky—a man on a black horse, riding through the rain. “You want some coffee?” Ramon called from the kitchen. “Yes, please,” I said. My knees were wobbly, I had to sit down. You’re seeing things, I told myself. Pregnant women do it all the t ime, it’s hormones or something. “What’s wrong?” said Ramon. “Nothing,” I said, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a little kick. Malevolent- having or showing a wish to do evil to others. like malevolent Frisbees- The persona in the story feels like the problem she is facing is being thrown towards her
