Diary 16

Arnie Te's expression discarded all its excitement, adapting an inquiring and nervous look.

Loosening his grip on my elbow, he resumed waving at the people he recognized. He uttered in between obligatory smiles, "He was the protégé any fashion manager would be tempted to exploit." I was amazed at his frankness.

He continued. "Roberto Policarpio was a multiple personality. He jumped from one personality to another, leaving an impact so strong that if caught off guarded, you'd fall into his dangerous snares."

He paused for a while opening his arms to embrace Tia Valenzuela who was walking briskly towards him. Before Tia came close, Arnie added, "I was once captivated by his many personalities." He waved his hand once to more to his admirers and whispered to me( I sensed a tinge of sadness in his voice), "But that was long time ago."

"You mean, he was suffering from multiple personality disorder?" There went my stupid questioning again. Tia was loud in greeting him, like a schoolgirl. She smelled of liquor. He ignored her for a minute or so to answer my questions.

"I don't exactly mean the disorder... How shall I put it? Oh damn! Roberto was so mysterious. Describing him would be one of the hardest things to do in life. I will just give you an example."

"Please do," I said.

"Like for example...", he stopped for a moment and stared at me intently. Tia was now locked with him. She was now listening to our conversation. Her smile and excitement were fading. She was so grand and sexy and voluptuous on the ramp. Now she looked so petite, so frail, so naked and thin. What was more notable was the sudden change in her expression when she realized we were talking about Roberto Policarpio. However, the poor woman was so drunk, all she could manage was nod and groan and moan as our conversation progressed.

Upon realizing that I was not interested in footnoting him in my thesis, Arnie took a professional stance towards me, "He had very conflicting convictions in life," he continued.

I did not veer my eyes from him, expecting more explanations. Tia Valenzuela was also listening.

"He came here in this studio with a tag price and left blaming me for selling him." He stroked his hair daintily. "Ah Roberto Policarpio. Who would understand him? He was so clean inside but every rich gay in town had in a way touched him as he touched them, sometimes for a price, sometimes for free."

"Was he gay?"

"Honey I don't know. All I know was his ability to make anyone scream in ecstasy on bed. Oh boy, was he good in bed."

"So you knew him well."

"How could I?", he said as Tia Valenzuela leaned on him, she seemed about to drop on the floor. She was so weak. They started to walk away from me. "Roberto Policarpio didn't even know himself," he said in parting.

"Do you know he's dead?" Hearing this, Tia turned around to me, her face very pale, her eyes wide open. Before she could utter a word, Arnie pulled her away.

"Of course sweetheart. I knew he will die sooner or later. It was the medicine he needed so badly."

"Was it suicide or murder?"

"Does it matter now? He would either take the dose himself or someone would give it to him. The prescription remained the same. Death." He waved his fan to me, "Good night," he said.

It took me sometime to sort out our conversation. I suddenly felt embarrassed. Who was I to ask questions like this? Am I now becoming a detective? Why should I be obsessed with Roberto Policarpio - a person I've known only for a week? Who was he to occupy my thoughts this much?

His mysterious appearances were simply hallucinations. Due to what, I didn't know.

Holding my free drink, I stared out through one of the hotel's giant windows. I looked up: the moon, partly hidden beneath gray clouds watched the city, ah, here comes the moon again, there is no illusion on the moon, a celestial body that takes its fate and role with consistent practicality. Being in the same celestial location for billions of years requires a lot of patience. If the moon were a man watching all the illusions and vanities in the world at nights, he must be laughing at it all.

How could the moon be so faithful suspended in space, obeying the laws of nature? What would happen if one day, it breaks away from its chain and falls down?

I lowered my eyes to see the view outside the hotel. I saw the security guard pushing away an elderly man who was begging him to be let inside, the tropical heat outside was unbearable; homeless mothers exposed their breasts for their hungry infants, their eyes envious of models and patrons, coming inside and out of the hotel. I could hear their voices. "Please drop me a coin. My baby is dying." I saw another old man picking up cigarette butts. I observed children hunting for left over crumbs. Yeah, that is the way to survive, Manila style. They paused and looked up to my window, stretched out their open palms like I was charity. I closed my eyes, oh these stupid sights. I heard the tolling of Quiapo Church bells. It was midnight.

How could the fast cars stretch and roll beyond this Philippine Village Hotel? I turned around to watch Arnie Te and Tia Valenzuela conduct their entertainment and conversations about beautiful and expensive clothes. How could they dedicate their lives to so called beauty while the world outside was filth and scum? It puzzles me- this was true in my hustling- to see a rich gay paying a young man hundreds of pesos for sex on top of these poor hungry homeless people. From a distance, a mother's song was thrown in the air. "Sleep now my child. You can tell I have nothing to give you. I pray you have enough sense to die."

Ah, Manila turns me melodramatic.

This is the city of Manila. A city refusing to see reality, covering itself with multicolored curtains, ever changing with the aid of shining bulbs that emit artificial splendor. My beloved city of youth, why?

I circulated around this isolated crowd. Arnie Te and a man in ponytail screamed and embraced like goddamn high-school cheerleaders, their wrists dropped to taps; they kissed each others checks. They were immediately joined by a dona worn by age, her wrinkles smoothed out by a thick powder. Almost like a mask. See your plastic surgeon, I wanted to tell her. She reminded me of Dona Voctorina in Rizal's novels.

Then, everything went blank.

Darkness invaded my visions again. The hands of Roberto Policarpio were pulling me inside the dark room. My mother lighted the candle and before I could speak to her, Roberto and I were in the hotel again. I saw him smiling, his charm and grace pleasing to everyone. And when he shook hand with Arnie, he acted seductively. Arnie led Roberto into his private room. They now appeared in the screen. My heart started beating fast. DON'T, I screamed. I was inside the room with them. They kissed passionately and embraced each other. While embracing, Roberto looked at me, his eyes were in flames. I saw him pull a very long and thin needle, it almost looked like a piece of thread. In kissing, he forced the needle on the nape of Arnie and twirled it while Arnie convulsed. The screen went off and I found myself running with Roberto again, back into the dark room. My mother bowed before us. She looked even paler than the last time I saw her . "Thank you," she whispered to the ears of Roberto and kissed his cheek.

The next thing I knew there was a commotion in the hotel. Arnie was convulsing. People were desperately trying to restrain him. He was moaning, foam pouring out of his mouth. "What happened?" I asked.

"He had a seizure, maybe a stroke," they said.

I walked out of the hotel, it was 2 am.

Alex Maskara