EXILIUM REX

Chapter 6

Angelo and Gemma: A Love Backstory (Part 1)

*

More than a decade ago, somewhere in the lowland territories of the Suba tribe.

The spotted wolf groomed across the verdancy of the land in complete and utter communion with its own sense of wild freedom.

Young Angelo’s knees were beginning to knot themselves again, as the Subanon guide hoarsely whispered something to his right cup-shaped ear, “Take your time…”

Click.

The old man of the mountains started swearing against the ground he was standing on with the legendary genitalia of his anito. The creature had eluded Angelo for the very first time. And the old man, for the nth. Click. The two intruders of the lupine lair heard the thing jam once again.

For a moment, Angelo had given way to the absurd idea that Mang Kanor Manlavi had probably gone super-weirdo again; but shutted out the same in his mind as quickly as with the long scope lens of what he was presently lugging along. Reluctantly, the shooter relaxed his grip on the shooting device and grimaced at the lone silhouette of a four-legged beast getting away from his line of sight and was not about to be as sportly as the duo would like. Or need.

At this point, the two knowingly looked at each other and unwittingly heaved an emasculating sigh in chorus.

Rethink – the word kept repeating itself on Angelo’s brain. But, rethink what? The plan? Was there really a plan, Angelo? Wasn’t the “leave everything behind for one last chance with her” emergency button he had initiated back in the capital city the whole deal? And part of the “plan” was no cellphones, no gps, no outside world, no nothing? No s**t! Only him and her and nature! And, of course, Mang Kanor – who had a penchant for wearing his worn-out Air Jordan shoes with a very revealing bahag and a pair of brass nose-rings – yes, Mang Kanor. Just to guarantee everything would work out fine while they’re in the mountains of his ancestral province. The Suyo islands.

And with the exception of that one thing the “country-turned-city boy” had allowed himself to carry around while here. That one thing which would secure this entire “adventure” for him and for Gemma. And even for Mang Kanor.

For sure, it would not be Angelo’s ego.

The diminutive man-child amusingly recalled to himself that the closest to any “adventure” he had gotten into is the time he helped an old, bespectacled, rosary-toting lady cross one of those damp streets back there in Sta. Cruz, Manila during a rush hour. And that was before the ingrata started shouting snatcher at the top of her oh so weak lungs.

Nonetheless, Angelo shrugged his bit off-lined shoulders and pouted a lazy sort of pout which began high on the right side of his face and ended very, very low on the other side. He softly stomped his spiked brown shoes on some sprout of weeds, just to keep the turf in pristine order. Keep things in perspective – the phrase was beginning to work itself again inside his brain.

“Don’t worry, Kano! We’ll get him next time.”

“Ay, kayerëp! Next time! Next time! There will be no justice for next time!”

Again, the “adventure”-seeker tried to pout it all off. But, at the back of his mind, he knew, this silver-haired guy with a handsomely creased forehead might be more than correct.

There would be no justice for next time.

You’re doing it again, Senor  – Angelo berated himself. Just when everything was supposed to be set perfect. It’s supposed to feel like money in the pocket, or something like that.

Now, it felt like grinding small pebbles with his unaligned front teeth.

“Kano…”

No response.

“Kano!” Angelo repeated the call louder as he calmly scratched the itching behind his left ear. “Let’s bail on out of here! There’s nothing here anymore to…”

“No, no, no! Let’s have a look-see first…”

The old man began to walk over to the site, but Angelo had his playful mind exploring other personal matters.

Before they left camp, Gemma was already preparing his paborito: sizzling barbecued steaks. And those with a good, cold bottle of Red Horse. Yes!

Mang Kanor had already swung his banig backpack up front over his scrawny chest and was slowly staggering now in a roundabout way, like a wary yet curious gorilla, over to the gray lobo’s last trail to the sanctuary of the preservation. He also appeared to be boring his sturdy fingers inside the musty banig backpack. Angelo, meanwhile, rolled his eyes upwards and groaned – Thank you, Lord, for forest guides! All the unmanned drones of the world can do their amazing best, but I’d bet no one else would survive virtual hell on any kind of unreconnoitered terrain except for these local guides!

Although the young man’s countenance seemed extinguished by the immediate excitement of losing their “prey” and the disturbed veins of his eyes seemingly inured inside, he was continuing to contend with the virtual phantasy he had mentally conjured up inside his brain. Oh – Angelo silently expressed to himself – how he would love to dowse some of that cold, sparkling beer all over his charmingly rugged face right now. And Gemma! Gemma would be laughing her heart out as usual. It would seem months that Angelo would finally be able to make his young wife’s heart smile again. After that dreadful episode. And all that fuss by people inside their relationship’s inner circle to file action against each other. Or counteraction.

So many things just happened. Or so it seemed.

So many words came and went between Angelo and Gemma. After a year of a shotgun wedding after college, it just had to. And may God and Alfredo Apostol, the two’s best friend, be their witness.

Nasty words.

Cruel even.

Angelo was so gratified that these words and other human devices or instruments had never actually gotten themselves printed on paper. It would have been devastating. Because, once there, Angelo knew there would be no more turning back.

No more turning away.

And, worse, there would be no more next time.

There would be no justice for next time.

And now, Angelo took one more swing at his heart and, with all his natural darnedness and comic adventure inanities, he would be making Gemma laugh again. And more.

The young woman would be conspiring with him to discover the lost trail of their marriage again. The sizzling barbecued steaks and Red Horse would be a good start. And Gemma would be telling Angelo how she would like to intoxicate herself by l*****g his beer-drenched face dry, like a lap dog; while the old Subanon guide would be swearing ay kayerëp! again, then would be pitching his gulok with a spin towards a helpless banana tree nearby. A, Mang Kanor would be excusing himself to a lonely corner of the makeshift sawali tent at the other end of the camp, with the pinkest of blush, and singing an old familiar drunkard’s tune from the lowlanders of the Suyo islands of Palawan:

BANGA

Agdaeg ko ron kanakeng ohaw

Ang timpo nga nawarasag kanakeng pongaw

Kabay agaparet kamo ron dadi

Sa indong manga balay masigoli

Kamong manga mangalok ig baryada

Babayan indo ako sa kanakeng banga

OLD JAR

I have overcome my thirst

In time I have scattered all my anguish

Now do you believe

Now to your own dwellings leave

You witches of naughty spunk and spar

Leave me alone with my old jar

More pink than the old ingrata’s face whom Angelo last encountered and who misidentified him as a well-suited snatcher of Sta. Cruz, Manila.

How Gemma, the ever-ready, would give him subtle yet distinct hints that she would now love to make love with the young illusory machete while bathing n***d and all in the cool sparkle of the sub-a. How she would whisper more than sweet nothings to…

“Angelo!”

The young daydreamer felt like sneezing between his eyes. “Huh, what? What is it?”

“Over here,” the old man broke out to his phantasizing companion along with the sweat on the gleaming brow of his finely creased forehead.

“Kano, I can already see the sun’s shadow is telling us it’s already past noon,” Angelo was feeling so proud he could make such a scientific guess without so much as looking over his strapless wrist. But that, Gemma insisted, was another one of the young man’s stupidities. No cellphones and gps were alright if you just wanted to get the feel of being one with nature; but, darn it, Angelo, think! Wouldn’t you need at least a compass and a watch to tell time and direction?

Angelo would be answering back, of course – no need, I’ve got the human clock and compass right here beside me: Mang Kanor!

“Over here, Angelo! Got something to show you!”

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to camp, Kano?”

The young novice shooter switched the thing he had been carrying around in a safe position and gave its harness a light pull over his off-lined shoulders.

Finally, Angelo could no longer stand the suspense generated by Mang Kanor.

“What is it?”

Suddenly, the old man straightened up his spine with an inward burst of energy and turned his over-tanned face towards his protégé.

“I think it’s…”

The Subanon guide’s swollen pair of eyes turned dead and rare as he spoke terribly clear of what he soon discovered, then let out a forged sigh of relief.

“A comb.”