Unforgettable Christmas stories

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Paskung-pasko ay nagmamaktol si Dina. “Ano ba naman si Santa Claus, hindi ba siya marunong magbasa?” Ilang Pasko nang humihiling siya at sumusulat: “Mahal na Santa Claus ang gusto ko pong aginaldo ay pinggan-pingganan. Yun lang po at wala nang iba.”

Nang magising siya kinaumagahan ng Pasko, isang matambok na balutan ang nakita niya sa ulunan ng kanyang kama. Sa laki, sa bigat, at sa korte ng balot, alam na niya -- siniphayo na naman siya ni Santa.

Pilit na pilit na binuksan niya ito. “Ang pangit!” ang bulong niya pagkakita sa isang aparador-aparadorang yari sa kahoy. Malagana niyang hinila at tinulak ang maliliit na mga drawers nito, pagkatapos ay tinabig. Tumayo siya upang maghilamos; ni hindi sinulyapan ang laruang sumambulat sa sahig.

Gaya ng nakagawian nila, nagsimba silang mag-anak at nakinig ng misa sa kapilyang malapit sa kanila. Umuwi sila sa nagpuputok at wala nang maupuang sala na kung sa bagay at talaga namang napakaliit kahit walang bisita. Nakahilera duon ang siyam – oo, siyam -- niyang pinsang nakatira ilang bloke lang ang layo sa kanilang bahay. Siyam na dahilan kung bakit tuwing Pasko, nakakaisip mamundok at magtago ang kanyang amang kadalasan ay “alaws pe-pe.” Sa madaling salita: laging broke.

“Uncle, may bago akong poem,” sabi ng listang-lista at kyut na kyut na pinsan niyang si Myrla sa kanyang Papa. Kayang-kayang paikutin ni Myrla ang kanyang ama sa kanyang hinliliit. Kung may mga Paskong mas broke pa sa broke ang kanyang ama; si Myrla lamang ang palihim nitong inaabutan ng pisong papel.

Nag-curtsy pa si Myrla bago bumigkas ng tula nang malakas at punung-puno ng drama. Nang matapos ang palakpakan, tuloy-tuloy ang bata sa kandungan ng tatay ni Dina at buong lambing itong binulungan. Nang ginagap ng tiyuhin niya ang kanyang bulsa, mabilis siyang sinaway ng bata: “Uncle, ayaw ko ng pera.” “Eh, ano ang gusto mo--” tudyo ng matandang lalaki, “ang pitaka ko?” “Yun” – sagot ni Myrla sabay turo sa lamesa kung saan nakapatong ang maliit na aparador na kangina lang ay tila gustong wasakin ni Dina.

“Teka, kay Dina ‘yan” sagot ng Papa ni Dina sabay kamot ng ulo. “Pero, hmmm, ayaw yata niya.”

Sa puntong ito tumayo si Dina, tumakbo papuntang silid, nagbabaga ang mukha at nangigilid ang luha. Sinusi niya ang pinto at iniyak lahat ng sama ng loob –kay Santa, kay Myrla, sa kanyang Papa. Nakatulog siyang humihikbi. Pag-gising niya, tahimik at walang tao sa kabahayan. Mabilis niyang nakita ang agad hinanap ng kanyang mga mata.

Ang maliit na aparador ay nasa lamesa pa din at hindi na pangit.

II.

He wrote me a heart-breaking letter from Palawan where he had a business buying and selling lobsters and other seafood. "I am sorry, I can’t come home on Christmas," he said. The pre-Christmas catch was very meager, he explained, and he had to wait another week of diving to make his trip worthwhile. “Don’t worry,” he hastened to add, “I’ll ask my mom and dad to bring my caboodle of nieces and nephews to spend Christmas eve with you and the children,” as though it would make an iota of difference.

As the holidays approached, I prepared myself for a blue-blue Christmas.

I was inconsolable but I behaved coolly that Christmas eve. I decorated, cooked, whipped, baked. When my in-laws arrived, I thought they hugged me more tightly and greeted me more warmly than they usually did. I was terrific: I acted the part of a faultlesssly gracious host.

At half past two am, the last guest had left, the last dish was wiped clean and the last child had been tucked into bed. I breathed in the silence, feeling numb.

Just then, I sensed the stillness outside break -- even before I heard a cab stop, gently purr, and one of its doors open and shut smartly.

I was all ears as our sweet sweet gate screeched sweetly open followed by the sweet sweet sound of familiar footsteps. Then the sweet sweet knocking on the sweet sweet door told me in no uncertain terms the sweetheart made it home for Christmas.

III.

Christmas rush many years ago.

The old woman cheerfully sat beside me on what must be the last remaining seat in the congested bus, carrying a box of cake on one hand and a bayong containing a live chicken on the other. She let the bag drop on the floor as the fowl complained cackling but kept the cake close by her. The box was so big it spilled from her narrow lap to rest on a fraction of mine. She kept lifting the box up, anxious it would bother me. I turned to smile at her to implicitly assure her it was no trouble at all.

It’s ube cake, she told me conspiratorially -- her daughter’s favorite. She always liked that for Christmas, the woman said. Her daughter also liked her tinola made with native chicken, she added. Her daughter, one and only, lived in Bicol with her family.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s wonderful. You have a reunion every Christmas.”

“Oh,no,” she replied. “I haven’t seen her for eight years.”

“Omigosh,” I trilled, feeling excited for her. ‘You will be getting together after eight years! Wow.”

“I hope they come,” she said, brightening.

“Surely, they would come,” I exclaimed, feeling absolutely certain.

“She had promised to come each year but always something would happen. Last year, it’s one of the kids who had an allergic attack.”

“The other year, they went instead to her in-laws' place in Palawan for the holidays.”

"This year, she promised again they would try," she said, her eyes twinkling.

I felt a rise of anger at someone faceless and nameless, an anger so huge it made me almost sick and unable to think of nothing but "eight years, eight years."

Still I managed to say lamely: “It’s okay, you and your husband could feast on the food if they don't come.”

“I live alone,” she said still smiling.

When I stood up to get down at my bus stop, it took everything I got to wish her a Merry Christmas.

(Announcement: DO YOU HAVE AN UNFORGETTABLE CHRISTMAS STORY? It may be on something that happened to you or to someone else. Email your story -- at least 500 words long, written in English or Filipino -- to the POC-Buhay Pinoy editor at myrnaco@gmail.com and win a prize. The best story will win P2,000 cash and a copy of In Another Dress by Annamanila. There will be three consolation prize winners to be awarded a copy each of the same book. All winning entries will be published in the Buhay Pinoy channel. The stories will be judged in terms of plot, writing style, and reader impact. Needless to say, they should be written in grammatically correct prose. Contest ends on December 26 2010; decision of judges will be final.)

Photo: “Are you alone?” by Grzegorz Łobiński, c/o Flickr. Some Rights Reserved.

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