Jester

Philippine Graphic

August 6, 2007

Vol. 18, No. 9, pp. 40-41.

 

So, you’re the one who caused all this mess, Dante hissed at the lifeless mass that blocked the eastbound lane of Grand Commerce Avenue. His eyes moved coldly from the corpse crudely shrouded by a tarpaulin to a bus parked meters away. A red streak ran from the cadaver to the vehicle’s right front wheel. Police tape bordered the area where investigators trawled for evidence and interrogated witnesses. Two men laid the body on a stretcher and carried it to a van. It's CSI live, he thought. He clicked his camera phone on the spectacle and pulled away from the sidewalk railing.

His office, nestled on the 40th floor of the Metro Tower, was two blocks away. He joined the multitude forced to disembark from their vehicles and into the pavement by the tragedy. The teleconference had started an hour ago. Better late than dead, he sneered.

The mobile in Dante’s pocket vibrated. It was Charles inquiring if he was interested in a wager. He guessed what the bet was about. Two weeks ago, a lady stood on the ledge of the condominium across their office. Charles wagered that she would back down.  Dante predicted that she was doomed. She leapt, and he pocketed half his friend's paycheck. The fool wants to recoup his losses, Dante snickered. The gamblers sealed a deal with a few texts.

Next, Dante called Angelique. Still unavailable. His sister was febrile when he escorted her to work. Her graveyard shift had ended three hours ago, but his ten messages and two missed calls had yet to yield a response from her. Angelique, the cell phone addict, had broken her habit of giving him hourly updates of her activities.  Her office sat along the thoroughfare, but he had never ventured beyond the ground floor lobby when he dropped her off at midnight for her shift.  Mama must be praying to all the saints by now, he thought.

The late morning throng in the lobby of the Metro Tower was unusually thick. Misery, I adore your company, Dante thought. “Ready for a memo?” He shuddered. “Sir?” Arnold threw a backhanded slap to his subordinate’s chest. “I moved the telecon because of the traffic jam caused by that accident. Only Tess and Lind beat the call time. ” He wanted to whack his boss. “I heard that a bus dragged a pedestrian for nearly a block.” They squeezed into a packed elevator. The incident was a hot topic in the lift.

Dante noticed the empty cubicles in the production area. “Looks like buses made a killing today.” Arnold frowned. “Dispense with the cruel jokes and start working.”

“I saw Lind in the pantry. There must be food there. Can I feed my Ascaris first?” Dante whined. “Someday, you'll get a memo for your humor.” The rebuke did not reach its recipient who vanished into the pantry

“Fat keeps people from growing old. It kills them young,” Dante addressed Lindsay, his five‑foot, 250-pound officemate. He claimed the chair beside her and dipped into her bag of chicharon. She paused masticating the fried pork fat and blurted, “When my sumo wrestler friends are through with you, you’ll know that fat is lethal. Persist in your cruelty, Dante, and you will die younger than fat folks like me.”

Tessa, the gangly frustrated archaeologist, poked her head into the pantry. She did not miss Lindsay’s ponderous bulk and Dante’s ominous grin. “What? Still interested if Lindsay’s cellulite will soon be transplanted to me?” Her words erased his smirk. “Lind, Homo sapiens are not supposed to mingle with Neanderthals.” Tessa pulled her friend from her seat.

“A healthy caveman will outlive any obese or anorexic Homo sapiens.”

“Not if the caveman gets lynched by irate Homo sapiens.”

“Is Charles in?” You lost, Lindsay giggled inside.

Tessa did not read Dante's shift in mood. “Your fellow caveman? The first thing he asked me when he came in a minute ago was about the corpse on Grand Commerce Avenue. His eyes reddened when I told him that the victim was a female, hope they're not related.” He wanted to break into a victory jig, but settled instead to setting his drumming skills loose on the table. “Is that how cavemen mourn the dead? Pity the victim because she fainted in the path of a speeding bus.”

“No. I just became a few thousand pesos richer and Charles won't have anything to eat until the next payday.” Angelique would have her dream of prancing in Lacoste sneakers fulfilled.

“He hasn't paid you for that woman who jumped off her condominium?” Lindsay spoke between manducating chicharon.

“It's another dead woman, the one on Grand Commerce.”

Lindsay stopped chomping. “You're going too far.”

“We’re not different from the gamblers who play poker at wakes.” The gaze of the women was searing. “Bye, ladies. I still have to rob Charles.”

Freed of company, he pressed Angelique’s number. Failed again. Riza, Angelique’s honorary sister, emerged as his best hope in contacting his sibling.

“Dante?” Silence fell on the line. Possession of her number was only for contingencies, not for fraternization.

“Where's Angelique?” They fired the query simultaneously.

“Sorry. Is Angel home?

“Probably not. Is she there?”

“No. She logged out an ago. Work is heavy today and we are short on people, so the supervisor asked us to extend. But aspirin was useless against Angel's fever that she was sent home. I only accompanied her to the elevator because I had to cover for her. Sorry.”

“Any idea why she is not replying?” Charles waved from his cubicle. Dante nodded.

“Ah...I only saw Angel’s phone and her purse when I passed by her workstation. They're in my locker. She won’t get a taxi with the loose change that she keeps in her pockets. Sorry.” She began whispering. “The super is here. Tell Angel to get well. Bye.”

“I'll give the other half on payday.” Charles extended his hand clutching folded bills. “Those statistics about males as reckless drivers and pedestrians are wrong.”

“You relied on numbers churned by geeks?”

“Research and experience. Crossing streets when the light turns green thrills me.”

“Well, you can charge this latest loss to experience and do a little research on gambling and bankruptcy.” His rock ringtone blared.

“Ma?” Her keening burst in his ears. Charles looked up curiously.

“It's Angelique...Angelique...”

“Calm down.”

“Angelique...Grand Commerce.” Her wails rose by several decibels.

“She's not at her office in Grand Commerce. She's not home yet?”

“Angel...Bus...Grand Commerce...”

 

- Prospero Pulma Jr.-