Date: Tue, 25 Feb 2003 23:43:59 +0800
From: Dale de Leon <daygonewrong@hotmail.com>
Subject: beautiful

                               Beautiful
                            by Dale de Leon

I.

	"inviting you (stop) come and visit my place (stop) pick up Joni's stuff
(stop)  signed: Andres Lorenzo"

	I read the telegram again, just to be sure, and put it on top of the
cabinet. I placed some coins over it.  Spotting some Marlboro's nearby, I
took the box and tapped out a stick.

	Andres Lorenzo was my sister's lover before her untimely demise.  I haven't
thought of that name for nearly two years since Joni's passing.  Lighting my
cigarette, I looked at the city view spread out before me in the wide
expanse of my condominium's glass window.  Has it only been that long?  It
felt like a century.  God, I missed Joni so much. I did nothing but mope and
cry inside my room during those 22 long months..  Joni.  My beloved twin
sister.  Dead at the tender age of 25.

	In my depression I tried to blot out those months with alcohol, sleeping
pills, and endless work.  The pain was just too much to bear... the
emptiness too hollow, the silence too loud.  My sister was gone forever!  My
Yang.  My life.  My love.

	But not even fatigue nor altered states of consciousness could alleviate
the emptiness that engulfed me like a hungry, fallow beast.  I walked
through life as if in a daze... as if I was going through a really bad black
and white movie where there was no plot, just endless shots of film to mark
what otherwise was a dull and pathetic life.

	I should have died with her.  At least I wouldn't have had to live through
all this pain.

	My lungs expanded to let as much nicotine into my system as my breath would
allow me.  What use was there in living when life no longer held any color
for me?  I let the smoke out from my lungs, willing my mind to clear itself
of similar toxins.

	I let go of the pain... even for just a moment.

	My thoughts went back to the telegram.  I tried to recall what I could of
Andres Lorenzo.  A portrait of a brooding, introspective man popped up in my
head.  I recalled that Joni had introduced him to me during those rare
occasions when her work led her to Manila.  My sister was a top-notch
freelance photographer and journalist.  While working in Mindanao covering
the San Isidro expose, Joni met Andre at one of the political rallies held
in Davao City.  He was a political scion... the grandson of a prominent
Congressman and the nephew of the incumbent Governor of one of those
guerilla-infested provinces down south.

	Joni and Andre were a study in contrasts.  Where Joni was outgoing and
outspoken, Andre seemed shy and reserved.  Where Joni was politically-active
with her causes and her journalistic work, Andre actually hated politics
altogether and preferred to stay clear of anything that reeked of the
government.  Physically, the contrast was even more apparent.  Joni and I
had mixed Chinese and Spanish blood.  From our genes came our lean but
compact build, fair skin and slightly-brownish hair.  As a result, we both
looked younger than our actual age.  Andre, who looked every inch an
aristocrat, came from bulkier Spanish blood.  He was big-boned and stocky,
with masculine features that lent him a dark and brooding air.  I thought
Joni and Andre made a handsome pair.

	I've got to admit though, the two did have one romantic similarity.  Both
were dreamers and hopeless romantics.  Joni, aside from being a
photographer-journalist, was also an accomplished painter and gifted
pianist.  Andre, who had one of the most masculine voices I've ever heard,
was the front man for an up-and-coming metal rock band called Splinter.

	I had never seen Joni being that smitten with anyone in her life.  You
couldn't pry her away from Andre when she was here in Manila.  Naturally, I
felt jealous. He was someone someone that I had to compete for Joni's
affections with.  But I didn't let that get to me when I saw how happy my
sister was to be with someone who clearly loved and adored her.  Besides,
Andre genuinely seemed to be a nice guy, although he was a bit distant.  I
didn't take that against him.  We'd just met back then.  Still, like a
typical concerned brother, I tried to get to know more about Andres Lorenzo
to see if he was going to be a good man for my sister.  It was a good thing
that I was with the media.

	From what my sources tell me, his background checked out, although from
what I gathered, there was a lot to be desired from his family's political
practices.  Also, I didn't like the fact that Andre and I never warmed up to
each other.  He was always clinging to Joni.  We never talked much.  There
was definitely something odd about that guy, but I decided that I was just
being paranoid and customarily told my sister the usual warnings (get to
know him first before doing anything rash; don't let him push you around;
don't let him lay a hand on you; etc.).   Joni just laughed and told me I
was acting like Dad.  I gave her a hug and told her to be happy.

	A couple of months later, she was dead and looking ethereally beautiful
inside her coffin.  Reports say that she died from a boating accident that
left 3 people wounded and Andre lying comatose in the hospital.  We buried
Joni a couple of days after  and I never heard of Andres Lorenzo ever since.

	Until now.

	I took a hold of the telegram and took another long drag at the cigarette.
God, I miss Joni.  I read the words all over again and considered it.
Well... the truth was that I really needed a break.  After Joni's death, I
just went through the motions of my editorial job in City Magazine and
refused all invitations to go out and socialize with all my concerned
friends.  Also, there was the curiousity of seeing how my sister had been
living in those months that she was in Mindanao.  I hope I could recover all
of Joni's artworks, photographs and writings left over at San Isidro.  If
I'm lucky, maybe I'll find the inspiration to go back and write.  It's been
so long since I had written anything substantial.

	I took the phone off its cradle and dialed the number of my contact who was
working at the telegram office.

	"Hey Ella?  Yeah, it's me, Jules Vallejo.  Listen, can you send something
out for me in this address?  Yeah, the message is:  'Dear Mr. Lorenzo, I
accept your offer.  I'll be flying in within 5 days.  Jules Vallejo.'  Got
it?  Great, just put it on my tab, okay Ella?  Thanks.  Buh-bye."

	I put the phone down and took my last drag on the cigarette before stubbing
it out on an ashtray.  I hope they had Marlboro's in San Isidro.

II.

	It felt unusually hot and muggy inside the fastcraft, although the
airconditioning was up. It looked like a cloudy day outside.  It had been 5
hours since my arrival in Cagayan de Oro via plane.  That counted as 2
additional hours for the land trip and 3 more on this boat.  I was more than
anxious to get out and recuperate from my fatigue.

	I tried to focus on the cheap B-movie that was playing on the boat's
in-house TV, but the corny antics of Chinese actors only heightened my
impatience to get out.  Willing myself to remain calm, I looked outside to
pleasantly find that the distant island of San Isidro couldn't be more than
30 minutes away.  So, I stood up from my seat and walked out the cabin unto
the salty deck.

	Leaning on the railings, I contemplated on whether the unease I felt was
due to travel fatigue or whether it was because of the anxiety of meeting up
with Joni's ghost.  My hands were trembling.  I tried to rub them to keep
them warm.  Joni's death never made sense to me.  My sister and I were both
good swimmers.  Should anything have happened, I know Joni could have swum
to safety.  But the reports were sketchy at best, and I had to concede that
anything could have happened in that accident.  She could have bumped her
head.  She could have been trapped by the boat underneath the water.  She
could have been a victim of foul play.

	No, no, stop it, stop it, STOP IT!  I put my hands on my head and massaged
my throbbing forehead.  It was useless to torture myself any further.  How
could anything have happened?  It was a boating accident.  Other people were
also injured.  Andres Lorenzo was even in a coma for 5 months.  And yet...
Joni was the only one who died.

	Suddenly, the boat was too small and the water too close for comfort.  The
smell of salty water became nauseating and my stomach heaved from panic.  I
slumped weakly on the deck and tried to think of anything BUT the swaying of
the boat and the murky blue depths of the sea.  Twenty.  Twenty more minutes
and we'll be docking on land.

	Hands trembling, I just sat there numbly until someone from the boat's crew
found me and led me back inside the cabin.

III.

	After what seemed like an eternity, the fastcraft finally docked on the
pier.  The grimy half-naked dock hands from on shore clambered in and tried
to bully the craft's passengers into letting them carry their bags and
packages.  Although I didn't doubt their honesty (these men just wanted to
make a living), I didn't really need much help with the few baggages that I
carried.  I politely but firmly told the man offering to help me that I
could carry it on my own.  And so I stepped outside, relieved that I was
finally on solid land.

	Putting my dark glasses and baseball cap on, I surveyed the scene that was
laid out before me.  It was a tropical paradise. The dark-brown beach front
looked inviting. Coconut leaves swayed lazily with the wind while quaint
nipa huts dotted the landscape.  Humble fisherfolk clad in salt-stained
clothes went around slowly, either mending their nets, hawking their catches
to the tourists, or tending to their weather-beaten boats.  The fishermen's
children with their unkempt, sun-bleached hair and dark complexions looked
on shyly at us before going back to play with their friends.

	The sight was a welcome comfort from the vertigo that was the cabin deck.
I smiled a bit and then shifted my gaze back to the busy pier to look for my
welcoming committee.

	The pier was a ruckus of passengers, dock hands, fishermen and peddlers.
Everywhere, people were rushing in and out and making their way to their
vehicles.  Some were haggling with the many tricycle drivers plying their
services by the roadside.

	After a few minutes of scanning, I could make out three people who were
headed towards me.  I could easily identify Andre.  He was an imposing
figure at his tall height.  Sporting the clean-shaven head that he had when
I met him in Manila, I was surprised to find that he'd gained a lot of
weight since I last saw him.  Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans,
you would've never guessed that his grandfather was the most powerful man in
San Isidro.

	Right beside him were two other men who looked like his assistants.  One
guy looked gaunt but a closer look at his arms revealed that he was tightly
corded with sinew and muscle... the physique of an all-around laborer.  The
other guy was shorter, and squat, but he looked just as sturdy as the other
guy, despite his big beer-gut.

	I walked on over to them and offered my hand to Andre, who gave me a firm
handshake.

	"Welcome to San Isidro, Jules," he said simply, giving me a brief but
reserved smile.  "How was your trip?"

	"I arrived here safe, that's all that concerns me," I wryly told my host.
It was the fatigue talking.  I didn't feel very congenial.  Was it my
imagination but did that strike a chord with him?  "You've got a very
beautiful island here," I said amicably, trying to counter the sarcasm in my
first reply.  "I'm glad I came.  It's almost a vacation after the grueling
pace in Manila."

	Andre nodded in understanding and instructed his boys to bring my bags.
"Yeah, I know what you mean.  I was there a couple of months ago, trying to
cut a new track with my band.  The traffic there has gone worse."

	We walked together back to where a dusty pick-up truck was waiting.
Andre's men put my bags at the back and covered it with a tarpauline.  Both
men then clambered at the back for the ride home.

	Andre got to the driver's seat and I sat at the passenger's side.  He then
got the car running and before you knew it... we were on our way.

IV.

	We made some idle chit-chat along the journey.

	I asked Andre some questions about the sights we saw on the road, how the
guerilla situation has been... things like that.  He mostly asked me about
my job, the mutual acquaintances we had in Manila, how my folks have been
doing.

	All in all, there was this unspoken agreement to skirt around the issue of
Joni's death until we both had the emotional and physical energy to deal
with it.

	Andre inserted a tape in the car stereo and soon the slick tune of electric
guitars and drum beats filled the truck.  "Your new cut?,"  I asked him.

	"Nah, it's actually a B-side of something we did that never made the cut on
our last album.  A pity.  I liked it,"  he said, never taking his eye off
the road.

	I listened to the song.  Yeah... I agreed with Andre.  This was pretty
good.  The song began with a harsh and explosive guitar riff then suddenly
stopped.  A slow, rhythmic strumming of the bass then followed through with
some lazy finger work on lead.  Andre's rich, gravel baritone then floated
in the foreground.  "You cannot be my misery/ I won't let you be my agony/
No, you just wouldn't understand the reasons why..."

	"This is pretty good," I told him honestly.  Andre just nodded.  The song
played on, "...I cannot love you this way/ I cannot bear for you to stay...
I'm sorry but I don't have the heart to love you..."

	"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." a female voice echoed back.
It was too eerily familiar.

	I looked in surprise at Andre, who was intently looking at how I would
react.  He anticipated this and nodded in confirmation.

	"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." Joni's voice echoed back.

	Andre's voice was terse and sad.  "There were... personal reasons why that
track never made it in the cut. Otherwise... it would have been... a hit..."

	I just kept quiet and looked outside my window.  The view was beautiful.
The forest we were driving beside made way to a ricefield clearing that was
being fed by the tranquil waters of a crystal-clear pond.  The setting sun
reflected on the pond's silvery surface.  I could almost imagine Joni's eyes
on those waters... honest, tranquil and yet, enigmatic, giving nothing away.
  But when you least expect it... you see a hint of starlight.

	"...no, I don't have the heart to love you..." Joni sings from the stereo.

	"Uhm... can we stop this tape?  Please...," I quietly begged of Andre who
wordlessly ejected the tape from the stereo.  I never looked at him.  I
never let him see how vulnerable I was and how much I missed my sister.

	Andre gripped me on the shoulder comfortingly.  "I'm... sorry. I had to
play that."

	I nodded and looked on ahead.  It was going to be night-time in a few
minutes.  At least I could grab some much needed sleep.

V.

	Pretty soon we arrived at a Lorenzo hacienda.  It was a beehive of
activity, with the sacada laborers bringing in the day's harvest, to the
various animal keepers going in and out to take care of their charges, to
the various hired guns warily eyeing the surroundings for any sign of
trouble. Likewise, I found many hangers-on and toadies looking for any
opportunity to curry political favor.

	"We've got to stop at my uncle's place for now. We'll make the trip to my
family home tomorrow.  Hope you don't mind the crowd... it's nearly election
time," he apologized.  Afterwards, he barked some orders to some people and
pretty soon arrangements were on their way to make our brief stay at the
mansion cozy.

	I looked behind me and saw a black Nissan Pajero come inside the gate.  The
front passenger seat opened, and a burly man in his fifties, wearing a
barong and smoking a cigar, came out of the car.  He was obviously related
to Andre.

	Andre walked on up to him and held the man's back of the hand against his
forehead.  "Mano po, Tito," he said respectfully and conversed with the man
in a half-Spanish and half-Visayan dialect.  From what I could make out of
the conversation, Andre was obviously asking for permission to sleep over at
the mansion that night.  Then he pointed to me.  I guess that was my cue to
go over and introduce myself.

	I walked on up to the two as they were talking.  "Tito Noel, this is Joni's
brother..." Andre was saying when I got to them.  I gave them a warm smile,
took off my baseball cap and dark glasses, and extended my hand.  I was
shaking Noel Lorenzo's hand when I noticed that both men were staring at me
with surprise.  I was confused but I tried not to show it.

	Andre, especially, seemed to be stupefied for a brief moment when he
remembered himself and finished his sentence, "...uhm, yeah, this is her
twin brother, Jules Vallejo.  Jules, this is my uncle, Noel Lorenzo,
Governor of San Isidro"

	The older man said something in their tongue which I couldn't catch.  Then
he smiled warmly at me and firmly shook my hand, "I'm pleased to meet you
Jules.  Welcome to my humble abode.  Please, enjoy yourself here and make
yourself at home."

	Noel then led me inside the house, all the while holding on to my back.  "I
am sorry to hear about your sister's tragic death.  Everyone in the family
loved her so much, especially Andres here.  Please accept my condolences."

	"Uhm... thank you kindly, sir," I replied awkwardly and proceeded to walk
with him.  I looked over my shoulder, surprised to find Andre looking
intently at me.  For some strange reason, that made me feel uncomfortable so
I blushed.  Hurriedly turning away, I kept watch of where I was going.

VI.

	The Governor had one of his servants direct Andre and I to our guest rooms.
  This was a very big mansion... the part of the house that we were assigned
to probably had 5 other guest rooms as well as a cozy lounging area.  It was
almost like being in a small 5-star hotel.

	The room that I was assigned in looked really comfortable and tastefully
furbished.  It had a spacious twin bed, a TV set, airconditioning, as well
as other amenities.  I spotted a door leading to a common patio shared by
all the other rooms in that side.  Standing outside the patio, I had a
beautiful view of the estate grounds.  A vast farmland stretched out before
me... fields of corn, palay and other crops as far as the eye could see.
Right nearby was a stream with an irrigation system installed beside it.  Up
ahead, framing the silver crescent moon, were distant mountain ranges...
tall and majestic in their ancient timelessness.

	I got back inside the room.  Feeling sticky from the trip, I hurriedly
stripped from my sweaty, grimy clothes and located a nearby towel.  I
stepped inside the bathroom and saw to my hygienic requirements.  I was
taking a crap when I heard the sound of the bathroom door being opened.  In
my haste, I didn't notice that the bathroom I was using was shared by the
two adjoining rooms... mine and Andre's.  Andre walked in, wholly naked
except for the towel draped around his lower torso.  Startled, I reflexively
covered my groin with my hands and bent forward.

	"Oops, I'm sorry," Andre apologized when he saw me in my vulnerable
position.  "I thought you had gone out of the room."

	I grinned weakly and said, "Yeah, well I forgot to lock the door.  I'll be
done in 5 minutes.  Just let me finish here and then I'll take a quick
shower.  You won't have to wait long, I promise."

	For the second time that day Andre had that weird look on his face and he
just stopped and stared at me.  I didn't know what he wanted, so I just sat
there waiting for him to say something.  Andre then walked over to me,
standing close.  Way too close for comfort.  He was close enough for me to
have a good view of the sparse trail of fine dark hair running down from his
broad chest to his belly and finally disappearing down to his nether
regions.  So close.  Close enough for me to smell the scent of stale
cologne, cigarettes and day-old sweat on him.   I felt uncomfortable.  The
air around us was statically charged with sexual tension.

	I looked up to find him looking down seriously at me, his hand outspread
but hesitating, as if he didn't know what to do with it.  I was bothered to
feel the pooling of that familiar tension in my loins...  I was getting
aroused.  "Uhm, yeah Andre... I'd like some privacy here..." I said
half-jestingly, hoping that he'd snap out of it.

	It took around 5 seconds before Andre remembered where he was and spoke up,
"Huh? Uh... yeah.  Sorry, I just...."

	Then he held my cheek with his right hand and looked longingly at my face.
His hand felt warm and rough against my cheek.  I looked up helplessly at
him, startled by this unexpected display of intimacy.  I was shocked.  I
didn't know what to say.

	I coughed politely.  That brought Andre to his senses.  He looked away from
me and backed up farther from the toilet.

	"Uhm, yeah, I was just wiping away a smudge on your cheek... Sorry, I'll
leave you alone now.  Just lock the door behind me."  And with that, he
walked out the bathroom, forcibly closing the door behind him.

	I rubbed my hand where Andre held my face and pondered on how strangely my
sister's boyfriend was acting.  But my brain was just too fatigued and my
energy sapped from my long travel.  Nothing made sense.  A smudge on my
cheek?

	Before Andre went in, I had been thoroughly washing my face.