Hair Trigger 2.0 Issue Two

with my fingernails. Like gamecocks.
“It’s useless, Cora. Why are you defending him when his sickness is harming
you? Manong Bonafe needs help. Now his sickness is affecting his health. When
you protect him, all you do is allow him to go on. It’s no good.”
She waits for me to talk, but I am a stone wall.
“Forgive me, Cora. We felt we should tell you. Something must be done. By
and by, something bad will happen.”
She leaves because I still refuse to talk. I pretend sometimes that it’s too
painful to move my mouth. She says she’ll come back later in the evening, and
then she’s gone. Good. I like to listen to the house creak all by myself. Soon, I’ll fall
asleep. Soon Bonafe will come back, and I’ll talk to him about these foolish rumors,
Manang Elsie’s poisonous threats.
I think I’m still talking to myself, but I have fallen asleep and am dreaming. It’s been
over a week, and Bonafe hasn’t come home. When he appears and I scold him, he
laughs and says he’s been home for days. “Are you going blind, too?” he wants to
know. He brings me a dusty box of crackers and feeds me. They are soft, almost
soggy. Salt and crumbs scatter on the bed sheets and blankets. He pokes cracker
after cracker into my parched mouth, although I tell him I’m not hungry. His face,
now sunken, his double chin missing, grins in my face. “No one can say I don’t
take care of you, Cora,” he says. There’s a knock at the front door, and he drops
the crackers on the bed and disappears. I don’t recognize the voice; it belongs to
another man. I hear the word “Delano,” and then the door shuts so hard a wind
comes hurtling down the hallway, into my room. There is silence. I call out his name.
Bonafe. Nothing. I want to call out again, but I’m afraid he won’t answer. I don’t
know how long it’s been since he left with the stranger, but night comes again and
again. One morning, I find a trail of ants coming up the side of my bed. They march
toward the crackers and carry crumbs away. The little red ants inch closer to my
face, for there are still crumbs on my chin and cheeks. I shut my eyes, and I can feel
them, like little pin pricks, across my face. I press my lips together, afraid they will
pry their way into my mouth, and yet, I can’t scream.
It’s just a nightmare. That’s all. Manang Elsie’s words have taken shape. I’m
awake, but it’s still dark outside. Then I see shadows, and I think I’m asleep again.
I see the silhouette of a man, but he’s too thin to be Bonafe.
He moves again, and I call out, “Bonafe?”
Nothing.
“Bonafe? Is it you?”
27
Patty Enrado