CHAPTER 1: The Not-so-Perennial Dog: Bantay

He came home that Friday night. The night had long closed its veil. His black coat in his arms, and his black pants as if they were freshly pressed. His shoes on the other hand has some splatter of mud on it for it was raining the whole day.

He stoop down to wipe the mud on his shoes. Red is already standing in front of him. Waiting for almost five minutes before he finished with his shoe.

“I am Red, it is so nice to meet you,” said she when he finally stood up. She always keeps her hands behind her.

He noticed muddy slippers on the shoe rack beside the door.

“Did you go out of the house?” asked he.

“No, but she dreamt she did,” said she. “Oh so far she ran,” she continued while he kisses her on the forehead and she on his cheeks.

“Many things happened today,” said he as he walked. “Why don’t we talk about it at dinner,” he held up the large black plastic bag he was holding. Anyone could have guessed what it contained but Red told herself it didn’t matter.

She was told to change clothes before coming to the table. He would cook that night, he told her and it would be a feast.

So she went to her bedroom and rummaged her closet. Some books are stuck in her clothes, her Franz Kafkas. And she stopped, what was it that she forgot?

After putting on her red laced dress she went straight to the kitchen. She could smell different recipes from the azotea and wondered how many was on the menu that Friday night. She wore read doll shoes. Her feet felt light as if they were being glided by some strange feeling of excitement.

The light around the house was bright and warm. Chandeliers in the kitchen just above the kitchen table. And the rain had finally settled, dissolving into crickets warbling.

She found him in the middle of taking out a large piece of roasted ham from the oven. She could see a big bowl of mechado. There were also adobo. Dinuguan too.

“I can prepare the table,” she grinned. And he nodded.

She carefully put the table mats over the table. The one at the kabisera, the one beside it. Soon the table was laden with many of that night’s feast.

“What happened today, Zodiac?” asked she.

He was about to swallow a spoonful. His face bewildered. He still could not get used to her calling him many names.

She was always excited to see his calm white face change expression. His black eyes would brighten up. And he would then smile sweetly at her. Always sweetly, for he thinks of her as his precious little doll. Fragile. With pinkish blush on the cheeks, long black hair, and wide glass eyes.

“I had a very nice day,” said he at last. “I finished my project on time and the clients seemed satisfied.” his lips spoke beautifully, she thought. She is tempted to ask more.

“She doesn’t know what it is that you do,” she said.

“Oh you’ll be bored when you do,” he answered.

“Well then, Mr. Zodiac, try her,” said she in reply.

He was shaken. Why is she asking this now? He told himself. He feels embarrassed. He doesn’t like anyone taking interest in his job. Isn’t it why he kept giving that dog leftovers? Taking care of the poor animal? Now, how does that happen?

“A curious job it is,” he said finally, as he tries to take control of his thought going wild. He’s not a big fan of his instinct not certainly of little girls.

The menudo was brilliant it sent blood to his cheeks and to hers as well. Exquisite meat, she thought. Empty chairs, they make her smile, empty ghosts who could never taste their feast.

“Can I go to your work sometime? The dog kept barking all day,” she said.

“Oh, but then I will be too busy to look after you,” he said.

She was offended. She certainly is cute but she doesn’t need anyone to keep an eye on her. She could bet she knows a lot more about mormons than he does.

“She could bet she knows more about mormons than you do,” she said, snubbishly.

“Yes, I know,” said he, now giving himself a serving of adobo. And he smiles. Silly, he thought. He wouldn’t even dare taking her to the office, not with all her satins and laces.

“She will take Bantay with her,” she still insists.

He wants to faint, he felt. He looked sad when he wants to faint. She was exhilarated to see how the blood rush in his cheeks and how quickly it disappeared.

He stood up, suddenly. He looked exhausted. O, mean little her.
He gathered his plates and his kubyertos without saying anything. Then he put them on the sink.

“I will think about it,” he said, cold voice, as cold as a slab of meat.

And she is left on the table, fiddling the food.

She couldn’t understand men. They thought the world revolves around their jobs. She stood up, went to her room and searched the net about what men hates to discuss before the table 101.

She was in the middle of reading her emails when she heard the dog bark weird. As if it was being pulled apart.

Terrible, its cries, if they had neighbors, they would think it exploded!

She went out of the room and went at their silong where the animal was caged. It was dark, bamboo walls, split in places. The cold light of the crescent moon shone.

She was surprised to see what she saw. His sleeves rolled up, his white polo spoiled with what looked like dried blood in that shady moonlit night. His face when she saw him was white, the contours of his nose, lips, chin were pronounced by that increasing moon. She felt excited to see him.

“The dog, exploded,” he said.

Her eyes tried to see what would look like a dog that exploded. The dog’s head, she couldn’t see. But the dog’s hind legs, held in both arms by Zodiac. He let go of it. The dog, exploded, he thinks.

He walked away. Blood all over his clothes. She followed behind without looking back. The darkness, she thought, her pupils might explode too.

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