ANNABEL and John met at a local golf resort. He was with some friends who were avid golfers; she was the restaurant supervisor of the clubhouse. He was a middle-aged Australian, a widower with no kids; she was a Filipina in her late 20’s, a single mother, her daughter was in the care of her parents in a far-away island-province. They hit it off straight away, Annabel and John, and before long, she moved in his recently-leased flat in the compound where I live. Annabel became a next-door neighbor.
She was nice, quiet, and a bit as “reclusive” as I was. She did not associate with the resident gossip in the tiny community, nor did she attend those weekend barbecues of the Australian expatriates in the compound. Most likely, it was because her partner, John, did not actually relish the company of his cheerfully loud compatriots. He was a low profile guy unlike some of the other expats in the compound. He was as quiet and as unassuming as Annabel, the kind of neighbors I preferred. It was only much later, upon discovery of an unexpected thing in a totally unexpected place, did I reflect on the couple’s relationship…
The House on the Hill
AS introverted as I was, it would’ve surprised Annabel had I told her that I had met John some three years earlier. It happened in Puerto Galera. I was on holiday with THNE: the latter was making merry connection with a new-found acquaintance from down under, and I was tracking down a faith healer to interview. (I had an off-and-on series on faith healers at the time; could not help it, I was a workaholic).
This new-found acquaintance, an Australian named after a popular soft drink, invited THNE and I to his house. He – let’s call him Dr. Pepper although he wasn’t a doctor but actually a sailor – was also on holiday like us. But unlike us, Dr. Pepper rented a fully-furnished apartment instead of staying in a beach hotel. That served him well because he stayed in Puerto Galera from one to two months unlike us who only stayed from one to two weeks at a time.
The idea of calling on Dr. Pepper did not appeal to me. I had a faith healer to look for and interview, and socializing with Aussies was not on top of my list. There are plenty of Australians in
Sunset View
THE steep steps, maybe 60 or so, going up the hill where roofs of flats were partially visible disconcerted me briefly. Not that the exercise fazed me; it did not. I was just reminded by my inner voice that I was on vacation, wasn’t I, and did I need additional going-up-the-hill mode? The city center in
Dr. Pepper appeared on top of the steep steps when THNE and I were halfway up. The former looked quite pleased as he waved to us with one hand, his other holding a bottle of San Miguel. As soon as we reached the hilltop, Dr. Pepper led us to his house. It was nothing fancy, just comfortable holiday accommodation with ample cooking facilities. There was a second floor. We went up there. Dr. Pepper said that the sunset view from the balcony was “to die for.”
That was where I first met John, Dr. Pepper’s friend who was sharing the house at the time. We were introduced to John. He said hello with an uncertain smile and parroted Dr. Pepper’s invitation to stay and watch the sunset from their balcony. We did. And even if I preferred sunrise over sunset, I had to thank Dr. Pepper and John for the opportunity. The view of the setting sun from the hill off Sabang beach was magnificent. It was like communing with Mother Nature at one of her very best. The reddish orange hue with streaks of pink and purple across the sky lent an unforgettable drama when the huge globe vanished down the sea.
(I did not get to interview the faith healer. He lived on the other side of the hill, by way of the forever-temporary and seemingly-forever-muddy wet market. I came to find him on my last day of holiday, but my enthusiasm vanished when I saw the faith healer’s dwelling by the hillside. I was frightened – and, boy, I was frightened. I had been to many houses of faith healers before, from mansion-like to match-box size houses, but I had never been that scared. The abode of my subject for interview looked like the outside of a witches’ spidery-cracked cauldron if truth be told.
I retraced my steps to the beach hotel, disappointed for having been to Puerto Galera twice and, so far, no interview yet with the local healer.)
A FEW YEARS LATER.
There was nothing wrong, in my opinion, for not having mentioned to Annabel that I met John before we became neighbors. It wasn’t as if he had a woman with him at the time. If he had, I would have zipped my mouth tighter. But as it was, I knew that John – and this, from snatches of conversations I’d overheard from THNE and his Australian expat buddies – was faithful to Annabel. I was happy for Annabel especially when she became John’s fiancee. Shortly afterwards, the couple flew to
13 MONTHS LATER.
Power outages are most unwelcome especially if one has deadlines to beat. And if the power interruption occurred at the witching hour when no one else was in the house, like what happened one very muggy midnight, my only choice was to step out of the front door, take in fresh air to dissipate my fear and frustration – fear that most of my work might not have been saved by the automatic save feature of the PC; frustration that I might not be able to meet my deadline and collect my cheque.
I took a couple of steps away from the font door, intending to stand by the curb and stare at the stars but lo! There was Annabel, standing on the curb a few steps from her own front door, obviously intent on doing what I thought was a novel idea. I expressed pleasant surprise upon seeing her in the semi-darkness.
“I thought you were still in
“I just arrived the other day.”
For a while, as we stood side by side in the darkish compound, the huge, shadowy presence of lush trees all around us, she told me about how she liked it in
She recounted how she and John’s mother got on well. The mother was in her 80s and a bit frail but was still active so it was not too bad. I wanted to ask Annabel when she and John will marry but something in her voice stopped me from being nosy.
As if she could read my mind, she said, “John will not be returning to the
Why? I did not ask that, it just showed in my eyes illuminated by the bright stars in the night sky.
“He is ill.”
I was stunned.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked, not unkindly. “You’re engaged to be married. Shouldn’t you look after him?”
Her voice broke. “He has broken our engagement. He’s not marrying me anymore. And he even took me to this spot in a park, somewhere in
It took a bit for me to digest all that. It was overwhelming, all those information. I was speechless for several minutes.
Annabel broke the silence. Her voice was no longer broken but I heard the tears in her tone.
She said, “I refused to go to that place the second time. But don’t get me wrong. It was a decent place, just like a normal meeting place, not a sleazy type for picking up one-night stands.”
“Why would John suggest that you find another boyfriend? If he is sick – “
“He is very sick and his mother did not want me to leave
“If he really loves you – ”
“Yes, he does,” Annabel interjected, pain and grief in her words and manner, “I have no doubt about that, that’s why he wanted me to find someone else, to be happy. He does not want me to see him suffer as his cancer gets worse. He pretended to be all right until the last moment before I left, but I knew he was dying. He did not want to make a widow out of me, and later be saddled with the care of his elderly mother.”
I was silent for a long time. I had always, always thought that only women were capable of such sacrifice. Even if some of my romance novels depicted men as capable of endless and/or enduring love, I had not seen men in the light as I now see John. A most unexpected place for me, really, to discover: selfless love in the heart of a man.
THESE DAYS:
Annabel has been living with her American husband in
And I have to thank him again; this time, for unshackling my prejudice with regards to the hearts of men.
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