Collected Philippine Short Stories

Kara's Place | Luis Joaquin M. Katigbak

I'M pretty sure there are only two rats. I've seen both so often that I can tell them apart now, and ever since I gave them names, I've started feeling something almost like affection for them. I mean, I don't feed them or anything — they manage to steal quite enough of my food, thank you — but at least I don't freak out any more when they pop up, and I don't reach for the nearest blunt object. I saw Ludlum (he's the smaller, darker one) this morning, just behind the dishrack, and Le Carré paid me a visit as I was eating lunch. I guess that's how I think of them now: they're visitors, and God knows I don't get many of those here in Krus na Ligas.

Well, there's Eric, of course. It's kind of funny; we've known each other for years — went to the same high school and all — and we've never really been more than buddies, but nowadays, I think he's gotten kind of sweet on me. Why else would he squeeze his Civic into the narrow streets of KnL? Why else would he hang out in this lousy place? I mean, to call my room makeshift would be an act of kindness; it doesn't seem constructed so much as slapped together. That it's an architectural afterthought is proven by a window set in its back wall: a grimy screen covers said window, and its wooden jalousies have now been nailed shut, but anyone can see that it once served as the house's front window. I guess the owners needed some extra money, looked at the square meter or so of extra space in front of their house, and decided to cobble together a "room" for some gullible student, i.e. me, to rent.

The right wall was made out of hollow blocks, up to a point, that is. From around waist height upwards, it's just chicken wire, supported by a wooden framework. This fact is just barely disguised by the heavy yellow curtains that hang down from the roof. The left wall is made of wood; but it's also unfortunately a shared wall. Half of it belongs to the people next door, I can hear them arguing from here.

I don't really mind all that, though. I've rented worse places. I spend most of my time asleep anyway, so I don't give a damn about the interior design, or lack thereof. The noise I can tune out, after a while; it just becomes like a background hiss, like the white noise an off-duty TV makes when it's way past midnight and you're nodding off on the couch. The thing that bugs me, though, is when I have to go into the main house to use the bathroom. Of course I know enough never to step out of the bathroom wearing just a towel or even a bathrobe; but for my landlord's useless son it's apparently a turn-on just to see me in shorts and slippers. I have to pass through the kitchen to get to the CR, and if he happens to be there, I'll feel his gaze on me, travelling the length of my body up and down. I don't even have to glance at him to know this; he's not exactly subtle about it. Get a job, I want to tell him; get a goddamned life.

A knock sounds on my door. My door is made of cheap lawanit half-heartedly reinforced by some galvanized iron. Somehow any sounds produced by striking it don't sound quite real, and so I wait until I hear the knock a second, a third time, before I get up to answer.

"Who is it?" I call.

"Just me," a familiar voice replies.

"Eric?"

"Yah."

I push my monobloc chair aside to clear the way to my so-called closet. The chair makes an irritating scraping sound. "Hold on," I say, as I open the closet door, and tug at one of the drawers. "Just give me a minute or two to make myself decent."

"Okay," he says, as I rummage for a bra — my white T-shirt is pretty flimsy, and there are limits to my bohemianism. I find one, snap it on, then get up and open the door.

"Hi, Kara," he says, with a big grin and a small hand-wave, as though I were several meters away. The goof.

"Hey, Eric," I smile, " — come in." I point at the chair. "Sit down, feel at home." He sits, quite happily obedient, and I can't help trusty-canine comparisons from springing to my mind. I know, I know, I can be so mean. And to think Eric's one of those rare persons I actually like.