Collected Philippine Short Stories

The Steel Brassiere | Iris Sheila G. Crisostomo

I took the children to the park to see the great fountain that squirted water 50 meters high. With each squirt came sounds of innocent wonder as little heads looked up the sky, following the burst of crystal liquid that disappeared for a moment then fell back with a great splashing sound. There were shrieks of glee and the patter of little feet running to get nearer for a closer look each time the fountain squirted water once more.

"Mama, the fountain!" cried eight-year-old Jonathan. He was holding his sister Gina by the hand and leading her to the edge of the fountain.

"Take care not to get wet," I called out. He nodded. I could see him smiling in the distance. He had his father's winsome smile. I finished my ice cream, my second helping.

Later in the afternoon, we wandered through the playground and spent time pushing one another on the swing. Twin metal chains fastened the swing to a horizontal steel bar and once again the feel of the cold steel between my fingers made me think of Tiya Anding's breast armor.

As the swing swayed back and forth, I closed my eyes and my hand went over my chest, remembering how the hard metal felt against my flesh. The wind was brushing against my face with every swing and I felt like a warrior riding with the wind, charging towards the enemy. Then I felt a drop of liquid on my cheek. Was it a tear? Was I crying?

As I felt more drops, I realized a drizzle was starting. I called out to the children and we ran to the parking lot but it was a long way getting there. I stepped on mud and slipped on the pavement made slippery by the rain. Jonathan came back to help me but I was already up and laughing at my own clumsiness.

The rain was now falling harder and I was dripping wet. Trotting to the car with the children, I found myself in a playful mood, enjoining them to guess which key will open the car door. There were about twenty keys in the chain and it took me several minutes before I finally opened the door.

By that time, we were soaked to our skins. Jonathan made faces as he pulled at his baggy pants heavy with rain. Gina was laughing as she changed into an old T-shirt she found in the car. It turned out to be a clean rag but she didn't mind. She was just glad to be out of her wet clothes. I knew it was foolish to play in the rain but I felt no remorse.

As expected, the children came down with a cold and Lindoln kept me up all night with his how-to-be-a-good-mother lectures.

"Haven't you any sense at all?" he asked, slamming the closet door with a loud thud. "No mother in her right mind would permit her children to play in the rain. And what's worse, they did not even ask to do it. You actually invited them to play. So what do you call that?"

"I'm sorry," I replied flatly. "'Something just got into me. It will never happen again."

"Unbelievable. The kids get into more trouble when they're with you," he barked then crept into bed with his back turned to me. I lay awake for what seemed like an hour before I heard a faint snore. Then I went to the balcony for some air. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh if it would help. For the first time, I felt nothing. Lindoln's words which used to bother me into sleepless nights didn't mean anything anymore. I looked up the sky but saw no stars. I felt no fear. I felt I could do anything and still remain unfeeling.

Then I remembered Tiya Anding. We used to walk together along stretches of empty streets with nothing but towering lamp posts above us craning their necks as if eager to listen. She would tell me about her husband, Tata Fernan, who used to berate her about her smoking. Tata Fernan hated her smoking. But Tiya Anding brushed aside all his words aside calling him a coward because he feared for her life.

"That old man just cannot live without me;" she said with a smirk on her face.

"And you?" I asked.

"You can say the feeling is mutual. We go a long way back. Had lots of fun together. He was never a bore. So how is Lindoln?" Tiya Anding always had a way of shifting our conversation to my husband. She remembered Lindoln whenever she spoke about Tata Fernan.

"Always too busy," I answered.

"If that man could just slow down a bit, he wouldn't be missing out on things." Tiya Anding said, making a round billow of smoke in the air.

I WATCHED as the demolition team tore the house down, clouds of dust and dirt went flying everywhere. I thought of Tiya Anding's similar emissions as a heavy smoker. I watched as wooden planks were pried from the walls and the old, rusty roofing pulled down. Doorposts fell like giant toothpicks against the heavy arm of moving machines. Besides myself, children from nearby shanties were standing by, watching the men operate their giant toys with ease.

When the entire structure finally torn down, I felt like I had lost a part of myself–an arm maimed or broken off in an injury. With a heavy heart, I headed back to the house thinking about Tiya Anding and her words: "That old man just can't live without me." Can I say the same about Lindoln? And can I live without him?

After lunch, I helped the maid get the laundry from the clothesline. After a few minutes under the hot midday sun, I went back inside to the kitchen for a cold glass of water. The feel of the cold pitcher in my hand made me think of the cold metal I once wore against my breast. The feel of the steel brassiere was as comforting and reassuring as the ice water running down my throat.

The sound of the ringing phone brought me back to my senses. It was Lindoln.

"Hey, Pareng Jimmy will be coming over for dinner tonight. Can you prepare his favorite rellenong bangus?"

"What?" I asked, still holding the cold glass in hand.

"I said Pareng Jimmy will come for dinner tonight..."

"Call again. The line is bad. I can't quite hear you." I put the phone down and leisurely walked to the bedroom.

And the phone rang again and again and again.

Sunlight was streaming in through the open window. The curtains lifted in the breeze. It would have been a beautiful day if not for the incessant ringing of the phone.