My amigo Pedro S. I sent him a text message: have you viewed Claire's body? I have just arrived from Isabela, an 8-hour trip, to give my final respects to the retired University of Baguio professor and fellow Ilocano writer. She died of cancer two days ago and her body was lying in state at Funeraria Paz along Naguillian Road.
Saan pay, mi amigo Pedro texted back.
What about Lito de Francia?
Napanda kinita ti bangkayna idi umuna a rabii.
Lito's wife is a real estate broker. The family now lives in a concrete house in Irisan at the Baguio outskirts. They used to rent the second floor of a high-rise apartment near a bridge along Rimando Road.
I don't have Lito's number in my phone book. I composed a message for him and requested my amigo Pedro to forward it to Lito.
My amigo Pedro never answered my request. Nada. Nada until seven in the evening. I sent again a message to my friend. No answer. Nada.
We had veggies (pinakbet) and liempo for dinner. My apoko Christian, the first-born son of Rene Rafael, relished the liempo, cut into small pieces, which he dipped in sauce made of pig's liver. I brought the liempo as pasalubong along with other Raul Lechon meat products wrapped in tin foils. (My son works in a multinational company in Singapore).
I was very tired from the trip and I was sleepy. I waited for mi amigo's message. Nada. Nada until I fell into a dreamless sleep. A, mi amigo Pedro he is my friend whenever we lunch with sugarless barako cofeee at Session's Daily Restaurant.
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