Scary Movie
Remember the mangoes by my front yard hit by Typhoon Ambo? The concrete road facing my house was like a carpet of mangoes. Heaps! And they were for harvesting that day.
A mango vendor came last week and wanted to buy them for 6k pesos – for all the fruits they can pick from the three big trees by my front yard’s concrete fence: Pico and carabao varieties. No way, I said to Boben, one of my two gardeners. Would we settle for 8k pesos? We’ll call you, we said. No rush, I told Boben. Someone might come along with a better offer, he said. Precisely!
“Di pa po masyado magulang, konting panahon pa “(not too mature yet; needs a little while longer), my gardener told the buyer. He didn’t want to sell, however, because they didn’t look “manibalang “(mature, full-grown, or close-to-ripe mango). He remembered the time we bought a basket of green mangoes from a neighbor. They took so long to ripen, and when they did, they were already panat (wrinkled) and tasted bland. With that in mind, we decided not to sell until Typhoon Ambo.
“You should have accepted the offer, “friends told me after the typhoon. “Naghangad ng kagitna, isang salop ang nawala, “some were quick to quote a Tagalog saying about greed, where you wanted more and lost much in the process. Oh, never mind, I said. I can always make burong manga (pickled green mangoes). There was enough left hanging in the trees anyway. And shit with the 8k pesos! I’d instead bake mango crumbles every waking moment to feed my family and friends until the pharmacies in town run out of insulin than settle for less money. Better be greedy than sorry? You bet.
I was awakened as early as 7:30 AM today by a knock on my bedroom door. My cousin. Ostensibly the mango dealer was in the neighborhood picking mangoes, saw my other gardener on his way to work. He still wanted to buy my mangoes, and he can pick them today, for 6k pesos. Seven, I murmured, still half asleep. I stood up 15 minutes later, headed to the bathroom, started showering when I heard a knock on the door, my cousin again. It was the mango dealer, she said. He wanted to see me.
“I don’t want to see him, “I screamed. “I said 7k, nothing less! “Or 6k, Ok? I asked myself. I grabbed a towel to wrap around me and hurried down to see the guy. I saw him talking to my other gardener.
“Seven thousand, “I said in a rather harsh tone as I approached them. I saw the stunned expression on the face of the mango dealer. Recovering quickly from the trance, he took his wallet out from his trouser’s pocket, counted 7k peso bills, and handed them to my gardener. And just like that, he left– presumably to tell his pickers they can begin with the picking. I was astonished; I thought he came to negotiate on the price.
I was astonished; I thought he came to negotiate on the price.
It must have been how I looked like to him. No doubt it was. Back in the bathroom, I saw myself in the mirror, face still covered with soap suds. Must have scared the living daylights out of him.