FRAMES OF PICTURES

At a street in Baguio City, Philippines, Feng To-Su turned a corner and unceremoniously bumped into Ah Kong, his ugly pal, who was strolling aimlessly like he owned the world.

Ah Kong had a dreamy look like he was in love – when in the first place no gal in her right mind would like to cuddle this monster-looking android.

“Ah ni zao,” (Good afternoon) Feng greeted his  long-time pal. Ah Kong puffed deep at his cigar and raised a hand in salute. Dusk was already settling, darkness  creeping stealthily into house corners and flinging away the remaining  sunlight.  Road neons were lighting up.

“Tian le?” (What time is it?) Ah Kong asked.  Feng showed six fingers. “Ahhh,” Ah Kong sighed in understanding.

“Won men qu chou he he,” (Let us go sit down for a drink) Ah Kong murmured.

Further up the street they strolled, entered a bar and ordered drinks. Nursing their drinks, they listened to country music being belted out.

The Ah Kong caught Feng studying the pictures framed along the bar’s walls. For an hour, Feng had been steadily concentrating on one framed picture.

Something was going on in Feng’s mind. Now, mind, you. Feng’s vocabulary was remarkable and with it was the completeness with which he had assumed a well-rounded attitude towards things.

But this time, it was apparent that he could not understand the picture. “That picture – what does it mean? I do not understand.”

Ah Kong looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously wicked face, his right hand pressed dramatically to his heart, was falling backwards to the floor. Confronting him, with a face that was a composite of a destroying angel, was a man with a smoking revolver.

“One man is killing the other,” Ah Kong said.

“Why?” Feng asked. When Ah Kong said he didn’t know, Feng lamented. “That picture is all end; it has no beginning.”

“It is life, “Ah Kong objected.

But Feng retorted, “Life has beginning. That picture has no beginning. It has no end.”

For this matter, Ah Kong had no answer.  Feng was bent upon compelling himself to show Ah Kong the wisdom of pictures. Besides, Feng has remarkable powers of visualization. He saw life in pictures, felt life in pictures, generalized life in pictures. How he always said that pictures are bits of life. You remember it afterwards. It is like a picture in your memory. The window is the frame of the picture.

Ah Kong slowly started to understand. Life is a picture. Even that beautiful waitress serving them drinks is a picture. He leered at her.  Feng admonished him. “Ben da!”  (You are stupid).

Feng stood up, a signal for them to go home. “Yao hui jia woma.” (I will go home.)

“Nigeyiqu  kennima! (Please, let me go with you!)  Ah Kong, already drunk, pleaded. “Po!” (No!)  Feng said sternly.

Ah Kong, pictures reeling in his mind, nodded his understanding. “Wo ken ni ming tian  le, “ (I will see you tomorrow) he said.  Reeling drunkenly, he could not understand why pictures, when seen through other men’s eyes can be assumed different from another point of view.

“Wan an, “(Good night) Feng shouted at him, adding, “Ni hui jia le,” (Go home straight).

“Shi,” (Yes) Ah Kong answered “Zei jian,” “Yi wan xie, (A million thanks).

Feng heard and waved back. “Shi-shi,” he said.

If only both of them looked up, they would have seen their silhouettes momentarily framed in the darkened sky. --- Bony Bengwayan Jr.