The Lantern Parade (cont'd)

�See, that wasn�t so hard. I won�t bite. What are you so afraid of?�

I am not afraid of you, Motong replied silently, but I am afraid nonetheless. Deep in his heart, he realized the real reason for the fear that gripped his soul at that very moment. If it were any other woman, he would�ve carried on with his life for all he cared, instead of letting his memories chip away at his thoughts, his dreams, and his life without mercy. He cleared his throat, and asked her the dreaded question.

�Sam, are you still mad at me?�

Sam�s gentle laughter added to his uneasiness. �No, of course not. Motong, that happened a long time ago. You were such an obnoxious jerk. The question is, are you still one?�

�Yes, I am. Look, I�m sorry.�

�Here, let me show you something.� Sam pulled out a wallet-size photo from her wallet and handed it to Motong. He took it gingerly, and examined it under the light of the Petromax lamp. The black-and-white photo featured a small cat for its subject, sitting on a small, cylindrical block of wood, with blades of grass and bushes in the background.

The cat in the photo stared back at Motong, as if it were in casual conversation with him, its tail waving lazily against its seat. A plethora of on-the-spot photographic analysis tests zipped through Motong�s brain, in an attempt to comprehend the genius behind the artist�s shot. The narrowness of the cat�s perch made the pose highly improbable under normal conditions. The angle of view crossed out the possibility of a telephoto lens, but the subject did not show any sign of fear from having its picture taken at such a close range; the cat�s relaxed posture belied any artificiality on the photographer�s part.

Motong stared at the extraordinary display of balance for a few moments, before handing the photo back to Sam. �That�s amazing,� he said. �Such personality from a cat! How did you get the cat to sit on such a small log?�

�I didn�t. I just found him like that.� The wonderment on Motong�s face increased upon hearing Sam�s explanation. �I was walking outside the UP Diliman main library,� she continued. �I passed by these hedges, when I spotted something moving as I passed by. When I looked, I saw a cat half-hidden from the path, sitting on that narrow log. We were so close to each other, and she looked so beautiful that I knew I just had to take a picture of her. It was a good thing that I bought a camera, albeit only fitted with black-and-white film.�

�I wanted her to stay put, just long enough for me to take a picture, but I knew that she could go anytime, and I won�t be able to stop her. Oh, if I could only speak the language of cats, I would�ve begged and pleaded with her there and then just so that my film could capture her beauty for all eternity! But, of course, I couldn�t speak cat, so I just reached for my camera in the slowest manner possible. Any quick or sudden actions on my part might�ve scared her away, and I didn�t want that.�

�She just continued to stare at me when I finally spotted her through my viewfinder. For some reason or the other, she didn�t move away, as if she knew what I was thinking. My camera managed to take one picture before she hopped away. She looked at me with those beautiful eyes of hers, and I understood. I had wanted to take a few more shots, just in case something failed with the first, but the act of taking that first picture scared her away. One picture was all that I will ever get.�

�Back then, I thought of how lucky I was to get that opportunity, even if it was entirely by chance. If I had walked by just a few seconds too late, I would never have found her. Imagine that! Sounds almost like a divine revelation for a photographer, doesn�t it? Well, it is. But now��

�Look, Motong. You said I only come just once a century. Wrong. You said you loved me. Don�t.�

Yes, I don�t love you, Motong replied in silence, but I really meant it when I said that a rival and friend like you comes only once a century. Flipping through an album full of pictures of women whom he had known in his lifetime, he had searched in vain for one who could even compare against Sam in terms of wit and brains. He had found none.

Sam replaced the picture in her wallet. �You know, Motong, even though all I have of her is just one picture, I�m already happy with that. The greatest photo-op of the century, the holiest of the holy grails for the photographer, and all I have for it is this one picture! It seems unfair, huh? But, though I�ve lost her, yes, I will never lose, I will never forget, that fragile, that beautiful second when the cat and I connected.�

Rendered speechless by Sam�s speech, Motong could only nod in wonder. With a heartening smile, Sam leaned forward to Motong�s ear and whispered �Motong, beauty never lasts; if it did, we�d lose our jobs, right? So please don�t live your life fighting to make it last. It�s not unfair; it�s just the way it is.� She stepped back from the bright light of the Petromax lamp, slowly turning around, in the direction of the parade�s final destination.

�I have to go. My girlfriend�s waiting for me somewhere at Quezon Hall.� With her head cocked to the side and her arms behind her back, she appeared a lot more like a na�ve schoolgirl rather than the sensible photographer that she had always been. �It�s nice to see you again, Motong,� she said, her widening smile hidden from Motong�s view. �Fine Arts is coming up, so you better get ready if you want a good shot.�

The darkness slowly began to reclaim the distinguishing features from her receding figure before Motong managed to break away from the spell under which Sam�s trite story had put him. His wounded heart aching more than ever, he watched her fade back into just another faceless person in that evening�s crowd of hundreds. After one last gulp of Coke, he ran into the darkness to try and catch up with her, anxiously searching the scattered crowd for the Sam�s identifying mark, two colored bands of light on a wrist. He found her halfway down the tennis courts.

�Sam, wait�� Sam turned around to see the breathless Motong. �Sam, could you do me a favor? I need someone to hold my camera for me.�

A cool breeze had begun to blow, replacing the oppressive humidity earlier that evening, when Motong led Sam to a tall narra tree in front of the College of Engineering. In the few minutes before the arrival of the much-awaited Fine Arts lanterns, the crowd in front of Melchor Hall had doubled in size for the last en route presentation of the evening. The deafening clamor for the true highlight of the evening left the Christian Community and its lantern, second to the last in the parade, almost totally overlooked.

�Look at that!� In her excitement, Sam nearly dropped Motong�s camera when she pointed out, above the towering heads, towards the pinpoints of light around the area of the main library. Her quivering voice echoed the excitement of the two hundred other people who gathered along the sides of the main road. �Motong, are you up yet? I have to go and take pictures too, you know. What�s keeping you?�

Motong�s boots, barely scratching tiny footholds into the tree�s bark, kept sliding back down with his every climbing attempt, due to lack of traction. With no chair, table, or any other means to reach the junction, which sat ten feet from the ground, Motong could only look up in disappointment and frustration at what he considered as expensive photographers� real estate. He was about to face Sam and call it quits when he heard her imposing command.

�Step on my hands, Motong.�

Soaked all over with sweat from his exertions, he turned around to see Sam holding out her hands with which to support him in his ascent. Her fingers were entwined to provide a narrow, improvised foothold; she called out to Motong again in the middle of his protest. �Step on my hands so you can haul yourself up. Get a move on!�

�I can�t do that! My shoes are muddy and your hands will��

Before Motong could finish, Sam looked at him straight in the eyes and asked him, with a tone of mock irritation. �Motong, tell me. Are you really a photographer, or are you just pretending to be one?�

After a moment of guarded reflection, Motong lowered Sam�s waiting arms and placed his right foot against her delicate palms. Much like blood flowing through cholesterol-ringed arteries, the first batch of dancers had begun to thread its slow way through the immense crowd, which hugged the sides of the main road, as Motong shifted his weight onto Sam�s hands. Sam heaved upwards, supporting Motong�s foot while his hands sought a handhold at the very edge of the juncture. With a quick pull on an outcrop of tree bark, Motong hauled himself up the tree.

�Here�s your camera!� Sam called out to him, raising Motong�s gear as far as her arms could take them. Motong reached down and pulled up his camera. �Thanks, Sam. You�re a real angel,� he said, smiling.

Barely audible over the din of the students� ovation and the Fine Arts� brass band, Sam shouted out to him, her Cavite�a accent all over her voice. �Nice idea, Motong! You�re real crazy, you know that?�

�Of course I�m crazy. All great photographers are.�

�Are you staying over for the fireworks display?�

�Yes,� Motong readied his camera even as Sam waved goodbye.

�Take care, Motong!�

Sam�s disappearance into the flood of spectators made him look away. Despite his shaking legs, his soaked shirt and his weary arms, he felt a rush of inner peace in his veins, rejuvenating him. Five months of restless uncertainty, five hours of oppressive heat, five minutes of simple contrition� he wanted to thank her, but it was too late; the night had whisked her off to Quezon Hall, to Canada, to her girlfriend, to God knows where. All he could do now was wish her well in his thoughts, so he did.

When the gigantic Powerpuff Girls� lanterns passed by his unorthodox vantage point, he couldn�t help but join the merriment of the other spectators. Glowing in the darkness, the College of Fine Arts� students had brought otherwise inanimate paper, glue and wire to life, in the form of lanterns portraying various cartoon characters. The Fine Arts students had really outdone themselves, Motong observed, with their plethora of colorful lanterns, their intricate costumes, and their extravagant banners. The darkness hid his contented smile as he marveled at the breathtaking sight below, his viewfinder�s line of sight untrammeled by either the cheering students or oblivious passers-by.

With a snap and a click, Motong let the spectacle of the lanterns burn itself unto the film for posterity to marvel at, before manually winding the film for his next shot.

Finis

The Lantern Parade (cont'd)

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