Madness

Written on 10:49 AM by isko b. doo

There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know -- John Dryden


Somewhere in C.M. recto Street, I was sitting alone on the ramshackle and rusty jeepney bound for home. The barker in front of me was shouting on the top of his lungs to solicit passengres, all the more to annoy potential passengers into avoiding the very jeepney he's trying to help out. The driver appeared bored. He was about 60 years old, ashen-haired and emaciated.
Amid the stacatto of blares, the barker's voice stood out:

"Jacinto Piapi, Jacinto Piapi!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this old woman holding a plastic bag marked Gaisano Center, cross the pedestrian lane. She was looking all the way at our jeepney while she crossed. The barker was still shouting.

"Jacinto Piapi, Jacinto Piapi!"
The barker, who was turning his back on the old woman the whole time, felt a tap on his back. It was the old woman.

Old woman: Piapi ni?
Barker: Oo nang, piapi ni dire ka sakay oh.. (pointing to our jeep)

Before boarding, she even leaned out to look at the signboard which, of course, read Jacinto Piapi. She clambered on the steps and settled on the chair opposite me. We were still along on the jeepney. She then looked at me and asks:

"Piapi ni dong?"

(In my head, my brain screamed. argghhh!)

Instead I smiled and with all seriousness, answered: "Dili, Bankerohan ni nang."

The old lady was flustered and gathered her things, presumably to disembark. The driver, overhearing our conversation, turned around to tell the old lady: "Sa Piapi ko padulong nang, dili Bankerohan."

The old woman and the driver glared at me. I looked out, totally indifferent; I could take them both with one hand tied behind my back.

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