Imelda Comes Home – Part One

"Hangga't makitid ang kumot, matutong mamaluktot."
“While the blanket is short, learn how to bend.”
(Filipino Proverb)

 

Manila Airport

Imelda had not returned to the country for twelve years now.

The plane landed at Manila airport with a delay of twenty minutes.

She had spent the last half hour of the flight with her face stuck to the porthole to her left, with the voices of the passengers becoming a single Filipino dialect molasses.

Screams of children, crying, laughter and people already talking on the phone to those waiting for them at the airport before it was even given permission to turn on their cell phones.

Someone was pulling down the carry-on bags with their belly overflowing from the edge of the raised shirt in an effort to grab the heavy suitcases.

She only turned her face away from the thick misted glass when the plane shut off the engines.

 

Twelve years.

She had the steward, a tall handsome boy with a western nose and almond-shaped eyes, olive skin, and slicked black hair, help her to take the suitcase. He took her little red trolley with a polite and detached smile.

“Your suitcase, po.”

She thanked him and lined up to step out into the row of seats, while the model-tall, beautiful stewardesses smiled and chanted to fly back with them. On the carpet are blankets, plastic bags of headphones, and some paper.

As she reached the corridor leading from the plane to the airport building, she was overwhelmed by the acrid smell of dampness that she knew well but had almost forgotten.

There are those who passed it by running dragging their trolleys and those looking for the toilet.

Imelda walked slowly, looking at the glowing posters on the walls that showed wonderful islands and blue seas.

She went to pick up her luggage from the walking belt and loaded everything onto the trolley, angrily refusing the insistence of some men who wanted to carry the trolley at all costs.

“Hindi po! Hindi po!” She repeated with both hands planted firmly on her handle.

Imelda reached the lobby outside the Arrivals Gate and was stunned by the multitude of voices shouting the names of their relatives.

She narrowed her eyes to focus on all those faces – there must be some grandchild.

“Tita Imelda! Tita Imelda!” It was for her; they called her aunt.

She recognized Jacinto and Oggie, two of her grandchildren waving in the crowd. She smiled politely and walked over to them.

Jacinto, the older and chubby, hugged her in a sticky sweat hug as soon as he was close to her.

“How long, auntie!”

He seemed to want to crush her tiny body like a boa constrictor. She smiled and nodded as Oggie pushed the cart towards the exit.

“How was the trip, tita? Many hours! Tired? Are you hungry? Do you want to eat something?” Jacinto asked without giving her time to answer a question.

“I ate on the plane, that's okay. Salamat,” she thanked him and followed them from behind.

 

Manila Airport

Imelda hadn't been able to return for a long time. Her work did not allow her long journeys, she was barely enough to have half a day off on Thursdays and all Sundays.

She had wanted to leave all this for years, she was now over fifty, she was tired. She is tired inside, as she told her nun friend in the church where she went every Sunday.

Her husband Romulo had fallen ill with diabetes many years earlier and had expressed a desire to return to The Philippines. Their children had married and lived on their own.

“I want to die where I was born.” He said one evening.

She could not refuse his desire, much less follow him.

Who would then send the money to pay the school for the grandchildren in the country, to finish building the large family home, and the medicines for the husband?

He could no longer work, he felt old and exhausted as soon as he got up in the morning. He just wanted to get back to Ilocos as soon as possible.

When her husband left Rome, she promised that she would come back to see him soon, but every time she asked for a vacation to the family she worked it was refused. They say they needed her and if she went away for a long time, they would have to find another housemaid.

So the first year, then the following year, up to twelve years.

This was the first time she was given ten days.

Ten days of balikbayan, the one who returns to the Philippines from overseas.

 

They got into the shiny black SUV, freshly washed, bought with part of her salary that she sent every month.

Inside were two small children she didn't even know who they were.

“Tita, this is José, Gina's son, do you remember?” Jacinto said with a sweaty, smiling face.

Imelda tried to search her memory but nothing, she nodded smiling so as not to offend his nephew.

“The other is Santo, the son of the neighbor, Perlita, you know, right? He wanted to come at all costs, he wanted to travel!” the grandson said as he pinched the baby's cheek, then pushed them aside, “Make room for tita Imelda!”

She got in the back with the two children while the grandchildren got in the front and started the car.

The journey would be long, many hours.

She looked at her watch and realized that she still hadn't moved the time six hours ahead. Imelda thought that at this time in Italy she was just getting up and she should have prepared breakfast for Luisa, before taking her to school and ironing Alessandro's shirt; he loved having a perfectly pressed shirt before going to the bank.

“How do you iron shirts, Imelda, not even my wife!” He loved to say with sincere admiration as he tied the knot in his tie between the perfectly pointed corners of the collar.

She had learned to add a drop of cologne to the ironing water so that the shirts had a very slight sweet aroma.

“This is your secret,” he whispered in her ear, sniffing the fabric, smiling as he walked to the door.

Imelda was happy.

Before leaving she left the bottle of cologne with the wife.

“Pour a drop into the ironing water, ma'am. At the last step, you spray a little steam at a distance of a few centimeters, especially on the collar. Your husband will be happy.”

The wife nodded.

She had worked for them for over twenty years. Seen two of their three children grow up and Alessandro's elderly father die; they also had managed to find an excellent doctor to treat her husband, but when his health seemed to deteriorate, she had to confess to them that he wanted to return to the Philippines.

At first, they were confused, they did not understand why her husband did not want to be treated in Rome or if Imelda would follow him.

“It's his desire. You know, ma'am, many of us may even live our entire existence in a distant country, but death cannot. We want our land on our bodies. However, I will stay, don't worry.”

 

 

Imelda was a petite woman, barely five feet, thin, with dark skin and large eyes.

She had never cried in front of anyone. If she had to do it, she would wait for the night.

The first time after her husband's departure was not easy; she loved that family, she knew she was indispensable, they were both still young and working – three children to care for are challenging.

When they didn't give her a long vacation, she suffered a lot. She would call the Philippines in the morning to find out how her husband was, then she would cry a few tears, quickly wipe the eyes and go to the kitchen to make breakfast.

She could no longer even understand well, over the years, how her husband really was, there were more times that she talked about him with her sister-in-law Luzviminda.

“Can you send 200 euros?”, “We need 150 euros, tita”, “We have finished the garage walls, but we need more money for the courtyard, ate!”

These were their replies when she asked her relatives or directly to her husband.

“Okay, I'll send you on Thursday.”

 

She looked out the window, the city flowed in horizontal colored filaments, while the radio played a song by Eva Eugenio.

The children beside her watched a cartoon on one of the two's phone.

“It's hot right, tita?” Oggie asking facing to her.

She fanned the collar of her sweaty shirt and nodded.

“Pity aunt! Didn't you remember the heat here, di ba?” He said and laughed turning up the air conditioning.

Imelda had a sweaty forehead and frozen toes.

Thinking about it, it had been almost a year now that she no longer spoke to her husband; everyone told her that he was better, that returning home had healed him. That thanks to the money she sent she had saved him.

In Rome, he seemed about to breathe his last...

“Kumusta na ng asawa ko?” Only after more than two hours of travel, Imelda asked how her husband was.

The two grandchildren looked down the street ahead, swinging their heads to the song on the radio.

“All right, tita. Everything good. Are you hungry? Do you have to go to the bathroom? We stop?” They asked her.

After thirteen hours of flying and three hours of driving, she absolutely wanted to stretch her legs.

“Okay, let's stop for a moment.”

They stopped at a 7Eleven along the highway leading to north. The two grandchildren got out of the car to smoke, while the two children ran into the small supermarket.

Imelda went to the ladies' room, which was dirty and smelly. After urinating she rinsed her tired face. She could barely see herself in the damp-blackened mirror.

She realized that still hadn't turned on the phone; she came out of the toilets and stood in the corridor that led to the supermarket with her back to the wall. Imelda took out the phone, swapped the sim for the local one Jacinto had brought, and turned it on.

She stared at the screen with an old young photograph of her and husband, until it began a concert of message notifications, one after the other, all from the same number.

It was Elizabeth, the woman she worked for.

“How are you?”, “Did you arrive?”, “Why don't you answer?”, “Imelda, are you all right?” 

There must have been about ten with this tone.

She started typing quickly.

“Yes, ma'am, all right. Excuse me, I've now turned on the phone.” In Italy it was lunchtime.

Elizabeth answered immediately.

“Thank goodness, we were worried.”

Imelda replied with a smiling emoticon.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two grandchildren and the children, inside the supermarket, buying beers and biscuits.

A new message arrived. Imelda opened it and read.

“Do you remember Luisa's shirt? We found it. She had forgotten in the house of Giordana.”

Imelda smiled. A few days before, little Luisa was very angry because she couldn't find her favorite T-shirt. They searched every drawer and closet.

Imelda took a tantrum from the lady.

She remained silent with her eyes downcast. She was sure that the shirt was not in the house: it was she who washed, ironed, and put in the drawers every dress of that house, especially those of three children.

“Sorry for the other time.” A new message from Elizabeth, with a sorry emoticon.

Her short fingers with protruding dark brown knuckles quickly typed the answer.

“It's okay, ma'am. The important thing is that the shirt has been found."

She put the phone in her right trouser pocket and walked to the car.

Oggie ran into the bathroom with one of the children.

 

Jacinto at the wheel turned to her. “Tita, it's still a long way, you’d better try to sleep.”

Imelda looked at her watch, there were still about four hours to reach Ilocos Norte. She was tired.

Oggie and the unknown child got into the car.

“Let's go!” said Jacinto smiling, smelling of beer.

Imelda's eyes grew heavy. The sun was setting and the highway ran between plains and mountains. The two children snored lying down and clinging to each other beside her.

She was about to fall asleep when the phone vibrated in her pocket.

A song by the Asin was on the radio.

It was a message from Luisa.

She opened it and saw a selfie of the little girl wearing the Billie Eilish face shirt.

“You were right, aunt.” She wrote with lots of flowers and emoticon basins.

Imelda answered with a smile and closed the phone.

Her head already weighed on her left shoulder.

The eyes closed in a dreamless sleep.

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

Italian version