The world has gone crazy! One could say. And whether you are a conservative or liberal, traditional or hip: the few common grounds you could find with each other were the exclamation of the phrase “The world has gone crazy!” And yes, it has…

~~~

Renolito Maximilio often caught his tongue in many an odd and dangerous situations. A radical ideologist, he was considered aptly insane by his neighbors. Where Renolito comes from, the term pilosopo often refers to as mad or insane, rather than wise and sagely.

The priests, though conservative, enjoyed him. When the cranky, town old man Simon de la Praja came to the priests and complained that Renolito was teaching lies and blasphemies again, the priests, specifically Father Antonio Taban, would shrug off the widower and say: “Let a free soul be a free soul. Those are God’s most creative creations!”

In the Parish of San Augustino, Renolito, Renolito felt safe. He has read of a philosopher’s exile, most recently to his attention via books from Father Ramirez’s collection, of Baruch Spinoza being chased out by his Jewish brethren.

But here in the town of Higdaa, it is a mother’s pride and a market-talk bragging right to say her son or daughter had made it to university. And if your son or daughter was an honoree, or god-bless, a philosopher, you were to be promptly worshipped by the other mothers.

“Little Juan has made it to university!” says one mother. “San Giovanni’s, no less!” she continues.

“My boy Lacson has been accepted to Sutherlands’” one mother brags.

As the women’s chortle happen over the vegetables and fruit, the men drink their morning tea and coffee and talk of politics, despite knowing little of it.

“What a scandal!” one whiskered old man ejaculated. “Why on earth would were we thinking when we voted for…eh…who was he?” he asks, drifting from his point.

“Digmaoy?” one man suggested, pointing his index finger upwards.

“Digmaoy!” he recalled. “That’s him! The clown we voted into office!” the old man criticized as he took the final sips of his black tea.

The market was filled with these little hole-in-the-wall establishments where one could buy chocolate and rice cake for breakfast, or if they could afford, egg and sausage with rice.

These were often the hub for the latest gossip and news. One could spend an hour tuning their radio to catch wave of the news report, or one could just simply walk into “Dodot’s Eatery” or Baroroy’s Putohan” to get the all the latest news, given they can endure the banter.

You think within this bustle, you would find the eccentric Renolito; lecturing in the epicenter of the discussion. But today, Renolito has reserved.

He comes out of his wooden cottage with his hair done and a present by his hand. He kisses his mother, Rita, goodbye and bids his father, Sygmond, goodbye as well.

As he exits the house and trots down the street, happier than one can be, he passes by his good friend Baltazaar Ignacio, the young cleric boy, who was sitting on a log drinking tea with his brother Iban.

“Well, you seem good-weathered today, Ren…” Baltazaar commented.

“I’m seeing Marina today!’ Renolito said in bliss. “And I have prepared a gift!” he said.

“Let me see!” Baltazaar said.

He receives the parcel, wrapped in thick Manila paper. He gives it a shake, smells it and presses his ear against it. He then concludes as he gives it back to Renolito.

“You got her a book!” Baltazaar deduced, like the Sherlock he thinks he is.

“Isn’t obvious, Bal?” Renolito said as he held the book affectionately. “I’ll be asking her out after…”

Baltazaar spits out his tea and Iban chuckles, his mouth filled with puto.

“Her grandfather is going to kill you…” Iban pointed out as he swallowed the puto. “He has already tried once…” Iban said after forking in another piece.

“Well, we have settled on a spot to meet…” Renolito said. “And I assure you, old man Praja will not be interfering.”

“And what will he not be interfering?” Baltazaar asks as he wipes his lips with his shirt. “...your tongue rubbing against hers?”

“Haha! ‘animal!” Iban interjected in a bout of laughter.

Iban has entered his usual bout of laughter, which could be lethal for him, considering his throat was clogged up with puto. He wheezed and coughed as Baltazaar swatted his back to help him cough out the chewy rice cake.

“I’ll be leaving now…” Renolito said, irritated.

“Update us…cough cough …on any… cough …progress!” Iban said, finding difficulty breathing.

As Renolito left the putohan where Iban almost died, he made his way to the mercado or marketplace to pick up a can of condensed milk and bread. It was, of course, a special day. It required something that was equally special and equivocally, sweet.

~~~

Upon arriving at Marina’s spot, one he so affectionately named as, Marina’s Spot, he jumped about and looked for his sweet heart amongst the bushes and roughage and tall, slender tress that surrounded the place they spent playing as children, grew up and eventually, fell in love in.

As he looked about and out, nighttime fell and the sun was orange in tint. It passed through the trees and the leaves making a mirage of orange light that set on the pink sky like a pretentious painting on the wall of Lola Emi’s house

He then saw it; the gingham blouse and ebony hair, her pale cheeks and peach blush. She was no girl, she was a woman. She was the woman that Renolito wanted to marry, the woman who he wanted to press his lips against hers. Too bad, as of seeing her there, those lips were pressed against someone else’s.

Alfonso Menez, son of Mayor Tito Menez, was kissing Marina Praja.

This was to be suspected, Renolito thought…

Geniuses have often the most tormented souls. Their intellect, like a heartless slave drivers whipping and flailing, whip and flail their hearts and egos as they tell themselves of there inadequacies.

“What were you thinking, Ren…” he said to himself.

That night, a can of condensed milk and stale bread went to waste. As for the book, it’s up in cinders, wherever the ashes are now.

~~~

A gleeful song could be heard down the road. It was a tune deaf rendition of ‘My Way’ by Frank Sinatra. The song, while sung so cheerily and gay, was the product of sorrows and regret being marinated in three in pints of alcohol.

Renolito was drunk. Even though he was completely soaked, he had the mind not to go home. Had his father seen his young university honoree like this, he woul have bent him over and proceeded with a lashing.

He turned to Baltazaar and Iban’s , who were living on their own now.

~~~

“Iban, get the door…” Baltazaar said, too preoccupied in his book.

Iban got out of his chair and proceeded to open the door. As he opened it, he was greeted to a sloppy, slightly odorous version of his friend Renolito Maximillio.

“Heloo…”Renolito drunkenly greeted. “Don’t tell ama, I’ve been drinking again…” he smirked.

Iban looked at him as he was nearly ready to pass out, he turned around and looked outside, as if someone had been following him. He then stuck his head back inside and asked Baltazaar what to do…

“Balatazaar…” Iban called out in a worried shrill.

“Yes?” Baltazaar responded

“Renolito’s here…” he said.

“Oh?” Baltazzar interjected. “Well, let him in!”

They let the intoxicated man in and sat if down in the sofa. They let Renolito rest and sober up as they went back to “work”: Iban watching TV and Baltazaar nose deep in a book.

Around nine-o’clock, Iban heard a knock on the door. As the knock grew louder, Renolito awoke from his drunken spatz as he held his head up in pain.

“Iban?” Renolito asked, nearly forgetting his name.

“Oh, you’re up.” Iban commented. The knocking from the door grew louder. “Just a bit, let me get that…” he said, pointing at the door.

“Oh no, let me get it…” Renolito offered, feeling he had overstayed his welcome.

As he got up and limped towards the door, he opened it to find a sobbeing Marina. She was heaving heavily as she lunged forward towards Renolito’s chest.

“Ren, help me…” Marina said.

“Who’s there?” Baltazaar asked from the back.

“Oh my goodness, its Marina bro...” Iban said. “I think she’s hurt…” Iban said worriedly as he clutched his cross pendant.

“What?” Baltazaar said as he limped on to the dorr, also clutching his cross pendant.

“What happened…Are you okay?” Renolito said as he held her face. Marina just kept on crying and heaving uncontrollably.

“Renolito, you dense idiot!” Baltazaar said shoving aside and leading Marina to the couch. “You were going to attempt therapy while she was freezing outside?” he said as he left for the kitchen to prepare tea.

She was wearing the exact same gingham dress from her spot. Upon seeing this, Renolito’s heart cracked a little. But upon seeing Marina cry, the crack slowly split his heart in half.

“Okay, okay…Calm down. Tell me what happened…” Renolito said trying to calm her down as Baltazaar set a cup of tea out for her.

“Real smooth, player…” Baltazaar quipped.

“Shut up, Baltazaar!” Iban scolded, annoyed by his brother.

Marina started calming down and started to talk. Renolito leaned forth with all ears. Baltazaar pulled himself and Iban back to the kitchen to give them privacy.

“It started this noon, when we were supposed to meet…” Marina went on. “I didn’t know…but then Alfonso came and forced himself on me…” Marina explained.

Upon hearing this, Renolito could feel his bones poking out as his fist clenched. He went on listening to Marina’s story.

“Long story short, he said if I didn’t accept my proposal, he would tell on his father about papa’s debt and imprison him…”

From the sideline, Renolito felt horrible. It was Mr. Dizon de la praja who lent his parents money when he was in the city studying, and that probably contributed to his debt. But he didn’t tell anybody so no one would worry.

“I’ll do anything to help, marina. Anything for Tio Dizon…” Renolito offered, disguising his intetn to help Marina by saying he was to help her father.

“Really?” Marina asked, in a glimmer of hope.

“Well…” Baltazaar interrupted. “You did say he forced himself on you, correct?” he rhetorically inquired.

“Yes…” Marina said dryly.

“Well that can be subject to sexual harassment!” Baltazaar suggested.

“Are you suggesting we…” Renoliton inquired.

“Yes!” Baltazaar answered, cutting Renolito short. “We sue that smug rat!” Baltazaar suggested.

“But we’ll need a lawyer, more so any one more powerful than the mayor to beat him!” Renolito interjected, expressing his concern of this plan backfiring.

“Not really…” Marina said. “The mayor is leaving this weekend for Palanganda.” Marina said.

“That’s it!” Renoliuto snapped in a moment of eureka. “We’ll get him when he has no one to defend him!” Renolito said.

He then pulled out his notepad and started noting down everything that was said. Baltazaar looked into the notepad and saw the words ‘your honor’ and ‘I plead…’.

“What are you doing?” Marina asked curiously.

“I’m making our case!” Renolito said excitedly.

“Our…our case?” Marina blushed.

The night went one with interpolations and lots of editing. Little did these young adults know that what they were hatching up would ultimately become the first big case in a line of many more cases ahead of them.

Like the Sanhedrin that wronged Jesus Christ, but unlike then, this time the wronged fight back. It was to be the first crack in the foundation leading to the fall, the demise of San Hedrin.