Yearning

It was starting to become darker and the surge of strong gusty wind blowing now and then was ominous. Store signs made mostly of metals and plastics that were rickety and decrepit were showing some indications that their rusty, corroded metal parts combined with their old age had caught up with the times, and in this moment of weather upheaval, ready to be brought down aided by the invisible magic of gravity. So did the traffic light hanging overhead in the middle of the intersection between the avenue and the one lane street that passed through the side corner of the sidewalk of my space. It had been swinging wildly to the tune of some whistling coming from the wind that blew past overhead unhindered above the vacant space of the avenue like a vehicle speeding with unrestrained contentment.

“You want to know why I’m early?" the woman asked. She answered her own question. “Well, as they say, ’Early bird catches the worm’,”

“Uh huh,” I mumbled, a sign that I’m in the middle of agreeing or rejecting the cliché that she had just mouthed.

“And in my experience, a coming storm is conducive to my trade. I could easily bed three or four clients a whole night, or perhaps more. Men love caressing and pumping in this kind of weather; it makes them perspire a lot aided by the heat of the rubbing flesh that would ultimately help them discard the cold,” she said, with a loud laugh, proudly stating her self-known facts.

I watched her opened her purse and picked inside a pack of cigarettes and a cheap gold plated lighter. Her gracious moving fingers placed one roll pleasantly between her lips and proceeded to light it. She extended her hand with the pack to offer me, but I genially raised up a palm to decline.

“How about you?” she asked, “what are your trade secrets?” Then she added, without waiting for my answer, “Don’t worry, I won’t be into your trade. I have no knack of selling tins and pots.” She laughed again boisterously after giving a tone of sarcasm on the last words.

“Yes, I know, you only self-sell,” I said, with a tinge of scorn. “But I have to correct you with that assertion of yours, I am not selling tins and pots, on the contrary, I’m selling gold and silver.”

She smiled with a wide-opened mouth after hearing what I said. She put out her tongue and ran the tip of it first on her upper lip and then on the lower part.

“Don’t be offended, I was only joking,” she said, trying to show some concern on the effect on me of the perceived slight towards my work that she had just made.

There was a lull in the storm. I did not trust this kind of easing. It was a bad sign for a more destructive force coming but it thrilled me further. I had not decided whether to call it a day or to stay, though I had a feeling that staying would only be another exercise in futility. On the other hand, it was also “conducive” to my trade, to borrow from the words of the conversant woman. Thieves would not fence stolen property on broad daylight, but with some exceptions, those who were truly desperate. The majority of business I had transacted occurred after the twilight, but it was safe to conclude that nearly half of them were not thieves. Ordinary folks were the bulk of my clients. Precious metals were still the majority of my transactions; but as timepieces were no longer used as hard currency that they used to be—not so long ago wrist watches could be pledged to a pawnbroker or a money lender easily, but the appearance of quartz watches had dampened the market for second hand watches, and so the inevitable consequence: majority of pawnshops would no longer accept wrist watches—I had become the most sought after go-to-guy where those who needed cash could dump their time pieces without using much persuasions nor pleadings. I took a killing marketing second hand watches, and on some occasions hit the jackpot by acquiring old and almost antique timepieces; they were collectors’ items, no doubt.

Another lady worker arrived. She was not much better than the first. I was quite disappointed that the younger ones had not appeared, for I was longing to see a fresher countenance among these flowers that had lost their luster. The new arrival was nearly as old as the first woman on the scene, but had the fairer complexion. I had seen her infrequently and several of those times that she burst out into the place she impressed me quite a bit. She looked fragile but I could sense that she had more knowledge of her trade and capable of handling men than most of the other women. I had some idle talk some time ago with several of the younger girls, and they confided to me that they considered the woman their most potent competitor even though her mask could no longer hide the obvious telltale signs of her advancing age. She was an expert in her chosen profession; a “hustler” as they called it in the street parlance. Coming to know her from that bits and pieces of accumulated information, it had given me a strong impression about her. She was not as delicate as her looks would convey, for she had in her strength of a very amiable and persuasive woman. She might not show it in the surface but she could talk the language of her clients and the expected expert treatment that men would want from a bed partner.

Oh, I wished the younger ones arrive. I had been giving such good prayers that a more generous circumstance would hear it, but the reality could not give me much assurance that that with whom my eyes had the most interest would one day—by a miracle, and in her most glory—stealthily present herself in front of me. Sure, that was wishful thinking, for I had known from her several confreres that she was the most prize among the coterie on the stable of the madam which further made her unreachable to me. She was one of madam’s main stars, if not the main star, that especially cater to the rich and the powerful, and only in the high-end hotels and in their mansions worth millions she had to serve. In short, she was on-call, and that further means she was expensive. But by god, if expending a few more pesos (few more pesos?) just to touch her unexposed skin, it would not be foolishness, and perhaps it would the most kindness that I could gift myself. Time and time again I was on the precipice of approaching the madam, but I had to hold my enthusiasm lest I would be forced to play the dreaded act that I had not had (in all my years of yearning) fulfilled to enmesh myself.

And so, I was enamored of her. The whiff of her scent had lingered on me since that one fortunate day when by chance I had her near my presence standing in this corner parading herself like the rest of her band. Her oblong face with the presence of deep-seated eyes that could penetrate every soul had so much clung to my every dream. Her complexion likened to that of the color of a radish skin and ivory combined would reflect from it the rays of the sun forming into a rainbow. Soon she was the most sought after, and her madam took notice. After a week on the street I never saw her again. It came to me by word that the madam had found a gold mine in her.

At long last I had persuaded myself to end the day as the threatening adverse weather had gradually strengthened. Saying some words of good luck to the two women, I started to make a slow stride out of the place.

After a block, I entered an alley and went inside a small Chinese tea house and ordered a bowl of hot noodles and a Chinese pao for a meal. Remembering that I might not get an early sleep because of the storm, I made an additional order for a take out in case hunger visited me in the middle of the night. I lingered for a while after consuming my dinner to wait for my take out order. After the waitress handed me my plastic pack, I inserted it inside my leather shoulder bag that had been a part since the start of my self-employment. I went out of the eatery and face once again the emerging wrath of the storm.

Passing at a greasy homeless man setting in front of a closed store with several thick folded cartons in his possession, I generously bought from him a small portion of the cardboard to place over my head as a rain shield. Heavy downpour had not yet commenced and judging from the limited sprinkling, it probably would not finally come to that, for the storm had slowly showed off its hand of just all winds and whistles.