Armando

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

DURING the first reunion, I remember Armando telling me, “Ania ti ilutlutom, saan nga aglalaok dagita!” (What are you cooking, those things don’t mix!). But as sure as Manang Biday was sure of her choice of a cigar, I knew my Ilocano vegetables and proceeded to cook just the same. He kept looking at how I cut them, as if there was a required way to cut them, and I saw how aghast he was at the amount of chili and ground pepper I mixed with the vegetables.

“Ania ngay ti tawag idta recipem?” (What then do you call your recipe?), he asked with a smirk.

“Malipatam nagan mo recipe”, (You will forget your name recipe), I shot back laughing, unable to contain my amusement.

“Makan to lakitdi daytan, nagadu ti sili ken paminta na!” (I hope whatever it is, we can really eat it, there is so much chili and pepper in it!)

He walked away unconvinced, shaking his head, and started to prepare his own dish. Abet started to cook “adobong chicken feet”. The others laid the goodies they brought for the reunion filling the center table, spilling to where we were supposed to arrange the plates and the cutlery, which ended in our laps.

“Lunch is served!”, Abet shouted.

Armando’s first impulse was to taste what I cooked, perhaps to make sure that those who will eat it will not unnecessarily burn their tongues. I looked at him as he took a spoonful, and then another, and then another. From one Ilocano chef to another, I know I rolled on his palate with the smoothness of basi (alcoholic beverage fermented from sugarcane).

“Umm, naimas met gayam uray aglalaok dagiti saan nga rebbeng nga aglalaok!” (Umm, it tastes good, even if those that are not supposed to be mixed were cooked together!)

“Malipatam nagan mo ngarud!” (Indeed you will forget your name!), Abet rejoined, “What is your name again?”

Very Armando, the meticulousness, the adherence to certain standards and procedures, as I later confirmed with his wife, Teresita. She related how he looked at the fruits and vegetable she bought, when he was unable to go to the market himself to buy them, as he usually does.

“Ania met dagitoy, saan nga napintas nagatang mo, siakton aggatang no umimbagak.” (What are these that you bought, they are not good, I will be the one to buy when I am well.)

That is how he ended up doing so many things: going to the market, gardening, cooking, keeping the books, safekeeping documents and other things he thought he can do better. This freed his wife from these activities enabling her to focus on raising their children, which he also shared.

In between wiping her tears, she related bits and pieces of Armando’s role in her life. Imelda and I sat there with her, in front of ICU 203 at the Philippine Heart Center, waiting for the release of Armando.

“He is gone. What will I do now? I am used to him doing almost everything!”, she sobbed.

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