That which can be known. That which can never be known. The third, which concerns the writer alone, truly is neither of these. —from the 1987 essay “Crucifictions,” by Crispin Salvador * Boy Bastos is four years old and quite the talker. Because of his parents’ broken marriage, he’s a constant source of aggravation to his mother, though she’s pleased he’s finally taken to calling her lover, the congressman, “Papa.” One day Boy sees his mother dressing. “Mama, what are those things on your chest?” “Those are my life preservers for swimming.” “Great! Since I can’t swim, can I have them for the pool?” “No, Boy. I need them.” Then, referring to his pretty nanny, Boy asks: “Then can I use my yaya’s?” His mother replies scornfully: “No, son, hers have no air in them.” “But how can that be?” says Boy. “Last night while you were at mahjong I saw Papa blowing them up!” * I have dinner near the theater at a canteen called Beery Good.
