He watched the last car leave Malacañang Palace. Mr. Brown knew he had to wait until later that night to do his tradition, the new ones always attracted those that wanted to stay behind. He took another puff of his cigar and let the smoke linger on his tongue. The festivities would be over soon.
He stepped through the halls of the Palace, calling the names of old ghosts. He passed by the Executive office and saw a group of men roaming aimlessly. The poor souls were trapped here since the Great War. There was nothing he could do but give a courteous nod and keep walking.
On his way he saw the first to make his home in the palace. He put out his cigar as a sign of respect and bowed his head. The man was human and in normal circumstances a Kapre would never condescend to a mortal being, but Mr. Brown was different. He had seen the rise and fall of statesmen and traitors alike. They made the country what it was, for good or ill.
The halls seemed bigger. He was still used to the smaller spaces in the years past. He remembered the first lady that managed to bring the building back to life. The footsteps of her daughter still echoed through the halls, though they were much heavier when she returned as a woman.
Mr. Brown smiled. He always took comfort when the more things changed the more they stayed the same.
He did wonder what changes the new one would bring to his home, though anything would be better than what happened in the Great War. Mr. Brown had enough of prisons. He also had enough of the style of one of the former tenants, he thought the ivory statues were just a bit too much.
Mr. Brown finally reached his destination. The three chandeliers were dull in the darkness, but his cigar gave him the light he needed. He passed by each portrait and remembered each one as he went by.
The first of the commonwealth and the one who restored it. The one called a traitor. The first of the new republic. The father of foreign service. The one who left too soon and the austere head that replaced him. The poor boy from Lubao. The man in red and the woman in yellow. The soldier. The actor. The two children who carried their names back to their old home.
Mr. Brown looked at the new portrait on the wall. It was one of possibility. “What history would be written because of this one?” he asked himself. Whatever the future held Mr. Brown would be there to see it through.
He owed his home at least that much.
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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Mr. Brown myths.
Mr. Brown Illustration by Leandro Geniston fromAklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen