Cleanser
by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
Jhoy’s note looked salty. Translucent, grey-purple paper ruled with dark purple
ink, like a sliver of my grandmother’s veined calf. Torn from a worn, cheap notepad. It
didn’t look dirty to me, exactly. It looked salty, just as the dull yellow brine in the jars of
Jhoy’s stall looked salty, the brine that kept all those shriveled smidgens of strangeness
in suspension. All those wrinkled brown things that may or may not have been seahorse
heads, lizard tails, worms. The jars were sealed tight with rubber bands, but the
essence of their contents must have seeped into the paper somehow. The note looked
salty, like I didn’t have to smell or taste it to know that it was.
I sat cross-legged on my bed and read the note. The instructions had been
scribbled down beforehand to make for a quick transaction. I remembered how each
page of Jhoy’s notepad was filled with the same set of words.
mamayang gabi di maghahapunan
9 p.m. 2 cytotec (inom) 2 pahilab (inom)
tulog
11 p.m. 2 cytotec (pasok sa pwerta) 2 pahilab (inom)
tulog
bukas maga paggising
5 a.m. 2 cytotec (inom) 2 pahilab (inom)
bawal maasim malamig
The pills were wrapped in a salty-looking yellow flyer for some housing
development. They cost 2,000 pesos all in all, half of my week’s allowance. Six huge
Cytotec tablets in printed silver packets and six tiny blank tablets in an unmarked plastic
pouch. Jhoy said the tiny ones were for cleaning out the uterus. So that I wouldn’t have
to let some other woman do it manually, she said. I didn’t even know that my uterus
would need cleaning after. I would have to believe her. The Cytotec, at least, I knew
were meant for stomach ulcers and just so happened to kill fetuses on the side. I got
that from the Ask Yahoo! Health and Wellness section. They have a resident doctor who
answers all your questions.
I looked at the wall clock. 8:57. The last thing I ate was a stick of fishballs for
lunch, before the FX ride home from Quiapo. Perfectly pedestrian. I smoothed out the
towel underneath me, fluffed my pillows, poured some bottled water into a glass, set my
cellphone alarm to 11 and looked at the wall clock. 8:58. I snapped open two Cytotec
packets and shook out two cleansers. The Cytotec were smooth, Mentos-like. The
cleansers reminded me of that chalk they used for cockroaches. I swallowed them one
by one with some water. The Cytotec didn’t taste like anything, but the cleansers left a
metallic-salty aftertaste, like they had been in the palm of an FX driver all day, absorbing
the zest of change. Not like I had ever licked the palm of an FX driver, but that’s
probably what those people taste like, if ever. I lay down, sniffing my fingers. Chalky,
salty.
There was a knock on the door. I kept flat on my back.
“It’s open.”
My grandmother entered.
“Good evening, lola.”
Page 1 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
Page 2 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
Page 3 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
“Oh. Yes.” Her head moved up and down, like a nod. “That was a good story. You
made up good details. ”
“I didn’t make them up.”
“We should do this regularly. It will be good for us. Have one ready by tomorrow
night.”
“I wasn’t telling you a story.” I patted the towel underneath me and pointed to the
pills on the bedside table. “Look, lola, I’m getting rid of a baby.”
My grandmother’s eyes fell on the pills. She smiled. I took out Jhoy’s note and
held it out to her.
“Read this. Jhoy gave me instructions. The next step’s at eleven.”
“Props,” she mumbled without looking at the note. “How nice. Good night,
Consuelo.”
She stood up, back straight and chin up as always, and headed towards the
door. The tang thinned out as she left the room.
Sighing, I looked at the wall clock. 9:12. I folded my hands over my belly, closed
my eyes and told myself to be patient with her.
+++
CONSUELO, 17, lies flat on her back in an empty parking slot. She opens her eyes.
Blood-drenched corpses are strewn across the lot, some disemboweled, some with
eyes gouged out, some with heads blown apart, all holding on to plastic shopping bags.
Consuelo gasps in pain. She sits up, clutching her belly. A large, dark figure waddles up
to her from the winding exit ramp. It is a GIANT SALT SHAKER mascot with plastic
eyes, smiling plastic lips, gloved hands and giant red boots. It stops right in front of her.
She looks up, squinting at its silhouette framed in stark fluorescent light.
CONSUELO
She doesn’t believe me yet. I’ll give her time.
CONSUELO
Why not?
Page 4 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
Consuelo stands up slowly and walks around the lot, examining each corpse. The giant
salt shaker follows her, nudging the corpses with his boot. Consuelo stops at two bodies
piled on top of each other. The one on top is of a woman in a brown silk dress and
heels, the one underneath of a man in a dark blue polo, black slacks and black leather
shoes. Their heads have been blown off. Consuelo squats beside them.
CONSUELO
(going through the corpses’ shopping bags)
She’s on my side.
CONSUELO
(flinging bloodied department store tissue paper out of the bags)
Of course she will! What are you talking about?
CONSUELO
Yes, she does.
Consuelo pulls a newborn baby out of one bag. The baby, covered in blood and thick,
white mucus, writhes in her hands. Its wails echo across the lot. Consuelo flings it over
her shoulder, and it crashes against the windshield of an Explorer. The lot is quiet again.
Consuelo continues rifling through the bags.
Consuelo pulls another baby out of a bag and flings it away. She continues fishing
babies out and throwing them away, a pile of dead babies growing on the Explorer’s
hood, the air punctuated by screams and silence. She stops and winces.
CONSUELO
(rubbing her belly)
Wait, wait. I think it’s here.
Page 5 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
Consuelo takes all her clothes off and sits splay-legged on the floor. She rubs her belly
harder and harder, her expression growing more and more pained. A shiny silver knob
slowly pokes out of her cunt. It is the top of an ordinary salt shaker. The shaker’s entire
shaft begins sliding in and out of her, very slowly at first, and then gradually quickening
in pace until salt grains start sprinkling out onto the concrete. Consuelo’s grimace fades.
She moans in pleasure.
+++
Page 6 of 7
Cleanser by Marguerite Alcazaren de Leon
warm, wet inch of the cavity, poking the insides of her cheeks, prodding her loosening
dentures, stabbing the slick, rutted underside of her tongue. No pill.
When I thrust my hand out, she started making this hollow, jagged sound, like a
bad impression of TV static. The pill had lodged in her throat. I thrust my hand in again,
slipping my finger down as far as it could go, crooking it again and again once I felt a
tiny, hard curve. It wouldn’t budge, and my grandmother’s writhing was making it hard
for me to latch onto it. I pulled my hand out and gripped my chin in thought. Fresh saliva
coated my jaw and dribbled down my arm in gobs. My grandmother continued to writhe
beneath me.
My glass of water waited on the bedside table. I grabbed it, smashed it against
the table’s hard wood and chose the largest, sharpest shard. Like all crucial weapons in
movies, the shard glinted with great promise. My knees dug into my grandmother’s
shoulder blades with extra force. She was probably screaming, but it came out a long,
strained wheeze. I sliced down the length of her papery throat. Blood burst out, streams
of ruby seeping into the gold satin of her dressing gown like a hurried sunset. The pill,
now a shiny red cherry, was at the base of the wound, snuggled against layers of
gummy, deep scarlet murk. I fished it out of the folds of frayed flesh and looked at the
wall clock. 11:07. The smarting in my belly told me to hurry. I glanced at Jhoy’s note
resting on the comforter.
11 p.m. 2 cytotec (pasok sa pwerta) 2 pahilab (inom)
I slipped my panties off and splayed my legs wide open. The blood coating the
pill would make for good lubricant. I pushed the pill into my cunt as far back as it could
go, until I was sure it was nestled into the warmest part of my cavity for optimum utility.
Suddenly, the image of Polo’s cock ramming me came to mind. I repeated the process
with another Cytotec pill and shook out two cleansers. Their chalky, white exterior
turned pink and gluey from my dripping, red fingers. I dry-swallowed them and licked my
lips. Extra-extra-salty.
I stared at my grandmother’s corpse. Her dressing gown was flung open, blood
from her gashed neck slowly coursing down the small, pruny flabs of her breasts, down
her stomach sprinkled with raisin-like moles, leaching into her bunched-up plastic
diaper. The diaper blushed.
The whole room reeked of blood. The whole room was salty. An air of menace
and misery, of everything my grandmother and I tried our best to value. It was
frightening. Fragrant. I loved how the saltiness shot fiercely up my nose at every breath,
how it stung my eyes with such ruthlessness. I placed a hand proudly over my sore
belly and smiled at my grandmother’s corpse.
My grandmother had always been on my side. This was all a test. She wanted to
see if I would do the right thing, if I knew what to do in matters of life or death.
“Did I do a good job, lola?” I asked, slipping back into bed. “Have I made you
proud?” I set the cellphone alarm to 5, pulled the comforter over me and closed my
eyes.
Silence means yes. ●
Page 7 of 7