“Hi, Inchoy,” I said. Inchoy raised his head and then shook it. Chok-Chok from the sari sari store rushed over with a plastic chair for me. I thanked him and carefully went to stand by the head of the coffin. It was open and Bibo’s face was heavily made up with foundation, fuchsia lipstick, and thick lashes, her hair sleek over her shoulders. She was in her favored attire, an immaculate white T-shirt, jeans, and her pink Converse. I could still see black gummy traces by her hairline and ears, residue from the tape that her head had been wrapped in. I wondered how they had managed to make her hair look so presentable, what efforts of combing and cutting the family had made to remove the impact of Bibo’s violent end.

I took my seat with Inchoy, reached for his hand, and held it in mine in my lap. He watched the gambling with a resigned despair. A girl came to me with a glass of electric-green juice. I had no idea what it was but knew it would be very sweet. I thanked the little girl and asked her how old she was. Did she like school? The girl responded politely that she did, then returned to the other children, who were quietly watching something on a cell phone.

A half hour later Zackito appeared in an aura of citrus cologne. After checking in with me and Inchoy, he began making the rounds of the room, chatting politely, asking questions. There was a shout from the gambling, “Pusoy!” Someone would win double. Zackito, out of politeness, asked if he could join the game. People like us didn’t have fundraising tables at our funerals and I’m sure he didn’t want Bibo’s family to feel self-conscious. I found myself wondering if Zackito was any good at cards.

I had told myself that I would stay at the wake for a couple of hours and then see if I could pry Inchoy away, take him for dinner, give him an opportunity to talk. I wondered what his plans were for the sari sari store. I knew that it had been operating at a subsistence level, that the space was rented, and even once the stock was sold, it would not cover the costs of the funeral. Whatever Inchoy had from his salary went to his own expenses and the rental on the apartment. Inchoy lived from paycheck to paycheck. How long before Bibo could be buried? Even if the family managed to raise the money, the wait at the funeral homes was long. Sometimes it took months to bury people, as the EJK murders had added thousands of dead. The burial places in the poorer areas were packed to capacity, even though the spaces were most often concrete mausoleums, endless corridors that had been more than adequate for burials in the years before Gumboc.