Fortune-tellers were a dime a dozen, but Aling Ligaya was of a different caliber. She was a bona fide seer who had an earned reputation for her accurate readings and incorruptibility. Aling Ligaya could have held her own in Delphi, but she lived in Tondo just a few blocks from Bibo’s house and was a regular fixture in Bibo’s weekly routine. Chok-Chok was manning the store and we stopped for a quick chat. I tried to buy some cough drops, which were, of course, gifted. I didn’t really want cough drops but I knew that I had to try to purchase something just to allow Bibo to refuse my money.

Across the street a construction project had resulted in the assembling of a rickety scaffold made from lashed bamboo and planks. A ladder of equally fragile design leaned up against it and men in rubber sandals were scaling and descending the structure, weighted with flat baskets filled with rubble and chunks of concrete. It looked like a scene out of Ben-Hur.

Bibo and I crossed the street, weaving through the stalled cars and jeepneys. The shopfronts offered an assortment of appliances in Chinese boxes and racks of loud clothing. The rattle of a sewing machine emanated from some dark corner of a tailor shop.

Aling Ligaya’s house fronted the street, sandwiched between a sari sari store much like Bibo’s and another business that sold a variety of discarded things: old tires, dusty TVs, a coiled chain, a child-size bicycle. Presumably, as a resulting perk of her profession, Aling Ligaya had nothing to fear and her door was wide open. Tied by its leg to a chair by the door was a small dog that, when it realized we were coming to visit, greeted us by first thumping its tail enthusiastically and then growling. Bibo called into the darkened hallway.

“Halika, halika,” came Aling Ligaya’s voice. We entered, our eyes adjusting to the dark, aware of some throbbing light that outlined boxes and stacks of newspaper and broken chairs. The source of the light was a statue of Jesus resting atop a derelict refrigerator, his Sacred Heart exposed and electrified. Jesus held his hand delicately beneath his blinking heart, his face composed in awe-inspiring calm and generosity.

At the end of the hallway, the space brightened and we entered the kitchen, which also functioned—as evidenced by a neatly made up bed—as whatever else was required. The entire right side of the room was filled with stacks of old magazines. One tower supported a buzzing electric fan, another a cage with finches, which were hopping about and grunting musically.