Francisco Jose: Three Filipino Women

After the Korean War, I was sent to command schools in the United States and that was where I had my first white woman. It was quite an experience, you know. She was the wife of a lieutenant who was assigned to Germany and while she was waiting for her transfer, she came around and provided me company. There was this Korean girl, too, in Pusan. But you know how war is, how things come and go. When I returned after a year at Fort Benning and Fort Leavenworth, I was assigned to Camp Murphy — called Camp Aguinaldo now — to a desk job that had me bored as all desk jobs do. So I started looking around for patronage — you know, the old Filipino standby. And that was when I saw Senator Reyes who had known my father when my father was still active in Bulacan politics. It was the senator who got me as his aide and, later, when he became Senate President — one step to the Presidency — you know what that means! It was as an aide that I met Narita. I used to deliver messages from the Old Man to her, carry parcels, her blasted cakes, the special gifts that she bought for him when she went abroad, those Dutch cigars in special tinfoil. She was always hanging around the Old Man, attending to him more than his daughters ever did, and Senator Reyes was really eating off her palm. Yes, I think the senator became some sort of father to her. And what a father he turned out to be — more generous than any father would be. And I don’t blame him — the way his own children had been treating him as if he did not exist or that he existed only to give them money. I was drawn to her from the beginning, I suppose, although I am ten years older or more. But there is nothing like a younger woman for a middle-aged man. Good and tight, you know what I mean. Then her husband died. It was then that I felt I was free to attend to her. But not before. I still have some sense of ethics left, even when it came to sex. Besides, what would the Old Man say if he found out that I was shacking up with his daughter-in-law? I first dated her a full month after the death of Lopito. She was not a hypocrite. When I asked her if I could take her out nightclubbing at the Amihan, she said yes outright. I told her that it was not one of those high-class places, the food was awful, there were hostesses and she might feel insulted. But I knew she loved good music and there was an excellent band playing there. And she said, yes, don’t lecture me about what is decent and indecent; I can decide that for myself. We went in her Mercedes; she said it was better that way because she felt more independent. Damn it — that was what was wrong with her. She always wanted to be independent. To feel independent. To act independent. She did not give much of a chance for even a man like me to be her master. Or at least be on top. Do you know that even when we were doing it, she wanted to be on top? Well, I couldn’t do much about that. After all, I really needed her and loved her. I tried to keep it a secret but was not successful. My wife, who is also a very clever woman, got to know of it. But there was my career and I was close to one of the most powerful men in the country. She tried to accept it and keep quiet. Narita, too, wanted to keep up appearances and in a way, she was a very moral person. And that was when she thought she should go to the United States so she could be freer and less inhibited than she was in Manila. The Old Man was also very glad to have her go, to improve herself. And he knew of the relationship — he saw to it that I got an assignment in New York as attaché to the Mission there. I really enjoyed New York — that one year of freedom from the duties in Manila. Narita bought this apartment — or house, rather, in the East Sixties. Ah, you know about it. It cost a fortune then and it certainly must be a very expensive piece of property now. I hope that the radiator in her bedroom is already fixed. It was always squeaking, you know, and was often a bother. You know what I mean. Well, we had a son — her older boy, you know that. And I will never forgive her for giving him Lopito’s name. Everyone knew he was not Lopito’s. He was mine. And she told the boy it was Lopito who was his father. ot me. I cannot even visit him or tell him he is mine. That woman — she thought of everything. It could be blackmail, of course. But what could I do? I am a government servant and her father-in-law is one of the most powerful men in government. You know what I mean.

And then, she met Ambassador Iturralde. That was my mistake — I introduced her to him at one of those receptions where I thought I would show her off. You know, in any crowd, she would stand out. But you know something? I had one over all of them, over all of the men that she went with afterwards. Yes, no one can get this distinction from me. And I am very proud. It happened finally on our second date. I did not take advantage of her on the first. Just dancing, cheek to cheek, and a simple good-night kiss. Although I knew that she was waiting for me to make the move, I did not want to play it fast. Experience has taught me never to rush, just play it cool and slow. A week afterwards, I asked her if she wanted to go that Sunday for a drive to Bulacan where I grew up. There was this special restaurant along the highway which served wonderful crabs and snipes when they were in season. And she said yes. Of course, I had already made plans on how to seduce her — if seduction is the word. It is all very clear to me, the first time with her, and it was unforgettable, I suppose, also for her. It was a bright Sunday morning and we drove off towards Calumpit and had lunch at this roadside restaurant. She was game. It was not a fancy place and she seemed to enjoy it. Then I asked her if she wanted to see the fish ponds where the crabs and the milkfish were caught, and have a breath of fresh air besides and she said, yes. So we drove off towards the bay where my family had owned this fish pond for years. You pass this village before reaching it — and the villagers worked for my family, you know, and they knew why I was there. I suppose Narita also suspected. We got off at the village and I pointed out to her the ponds that lay beyond the clump of acacia trees at the turn of the river and said, those are ours. There was this hut alone in the expanse of dikes and water where the workers rest and I asked her if she wanted to go out there and take a closer look and she said, of course, and so we went. We were finally there, alone by ourselves. I took her inside the hut and kissed her. She responded with a passion that surprised me, considering that it was the first time I had really kissed her. At first, she was a bit apprehensive when I started taking off her dress, but I said I would keep watch, and that no one from the village would dare come and interrupt us. After all, this was not the first time I had taken a girl to the hut. Assured thus, she gave herself to me with an abandon that was almost anger. I know — and you know something? Damn it — goddamn it! I was the first. The first! All those years that she was married to Lopito, nothing had happened. I have the proof, damn it. I kept it. She was looking around for some tissue paper, but there was none and I had this white, spotless handkerchief which she used. It was all red, all red! I tell you, that is something no one can take away from me!

END OF TAPE

In the summer of ’62, I got a note from Narita; I was in my last year and was deep in work, writing my dissertation, and could not be disturbed, so I merely wrote to her saying thank you, yes, I had heard she was in New York and would visit her very soon, perhaps in early fall. It had been very difficult, living in Cambridge and trying to make my scholarship go farther. But I was fortunate to have a cheap studio off Memorial Drive and within walking distance to the Square. It was on the ground floor of a two-storey wooden frame house with a shingle roof. My landlord — a retired air force sergeant — worked as a security guard at Filene’s. His Filipino acquaintances when he was stationed for four years in Clark were black marketeers and hostesses along the Angeles strip and he was pleased to know someone different. He and his termagant wife often did nice things for me — invited me upstairs to dinner or sent me a piece of cake. I had my own entrance from the alley which gave me privacy, but in the winter I had to shovel tons of snow which were dumped on it.