Francisco Jose - Three Filipino Women

“Do you have a program?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said instantly. “Also, one for how to get to power …”

I was getting a bit dizzy and I did not want to ask more questions. She just went into a quiet monologue: “On the local level, meaning Negros, I would like to dismantle the sugar industry. It is a colonial industry and it has tied us to the United States. Unless, of course, the quota system is given up.”

I wanted to ask her how she could do that, her Papa being in sugar, the ambassador being in Washington for no other reason than to protect our sugar interests. And my family, what would happen to us? We knew nothing except sugar …

“I’m interested in culture as well. Not just in the arts, that’s common enough. But in reshaping our mores. Sociocultural engineering. You know what I mean. And in foreign affairs, I want our relationship with Japan and China analyzed further, clarified. We should recognize China immediately. I told Jack—”

“Jack who?”

“Kennedy, of course,” she said, poking me in the ribs. “When he was a senator — that it was wrong for the United States not to have any relationship with China. China is not a threat to the United States, the way the Soviets are, and Japan will be. Japan is a real threat to us — and our damned politicians and businessmen, they are selling us down the river.”

“I hope you will not end up being like them,” I said.

“No, Eddie,” she said gravely. “For one, I don’t need money now. I am rich — very rich. And I need help from young people like you because you are not yet a victim of habit, because you’ll be anxious to prove yourself, try out new ideas. And you will be surprised to find how really close we are. And I am not talking about this …” She kissed me briefly. “Maybe because we come from the same small place, that’s not even on most Philippine maps … But don’t you ever remind me of it again.”

TAPE THREE

Domingo Guardia, private secretary to Ambassador Iturralde:

I am from La Consolacion. My father had worked for the Iturraldes as accountant and it was the ambassador who sent me to college and I worked for him till the day he died. I am not going to tell you anything which is not known to many people, including Doña Alicia. Anyway, both of them are dead now and what I will say will not hurt anyone, even if you do not live up to your promise of discretion. Out of loyalty, I must insist that you edit my comments carefully and use my name sparingly. Mind you, I am not bound by government regulations. I was never employed full-time by the government. I was always hired as consultant or on a contractual basis. My pay comes from Iturralde and Company. Yes, I remember the ambassador told me when he returned from Manila that he had attended a wedding of the son of Senator Reyes. They were very good friends, you know — sugar and politics. If I am not mistaken, he said something about how beautiful Narita was and it was a shame that she had to marry someone like the son of the senator who was known to be good for nothing. Well, he met Narita again in Washington about five years later, I think, after her husband died. She just had a baby by that colonel and the ambassador felt strongly about the man — that he was not fit for her. They were not married so he really had no compunctions about having him sent back to Manila so that he could have the field to himself. One thing about the ambassador, he was a very decisive man. He knew what he wanted. I think he explained the situation to Senator Reyes. At least, he didn’t want his wires crossed. I wrote some of the delicate communications on the matter, you know, and before the colonel knew it, he was given his walking papers — I mean, he was reassigned to Manila. It was neat and simple. The ambassador was old enough to be Narita’s father. She seemed to be attracted to older men. In a way, it was Doña Alicia’s fault. She never liked traveling, the cold climate, and in the many years that he was in Washington, she visited him only once — for a month. She would rather stay in La Consolacion, in that old rambling house, tending her orchids or, on occasion, going to Manila to visit friends and dine at the Casino. And since they had no children — she could not have one — it was not so difficult for the ambassador to rationalize the affair. I really don’t remember too well how it started but all of a sudden, the ambassador was always in a hurry to go to New York on weekends. Sometimes, he even took the Greyhound. Imagine — Ambassador Iturralde on a bus! I have seen pictures of Narita before, on the cover of Philippine magazines. But you know something? She also appeared in Town & Country , in Harper’s Bazaar —and that takes some doing, with no publicity agent. It was her beauty, her wit, her circle of friends and, most of all, her gracious ways that did it. She was truly our first international beauty — and she had enough mixed blood to be fair but enough Malay features as well to be a Filipina. When I first met her at the embassy Christmas party, she was coming down the stairs, holding on to the arm of the ambassador. She was in a black gown, no lipstick, no jewels and God knows she had lots of them, including the diamonds that the ambassador bought for her as a matter of habit. I know because I used to go to Tiffany’s to pay for them. I also looked after their insurance, all that sort of thing. She was the prettiest creature I had ever seen, prettier than Miss America or Miss Universe. We all paused to look at her and when she moved into any circle, conversation stopped. We did not want to talk for fear that we would be distracted. We just wanted to look at her, those eyes, those lips, that perfect nose. Oh, I am forgetting myself. I always do when I see a beautiful woman. How lucky can you get — I am speaking of that colonel, of course. He did not deserve her. Well, the ambassador had had several women before Narita; this girl from New York, very good in her own way, but you know how American women are — they are never feminine enough. And there was this Spanish girl, royalty — from Madrid. But these were ordinary affairs. Nothing profound about them the way it was with her. I know. The driver knows. She rarely came to the embassy although the ambassador was always taking her to receptions and dinners and introducing her as Mrs. Reyes. But everyone knew of course. The ambassador seemed revitalized. You know that old Chinese belief. I will tell you — one of her rare visits to Washington — it was Saturday, too, and all the staff was out, except me because I had something to rush. I always worked overtime, you know how private secretaries are. Well, I bade them good-bye but I forgot something and had to return to my room. I had a key, you know, and floors carpeted as they are and me quiet as a cat, they did not know I was back. They had locked the door, but not the door to my room which adjoined the ambassador’s reception. There was a big sofa there — and they were doing it right there. I looked and I tell you, the ambassador still had it in him. Don’t include this — what does it show? That I am a Peeping Tom? I only wanted to show that she was good for him. They stayed on till close to nine o’clock. I did not bring my coat and it was cold outside and I was hungry. So I went back downstairs and started banging doors and turning on the lights and the ambassador came to my room and I feigned surprise that they were still there, and I said I had forgotten some work and my coat — and, you know, they took me out to dinner before they drove me home. He changed his will twice; I typed them both. When his son was born, he changed it again. He gave her a big slice of his property, a house he had bought shortly after the war, in Washington at the other end of Massachusetts Avenue. It is worth over a million dollars now. And, of course, stocks in the mines, many of the things in his name which won’t be questioned in board meetings and all that sort of thing. All those diamonds. And part of that cash at Chase Manhattan and a bank account in Zurich — things that Doña Alicia never knew about and did not care to know. He would have married her — you know, specially after their son was born. He wanted her to use his name but in the end felt it was wiser that her married name be used. What does it matter anyway? After all, no one can deny the boy’s parentage. And come to think of it, both her children are American citizens — having been born in the United States. I wish I also had that advantage. I could have applied for it; after all, I had lived there so long and the ambassador would have helped me. But America is not for old people. I really don’t know what made her leave him — oh, it is not as tragic as you’d think it was. It was a quiet parting of the ways, with no regrets. After all, she was just returning to the Philippines where he could see her anytime he wanted. And there were also the trips that she made to the United States anytime he asked her to come. But it was a separation just the same. After that, the ambassador drooped. The fires in him died, the juices ran out. He was not the same again. It was really just a matter of time before the cancer finally got him. But he had lots of memories. When he was dying, he would call her up and there would be tears in his eyes. I sometimes listened to the conversation. It would often last for a full hour and he would ask about his boy and Narita would come loud and clear on the line. It was very happy and also very sad.