Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

“You happy?”

The question caught him off-guard. Even when he said warmly “Of course,” he was already wondering if he really was happy, if this was the zenith he had sought, for there was no overflowing joy in his heart, no strange warmth spreading to his fingertips, to the roots of his hair, no pleasure as that which suffused him on that drizzly evening when he finally found out how it was to have Emy cuddling up to him, to feel her body melt with his own feverish being because communion was complete.

But time changes so many things in a man — his attitudes and even his ideas about this strange amalgam called happiness. What has happened to me? Have I no longer the sensitivity and perception to understand the significance of this hour? This was what he had always wanted — this marriage, this belonging to an ethereal world that would forever be untouched by the damning frustrations he had known.

Godo gave the last word, a gentle nudge and that raspy, ingratiating voice: “A real catch, Tony. Remember what we proletarians used to say about licking the hacenderos ? If you cannot destroy them, marry their daughters.”

Tony laughed good-naturedly, but afterward, Godo’s remark angered him, and the decent thing for him to have done was to shove the filthy words down Godo’s throat. He loved Carmen, and that made all the difference.

In a while the girls called them to the church office. Father Brown was there waiting, his big frame shaking with mirth as he said, “I can’t imagine Carmen doing this.” He had been Carmen’s father confessor since she was in grade school and he knew the Villas very well. He had been in the Philippines too long and had acquired a taste for Filipino food, he said jokingly, which also explained his girth and his broad, ruddy looks. They talked some more about San Francisco, his native city, about the ocean fog and Tony’s trip to Sacramento Valley, where he had met many Filipinos and the writers and artists in Carmel-by-the-Sea, whom Tony visited one summer while he washed dishes there. Then it was time for the priest to perform his duties and he beckoned Tony to go to the confessional.

He knelt, feeling warm in the collar; gone was his belligerence against the act of confessing. Now he was just another penitent, desirous to get the ritual and the penance over with. The strangely intimate questions that were asked did not sink into his consciousness, and he answered them with mechanical swiftness: Yes, I have done It with her — don’t you know there’s a baby coming? And It wasn’t once or twice but many times. I did not seduce her. In a way it was by common consent. Sure, there were other times. In Barcelona there was this girl who clerked in a photography store. And in Boston there was this coed from Radcliffe. I did not marry them, mind you. It’s this girl I’m marrying, so let there be no argument about that. Of course I’m in love with her. And it’s not her money, either, because I can support her with what I make. Nothing fancy, but I can support her. Yes, we will have as many children as God pleases. A dozen maybe, because I like children.…

One should get married in church for the experience. It all seemed hazy — the ordeal before the altar, the coins and the holy water, Godo smiling through it all and this Nena de Jesus, whom he had not met until now, misty-eyed and actually crying when it was all over. Just like that they were man and wife, and they held hands and looked into each other’s eyes, a brief kiss, then the hugs and the handshakes and Father Brown smiling benignly at them.

They could not all fit in Carmen’s car, so Carmen left it at the churchyard. Taking, instead, Nena’s car, they drove off to one of the Chinese restaurants near Pasay.

By eight they had finished dining and, for the occasion, Carmen asked the headwaiter to bring some brandy. Tony objected. “Let’s have that some other time,” he said. But Godo nudged him: “Can’t you think of a better time than now? I have brandy very rarely. Don’t be Ilocano. Not on your wedding day, anyway.”

He had learned long ago that gallantry and poverty did not go together — this lesson had long been etched in his mind. He turned to Godo in that meaningful way only friends understood and said simply, “I’m picking up the tab, Godo.”

“And the Villa millions?” Godo had always been brash.

“It’s not the Villa millions,” Tony said firmly, unmoving in his chair. “It’s the Samson centavos and there aren’t many of those around.”

Carmen laughed gaily. “I admire this smart talk. You really can jump at each other’s throats. But I doubt, darling,” she turned coyly to Tony, “if you have heard of conjugal property.” She thrust her silver-lined handbag to him.

She had flaunted her wealth, but he must be civilized, he must now show his displeasure; he must be able to live with grace and equanimity in this new and glittering circle. He smiled wanly.

“That’s a blessing I didn’t know about,” he said and went back to his coffee.

Nena must have noticed his discomfiture; she came to his aid. “How many children do you intend to have, Carmen?” she asked, her gaze shifting to the newly weds.

Carmen laughed. “Well, now that I’m a respectable woman I would like to have a dozen.”

Nena seemed appalled. “You are not serious, are you?”

“Ask my husband,” Carmen said.

“If a dozen she wants, she’ll have them,” Tony said. His good humor had returned.

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” Nena said, pouting. “That’s all wrong”—and the words poured out. “Look at me: in five years I had six children. I look like a tub of lard now, don’t I? I don’t think it is fair at all. I was once slim like you, and full of grace — no, Carmen? I don’t walk anymore. I roll. And six kids. I’m going to have my fallopian tubes tied this year. No more children for me. I’m going to enjoy life while I’m young. God, I’m only twenty-five and everyone calls me ‘Missus.’ There are some married women who are forty years old and they are called ‘Miss’ in beauty parlors and department stores. With me no one ever makes that mistake. It’s all over my figure.”

Her truthfulness was pathetic, and Carmen tried to dismiss the topic, to assuage Nena’s grief over her lost youth: “But six darling children, isn’t that enough compensation? You should be happy, Nena. Alice, you know her, poor Alice, married ten years and not even one miscarriage!”

Tony could see Nena de Jesus at home, her six children tended by a dozen yayas , the rearing of her children rendered an impersonal chore. Wealth does this — removes the warmth and the closeness that parents can have with their children — and he felt sorry for her misery and for her lost youth.

“No matter what you say,” Nena insisted. “Six is too much. And in the meantime, what happens? You know my dear, dear husband of course, my darling Ben.”

“They are both friends,” Carmen said, turning to Tony.

“Well, he is now gallivanting around. He takes off for Nueva Ecija to visit the tenants. Ha!” Nena apparently relished her story. “Do you know where he really goes? I wish he knew something other than real estate. You should tell your papa to shift him to another department.”

“He works in the office — top man,” Carmen explained to Tony again.

“Perhaps if he worked in the plywood factory, or in Mindanao, that would diminish his libido somewhat,” Nena rattled on.

Godo leaned forward, grinning. The story had piqued his interest and the brandy glass before him was empty.

“Nena, that’s what a man’s for,” Carmen said lightly.

“I know, dear,” Nena tapped Carmen’s hand patronizingly. “But there can be too much of it, you know. And what happens? Six children! And where has that taken me? Of course I love him, dear. But does he love me still in this condition? I want to apologize to Tony,” and she nodded to Godo, “but most men can’t differentiate love from sex. I feel that I repel Ben now. I can feel it — this sagging bust, these flabby arms, this tub of lard. I’m not one to arouse the romantic instincts anymore. This year I’m going to have my fallopian tubes tied. That’s final … and I’ve already seen a doctor. A good one. If I’d only seen him earlier then I wouldn’t be looking like this today. I was very slim, remember, Carmen?”