Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

Tony went on with his work. His notes were voluminous and Fely had not been very good in her transcription. The Ilocano communities on the west coast, the areas where they converged — Salinas Valley, Stockton, and Lodi — and the cycle of their movement from California to Oregon and then to Alaska during the canning season … the notes were not properly arranged. The shower in the bathroom sounded and in a few more moments Carmen would begin her evening ritual, the cream on her face, the ointment on her skin. It was, as usual, half an hour, and when she came out she went straight to bed.

“I’m very tired, darling,” she said.

“After the beauty parlor?” Tony asked, closing the folder on the Salinas community. “You were supposed to relax there.”

She grumbled something inaudible. He was growing sleepy, too, and in a while he quietly slipped into the bed with her. It was late and he was not particularly stimulated tonight, but out of habit he cuddled close to her and ran an inquisitive hand quickly up her satiny thighs. He had expected the familiar tuft of pubic hair, soft and furry under her silken underwear.

He drew back, amazed and incredulous all at once. She had suddenly come to life and the answer she gave to his unspoken question was an angry push and a retort: “You think of nothing but that. You are getting to be a shameful bore.”

“Baby,” he sat up and was looking at her face, at the frown. “So, you aren’t going to have a baby after all. Why didn’t you tell me right away? When did it come?”

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

“Yes,” he said, “you must tell me everything.” He stood up and held her hands and he was surprised to find them cold. “When did it happen? Don’t tell me it was delayed three months. Is that possible? Has this happened to you before? No, you said it never happened before. I remember it — that afternoon we were at the Boie and you were so worried …”

“Of course it’s possible,” she said, shaking away his hold. “Accidents can happen and they do happen. You have to be a woman to understand these things. Esto , there was a time Nena de Jesus didn’t have it for three months — and then it came. Well, you have to understand these things. Do I have to be so goddam clinical about it?” She had raised her voice, but even in her anger Tony could sense something wrong, something missing, and he knew it at once: there was not enough conviction, enough sincerity, in what she was saying.

But he was not sure of himself, either. Tolerantly, “I’d be happier, honey, if you tell me the truth. Come on, I want the truth. Nena was with you the whole afternoon … was there an accident or something.”

“Oh, stop acting like a policeman,” she said coldly. “I just had an abortion, that’s all. Nena took me to her doctor. There’s nothing to worry about. It was all very sterile and efficiently done. He gave me some pills, just in case …”

The truth clawed at him. “Did you have to do it?”

“It was necessary,” she said peevishly. “I’m young. I can have children when I’m past thirty.”

“And you don’t think of me at all? Don’t you think you should have told me before you did this?” He had never been angry with her before, but now this rage coiled within him quickly and sprang up and he cried out, “You are a murderer, that’s what you are!”

A clamminess came over his hands and in his stomach was a sickening turn, a nausea. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse and there seemed to be a rock in his throat: “You are rotten, you are no good. I can expect this from a tramp, but not from you … of all people, you!”

The suddenness of his fury must have shocked her, for she backed away from him. “I didn’t know this would upset you, really, darling,” she said supplicatingly. “I thought I was the only one responsible, since it was in my belly anyway!”

“It was mine, too,” he said.

“It was more mine than yours,” she said, almost casually. “ Oye , I’m not trying to say that we should have no children. But I’m not thirty yet, darling. There are many years still ahead of us. We can have them afterward — a dozen if that’s what you want.”

But it was too late now and not all the honeyed words could bring back the life that was lost. What was marriage without children? There came briefly to his mind the mist-shrouded mountains of Bontoc, the ulog , and the girls who lived in it. They loved by another code and they did not have this preoccupation with creams and diets. They worked hard in the fields, half-naked. To them a marriage was not sanctioned, it was not real, until the woman became pregnant. And only then did the marriage become sanctified, only then.

“You love yourself too much, you really don’t care for children. You shouldn’t have gotten married at all — that would have made you happier. Are you thinking now that we’ve made a mistake?” he asked, his voice rimmed with hate.

She evaded him with amazing agility. “Do you or don’t you love me?” she asked.

Tony walked to his desk.

“ Oye , I asked you a question.” She was behind him.

“The time is rather late for that kind of talk, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I want to know.”

“I love you — and you know that,” he said, facing her.

She kissed him blandly, then went back to bed. Tony sat down, leafing through all that he had written. It was useless. He could not concentrate. He took a paperback book from the shelf above the desk, a detective story, but after a few minutes he gave that up, too. He lay beside her, watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her belly and the almost childlike smile on her face as she slept. She was lovely and at this moment pure, like an angel, beyond the reproach of a constant and damning conscience. Yet it was to her own self that she had sinned, not so much to him.

She is a murderess — the thought ate at him, but it did not persist. She was his wife — this was the finality to consider. She was his wife, the key to the good life that was proffered to him and which he had gladly accepted.

Some unscholarly notes

I have never felt the need to unburden myself as I do now. I could easily go to Godo, but I must be prudent and should not jump to conclusions. I miss my classes. They had given me pleasure, for the classroom was my forum. There I could speak freely of the history that to me is self-evident; there I could narrate my hopes and, most of all, my fears. I looked upon my students in the light of my own experience; I did not hesitate to tell them that I not only had the authority of facts, but that it was my conviction that our worst enemy was ourselves, our vanity, our pride, and our desire for honor.

I marvel at my own resilience sometimes, and I am beginning to understand why it is possible for me to get along with D. I know why he is a success; he told me the other day that he follows all the Commandments, particularly the eleventh: Never get caught! But he is a peasant and a loudmouth, and these shortcomings may one day prove to be his undoing. There is no doubt about it: he gets things done, perhaps because he is a Kano, and maybe, because he knows power and he traces its very origin. From him, at least, I have learned never to trust clerks.

I sometimes tell myself that if I were only someone like R I wouldn’t be opening my mouth too much, particularly if I am not too seriously involved with my own statements and speeches. The final draft of the speech on steel appealed to him because I now see his vision of himself in Philippine history. More than anything, he sees himself as the champion of the new class, the entrepreneurs, although he himself belongs to the old import-export elite. It is because of his desire to be on top of the wave, on the frontline of innovation, in the phalanx of progress, that he now champions this steel mill. Of course, there is money in it for him. I will not be surprised if he cuts not a single line from the speech introducing his bill that will make the new steel industry not only tax-exempt but also the recipient of government subsidy until that time when it will be able to rise on its own feet.