Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

Tony followed the railroad tracks, stepping away from the little mounds of human waste that those in the vicinity had left, being too lazy to go to the public midden shed down the line.

His sister was busy in the kitchen — a small, dark corner at the other end of the living room. His nephews met him and they were all hands at the comics section of the afternoon paper and a bag of peanuts that he had bought.

“I’ve prepared something special for you,” Betty called out from the kitchen. She turned away from the kerosene stove. She was a short, anemic-looking woman with deep-set eyes and thin lips. She had always been frail, and motherhood, as it had happened with many women, should have endowed her with more flesh, but she was thinner than ever. Her voice, however, had a certain warmth and fullness that somehow made up for her meager frame. “I remember your letters and how you used to crave for pinakbet ‖with broiled mudfish. Well, the mudfish — I stopped by the market this afternoon—”

“Thank you, Manang,” he said. He stood beside her, opened the earthen pot, and the heady smell of eggplants, bitter melons, onions, tomatoes, and mudfish in stew whorled up to him. For a while he let the luxurious aroma engulf him, then he placed the lid back on the bubbling pot.

“I do wish you’d eat more,” Tony said, looking at his sister. She was indeed thin, and now, in the yellow light, she seemed even thinner. But Betty was not pallid in body or spirit, for each muscle in her taut frame was toughened by hard physical work — washing and housecleaning — and by the work in the fields when she was younger.

“How is Father?” Betty asked after a while.

“He is all right, but he thinks he hasn’t long to live,” Tony said. “When was it that you saw him last? He wants to see the children.”

“The children,” Betty sighed. “Tony, you know the children can’t know about their grandfather — it is for the best.”

“Yes,” Tony said quietly.

“They will not understand. No one in this street will understand.”

Tony didn’t speak.

“I wish Father would understand,” Betty was saying, “but he seems unchangeable. I can’t do much for him. I never did much for him. Six years you were away, maybe I saw him only twice a year.”

Tony quickly veered away from the nettlesome subject. “Where is Manong?” he asked.

“Upstairs. Go ask him to come down,” Betty said, laying the chipped china on the table beyond the stove. “He likes pinakbet, too.”

Tony climbed the narrow stairs dusty with afternoon, to the room that faced the street. Bert, his brother-in-law, was there, plucking hair from his armpits and grimacing properly before the cracked glass of the aparador. a

“We are having pinakbet this evening,” Tony said.

Bert grunted. He was short like his wife, but massively built, and his short-cropped hair accentuated the shortness of his neck and the squareness of his chin. He was Ilocano, too, with thick lips and deep brown skin. While he clerked for a Chinese flour importer in Binondo district, he studied law at night. He followed Tony down the darkened stairway, his steps heavy.

Betty’s boys were already at the table, noisy as pigs, and the maid darted about, attending to their every whim.

Tony had never discussed the subject of marriage before with his sister, although they had touched on its fringes in the past, bantering about the girls in Rosales who had shown him inordinate attention. And remembering Rosales, thoughts of his cousin Emy thrust themselves once more on his consciousness. She had been with him in this very house, studying to be a teacher because that seemed to be the cheapest course for her to take, although it was not the limit of her talent.

He wondered how his sister would react to what he had to say. No, he was not shirking his responsibility of sending her children to school in gratitude for the assistance she had given him. There would be no shirking — the duty was his, he being a younger brother, and it was as natural as birth itself.

“Manang,” he started, searching Betty’s face for a sign of reproach or approval, but Betty was attending to the food. “I’m getting married.”

Even the boys stopped eating and turned to him.

“To whom?” Betty asked, leaning forward, her spoon motionless in her hand.

It was Bert’s turn. “Carmen Villa? The girl in the pictures you sent us from Washington?”

Tony nodded.

“This is wonderful!” Bert was enthusiastic. “Isn’t she the daughter of the Villas? Do they already know and have they accepted you?”

“Carmen has. As for her parents, I don’t think there will be any trouble.”

“When will you get married?” Betty asked.

“In a year — maybe even less.”

Bert stirred in his chair. “There has to be more time. Preparations. After all, the Villas … you know what I mean.”

“That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“This is foolish,” Betty said, aghast and overjoyed at the same time. “Tony, what can we do?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Don’t worry.”

“How easy it is for you to say that!” Betty said. “You know we have to think of the sponsors.”

Tony had never given the embellishments of the wedding serious thought, and to his sister he said simply, “You’ll be one, Manang.”

“Me? Me?” Betty objected shrilly. “Let’s get the governor. After all, he is from our town and he knows you. We have to show we know someone important, have influential acquaintances. I’m not saying that we can ever equal the Villas, but we can put on an appearance.”

Tony laughed hollowly. “There is no sense in that,” he said. “Carmen knows everything about me. My income. I’ve told her everything.”

“So what if she knows.” Betty was insistent. “There are her parents, her relatives — people who don’t know. It’s for them that we will put on an appearance.”

“There will be no people. Just us — and the members of her family. It’s already settled. It’s going to be very quiet. Besides, I don’t want us to spend. You know I have no money.”

“But we can get the investment back. Oh yes, Tony, we can,” Betty said. “Just don’t forget us when you are there. The Villas … I haven’t really stopped hoping. Maybe, someday, I’ll go back to college and get a master’s degree or something, and then I’ll be able to get a better job. But so much will have to depend on you.”

“Even I, someday, may come to you for assistance,” Bert said. “But this does not have to be said. I will — particularly when I’m through with law. It’s so hard to get a position these days, even when you are a lawyer. You know what I mean.”

“But how can I be of help?” Tony asked. “I am not even sure if I’ll be able to live on my salary. Certainly I’m not going to live on Carmen’s money. Oh no.”

“Throw delicadeza bout of the window,” Betty said. “Maybe I will yet be able to leave that public school. Ten years — can you imagine that? Ten years and not a single raise.”

Tony ate in silence.

“Well, you can do something,” Betty insisted.

“I don’t know,” Tony said sullenly. “It all seems confusing now.”

“The Villas are rich, aren’t they? I’m not saying that you should be grasping, but look at how we have suffered. Don’t you remember any more?”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” Tony said, his appetite gone.

“It’s not your fault that she is rich,” Betty was determined. “After all, not every girl can have a prize like you. Do you remember how those girls back home vied for your attention? You can write to Emy and she’ll tell you about all those who are there waiting. She knows, and here you are worrying about what people, particularly the Villas, would say. They wouldn’t ask questions, my dear.”