Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

“But don’t ever tell my wife that I took you upstairs,” he nudged me with his elbow and I almost dropped the glass. A burst of laughter, then he was all seriousness again. “You must really go to La Salle. I think it is easier for you to be a salesman there. And it is much easier getting them to buy, too. You can start in the next semester.”

“What will I be selling?”

Another nudge and laughter. “You want to earn money, don’t you? There are easy ways of making it if you know the right people, like Kuya Nick.” He gave a flourish with his hand then thrust his chin toward the alley. The neighborhood kids were shouting at one another in their immemorial game of patintero and, beyond them, Lucy was coming but without her market basket.

He took my empty glass and closed the door, saying, “I will see you again.”

One of those faultless June afternoons coming to an end. It began to get dark. When Lucy saw me, she smiled wanly as if to say she was sorry. “Where have you been?” I asked hotly. “I have been waiting here for hours.”

She opened the door and we hurried in. There would be time before my aunt and uncle arrived and Lucy sensed the urgency, too. But the idea of being watched, now that I knew it, dampened my desire. Still, I wondered if I could perform knowing that someone was watching. I decided not to tell Lucy, but that I would try and put on a show that the mistress next door would not forget. Perhaps she might even end up wanting me and that would be something over Kuya Nick and his diamond ring, his manicured nails, and his Mercedes 250.

Lucy was explaining that she had gone to visit her sister — she did this once a week, no exact day — and she was sorry she had not told me.

I ignored her explanation as I put the latch on, then kissed her. Her mouth was wet and she kissed me with passion. Her arms around me were viselike and her hair smelled of sun and cigarette smoke. I wanted it right there, the door behind us, but she would not let me.

“No,” she said. “It is much too late. I have to cook. I have to cook—” She quickly disengaged herself, but I followed her to the kitchen, my hands eagerly all over her, my lips on her nape. She stood still and let me do what I wanted, but when I turned her around, she kept saying, “Pepe, there is no time. Tomorrow, please, we have all the time tomorrow …”

It really had to be on the morrow, for in another instant there was a rap on the door. I kissed her again then went to open it. It was Tio Bert, arriving a bit earlier than usual.

I bade him good evening and he seemed surprised to see me. He switched on the light in the living room. I did not ask why, but he seemed to think it necessary to explain—“I finished early today”—then he rushed upstairs. I tried to tell him that I had to wait at the door, for Lucy had gone to visit her sister, and perhaps it was time for me to have a key but he mumbled, “Tomorrow, tomorrow, we will talk about it.” But when he came down finally, shortly before my aunt arrived, and I repeated what I had said, he said perfunctorily that he would have the key made, but that I was not to mention to my aunt that Lucy had gone out and left the house. She would not understand, there would be another scolding, and it was so difficult to get a maid nowadays, they were all working in the factories for higher wages.

“So many robberies in Manila, Tio,” I said. “Your TV. If Lucy plans on visiting her sister, she can go when I am here so that there will always be someone in the house.”

He thought it was a good idea — yes, it should be that way — but he would give me a key nonetheless — it was so easy to have one duplicated, but again, conspiratorially whispering, “Don’t tell your tia Betty. It is so difficult to get a good maid.”

I could not sleep, thinking of Kuya Nick, his promise that I would earn enough to pay him back in a month. Selling what? I pressed my ear to the wooden wall to hear any sound of his mistress moving about, but there was none loud enough to penetrate the wall. I placed a chair beside the wall and stood on it; then, with the lights out, I peered into the crack, but all I could see was the ceiling. Sleep finally came to me after midnight; the last baggage train had thundered by, shaking the house like a matchbox. When I woke up, it was already light and Lucy was on my bed, kissing me, telling me we were alone again.

She pinched me saying I had been naughty and impatient; now we had all the time. The old cot creaked so we transferred to the floor. I had an urge to turn to the crack above, to wink at it, for with all the noise we were raising she must be watching and wondering, perhaps, how it would be if it was I, and not Kuya Nick and his vitamin E and KH3, paying homage to her this beautiful day.

Now, to my mind, I was really Toro. A vulgar sense of superiority, of prowess suffused me. My self-control amazed me with its perfection; I was Toro, unflappable; Toro the terrible, endowed with vaunted willpower. I decided to put on a good exhibition and Lucy was responsive — each wave I stirred lifted her, arched her, shook her. She moaned so loud I thought the whole neighborhood would hear. Then I scaled the crest and what a dizzying, electrifying varooming dive it was; I collapsed on her limp, quivering form, a euphoric peace enveloping me like a warm, silk cocoon.

We lay thus for some time — I didn’t know how long — and did not care. Outside children were playing, a vegetable vendor was shouting her wares — eggplants, string beans — and women were gossiping on their way to market. I tensed, hearing a sound in the other apartment. I could hear the hum of the air conditioner. We had been seen.

The greatest show on earth.

I was late for my first-period class, but it was one time I did not mind. Toto obviously did, for he rushed to me when I arrived; it was much too late to go to class so we went to the canteen and had Cokes.

He was stammering again. It was always like this when he was excited. “Pepe, listen, you should really be somebody in the Brotherhood. But first, here, in the university … you must be in the Student Council. That is the important thing. And to be in it you must be class president. You can do it. I can campaign for you and we can prepare posters — all that you will need.”

“ Hoy , I am not a politician. I do not like politicians.”

“But you are popular, with boys and girls. Your name … it is easy to remember. And you have personality.”

“Your words are difficult to resist,” I said in high humor. “Flattery will get you somewhere.”

“I am serious, Pepe,” he said. “First we have to elect you class president — that will be next week — then you must run for the Student Council.”

“What will it get me?” I asked the old question.

It flustered him. “I don’t know, more popularity I think. But that is not the reason. I am thinking of the Brotherhood. If we can have a member of the Brotherhood in a high position, in all the high positions … can you not see what this means? It is so damn basic.” He was exasperated. “All right, you will be invited to many parties. Meet many girls, the prettiest in school. You will even get a scholarship, I think, if you become president of the council. And you will not spend everything for your tuition.”

“Those are things I like to hear,” I said eagerly.

“Damn you!” he cried, the strongest expression I ever heard from him. Then he was contrite. “I wish you were not so demanding, Pepe. But I am beginning to understand. You are very … very pragmatic.”

“Practical!”

I put my arm around his shoulder. “Toto, if it will make you happy, I will be a candidate.” He did not speak, but I knew he was very pleased.