Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

Looking back, I am surprised at the slow change that had come over me, my interest in school, my running for election, for I was not doing these for myself but for Mother and Tia Bettina. My class was crowded — sixty of us — and I could not ask questions as much as I wanted, and yet I had begun to find the atmosphere to my liking. Some of the teachers were quite repulsive; after all, most of them were there just for a living. If they were any brighter they would be at the elite colleges where the pay was better and the workload lighter.

There was, however, one exception, and that was Professor Hortenso. He had a very good reputation among the teachers, the only Ph.D. from England who was in Recto by choice. It seemed at first as if this permanent smile was plastered on his face. I saw him quite often in the corridors, for he had a full load, which meant teaching classes four hours a day.

My classmates lived in the districts — Sampaloc, Santa Cruz, Tondo — in cramped apartments, and I suspect some of the girls worked in bars and restaurants, particularly those who seemed aloof and well-dressed. The classes at night were packed with students who worked during the day. At nine, when the last classes were over, the human flood gushed out of the dimly lighted halls into the boisterous arteries of the University Belt, racing after buses and jeepneys already bursting with people. By eleven, Recto, Morayta, and Legarda were empty and silent but for the small cafes and restaurants such as those we frequented.

In the end I was left to fend for myself and hammer out my own education. I could fail, of course, for the teachers were not all that lenient, but as long as I read, attended class, and did not get my report card marked for absences, the likelihood of my failing was remote.

The election for class president came within two months of our enrollment, and after that, the election of the University Council. Our class election was no problem. When the call for nominations came, Toto was the first to raise his hand. There were three other candidates and we were allowed five minutes each to speak. I wanted to be last. The first three went beyond their limit, and they perorated on duty, freedom, all the usual stuff about the responsibility of youth and the future of the nation.

I never had stage fright, for as Toto had said, I was so outgoing and extroverted I could manage any crowd.

“I want you to know,” I said, “that I have many honors to my name. In high school, for instance, I was the Ping-Pong champion. [Laughter.] But I do not expect to win this particular election, for I almost failed to make it to this university. Physical education and recess have always been my favorite subjects. [Laughter.] Many politicians, I need not tell you, are dishonest. And because I am now a politician, I should not claim exception. [Laughter.] So I am telling the truth.

“You will want to know what I can do for you. I have no money, but I have a big mouth. [There was now laughter after every sentence.] But you can do something for me. You can elect me. Then, because I have no money, I can, as my good friend here said, attend more parties, get to know more of the girls, and if forced to study, I may even end up with a scholarship.

“You are laughing. But if I lose, it will not be a laughing matter anymore. Since I am supposed to make a promise, I will make one. It will be very difficult for me to do it, but I will try to be honest. If there are funds to be collected, I promise not to spend them alone. I will spend them with the treasurer.

“But I would rather be president. Even if I have to be honest to be it.”

As Toto said, I would easily make it. It was, in his words, lutong macao. ‡Fifty votes out of sixty.

Next was the Student Council, not the presidency — that was almost always reserved for the seniors who had been in the university longer, had more of a following — just membership, or the secretaryship at the most.

I still did not have money, and I wondered when Kuya Nick would really give me a job, even if only for afternoons. Perhaps I should see him next time his Mercedes was there. Thus, it was Toto again who treated me to siopao and Coke at our cafe in Recto. It was not yet noon, and the place was quite empty, so we had a corner to ourselves.

For all the warmth that I felt for him, I did not deserve his kindness; I had briefly suspected that he was gay, but he made no advances and we even talked of some of the students who were gay, those in the dramatics guild, how some of the more handsome ones made a living being call boys for them. It was just that Toto was raised differently — an orphan. Now, as I ate his siopao , I thanked him for being good to me, then sprang the question: “What have I done for you, Toto?”

“Luck, Pepe,” he said. “You were the first person I met on the first day of school. That is all. I would have developed the friendship of others, but, well, they all seemed plastic. You are a real person.”

“Shit,” I said.

He shook his head and smiled patronizingly. “If you had grown up in an orphanage, you would look at people differently, too. You would understand what I am saying. It is so difficult to explain to someone who has parents, relatives. I never had these — friends in the orphanage, yes, but they all left and we never saw each other again. Sometimes I go there with Father Jess to see the nuns — they are old now, the ones who took care of me. I love them but they belong to another world.”

I had always been myself. Now here was one who needed a brother. “How was it inside? How does one get in?”

He bit into his siopao. “I should take you there sometime. On a Sunday when the kids are taken out for a breath of fresh air. A baby gets in this way: A revolving basket is at the door. The baby is placed there together with anything the mother wants to leave, maybe some clothes. She rings the bell, turns the basket around so that it faces the inside of the orphanage. Then she leaves. The bell would bring the sisters out.”

“What was it like when you were small?”

“It was not a harsh life,” Toto said softly, “if that is what you want to know. Children have little knowledge of what is difficult as long as their bellies are not empty. I did not mind the secondhand clothes. And I had many playmates! But from the very start I knew I was an orphan.”

His eyes were misting, and I told him not to continue if the telling was too painful. “No,” he said, attempting a smile. “It is just that it is a very difficult feeling, to know that you have been cast aside, that no one wanted you, not even your mother.”

I wanted then to tell him that my father did not want me, either, that the world is not cruel, but both of us knew the knavery, the wretchedness around us.

“It does not matter much after you get to accept it,” he said. “Besides, there were the sisters and the maids. They were mothers to us. Then there were the visits of prospective parents — couples who came to look for kids to adopt. Usually they took the very small ones, the babies. But there was always a chance that the bigger ones would be considered. And as we grew older, we knew the importance of these visits and we tried to look our best and act our best, wondering if we would be taken. But the years went on. I grew up and no one took me. The girls were taught skills and some were even chosen as brides. But boys can stay there only till a certain age, after that they must leave. They are too much of a problem, I suppose. That was when Father Jess came — good luck, I should say, for he is a very fine man. Without him, I would not be going to school; I would not be earning a little money so that I can feed you like this.”

“Thank you,” I repeated. I was finished with my siopao.