Francisco Jose - The Samsons - Two Novels

“But it did not begin that way,” Lily explained. “He was a teacher’s aide, and after he taught school, he organized this youth dance to which we contributed. That was when we started going out.”

When his term ended, Simpson returned to the United States by a circuitous route through Europe. Lily had written to him at the addresses he had left, but not once did he reply. When the baby came, someone told her to seek assistance at the American embassy, but she was too shy to do that. She had, of course, the ultimate proof in her arms — a handsome mestizo baby with brown hair and eyes that were blue “like his father’s.” The baby did not live long.

In spite of motherhood, Lily had not lost her girlish charm or the innocence in her eyes. If only she had better food, her skin would be much clearer and there would be no blemishes on her arms or legs. It was a minor miracle how they managed — four children, two of them in high school, with her mother making only so much by taking in washing and peddling vegetables door-to-door.

Their most intimate conversations floated across the alley to us; seldom could we hear the hiss of the frying pan to know that they were eating something more substantial than boiled vegetables and the scraps of fish that her mother could no longer sell.

Lily’s mother coughed interminably and the younger kids always had skin sores. Then, one evening, Lily came home with two grocery bags and two smaller, oily ones, which, she said, contained fried chicken. Her face was flushed and happy when she passed me at the open window where I was reading, and she smiled at me before going up the stairs. Her brothers were squealing and the older ones, Boyet and Nanet, were full of questions. Her mother had started to cough again. She asked where she got the money to buy all that food and Lily was laughing and saying, “Mama, I have a new job and it pays better, much better than that store in Avenida. I am now a waitress in Makati. The tips alone! But I have to work starting at eleven until late at night.”

A month later, Lily could no longer attend our programs or our Sunday meetings; she had to work on Sundays, too, and it was only on Tuesday, her day off, that she was free. For several days I had wanted to go out with her, just the two of us, before she got this Makati job. On those instances that I was free from school early, I even detoured to Avenida and went home to Bangkusay with her after the store closed. On this Tuesday afternoon, as I was starting for school, she also got out, not by coincidence, I now realize.

“I am going shopping,” she said. We walked toward Bangkusay, avoiding the puddles in the alleys, and, once in the plaza where no one could hear, she said, “Pepe, I have something important to tell you. There is no one I can talk to.”

“We can go see a movie now, if you wish,” I said.

I had always wanted to be close to her in the dark so I could hold her, but then I remembered I had only fare money. “The devil — I don’t have money. Why don’t we just go to the Luneta and sit under the trees?”

She smiled, “No, too many people there. Yes, we can go to a movie — let me pay.”

“I will not permit that,” I said, but she won out, for I wanted to hold her.

We got off at Recto. She gave me ten pesos to buy tickets, balcony, she insisted, so that we would be up there by ourselves. “You can still attend one of your classes,” she said. “I don’t want you to lose your scholarship.”

It was one of those kung fu movies, but no matter how well Bruce Lee fought, he could not distract me from this girl. Once settled in our seats I put an arm around her. I tried to reach down her neckline, but she held my hand firmly and said, “Now, Pepe, don’t do that. What pleasure would you have holding a mother’s breast?”

We laughed, then she started talking somberly, slowly, as if she were telling me her one and only secret, and perhaps it was.

“Pepe, I do not know what to do.”

“I know,” I said.

“Do not talk nonsense now.”

“I am serious,” I said.

“Don’t make jokes. You know it’s impossible with us. Please help me, tell me what I should do.”

“Tell me your problem.” I held her closer and kissed her cheek.

“Promise you will not tell anyone in the Barrio, not even Toto.”

“I promise.”

She paused, then said simply: “I am working in a massage parlor, Pepe … not in a restaurant.”

For some time I did not know what to say and, noting my silence, she quickly added, a hint of irritation in her voice: “Now … now, don’t think what you are thinking. I am not a prostitute. The money I make … I get it straight, not even petting. I do not let them.”

“I do not believe you,” I said hotly, then I was sorry I said it.

She drew away, fury in her eyes. “I made a mistake in trusting you. If I can trust you, why can’t you trust me? You know that I cannot give you any proof.”

I was silent.

She continued, the anger in her voice had ebbed and in its place, this sorrow. “Did you know that until I got this job, we sometimes ate only once a day? And my baby, did you know he died because I had no money for medicine? You know that Mother makes so little, that Boyet and Nanet do not earn — and those two small ones …”

I drew her to me, “Lily, forgive me.”

Though not a sound escaped her, she was crying. I tilted her face and kissed her, saying, “Lily, I can do nothing to help you. Yet I cannot think of you in that place, with all those hands pawing you.”

Her crying subsided and we were silent for some time. We even tried to watch the movie, but it was useless — we had to talk.

She said, “Mother is getting suspicious, and I do not know what to do. Once, she said she wanted to come and see the restaurant. Boyet and Nanet do not care as long as they have something to eat. But Mother— I don’t know what to tell her. I never lied to her before, not even when I got pregnant.”

I wanted to know the nature of her work, how much money she made, what she did with the money.

“For the first time in our lives,” she said, “we are eating well. And I have saved a little. I have money in a savings bank in Makati, and I keep the bank book in my locker in the Colonial. For the job, I trained for two weeks at the Hospital Ng Maynila. That was not very difficult, and I can really give a good massage — a hard one if you wish. Someday, I will give you one, specially when you are tired.”

“What else do you give?”

Without hesitation, “Sensation — no more. The management wants us to give it if the customer asks. But not if he does not want it.”

I pretended ignorance and was sorry afterward, for I was degrading her by asking her to explain.

“I masturbate them,” she said simply.

I was silent.

She continued evenly. “All sorts of men, with all sorts of problems and all sorts of lives. I have to be nice to each one, short and tall, fat and thin, and it is very rare that they only want a massage.”

“And you give it to them?”

“No, Pepe, I swear. Just sensation.”

“Shit,” I said, the anger rising in me again although I had no right to be angry with her.

“Shit to you, too,” she flung back.

“Look at your new clothes, that new wristwatch. Don’t tell me it is the Red Cross. You got those with more than sensation, like a …”

“Like a whore? Is that what you want to say?”

The words were rocks in my throat. I must not spew them out.

“I am not a whore, Pepe. God sees everything, I swear to you. I don’t even let them touch me.”

“God,” I cursed in my breath. “I want to believe you, within me I do!” And again, I embraced her, and my whole being ached.