Francisco Jose - Don Vicente - Two Novels

Forgive me then, dear Mother .

When Luis woke, the sun was already high. It flooded the room and danced in the cream curtains that stirred in the morning breeze. He could hear Marta puttering in the kitchen and Simeon sweeping the driveway. The first thing he thought of was Vic’s visit. He could vividly remember snatches of their long talk, and he had in fact started to think of better replies for the questions Vic had asked and was now better prepared to answer them if they ever came up again. He was now more curious than ever about the reason for the visit, for Vic’s having confronted him. He was sure that if he had not spoken so pointedly or tried to dampen his brother’s enthusiasm, Vic would have been more open and would have told him what he really wanted to say. It was all too late now; in all probability there would not be another such clash between them and, for all their closeness and for all that was dear and past, never again would Vic confide in him. Knowing this, he felt a great weight press upon him.

Ester called him up while he was having coffee, and her voice smoothed away the numbness of his spirit. “It’s nice to hear your voice,” he told her. “Would it be too much if you called me every morning to cheer me up?”

“The problem with you,” she said with a smile in her voice, “is that you are such a self-centered person, you think only of your convenience. Did it ever occur to you that sometimes it is I who may need the cheering up?”

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, “if we are to think of our mutual convenience, the best thing is for us to get married. We can get up together in the morning and cheer each other up.”

Ester kept up the banter. “Are you proposing?”

“After we go to church and I still feel the same way, I will.”

“Baclaran then,” she said. “It won’t be crowded today with all those favor seekers.”

“I am a favor seeker,” Luis said. He stood up, catching a draft of the sea breeze. “But I seek favor only from one virgin.”

A gale of laughter. “Suppose I told you I am no virgin?”

“I’m not old-fashioned,” he said.

“If you come with me after mass and have Christmas lunch with us, I will believe you.”

For a moment Luis wanted to accept the invitation, but he would feel awkward having lunch with the Danteses when he was not sure of how Ester would eventually regard him. “I have an idea,” he said brightly. “Let’s drive to the beach in Cavite and stay there the whole day. I’ll bring lunch.”

He could surmise by her silence that she was not so happy about what he had in mind. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“No — no,” she said, undecided.

“All right, then, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“I’m already dressed,” she said with a laugh. “You get ready in half an hour, and I’ll be there.”

The sound of a kiss pleased him, and even after she had hung up he was still holding the phone against his ear.

Marta lingered while Luis was having his breakfast. Although she was past fifty like her husband, she had none of that middle-aged look that most women her age had — and the women of Rosales aged fast, oppressed as they were by the drudgery of the farm. Not that she herself was not burdened with work. She had always worked for the Asperri household. After the old house was burned down Don Vicente took her in to look after his orphaned niece in Ermita. Afterward he sent her and her husband to look after Luis.

“Why did you tell my brother to wait in the garage, Marta?” he asked. “You should have told him to go to my room and wait there or sleep until the party was over.”

“But Apo,” Marta explained, “I didn’t even know he had gone there. I thought you had already seen him, for right after he arrived we didn’t notice him anymore.”

Luis drank his coffee in silence.

“What is Victor doing now, Apo?” Marta could not resist asking. “We never got the chance to talk with him. He didn’t seem to want to talk. Why …” the woman hesitated, “why is he so secretive?”

Luis waved her away. “It’s his manner,” he said, “and you cannot change it.”

He was ready when Ester came. Simeon and Marta were not yet prepared to leave, so, just as he had promised, he gave them an envelope with money in it. After giving the couple last-minute instructions, he and Ester went down, carrying Marta’s lunch basket. Ester was radiant in a red-printed skirt and blue blouse. “I have heard so much about hangovers,” she teased him. “I wanted to see someone with one.”

He grinned amiably. “I am made of sterner stuff,” he said. “I am sorry to disappoint you.” In the car Ester told him that she had brought a bathing suit. Luis reminded Simeon to look after the house very well, then the car was on its way.

“I’m giving them a one-week vacation,” he explained to Ester. “I will be alone and liking it.”

“With no one looking after your chastity?”

“God is extra kind to bachelors.”

The sea breeze flowed into the car, and the fragrance of Ester’s nearness was intoxicating. The morning was brilliant, although ribbons of mist hung over the bay, over the hulls of half-sunken ships. “I was wondering,” she mused, her hand resting on his knee, “maybe I can come once in a while and clean your house — and cook, too, if you’d let me, just as Trining sometimes does. It shouldn’t matter that I’m handy only with a can opener.”

“I’m not finicky,” he said.

As Ester had expected, the Redemptorist Church in Baclaran was not crowded. Luis was even able to park on the mango-shaded grounds — an impossibility on Wednesdays, when the novena for the Mother of Perpetual Help clogged the church with devotees. The offertory had just started, and Luis was glad that he did not have to sit through the sermon. He had yet to listen to one that would impress him. The priests — Filipinos or foreign missionaries — always had nothing to say except the same clichés about salvation, and they always talked down to their parishioners and sounded as if they were the holiest and the purest of men when God knew that many of them kept mistresses or absconded with church funds. Luis and Ester walked out before the benediction.

The houses along the highway were all festive. Multicolored paper lanterns of various shapes — stars, fish, and octagons — were all over the place, their frills quivering in the December breeze. Roasted suckling pigs, impaled on bamboo poles, were being carried to some of the houses.

They reached the beach resort in about an hour. It was desolate, for people stayed at home on Christmas Day to receive members of the family or godchildren. Only a handful of bathers were swimming in the calm blue water or sunning themselves on the distant curve of sand. The wind was mild and the surf quiet. Luis parked under a clump of short, thorny aroma trees, which would give them shade when the sun got high.

Close by, the laughter of a girl reached them as a boy chased her to the water. They would have privacy in the world — under the trees, in the car — but this was not what he came for. “I am glad you came,” he said. She smiled at him. He moved to her and, tilting her face up, kissed her softly. When he drew away, she remained motionless. He opened the door. Simeon had been thoughtful enough to place in the rear of the car a wide piece of canvas, which Luis now spread in the shade.

Ester joined him. “We can sit here the whole day, doing nothing but talk,” she said. She removed her slip-ons and dug her toes into the cool, soft sand.

“We have to eat, too,” he said, “and other things, besides.”

“After lunch, we go home,” she said. “I must be home early. Papa does not even know I’m here.”