Francisco Jose - Don Vicente - Two Novels

“Do you think you can humor me? You young people, you have no idea how real, how permanent death is. Trining thinks that she can joke or tease it away. She should be in Manila, looking after you, but she has to look after me — as if she can do anything. She was so young when it happened. It was I who really brought her up. Such an admirable sense of filial obligation! But I am resigned.”

Luis sat back and looked at his father helplessly. In spite of his affliction the old man still wanted to be domineering and sarcastic.

“Now listen to what I have to tell you.” The old man’s face was turned to the ceiling, as if in thought. “How is your work in the city?”

The question surprised him. “Very well, Father.”

“Of course I know that, but that is not what I meant. I have been following your magazine, seeing the advertising increase. Are you happy working for Dantes? Like I told you, he is no angel. With your kind of thinking, you should not be there long — just long enough to get your name established.”

“I have a free hand, Father,” he said, but suddenly he felt extremely uneasy, now that his relationship with the sugar baron was being probed into. It had occurred to him before, of course, that the Dantes hierarchs were conniving and rapacious, but the publisher had been most judicious with him.

“He is using you,” his father was saying pointedly, “your youth, your imagination, your integrity. You will have to leave someday — and make it on your own as soon as you can. In the first place, materially you cannot earn much from the job. You are an Asperri — not a Dantes. Perhaps if you were a Locsung or a Mondovino, you could marry into the family — but you are an Asperri, don’t you ever forget that.”

“How can I, Father?”

The old man turned to him. “On your own you are not so badly off, you know. The house in Manila — and there are those lots in Mandaluyong and in San Francisco del Monte, in Quezon City. There are five thousand hectares here, the rice mill, some stocks in the brewery, in the mines. My poor brother is dead, but actually his share is very small, for it was I who acquired most of these properties. Maybe just a few hundred hectares will go to Trining. Have you any idea how much all these are worth?”

Luis shook his head without emotion.

“You can put up your own publishing if you wish,” Don Vicente said flatly. “Tonight — or tomorrow — I will have the accountant, the lawyer, and Santos come here. You study the Torrens titles — all the papers — and ask me all the questions you want clarified.” The old man started to cough violently, his face contorted with pain. Luis rushed to him and tried to hold him up, but the old man brushed off his clumsy hold with a quickness that was surprisingly strong. Luis went back to his seat as the old man’s coughing ceased.

“What do you want me to do, Father?” Luis asked.

“It is difficult, hijo ,” the old man said. “I just want to go with my mind at peace. Requiescat in pace . I want to know that I leave everything in good hands — your hands — and as I said before, I want the Asperri name on this land.”

“I will do anything you wish, Father.”

Don Vicente sighed happily. “That’s good,” he said, folding his stubby hand on the mound that was his belly. “I am glad that is your attitude. Have you ever thought of getting married?”

Luis was prepared for the question. “No, Father,” he said truthfully. “I have never given it serious thought.”

“You haven’t given your word to any girl then?”

For an instant Ester came across Luis’s mind, but he and Ester had not talked at all about marriage. He had told her many times that he loved her, and he was certain that in his own fashion he did love her, although there always was in his mind, alive in its recesses, the thought that she had not been completely truthful. It would be so profoundly personal, so demeaning to him, if he were to confront her, so he had never bothered to.

“No, Father,” he said firmly, “I have not promised myself to any girl.”

Don Vicente wanted to rise a little again, and Luis fluffed the pillows up and added a couple to the pile that supported his father’s back.

“I know how young people feel nowadays. How times have changed!” He chuckled. “I want to see you married before I die, Luis. That’s a legitimate paternal wish, isn’t it? And Trining — I hope that your closeness to each other has not made you blind — she is very pretty. If you have no feeling for her except that of a cousin or even a brother, don’t worry. Love will come. She is a very good girl and she cares for you, although you perhaps do not know. I think she adores you. And do not forget, she is also rich — and it will be in the family, intact. No messy legal procedures and all that sort of thing. Your being cousins is no problem. We will get a dispensation from the bishop later. And your heirs — may there be a dozen of them! They will really have something substantial to lean on.” A long pause. “You agree with me about Trining, don’t you?”

Luis nodded dumbly.

“How long will it take you to decide? Until this evening? The earlier you decide, the sooner you can go back to your work.”

Now that it was crudely put to him, Luis did not really need time to think. What would be had been in the back of his mind, inchoate but whole, and Trining had really been a warm and wonderful companion — if only there were more mind in her, not just homemaking and loving. What she had, however, were attributes of the housewife, not the mistress. Whenever she got permission to leave the convent and stay with him she took over the house — the kitchen most of all. She never tried going into meanderings of his mind. She never really reproved him for quitting school and creating havoc with the priests. It would have been easy for Luis to loathe the direct hand that his father was playing in a matter that was intensely personal, but Luis did not resent it. His father was right — there was also the family wealth to consider. How materialistic and crass can you get? The thin, raspy voice of conscience twitted him, but he did not heed it. He loved Trining, too, perhaps in a way that was not as deep as love should be, but he loved her nonetheless and that justified everything.

“The decision is an easy one to make, Father,” he said. “Come to think of it, I am very fond of Trining, too, but”—he paused—“do you think she will not object?”

“Hah!” the old man exclaimed, then burst out laughing, shaking with uncontrolled mirth until tears came to his eyes. When he finally stopped, his breathing was slow and relaxed and a warm contentment settled over him. “Trining will grab you with her two hands,” he said. “Well, this is wonderful. I knew you would see my point. You will get married tomorrow, then. I’ll tell Santos that the papers he has prepared are not going to be wasted.” He laughed softly again. “The judge will come here for the ceremony — and the church ceremony will come later. I am sure Trining will insist on that.” The old man shook his head, and with a slight wave of his hand he signaled Luis to leave him alone with his thoughts and his happiness.

Trining was waiting in the hall. “What happened?” she asked, following him to his room. “I am glad there was no shouting, nothing of that sort. You have to be kind to him. What was he laughing about so uproariously?”

In his room Luis started laughing, too, as soon as he had closed the door.

“What is so funny?”

“Us,” Luis said. “What a wonderful, compact family we are. All in complete agreement with one another.” He realized that she was waiting for the final word. In the fading light of the afternoon he saw that her eyes were beseeching. They had been very close, and he was always aware of her moods, how quickly they changed and how spontaneous they were. “Trining,” he said, holding her hands, “will you marry me?”