Smaller and Smaller Circles (31 page)

Epilogue

Saenz is on
his way back to the laboratory from Simbang Gabi—one of the nine pre-dawn masses leading up to Christmas—at the university chapel. A few stragglers are hanging around and chatting cheerfully outside, most of them students or faculty. They call out to him and wish him a merry Christmas. He smiles, wishes them the same and waves goodbye, then turns up his collar against the Christmas chill and prepares to cross the road.

On the other side of the road, standing in the shadow of a tree, is Cardinal Meneses.

Saenz is startled and stops where he stands. For several moments, the two men stand on opposite sides of the road, staring wordlessly at each other. A few vehicles whiz past them from either direction.
What are you doing here? What do you want from me?

Then the cardinal motions for him to follow. He steps away from the curb and onto the grass on the other side, and Saenz crosses the road to join him. The grass is soft and dewy under his sneakers. The dawn is just beginning to break, pale lavender light touching the edges of the night sky.

“I've been meaning to speak with you, Father Saenz,” the cardinal says, treading carefully through the grass. “But I wasn't sure if you'd agree to see me.”

“You could have called for me.”

“That would have been too
. . .
You would have come, but you wouldn't have wanted to.”

“What makes you think I want to now?”

“Fair enough.” He stops right in the middle of the clearing, looking up at the sky. “I thought I should come to tell you the news myself.”

“What news?”

The cardinal pauses to clear his throat. “Father Isagani Ramirez is no longer connected with
Kanlungan
. The board voted to remove him from his post. They have also called for his resignation from the charity, pending an investigation of his activities and his conduct there.”

Saenz heartbeat quickens, but outwardly he remains calm. “It's one thing to call for his resignation. It's another thing for him to actually hand it in.”

“Well, then you will be pleased to hear that he tendered last Friday. And that the board accepted it without delay. It has also filed a formal complaint.”

The director was right. Your rich patrons don't really care about the children. It is a veneer of piety, a fa
ç
ade of benevolence. At the end of the day, it all comes down to their precious money.

“Father Saenz, I had imagined that you would be happy about this, but you don't seem to be.”

“Happy?” Saenz looks down at the cardinal. “Perhaps if I had heard this eighteen years ago. Perhaps if he had not been moved three times in the last eighteen years nor allowed to continue at
Kanlungan
under a cloud of suspicion. Perhaps if the complaint had not been merely about
estafa
but about the abuse of the children under the charity's protection.”

Without his familiar smile, the cardinal's face looks weary, lined with care. “We did what we were advised to do. What we have always done. I have merely obeyed, Father, as we are all obliged to do.” Now there is a note of entreaty in his voice. “Father, surely you understand what that means? Surely you can find some
. . .
compassion for your brothers who tried to do what they could, within the limits set for us?”

Saenz tries his utmost not to sound cold, but he fails a little bit. “The compassion you seek is neither mine to give nor yours to ask for.”

For a brief moment, Cardinal Meneses looks as though he's been slapped, but he recovers his composure quickly. He smoothes his hand over his shirt, as though stretching out unseen wrinkles. “At any rate, the matter is out of our hands now.”

“As it should have been all along.”

“Should it?” He smiles cheerlessly. “I'm not so sure, Father Saenz. I worry, deeply. I worry that our standards, our principles—our very foundations—are being eroded by this
. . .
this openness that you seem so determined to pursue.”

“Funnily enough, I worry for exactly the opposite reasons. I worry that all this secrecy, all this unwillingness to change, to evolve—to listen to reason—is eroding all that we stand for. Endangering everything that we have vowed to protect and defend.”

The cardinal sighs. “We'll never see eye to eye on this, will we, Father?”

Saenz shrugs. “I think you already know the answer to that, Your Eminence.” A small bow to the cardinal as a sign of respect. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to attend to.” He begins to walk away.

“Merry Christmas, Father Saenz,” the cardinal calls out to him.

Saenz doesn't stop walking.

“Sun's coming up, Your Eminence,” is all he says.

Acknowledgments

The first time I wrote this book—in 1996, when I was in my mid-twenties—I was angry: angry about my job, about the state of my country, about the callousness, complacency, and corruption that had dragged it there.

The second time I wrote this book—in 2013, in my forties, having moved back home with my infant son—I found myself even angrier: about the state of my country, which seemed even worse than it was in 1996, and about the callousness, complacency, and corruption that kept it there.

I couldn't have written this book a first or a second time without the faith and support of many people. So my profound thanks go to Prof. Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo, who published the first version of the book under the University of the Philippines Press. To my agents at Books@Jacaranda, who championed my work even when I was busy doing anything but writing. To my editors at Soho, who worked tirelessly with me to make the book better.

To my parents and my sister, who helped create all that is good in me.

And to my little boy, who is teaching me how to make something good out of myself.