The Samsons: Two Novels; (Modern Library) (46 page)

“Sake,” I said.

She brought the sake first and it was a bit warm like I read it would be, then the raw fish. It was then that she knew it was my first time in a Japanese restaurant, for I did not know the chopsticks were joined and she parted them for me while I watched with fascination.

If she had any doubt about my capacity to pay, it disappeared when I brought out the wad of bills from the boy in the Volks. Fifty-six pesos for a small dish of raw fish, squid, and sea urchin insides, sukiyaki cooked before me, and a tiny bottle of sake, but it was worth the adventure. This bastard from Cabugawan living it up at his first opportunity in this precinct of the rich. I would tell the Brotherhood not to tear down the walls of Pobres Park; we should take over the Park instead.

At three on the dot I was in the supermarket’s book section, browsing over the cookbooks and paperbacks, then this girl came in not a minute late, the yellow scarf on her neck the recognition sign. She went to the magazines; there was no one close by, so I walked over and said softly, “Tessa, the two envelopes are here.” She turned to me, and again the look of surprise, of fright, and she turned aside
as if she had not heard. Again, I had to tell her. “Joe is not coming; I have taken over.”

It was then that she turned to me, her face sunny as a flower, and she shoved the two envelopes immediately into her bag and handed me an envelope. She did not tarry; when she went out I followed her at a distance. Below the marquee, she waited briefly. Soon, a Mercedes with a uniformed driver drew up. As she went in, I could see that her legs were shapely.

My last delivery was at six at the Intercon; she sat in one of the sofas near the bar—a forlorn, emaciated creature in her late teens. She wore a series of colored bangles, the recognition sign, and I passed her once on my way to the men’s room, then I hurried back, afraid that she might have gone after the appointed time. I sat opposite her. She glanced at me and watched with interest as I brought out the envelope from the folder. No one was looking, so I bent forward, “Joe is not coming, Mary. I am taking his place.”

No emotion rippled on her face, no recognition lighted her eyes; she opened her notebook, threw the envelope at me, then took what I gave. I had expected her to leave, but she just sat there, looking straight ahead as if I did not exist. I felt so uncomfortable, I left after a while.

Five deliveries in one day, all within the Makati area. Inside the toilet, I counted what I had legitimately made: a hundred twenty pesos. And Joe’s take which was now mine was six hundred pesos! Some poor clerk slaved for two months to earn that much and here I was raking it in in one afternoon. I could cry at the irony of it all.

Outside, I flagged a taxi. It was already dark when I got to Antipolo. The door of the apartment of Kuya Nick’s mistress was open and she was there, waiting. She had been instructed, and though we had never talked before, now it was as if we were old friends. After all, she had seen me, and perhaps appreciated me more than Lucy did.

“Please come in,” she said. I handed her the envelope with the money and she gave me a larger one for my deliveries the following day. She closed the door.

“We are alone,” she said. The house was shadowy, but she did not switch on any of the lamps. In the soft dark I could see the mounds of her breasts thrusting through her simple sack dress, the full lips, the eyes shining like jewels. “My maid,” she went on, “she went to see her sister, but will be back soon.”

I did not want to poach on another man’s domain; I had the envelope for the following day and I turned to leave.

“Wouldn’t you like something to drink, a beer maybe?” It was an unmistakable invitation. I held her close—so close I could feel the mound pressed against my thigh. “This is what I want,” I said.

I had expected her to resist, but she did not. She did not put her arms around me as I kissed her, and her lips were cool.

“Please,” she said. “There will be plenty of time. Not here … I don’t want to … not here. You understand.”

“When?” I asked impatiently.

In a whisper, “I’m not prepared.”

“When?”

“I can go to three places: my beauty parlor, my dressmaker, and church. On Friday,” she was saying softly. “On Friday, in the morning, we can meet there, or any place …” She started to kiss me but stopped abruptly.

“I must control myself,” she said. I kissed her again, and she let me plumb the crevices of her mouth.

We walked to the door, and she unlatched it slowly. There was no one outside, and I knocked immediately on ours.

I could not sleep that night thinking of the woman next door, of Friday and its allure and promise. And the money in my folder—how would I explain it? I even had to hide the watch that Kuya Nick bought me. Who was the fool who said one can hide wealth but not poverty? He did not know of my predicament. I had several hundred pesos for the first time in my life and I did not know where to put them; not in my old canvas bag, which had no key, not in my folders. Tomorrow I would go to a bank, open a savings account, and hide the bankbook. It would never be the same again now that I knew what it was like to have money, to be able to buy anything I wanted or to eat anywhere in this wide, wonderful city.

I woke up with a start; Lucy was in my room with my freshly ironed clothes, which she gingerly placed in the old cabinet that my father used. As we went through the morning ritual, she was unusually coy. “You did not tell me what you did the whole day yesterday. I only overheard you telling your uncle about a job. What is it?”

“Nothing for sure, Lucy,” I said. “I was just interviewed. I went to
Makati, to the big companies. Even just a janitor if they will take me. But I don’t know any skill—except this,” I said, pumping.

“You are so good,” she said, arching her back.

Slowly, we savored every movement and, as usual, I was late for school.

In the jeepney to Quiapo I wondered how Friday—two days away—would be, how Mila would take me. It was one of those humid mornings when the rains had lifted and the sun stole out, drenching the sidewalks and the sweating people as they jostled about in the plaza, the asshole of Manila. It was much worse underneath, in the cavernous underpass, the tile floor now blotched with dirt, the lightbulbs konked out, the stench of the broken urinals, but still people came to Quiapo, whorled up from the depths, borne out of despair, for here there was light and hope, and they knelt in prayer or wobbled to the altar on their knees, repeating the rosary, invoking the spirit, praying for good fortune and good health and all the handsome rewards that befell those who believed.

For me it was not belief; it was something deeper, inexplicable, recondite as sin. I entered the church and thanked them up there for the goodies that had fallen my way and for what was yet to come; then, having done my duty, I went back across the burning asphalt, to the bank and made my first deposit.

It was past eleven when I got to school. I had just one more class and when it was over, Toto was at the door. “Now,” I said, “I can treat you to
siopao
and
mami.
”

He asked if I had become a call boy and I said, “No, the money from my mother arrived.”

Then, “Where were you yesterday?”

I did not want to lie, but how could I tell Augusto that I had become a pusher? That in a single and uneventful afternoon I had earned more than six hundred pesos? Yet I suffered no twinge of guilt about the money—it came from those rich young punks across the river, they had trunkfuls of it and they did nothing to earn it. If they went straight to perdition I would not have shed one solitary tear.

I thought quickly. “I am terribly ashamed, Toto. My mother, you know she slaves for me. And my auntie Bettina, too.” I was speaking the truth, at least. “I went out the whole day looking for a job, in Makati, after reading the ads, in government offices—”

“You think it is difficult, you don’t know anything. Excuse me,
Pepe. But you cannot type, you cannot take shorthand, you know no accounting. And there are thousands of filing clerks, janitors, messengers. Maybe, in a newspaper office you have a chance. But even there …”

We had reached our cafe and we joined the line. The usual
siopao espesyal.
We went to the second floor. As we started to eat, he noticed the watch, which I had put on when I left the house. “Hey, that is an expensive Seiko. I know the style.”

Quickly again: “My auntie … it is a gift. Her salary for a month, or even more, and she buys a watch for me. Do you understand why I feel so guilty?”

He nodded and appeared thoughtful. “I hope you can come with me to Tondo,” he said after a while. “Father Jess knows some important people. He may be able to give you a few names and you can go to them.”

I thanked him, but said that I would first try it my way.

I did not go home for lunch; I had only two deliveries that day and the package also included my deliveries for the next three days. Kuya Nick was efficient and methodical, and like he said, if there were extra orders, all I had to do was put them down in writing in the envelope that I gave to Mila. However, the weekly supplies that I had already delivered seemed enough. Nor did my customers increase their requirements as Kuya Nick said they were bound to within a month. It was during the first few months that the increase becomes very marked, then it tapers off and becomes steady—and that was when the business really got booming. The problem was to keep the old customers regularly supplied and happy. As long as the stuff comes, they don’t make trouble.

I was in blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, the brown envelope and my books under my arm. I tarried before the appointed time at the entrance of the supermarket again, and though it was not raining, she brought the red parasol by which I would recognize her. She was a fair-skinned mestiza with a sculpted nose, dimples, and black eyebrows. She wore faded jeans and a cheap
katsa
^*
blouse. She went straight to the dry goods section and I followed her there. I turned around once more and there being so few people at this time, I said, “Doris—”

She turned tentatively to me and smiled; her clean, even teeth could have been used for a toothpaste ad. “Yes?”

“Joe is not making deliveries anymore,” I said. “I am taking his place.”

Her face grew taut, relaxed, then the surprise: “I hope you have time … why don’t we go somewhere for a cup of coffee or something?”

“Something,” I said.

She smiled brightly.

We walked out of the cash counter and found a corner table in the supermarket cafeteria. I brought out the numbered envelope, and she slipped a bundle of bills under the table to me. I did not bother counting it; I stuffed it into my pocket. The next delivery was at four, and I had time.

I asked her what she wanted, but she had just had lunch; a cup of coffee would do. I ordered a hamburger. She wanted to talk and I was eager to listen. Then I remembered what Kuya Nick had told me, that I was not to fraternize with my customers for I may be telling them things I shouldn’t, but more than that, they might find out ways by which they could put one over on me. Remember, Kuya Nick had said, they are dependent on their pushers, whom they hate. It is a loathsome but necessary relationship. But it was too late now, she was just too pretty to be ignored, and I was just, as Toto had said, too much of an extrovert, and a Sagittarian, to keep away from people even though they might spell danger or doom.

“What is your name?”

“Toto,” I said.

“I see that you are a student.”

I had no special bookcover and my notebooks were not bought from the university store. She did not know, and she was trying to find out, where I was studying. “Not in the school where your friends go,” I said.

“You are evasive,” she quickly got the point.

“Is Doris your real name?”

She nodded. Then, the other surprise. “Do not get me wrong. I don’t use it. It’s for my friend. I would like to help her stop, but I don’t know how I can make her. It is not the money. She has lots of it. But she has been at it for six months now, and she is growing thinner.”

“Then why are you giving her this?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Because I understand,” she said finally. “I tried it once, twice, and liked it, but I had more self-control.”

“You can go to a hospital, or this foundation I have heard about,” I suggested.

“Her parents would die of shock. They wouldn’t believe that their daughter—and I, a pusher. I used to accompany her when she got the stuff from Joe. But she hated him.” She smiled at me again. “You are not repulsive at all. How did you get started on this?”

“Money,” I said simply.

“That’s three hundred fifty I gave you. How much is yours?”

“Only thirty-five,” I lied, realizing I had made more again. “And I am not rich like you and your friends.” I thrust at her my battered, brown leather shoes. “That’s the only pair I have.”

Her face was downcast. She sipped her coffee and her hand trembled. Her arms bore no telltale injection marks. She had none of the glassy, sleepy look of the boy in the Volks, the girl at the Intercon.

“You are so unlike Joe,” she said. “Joe is always trying to increase the price, saying it is more and more difficult to get the stuff. The supplier in Cavite, that was what he said, was demanding more and more, too. Is it true?”

“I am new,” I said. “I don’t know many things. I just follow instructions.”

“Where is Joe?”

I told her. She blanched and her cup almost spilled.

“I am not sorry,” she shook her head. “Will you stay in this job long? You are not afraid? After what has happened?”

“I have no choice,” I said. “Jobs are hard to find and I am not through with college. Besides, I said I would try it for a week.” Bending over to her, I said: “Don’t judge me too harshly. I am not rich like you or your friends, the whole lot of you who have no better use for your money than this. I don’t want this job, knowing what it does to people. But if I did not take it, someone else would. It pays well; something I never dreamed I would get when I was in the province. Maybe I will hang on to it, if my tastes do not interfere, and make a little pile, then I will retire. Ha, that is what every prostitute says, but they all end up old and wrinkled and penniless.”