Diego had an interpreter. With the greatest courage his age could muster, he
walked across the hall and extended his hand to her and then said "Buenas
tardes, Senorita". Maria Elena looked up to Diego absentmindedly. Her
attention was somewhere else. Without moving her head, her eyes scoured across
the massive sala for that other young man, the one with the puppy eyes. He was
no longer there. She finally responded after an awkward moment when everybody
was watching the young gentleman being seemingly rebuffed by the madonna. She
took his hand in hers and he swooned in ecstasy as they made contact. He did
not know what to say. Never in his young life has anybody ever affected him
like this. He finally found his bearing and reintroduced himself.
Diego Carasco Miranda, "servidor de usted," he clicked his heels and bowed
with his head. He had wanted , as is the custom back home, to kiss the back of
her hand, but with this girl he felt it would be a sacrilege. He was
overwhelmed by this beauty before him. He stopped short of falling on his
knees. The interpreter interpreted.
"Es mi placer," she answered back. But please, I do understand the language.
Padre Itsi has been giving me private lessons since I was a child, as if she no
longer was.
Diego' s faced lighted up. She talks! Her voice was a woman's voice, musical,
at the same time, mysterious, resonating in a husky timbre that tugged at him,
reverberating with each syllable.
Diego decided right then and there that he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
May I have the pleasure of seeing you again in the privacy of your home
sometime next month? I know where you live. Padre Itsi has spoken to my father
and to me about you and you know how the old folks are. They think we should
get together. This time I'm sure I'm glad they think so. He knew how she
respected the priest and he knew he was pulling strings by mentioning his
name.
He has the most charming aristocratic smile, Maria Elena thought. One can tell
his pedigree. She nodded in response, but it seemed she did not actually say
Yes. Just an equivocal nod.
Diego did not know if he should be happy or not, but he did not feel it proper
to press for a more precise answer to the question. He gathered he was being
dismissed. He bowed again, like the gentleman that he was, smiled and left. And
no one noticed No Name, the cat, baring his teeth.
It seemed the whole poblacion of Butuan was a witness to this episode. By the
time the news reached Talacogon, the " chismes" had it, that the young man
from Spain and the local maiden were engaged to be married. And anyone who was
anyone or who wanted to be someone was posturing himself or herself so they
would be invited to what would be the grandest affair of the generation.
Back in Buenavista, Arturo did not believe the news. He was convinced that
Maria Elena had eyes only for him. But Diego is so handsome, so cultured and
white. Whereas him, what did he have to offer? What his father gave his mother,
the house by the ocean? It was the only wood and mortar house in the whole town
where the floor was made of wide alternating dark and white apitong. The
hundred or so hectares in the outskirts of town by the Mayapay mountain? But
still, is he competing with Diego's castle in Spain and Portugal? Despair
alternating with ambitious hope was what he felt. Will I ever see her again?
What will I say to her? Will I ever be alone with her? Padre Itsi does not seem
to like me much. He seems territorial, protective, as if she were kin.
So many questions filled Arturo's days. So many dreams filled his nights. Oh,
Maria Elena, if I could, I would catch the dawn of the first day of summer
and lay it on your feet. He felt like a romantic idiot. He felt ridiculous. He
felt like he wanted to sing to her, reveal to her, his dreams and his desires.
I have no gifts to give, but perhaps I can offer her my heart in a song.
His voice was plaintive and his lyrics sincere. His neighbors did not complain.
Even the neighborhood dogs ceased their doleful howling and seemed to listen to
him practicing.. And all the women, even the old toothless ones, fell in love
with his songs. His father knew what his son was going through.
He crossed the river just after supper. Armed with a guitarist, Arturo paddled
across Agusan River. The evening was still. One could only hear the rhythmic
muffled thud of their paddles against the side of the wooden canoe. They
directed their bawoto toward the shadow of a green spreading mango tree away
from the old tower. Not that he believed in the old wives' tales but discretion
is the better part of valor. It took more than half an hour as they were rowing
diagonally across against the current. At about midnight, when the new moon
was at its zenith, they approached Manoy Tomas' house.
The first note from the guitar broke the silence of the night. The sound wafted
through the air to reach every household in the sleeping village. And all the
people heard and all the people dreamed of their own longings, their own loves,
the ones they lost, the ones with the sweetest, most painful memories.
"Awitan ko ikaw
Sumbungan ko ikaw
Ning gugma....."
I shall sing to you,
Confess to you,
Of love .....
His young voice drifted with the wind.
He sang with his soul. She listened with her heart. Tears of love fell with
his every phrase and for the first time in her life, she was not in control.
And for the first time in her life, she was truly happy.
All of nature rejoiced.
When the last note of the last song faded away in an echo, time stood still,
as if the night was waiting and hoping for another song, as Maria Elena was.
The crickets stayed silent. Not a purr from No Name. Not a hoot from the owl.
The gigantic bat with the bloodshot, protruding, unblinking, half opened,
eyes stayed motionless, hanging upside down from the lowest branch of the
bawono tree. Love and music can tame a savage heart.
It was never a custom in Agusan to openly acknowledge a serenade. So Arturo did
not expect Maria Elena to look out the window and wave to him. The window
stayed shut and the house stayed dark. But a soothing almost visible warmth
seemed to emanate from the house, engulfing Arturo in an intimate embrace. He
knew he had reached her.
The balding guitarist was so touched by what he had just witnessed that he was
teary-eyed as he plucked the last chord in pianissimo. Right then and there,
he swore on his mother's life and on all the saints that he would never, ever
cheat on his wife again.
Previous Chapter - Chapter 4
Next Chapter - Chapter 6
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