PINATUBO Ch.14 Pandora’s Box

FOURTEEN

Pandora’s Box Of Revelations

She stood in front of the class, reciting a poem. The teacher seemed to have lost control over her class as she tolerated the children who continued to heckle the girl. They called her names, mimicked her speech, and threw crumpled paper at her. As always, the girl was resolute. Oblivious of the disturbance and provocation, she finished her recitation then with her chin up she ambled back to her desk.

         A woman--her mother—came into the classroom that day. The rapid tapping from her heels echoed as she stormed inside the stunned classroom. Without a word, she grasped her daughter by the arm and dragged her away, ignoring the teacher’s protest. For the first time, I saw terror and helplessness in the girl's eyes.

         I followed the teacher outside, and the whole class marched right behind me. Outside, a man was waiting in the driver seat of a big black car. The girl’s mother pushed her inside the back seat and closed the door to her face then she wrenched the door to the front seat and threw herself in.

         All I could see through the window of the back seat were the girl’s eyes, intense with fear. I waved to her until the car vanished in a shower of dust.

         And I would never see her again.

         “It’s so clear to me now,” I murmur. “How could I forget such a significant event in my childhood?”

         “You blocked it out of your mind,” Malia says.

         “Why would I do a thing like that?”

         “Because you've always been prejudiced when it comes to our father that you erased all bad memories about him. Consequently, these bad memories come back as nightmares.”

         I make a face and shake my head to disagree with Malia's Freudian analysis of my dreams. “I really didn’t know about the girl. Nobody told me.”
         “We tried, but you wouldn’t listen.”

         “Did Ma know?”

         “Of course, she did. But she never talked about it, and she didn’t want us to talk about it.”

         “Oh, my God, Ma. So it’s true. How many?”

         “We don’t know for sure.”

         “You mean there could be more than two . . . three . . . five?”

         “Maybe.”

         “How many do you know for sure?”

         “Four.”

         “Four? Oh, my God!”

         “How long have you known?”

         “This girl was the first one.”

         “Who was next?”

         “Danny.”

         “Danny? As in Danny . . . our brother Johnny’s best friend growing up?”

         “Yes.”

         “He spent so much time at our house. I never suspected anything. When did you find out?”

          “When Pa ordered both of them to stop flirting with this pretty girl in Sapangbato.”

         “And. . .?”

         “The girl was the two boys’ sister.”

         I shake my head from left to right. “You gotta be kidding me. It sounds like a Johnny Cash ballad. That’s just totally outrageous. I don’t believe it.”

         “And that’s how you’ve always acted when you’d hear rumors like this.”

         “Oh, Ma. . . how did Ma take all this?”

         “You didn’t suspect much, so she must have done very well in pretending it never happened.”

         “You mean Ma just kept quiet throughout Pa’s philandering?”

         “Not exactly.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “You never knew that Ma occasionally would wake one of us up in the middle of the night when she suspected that he might be with another woman?”

         “No. And then what did she do?”

         “She would drag one of us all over to find him.”

         “And . . .?”

         “One time, when I was with her. I remember we took a jeepney to this area, and had to walk part of the way in the dark. I was so scared. We found Pa in the balcony of this widow’s house.”

         “What was he doing?”

         “Sleeping.”

         “That wasn’t incriminating.”

         “No, but why sleep there when he could have gone home? The house wasn’t that far away from ours.”

         “What did Ma do then?”

         “She dragged him out of there and we all went home together in Pa’s jeepney.”

         “Ma did that?”

         “Yes.”

         “Did they quarrel?”

         “No, they were quiet. You know that Ma and Pa never fought in front of us.”

         “Oh, Ma. I never realized she had it in her . . .”

         “No, you wouldn’t because you were always blind when it came to Pa’s sins.”

         I shrug off Malia’s indictment. “Did you ever catch him with a woman?”

         “Not when I was with Ma. I think she and Ate Lynn caught him with another woman. Unfortunately, the woman’s husband did, too. Don’t you remember the time when Pa was jailed overnight?”

         I pause, trying to remember. “No.” I lie. The scene forever looms in my nightmares-- one of those that I’ve tried in vain to erase from my memory. Malia's right. These bad memories come back in my nightmares.

         The scene was the city jail. I remember it was crowded with scraggly looking men who could use a bath. Pa clearly looked out of place there. He smiled when he saw us and sounded confident when he talked about his arrest. “They have no case. I didn’t have my pants down.” He was right, and was released the following day. No charges were filed.

         “Where’s this woman now?”

         “We don’t know. We don’t even know who she is, or was.”

         “And the husband?”

         “Nope.”

         The oven buzzed. The Bibingkang Malagkit is ready. Malia gets up from her chair. “I’ll get it,” I say. “I’m closer to it.”

         I walk over to the oven, grab a pair of mittens, open the door and carefully pull out the pan and place it on the counter. I lift the cover and the sweetest, most delicious aroma emanates from it.

         I walk back to my chair.

         “Aren’t you going to have a piece while it’s hot?” asks Malia.

         How can she expect me to eat now after all the bombs they've dropped on me? My brain is still spinning from all that I’ve heard. “I’ll wait when it cools off a bit,” I say in a small voice.

         We sit there for a while, not saying anything. I notice from their demeanor, however, that there’s more to say to me. A lot more? I don’t know if I can take it. But, why not? Bring it on, sisters. Tomorrow when I wake up from sleep, I will just think of all this as another nightmare that I will try to erase from my memory.

         “Spill it out,” I say to them.

         “What?” they both say simultaneously.

         “Ah, don’t act so innocent . . .you know what. You’ve got a lot more in your sleeves than you want to bring out, so . . . lay it all out on this table. I can handle it. Ma already gave me the captions; now it’s your turn to give me the detailed descriptions.”

         “Relax, relax,” says Malia. If I remember right, she was the agitated one earlier.

         “I am relaxed.” I shift in my chair and take a deep breath. “See? I’m quite relaxed. In fact . . .” I get up from my chair and walk toward the oven. I take a knife and start slicing the bibinka. “Let’s have more coffee and indulge in this delicious, mouth watering delicacy. One of my favorites in this world.”

         “That’s the spirit!” Lisa says, looking a lot calmer now. Her tears have dried and there’s the famous dimpled smile back again.

         My sisters and I have recovered from the torturous confessions, and now, we’re ready to open another Pandora’s box of revelations.

         “I think we should take our coffees and our bibinkas to the dining room,” Malia suggests with a big smile now. “Let’s get comfortable because you . . . Mary . . . need it more now than before.”

         “Oh, boy!” I exclaim. “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .”

         My sisters laugh. “Hey, don't be sacrilegious!”

         We situate ourselves comfortably at the dining room table.

         “I can’t believe how you’re taking all this,” Malia says. “I was so sure you’d be so devastated that you’d be flying back to the States right away.”

         “I agree,” Lisa says.

         “Give me a little bit of credit, will you? I’ve grown up a lot since my arrogant days here.”

         “Ah, but it’s that arrogance that saved the family after father died. If you hadn’t convinced that department store owner that you were older, he would not have hired you,” Malia says.

         “And we would have starved.” Lisa adds. “We’re grateful for your strength and determination.”

         “Now you’re making me blush.” I spoon a piece of the bibinka and gingerly put it in my mouth. “Hmmm . . .” I purr with my eyes closed. “This is heavenly.”

         “Yeah, this is really good, Malia,” Lisa adds.

         “Thank you, thank you,” Malia says, bowing hear head several times.”

         I lean back, scoot down, raise my legs clear across under the table and rest my feet on the opposite chair. “I think this moment calls for wine. Got any?”

         “You don’t drink!” Malia says in surprise.

         “Yes, I don’t, but I think I need it before we resume the second part of THE REVELATION.”

         “No, you don’t need it. Plus, I don’t have it. I only have Theo’s Vodka and Whiskey, I think.”

         “Bring out the Vodka, or both.”

         “No, I won’t. Don’t be ridiculous. Here . . . just get drunk on caffeine.” Malia says while refilling my cup.

         “You’re a killjoy.” I straighten up, lift myself up from the chair and raise my cup. “And now, ladies and gentlemen . . . I mean, lady and lady . . . Welcome to the second part of The Family Revelation. Fasten your seatbelts for it will definitely be quite a bumpy ride.” Then I take a bow and sit down.

         “She’s really taking this surprisingly well,” Lisa says to Malia.

         “Well, are we going to get this show on the road, or not?” I press on.

         “OK . . . here we go.” Malia sighs deeply. “That girl . . . our half sister . . . well, she is back here.”

         “Whoa! What a way to begin this episode. Good job. Just dig into my belly and snatch my guts out.”

         “You said, we should get this show on the road.”

         “OK. Where did she come from?”

         “The States.”

         “Really. So how did you find out she’s back here?”

         “Johnny. You know he’s got the connection. He knows a lot of people.”

         “How did this girl manage to go to the States? They were very poor.”

         “Remember when she was pulled out of your class that last day you saw her? Well, as it turned out, her mother gave her up for adoption.”

         I raise my eyebrow. “Is that the Catholic way of saying . . . her mother sold her for money?”

         Malia nods. “It’s more common now than you think.”

         “I read. I know. So . . . have you met with her yet?”

         “No. I think Johnny has.”

         “You’re not sure?”

         “Just a suspicion from the way he talks about it.”

         “She came back to her mother even after she sold her?”

         “I guess so. Frankly, I admire her for that. It shows character.”

         We are silent for a moment. We all seem to be fetching for other things to say.

         “I would like to see her,” Lisa says under her breath.

         I look at her inquisitively. “Why? You hated her.”

         “I was young then. I had just found out that the girl I thought was my friend was actually my sister. But it wasn’t her fault. It was her mother’s fault . . . and our Pa’s. I want to see her again . . . and apologize for stoning her.”

         Malia nods in agreement. “This is so mature, and I’m so proud of us. We can’t hate people who didn’t have any choice for parents. We should be grateful for we’re the lucky ones because our parents were married, and they raised us in an environment filled with love for one another. Sure, Pa was not perfect but his faults were a family curse. All the men in his family did the same thing. It was in their blood. Pa took care of us, provided for us, protected us, and nurtured us. And look how we turned out. Of course, Ma had a lot to do with it, too. It was the legacy of their partnership and love for one another that made us who we are now.”

         I raise my empty cup. “Here, here, sister.”

         My sisters raise theirs, too. “Here’s to maturity.”

         “Here’s to forgiveness.”

         After drinking so many cups of coffee, we pay a visit to the bathroom, once, twice . . .

         On my third trip to the "CR," acronym for comfort room, as restrooms are popularly referred to in the Philippines, something dawned on me, and images start flashing across my mind: Johnny’s curious expression when he was talking about the Balikbayan girl who came back from the States to be with her family – the family who perished from the volcano eruption. And how about Dado’s reaction when Sonny asked him to find . . . Rosario . . . My God, how long has Dado known?

         I finish my business, wash my hands and rush back to the conference table.

         “I know who she is!”

         Both startled by my exuberance, Malia and Lisa jointly say: “Who?”

         “The girl . . . our sister. It’s Rosario, isn’t it?”

         My sisters can’t seem to find their voices in amazement. They simply stare at me with rounded eyes.

         “You didn’t think I was watching you closely when Johnny was talking about Rosario the first time. I was studying your faces intently—your movements, your furtive glances, your uncomfortable gestures, and I knew from the start that there was something about this woman that somehow had something to do with Johnny, or me, or the whole family. I am right, aren’t I?”

         Both of them fidget in their seats, still missing their voices.

         Feeling as if I had just won the million-dollar question on Jeopardy, I flop back on my chair. I grab the pitcher to pour more coffee in my cup but it was empty. “We’re out of coffee!”

         “Do you want me to brew another pot?” Malia asks. Glad she finally found the words.

         “But it’s already past 3:00 in the afternoon,” Lisa objects. We need to start dinner. The vegetables are probably wilting in the kitchen by now.”

         “Wait! This conversation is not over yet.” I protest.

         “Okay, okay, you’ve figured it out. Good for you,” Malia says. “We’re impressed. But the kids are going to be home soon. We’d better get ready for them.”

         “I have a lot of questions,” I say as I follow them outside to the dirty kitchen with my dirty cup and dessert plate. I don’t know why we even call it a dirty kitchen when it’s always clean. It’s funny that she’s got a beautiful kitchen inside the house but she hardly ever uses it. Her very nice oven is used as storage for miscellaneous things like paper and plastic products. She has expensive cookware displayed on the cupboards, but she uses the old ones outside. She has a dishwasher but she washes the dishes on the sink and uses the dishwasher to drip dry them. So the water drips from the dishes and collects in the bottom of the machine, which she then spends some time to clean until it’s totally dry. In my opinion, she should enjoy her beautiful and new things now before something, I don’t know, like a volcano eruption, destroys them.

         Interesting homemaker I have here for a sister.

(End of Chapter Fourteen)

Please proceed to the next chapter.

PINATUBO Ch.15 House My Father Built  (E) Mary visits the old family house that may have been totally destroyed by Mt. Pinatubo #1140324 by writeartista