PUPPY LOVE by Francisco Sionil Jose

My name is Jacobo Salcedo but after high school, since coming to Manila from the old hometown, I have
been called Jake, an American nickname about which I cannot do anything. Not that I dislike it but there
is something about the name my townmates called me, Jacobo, that I found distinctive for in the old
hometown, I was the only one with that name. This is also the name that a girl, Gina, and her older
brother who was my friend in grade school knew me. Gina belonged to a very rich family, in fact the
richest in our town. I was from way, way below her on the social ladder.

I was explaining to an English business associate the other day that, in the Philippines, the idea of class
so prevalent in Britain is not perceive as such, and there is no consciousness of class brought about by
speech, manners, breeding. The idea of class is not absent in the Philippines but is often disregarded as
long as an individual has money, lots of it-for money can buy everything, even honor.

I say all this now with some nostalgia and hindsight knowing that I realize it in childhood and aspired
early enough for class, for station in life similar to Gina's. This aspiration was not colored then by
political hues but it was there, nurtured in the heart more than in the mind of a boy who came from a
village. This village where I was born was not, in a sense, isolated and extremely poor; in fact it was at
the rim of the town of San Jacinto which, as everyone in the town knew, was encompassed by the big
Garcia hacienda. Antonio Garcia the patriarch was Gina's father.

My father raised fighting cocks and sometimes I thought he loved those roosters more than my mother
and me for he was always with them, stroking them. He also liked liquor, usually Ginebra San Miguel. He
was very pleasant even when he lost in the cockpit, which was almost always. He would come home
with a dead bird which would end up in the pot. Mother work hard selling fish and salt in the market,
waking up early to get her share from the supplier. She also sold jueteng bets.

I was only a child and thought I never missed a meal, there always seemed to be so little food in the
house. Our home was empty expect for the basic things Filipinos need-a stove, utensils, grass sleeping
mats. We slept and ate on the bamboo floor. Both my parents were, fair, maybe there was some
Spanish or Chinese blood in our line although I never really knew my grandparents.

I went to the school in town and it was my very good fortune to be seated beside Lito Garcia, Gina's
older brother.

The attraction of the opposite sex does not start in puberty; it start much earlier judging from own
feelings at the time although, of course, it was a feeling so undefined and yet so tender and as real as
breathing. It is often called puppy love but I never really recognize it as such in later years and in such a
condescending manner I did not pass, it was certainly no trivial or hunger that could be quickly
quenched or appeased. It lasted oh so long-to this very day, as a matter of fact, when in my middle age
and in my decrepit state, it should have withered and died.

Lito and I often played truant, swimming in the creek or wandering around in the fields, fishing, catching
frogs. I never really got to understand why Lito liked me. He was a rich man's son, mestizo. Maybe that
was it-I was not too dark like the other peasant children. In fact, in Manila later on when I was no longer
exposed to the sun, I became quite fair.

In any case, children are bonded together not by racial affinity but by shared experience. Lito and I
played often in their big house at the northern edge of town, perhaps the biggest house in that part of
the province, a magnificent brick building with a tile roof and floors of thick, shiny planks of narra. Living
as I did with my parents in a small, thatched house of bamboo and buri palm walls built by farmers and
occasionally repaired by them, I had marveled at the great effort expended to erect such a grand
structure.

In small towns such as San Jacinto where there are no Catholic schools for the rich, the children of both
tenant and landlord go to the same public school where, as children, most of them are barefoot. It is in
these schools where the idea of class is dispelled as the rich and the poor kids learn and play together.

Since I was in Lito's house quite often, Gina, his younger sister often played with us. Although a year
younger than I, she was a tall, if not slightly taller. It must be the mestizo genes or their food. She had
brownish hair and very fair skin. Her eyes were dark and pretty, her voice such a pleasure to listen to,
and even when she was vexed, she always sounded so pleasant and musical.

Quite often, after school in the afternoon, Lito took me to their house. I helped him with our homework
and soon Gina caught on and she would ask me to help her, too. Don Antonio, their father, never
seemed to be at home, and Doña Alicia, his wife, seemed imprisoned in one of many rooms most of the
time. The older brothers and sisters were in the city attending high school or college. Indeed, Gina and
Lito would do the same when they finished grade school. I expected this with some sadness for it would
mean in a couple of years, I would never see Gina again.

When I was in grade six and Gina was in grade five, we were paired together in the school folk dance
team and were participants in three numbers, among them the old cariñosa. For three dances, we had
no costume change - she wore a green skirt with a yellow blouse, and I wore red trousers, a white shirt
and a red scarf. Everyday for three months, we rehearsed the numbers after school till early evening.
The district competition was going to be held in Esmeralda, the town five kilometers to the east.

I almost did not make it to the team because I had no money for the costume; fortunately, Father had
one of those few lucky days at the cockpit. During the rehearsals, I was always anxious. No, self-
conscious would be the word. I never got over the feeling of wonder, holding Gina's hands, her waist, to
guide her. I could feel myself quiver and more so because the other children were teasing us - such a
marvelous and handsome pair we made! Gina did not seem to mind the teasing but it brought blood
thundering in my ears for there was another aspect of it that was not said aloud, poor boy, rich girl, it
would never happen.

We returned close to midnight from the district competition in a fleet of caretelas and parted in the
schoolhouse where we left the odds and ends we used, the athletes their athletic equipment. We won in
the dance competition. I walked Gina to her house. February and the cool night had a full moon sailing
in the sky. I was hungry and so was she; we met a few townspeople on their way home from the movie
house and they asked us how we fared. "We won! We won!" Gina gushed.

I wanted to stay with Gina but upon approaching their house, all the lights were on. They had some
guests and I was too shy to go although I doubted very much if there was any food in our house.

If I did not visit the Garcia house, Lito came to our hovel, so we could wander in the villages where his
family had tenants. We also went swimming in the creek beyond the town, gathered edible snails in the
drying irrigation ditches, caught grasshoppers, or just raced the water buffaloes with the farm boys. He
always brought something good to eat, stuff I never really had, canned food-pork and beans and
sardines-which to me were luxuries. If we stayed at their house, we went to their bodega and shot mice
with an air rifle. During the harvest season, the bodega would start filling up with sacks of grain stacked
in various height and we would play hide and seek there, sometimes Gina joining us. She was really
precocious and was always reading novels, romances and the like.

Father died when I was grade seven. I remember the day very well not so much because of his death but
because it was the first time I was awakened by the unerring call of the flesh.

Sunday -the big market day in San Jacinto during which the cockpit was also open, surrounded by food
stalls, calesas and knots of farmers from the villages who had to come to town to bet their meager
savings. Outside, one can hear the tumult of voices, the loud urgings as the roosters with flashing spurs
clashed to death. I could never fathom how the "kristo"-his arms raised like Christ in the crucifixion-
could remember all those bet and from whom. Father always said that honesty is the rule of the cockpit
and, indeed, as any cockpit aficionado will testify, it is in the cockpit where the Filipino is at his honest
best.

December - the first harvest was in and the bodega of Don Antonio had begun to fill. I had gone to the
Garcia house although I knew Lito had gone elsewhere. In truth, I wanted to see Gina.

She was reading in the shade of the big tamarind tree in their yard. I shared with her this interest but I
had so few books. It was from her that I sometimes borrowed them.

"What are you reading now?" I asked.

"A novel, Wuthering Heights. It is a love story."

She added that Lito had gone to the next town and would not be back till late in the afternoon. I had no
reason for staying then - I had seen her and that was enough. As I turned to go, she held me back.
"Jacobo, stay with me. I am alone except for the cook. We can play in the bodega."

This was what I wanted. She rose, book in hand, and picked up the red apple on her chair; she had
already eaten most of it. She said she had a favorite place in the bodega where no one could bother us -
the big, circular rattan basket empty as yet where the gelatinous grain was stored. This part of the
bodega was lighted by the skylight above it. "I have quiet here," she said, stepping on a couple of sacks
then dropping into the wide mouth of the circular basket. I followed her and we sat on the floor, our
backs resting on the side. "See how quiet it is? No one can disturb us here."

I had been alone with here several times but never this secluded and almost immediately, a sense of
being one with her, of peace, suffused me. The bodega was very quiet - hardly any sound from the
outside reached us, the rattle of traffic was muted. Above us, a couple of mice high up in the rafters. I
pointed them out to her. "We are not alone."

"They are not a bother.' She said. Then she asked a question which embarrassed me. "Lito and you were
circumcised together? Has it healed?"

I nodded.

"You are now a man then," she said, smiling. "I haven't had my first menstruation yet… I am not a
woman…"

I did not know enough of such mores then but I had some earthy knowledge; I had seen dogs copulate in
the streets, the fowl do it. And, in school, there were always the stories by the older boys. Some had
gone to peep in the shack behind the market where a couple of prostitutes plied their trade among the
vendors and itinerant workmen. I saw them once, a couple of crones with pinched ancient faces.

How could two very young people get to know the arcane ways of loving, caring? I did not know then
what love was but I did know feeling - unexpressed, compulsive - and this I had a lot for Gina. I looked at
her, the fine profile, the angelic face, the beginnings of her breasts. I wanted to hold her like I did when
we were dancing but all I could do was mumble, "Gina, I like looking at you."

She turned to me then, put her book and the apple she was munching aside, and held my hand.
Wordless, she leaned back and, between us, the silence was bridged because I could feel her warmth,
herself, flowing out to me.

In a while, the door of the bodega slid open with a screech. One of the maids called out, "Gina, are you
there? Your lunch is ready."

She turned quickly to me, embraced me. I embraced her. Too, although I cannot now remember how I
reacted. I will never forget the soft feel of her lips brushing mine in a shy tentative kiss, how around me,
and within me her fragrance swirled, her warmth and softness filling me with wonder. It would haunt
me the rest of my life.

She then rose quickly, pressing her fingers to her lips to tell me I should not make a sound. Her cheeks
colored with her blush. She seemed undecided on what to do then she sat down again, pulling me
beside her.

She showed me the novel she was reading. "A beautiful love story," she said. "Someday, when I fall in
love, I will be faithful to him just as I expect him to be faithful to me always." Her voice was determined.

"I will be the same," I said.

Then she asked if I was hungry and I lied, saying I was not. "I've eaten most of the apple," she said. "I
should have given you at least a bite. Here, open your mouth…." And before I knew what was
happening, she had faced me and pressed her mouth to mine, thrusting the apple she had in her mouth
into mine. I chewed a little then swallowed it, tasting apple, Gina, too, her essence, herself.

Returning to our house that early afternoon, I was surprised to see people in our yard. From upstairs, I
could hear mother sobbing. Father was dead. It was explained to me later - a freak accident. Father's
rooster had won and the dying loser already prostrate on the ground suddenly came to life and sprang
at the winning rooster in father's hand. As father swung away, the dying rooster slashed at his thigh.
Father had bled to death, as no doctor was around to staunch the wound.

Two days afterwards, the war began. Gina and her family fled to their farm. They returned to town
briefly, then the entire family went to Manila. Their house, as was the elementary school, was taken
over by the Japanese.

Mother died during the war and I went to the city to live with an uncle who was working as a janitor at
the Ateneo - it was he who put me in the Ateneo where I also worked in exchange for my schooling. I
never really returned to the old hometown again; our tiny lot was sold to help support me. As for Gina's
house, it was burned during the war and I also learned that the family sold most of their land and they
were all living in Manila - where, I didn't know although I was always hoping, praying, that I would see
Gina again. But how can I find a lost love in this vast trackless wasteland that is Manila?

After high school, I studied law and it was at the law college that I had the very good fortune of meeting
Carlos Cobello, heir to the Cobello fortune. We became very good friends and when I topped the bar, he
immediately took me into his firm. From then on, it was smooth sailing; I was paid well and, more than
that, I enjoyed the trust and friendship of one of the country's richest men. In less than a decade, I had
achieved the good life and banished forever were the days of want in San Jacinto although every so
often, memory led me back to those yesteryears with fondness and nostalgia, Gina always a living throb
in my chest.

I did get a chance to pass by the old hometown on occasion and learned more about what happened to
the Garcia hacienda and to the family. The hacienda was cut up, and sold to pay for Don Antonio's debts.
As with most wealthy Filipinos, he had several mistresses and illegitimate children. I knew Gina was
longer living in comfort and I wanted to help her.

In the meantime, the Cobello Empire grew. I had by then become fluent in Spanish, much of it inspired
by Gina and her family who spoke it at home. I was entrusted with so much work, attending to Don
Carlos' business contacts, Americans, Japanese, Europeans. In the evenings, I often took these foreigners
to dinner in the few quality restaurants at the time. For a taste of Manila nightlife, I often accompanied
them to the old Bayside night club at the boulevard where Iggy de Guzman and his band made beautiful
music. I was still single and pining for Gina.

A couple of top Marubishi executives were with me that evening. The Bayside then was Manila's best
nightclub. Men brought their wives or their girlfriends there to dance. Those without dancing partners
could bet one from the club's big array of hostesses, dolled up mannequins inside a brightly lit booth
with a one-way mirror through which a customer could make his choice.

Don Carlos had been urging me to get married although he was still a bachelor. He felt that at thirty-five,
I should settle down and raise a family which would then anchor me to solid ground. He assumed that as
a family man, I would make a better executive although I reminded him quite frankly that as a bachelor
there was no other stringent claimant to my loyalty other than Cobello y Cia.

So there we were that evening at the bayside. The manager whom I personally knew - in the Philippines,
personal acquaintances are attributes in almost every undertaking - led us to the hostess booth. The
Bayside girls were known to be well trained in the art of conversation and entertaining. My guests and I
examined the luscious array of pulchritude. And, right in the middle, in a green dress, was Gina. How
could I make a mistake with that face, those eyes that sparkled!

I immediately told the manager that she should be for me. As for my two companions, they made their
choices soon enough.

The girls emerged from their booth and I immediately went to Gina. I introduced myself as Jake and she
gave me her hand, mumbling her name which was not Gina. That was understandable - almost all the
hostesses assumed pseudonyms.

We walked over to the club interior, each table dimly lighted by a single candle unlike the hostess booth.
Her voice had not changed - it confirmed her identity. I was jubilant but I controlled myself. I was not
surprised that she did not recognize me. The boy she knew was not all the fair-skinned as I was now.
Then I was frail, undernourished. Who among the people in San Jacinto would recognize me now - an
urbane looking executive in a dark summer suit, white shirt with a button-down collar and a Gucci tie?
Likewise, if I told her that I knew her as Gina, she would surely be embarrassed. I decided that it was
best she revealed herself voluntarily, a future gesture which would indicate that I had earned her trust.

The two girls I introduced to my Japanese companions could speak a little Japanese. Gina said she
couldn't but that she knew Spanish. The girls ordered sandwiches and orange juice and while waiting for
their orders, I took Gina to the dance floor. On the stage, in front of the orchestra, a pretty singer was
belting out a post war favorite, I Walk Alone. I held her very close, her body warm and pliant. I asked
where she came from and she mentioned a nondescript town in Samar, but that she grew up in Manila.

In those days, the Bayside bands played nonstop for an hour after which the second band took over for
the same length of time, first the waltzes, then the slow danceable tunes. These were followed by
tangos and rhumbas and, finally, the pasa doble as we old timers called it, then the boogie. We had
started with what we then called the slow drag and we talked very little for I was reliving the past,
remembering how it was in that large rattan basket, and here she was, grown up and beautiful and all
the glory that was Gina was in my arms.

I asked her where she lived and she said, "Paco."

What street and what number? She drew away and smiled, "You are in a hurry, aren't you?"

I told her I could wait. She danced very well, she must have done some dancing when she was a kid?

"Yes," she admitted readily. "Folk dancing, you know. We even got a prize."

Again, affirmation. We went back to our table. The food had arrived. Gina said she was hungry as she
had not had dinner yet. While my companions were on the dance floor, I jus sat with Gina, holding her
hand after she had finished with her food. The shaded candle could not quite light up her face.

"Are you single?"

She nodded. I was concerned about my guests. "Can my guests bring the girls to their hotel?"

"I don't know," she said gravely. "You have to ask them yourself."

"Well, can I bring you to my apartment? I am a bachelor - that's the truth."

She shook her head and smiled.

"Let me at least take you home."

Again, she shook her head. "My brother always picks me up."

"And what if my intentions are honorable?"

Again, that easy, reassuring smile that came through even in the dimness of the single candle. "You are
in such a hurry you may stumble."

"I will take my time then," I said.

Again that diffident smile, "When the fruit is ripe, you don't even have to climb the tree. It falls to the
ground and then you just pick it up…."

"It may take forever," I said.

"That's the chance you'll have to take."

I wanted to ask her then how much should I give the girls if they were brought to the hotel by my guests,
and how much, too, should I give her. But I did not want to embarrass her -as an old costumer I knew
the rates, but with Gina, it must be enough to make her remember me and at the same time, enable her
to live well at least for a month.

When my Japanese guests returned to their seats, it seemed they had already made arrangements with
their partners and were anxious to leave.

On our way out, I told the manager that I wanted Gina reserved for me the following evening. "Is it true
she never goes out with customers?" I asked. The manager nodded. "Some of the girls are like that," he
said. "Some are college students. Their fathers or their mothers wait outside. Chaperones. But I really do
not know what they do outside the club…."

He also volunteered the information that Gina had been at the club less than a month, that there was no
night she was without a guest. Always not one of them persisted, however - three nights then they left
to pursue girls more hospitable than she was, and that I might also be disappointed. After all, men did
not come here just for conversation, and that was where Gina seemed to excel.

She came on the dot at 8:30 and was brought immediately to my table by the manager himself. She did
not forget my name. As she sat down, she said, "Thank you very much, Jake, for your generosity." She
wore the same mango green silk dress she wore the night before, which could only mean that she did
not have so many party dresses. She had a glass of orange juice and a chicken sandwich. I had my usual
bourbon and water, which is all I usually have the whole evening.

"Now, tell me about yourself. Those Japanese you brought here last night…."

"I am their pimp," I said.

She laughed. "You did not behave like one…."

"How does a pimp behave?"

"I have seen some of them here. Usually, they are very ingratiating."

"I have tried my best to ingratiate myself with you."

"I can see that. And you are rich. Government? Customs? Internal Revenue, Politics?"

"I told you last night, I am with Cobello and Company…."

She smiled. Her orange juice and sandwich had arrived. "I was just checking. Men are very poor liars…"

"I have not lied to you."

The band started playing danceable music; nothing like dancing as an excuse to embrace tightly a
beautiful woman in public. I took Gina to the dance floor.

I asked what she did in the daytime.

"Housework," she replied quickly. "And, after that, I read, usually books, magazines, that can teach me a
lot. I never went to college. I also love novels…."

"I like reading novels, too." I said. "Wuthering Heights - that was my favorite when I was young." I said,
trying to bring her back to the past. "An English romance…"

She drew away a little and looked at me. "Funny that you should say that. I read it too when I was
young. It influenced me a lot…."
We didn't finish the music. I took her back to the table. "This is the place for good conversation," I said.
"Why don't you let me take you to one of the restaurants close by, or to the coffee shop of the Manila
Hotel. We can continue talking there. I will not make demands. I promise…"

It was her turn to press my hand. "No, Jake," she said. "I cannot leave this place till closing time when
my brother comes to pick me up."

I could see no way for her to break her routine. I decided to just go on talking, probe the depths of her
mind, listen to her fiction which I knew contained some truth as she had already shown.

For the next week, if I could get away from the demands of my after-hour duties, I went to the Bayside. I
had talked with the manager that even if I was not present, Gina should not sit at a table at all, that I
would pay the club what it would get. I also left with him a tidy sum for Gina for every night that I was
not there to give it to her myself. It was only money and, at the time, I was already very high up in the
Cobello hierarchy and, perhaps, among all of Don Carlos' hirelings, I was the most trusted. He had drawn
me up from the gutter and I gave him such loyalty, I would jump, so the hoary joke between us went,
into a vat of boiling oil if he ordered it.

I am not a womanizer although I have been a bachelor for some time, in no hurry to settle down in spite
of Don Carlos' urgings that I should because he felt a married man was also a better employee, matured,
with responsibilities and not to prone to take risks although he would, of course, if he were good, be
able to recognize all the opportunities. I am certainly not the movie star type, but I am capable of
utmost charm. I switched it on for Gina, but she did not waver - she refused to go out alone with me and
I was often tempted to stay until closing time so I could meet her brother but I did not want to
embarrass him.

For a month, I tried to see Gina as often as possible, and in those evenings that I saw her, I could see
how glad she was to see me. Was it because of the money I gave her?

"At the rate you are pampering me," she said one evening, "in a year, I will be able to build a house."

"Make that six months." I said.

She looked at me and, in the candlelight, her face had turned serious. "I wish I could promise you
something, Jake. You are so good, so much of a gentleman - oh, that is so obvious, and I do not think it is
for show - but you don't know me. And this is no place to look for a wife. I am very poor, Jake. We are
very poor, else I wouldn't be working here…"

Of course, I knew she was. I had gotten her address from the manager and one of my staffers had gone
to the place where she lived in Paco, a small airless broken down apartment in a dark, solitary alley near
Dart Street. He did not ask to see her - he just surveyed the surroundings and gave me a report. It was
because of this knowledge and of the memory of that small town where both of us came from that
made me even more generous.
Then she finally said yes, she would go out with me, have lunch with me wherever I wished. I was lifted
to the clouds. I thought I would never be able to see her in the effulgence of daylight, to appreciate all
that beauty without the sallow, artificial gloss of a nightclub.

The following Saturday, at noon at the Alberti restaurant of the International Hotel in Makati, she would
wait at the lobby. I have had on occasion been to the restaurant for business lunches but it would be the
first time I would date a girl there. I worked even on Saturdays and the hotel was just a hundred meters
away from the new Cobello building.

November and the rains had lifted, a perfect Friday for dreaming, anticipating my meeting with Gina at
long last. I had been busy, working on contracts and was not able to visit the Bayside that evening for I
did not finish work till past midnight. At my apartment shortly after I woke up, Don Carlos was on the
phone; he had told me to stand by, which meant that I should not make any appointments for the day. I
did not reckon that he would take me that morning to Frankfurt. There was nothing unusual about the
suddenness of the trip - I have so long been used to his working habits, I always had a suitcase packed
and was ready to go anytime. He had an impeccable travel agency, his ties with the different embassies
were strong, he could get visas within minutes after he had called the chiefs of mission. Because we
always traveled first class, there was no difficulty about getting seats, and even when flights were full,
we always managed to board on time.

What to do with Gina now?

I immediately called the International and told the manager there would be a girl waiting for me at the
lobby - she should be brought to the Alberti for lunch and I would be billed for it. I hurriedly told my
secretary to go to the hotel at noon to so the same thing. There was no way I could get in touch with the
bayside; the manager wouldn't be there till nightfall, and I couldn't get in touch with Gina at her
apartment in Paco.

Arriving in Frankfurt the following morning, I placed a call immediately to the bayside - the manager was
on the line - Gina had not come to the club. And what about my secretary and the hotel manager? They
said they didn't see a "beautiful mestiza" at the hotel lobby at all.

The one-week trip that Don Carlos planned turned into a month as from Frankfurt, we swung down to
Madrid where he had a lot investments, then on to New York. It was the most tedious trip I had ever
undertaken - no, not the work - I was used to Don Carlos' frenzied working habits, waking up in the
middle of the night to discuss an idea and doing the town looking for the most interesting eating places,
something which I also liked very much but which, on this particular trip I found unexciting. Yes, my
mind was always straying to Gina, our moment of truth that did not come.

The day I returned to Manila, I hurried to the Bayside where the manager told me she was no longer at
the club; he showed me her employment record - her name was not Gina Reyes. I went to the address
which one of my aides had been to much earlier. The alley was dark and half-naked children were
everywhere. A new family had taken over the apartment - the former occupants which included "a very
pretty mestiza" had left weeks earlier, to where no one in the neighborhood knew.
How does one search the anonymous labyrinths of Manila for one steadfast memory? I felt a bit
embarrassed having to ask my people to help me with my search. Don Carlos knew a little of what I was
doing, night-clubbing almost every night, with or without visiting firemen and again, he reminded me it
was best that I settled down. There were so many women waiting for me to take the bait, both of us
knew that. On my own, with Don Carlos' largesse, I had already built a small fortune. I was urbane, well
traveled, worldly wise, what then was I doing, pining over a nightclub hostess? She might not even be
the Gina of my childhood in spite of the many clues that I had already unearthed.

With me, memory did not dull or fade with middle age. Through the years, it was always that girl with
large bright eyes who haunted me, immersed me in sweet but hapless reveries. Then I was forty and,
one day, at one of those interminable receptions which I had to go to, I met a girl almost half my age
who seemed to me so much like Gina, the same dulcet smile, the same dark eyes. I did not tell Jenny
that she looked like someone I knew when I was young. When we got married, whenever we made love,
it was Gina in my mind who was giving me herself, evoking from me the sheerest joy.

But, in time, I got to really love Jenny; in spite of her youth, she was very mature and she shared a lot of
my interests, literature for one. She had also read Wuthering Heights although she did not appreciate
too much its gothic implications. She was a Manila girl, went to California for college, but was
surprisingly a virgin - her gift, she said, to the man who would marry her. This touched me so much it
somehow strengthened the bond between us, knowing as she did that, at forty, I have had a life.

Don Carlos was right, of course, about married domesticated men being better executives. Looking back,
at the last ten years, I realize I had produced more, added more, too, to our own means. Jenny gave me
three lovely children, two boys and a girl, and for the first time I realized what family life was. Haunted
by my own humble beginnings, I tended to pamper my kids and my wife, but Jenny would have none of
it. I had told her how difficult it was for me when I was young, how I had to support myself in school and
once, telling her all these, she had embraced me and cried. "No, Jake," she said, "do not raise the kids to
be dependent on us always. Teach them how to think for themselves, to become independent. Just like
you were."

It was Jenny who read the morning papers; I really had no time for them and what I did in the morning if
I woke up early was to look over the schedule for the day. My staff presented me when I got to the
office a summary of the important business news item in the front pages which would interest me, not
so much the political and crime stories as the foreign news that would impinge on the Cobello interests
worldwide.

"Now, this is something," jenny said beside me. She was nearing thirty but as lovely as the day I married
her. It amused me often when acquaintances who did not know she was my wife asked if she was my
daughter, and I always said she was. "Here is this woman who inflicted the ultimate punishment on her
rrant husband. She cut off his penis… He died of blood loss."

"That is not unusual anymore. It is not the first time it has happened here. In Japan, there is this
beautiful geisha who did the same thing to her lover - out of love, mind you. Not hate. The Japanese
loved her for that and she became a kind of folk heroine. They even made a movie out of her story."
"She is not young anymore," Jenny said, handing the paper to me. I looked at her and immediately, a
host of memories, vivid and alive again, drenched me. It was Gina - there was no mistaking those eyes.
She had become old, older than I it seemed to me. And the press had used her real name.

IT WAS EASY for me to see the highest officials in the country - as chief counsel and confidante of Don
Carlos Cobello, I was widely known and I developed my own network in the highest enclaves of power.
One call from an aide to the Department of Justice and I was told I could go anytime I wished to the
Prison for Women to see Gina.

The prison, like most government buildings, was shabby and badly in need of paint, the grounds littered
with old furniture destined for firewood. But beyond the scraggly yard, within the building itself, were
potted plants and the well-scrubbed look of a place tended by women.

The warden - a fat, jovial matron - was very flattered that I had come to visit. She even had her small air-
conditioned office prepared for me.

I waited for just a few moments and because the air conditioner couldn't quite banish the heat, I took
off my linen jacket.

Almost all of us Filipinos, nabobs and their minions, come from small, immemorial towns tucked in
plains and valleys, inundated with tradition, circumscribed by custom. That is where all of it started with
me. Long after I had seen the vastness of prairies and the languor and filth of cities, somehow, in the
mind, I always wander back to San Jacinto, walk its narrow dirt roads, focus on the crumbling wooden
houses, the familiar faces of people long dead. In remembering, I also seem to breathe again that heat
laden and sultry air which pervades all small towns. These were what I felt as I waited; seeing Gina
would take me back to San Jacinto again.

In a while, the door opened, the warden bringing in tow this thin, pale woman, the wrinkles of a harsh
life ridged on her brow. But the eyes were the same, alive, and so was Gina's voice when she said,
"What can I do for you…" as I rose to meet her. She was in the simple yellow uniform of the prison.

The warden left us alone. I took her hand and led her to the chair by the desk and sat beside her.

"I knew you some years back, " I said. "As a matter of fact, I was supposed to have lunch with you at the
Alberti, but I did not show up. I had to leave on a sudden business trip with my boss…."

A smile drifted across her face, "Yes, Jake - I remember you, of course. You were very generous, a
gentleman - I was beginning to like you. How has life been treating you?"

I smiled. I did not have to answer her question. "I came here," I said, "because I want to help you."

Again, that diffident smile. She folded her rough, gnarled hands on her lap. "Thank you, Jake, for the
offer, but I do not need it."

"I can get you out of here in perhaps a year at the, most, six months at the least. I owe you something."
"I am guilty, Jake," she said without emotion.

"I am sure it would not have happened if you had gone to the Alberti that day. I intended to ask you to
marry me then. Why did you not go? The hotel manager, my secretary - both of them were there,
looking. They did not see you."

She smiled again. "But I was there! I thought you lost your nerve, being seen with a Bayside hostess in
such a snooty restaurant…"

"How could they have missed you?" I was incredulous. "They were instructed to tell you to wait for me -
that I had a very important meeting and I had to leave the country."

"I was with my brother. We stayed at the far end of the lobby where we wouldn't be conspicuous. We
waited for an hour, Jake."

"I am sorry," I said. "When I returned, and that was after a month, I went immediately to the Bayside.
They told me you had left… I went to your house in Paco. The same story."

"My brother found a new job for me. I was ashamed working at the Bayside. Shut up in that brightly lit
booth to be appraised like dressed chicken by men, to be pawed by them. The new job did not pay well,
but it was there that I met my husband. He reminded me so much of someone when I was young,
someone I loved. He was just a boy…"

My chest ached. Somehow, I knew she was referring to me.

"Why did you do it, Gina? That was a very cruel thing to do."

"He was unfaithful. I had promised him my loyalty and he betrayed me. I worked hard for him, really
slaved for him."

"It's all those novels you have read," I said. "But I would like to help you just the same. It is much too late
now…. I am already married, with three children. My wife - she is much younger than I, but we get along
very well…" I wanted to tell her Jenny looked like her, but there was no point to it anymore. Besides,
after all these years, I now owed Jenny my loyalty.

"I have a story to tell you…."

I interrupted her. "But mine would perhaps be understood by you so much better than any other
person. It all happened many years ago. Puppy love, they called it. But it lasted, Gina. Really lasted.
There was this village boy who fell in love with the daughter of the richest man in town. The war came
and they were separated…"

"The war did a lot of cruel things to me, to my family," she said.

"I know. But listen, the boy's most lasting memory was that morning they went to their rice bodega to
play. There was a big rattan basket where the grain was stored. They climbed into it. The girl was
reading Wuthering Heights and eating an apple…"
Her eyes lighted up and instantly she leaned towards me. "Jacobo," she said softly.

"The boy - he was very poor - he had never tasted an apple before.'

"Jacobo," Gina repeated as her eyes started to mist.

*What is the lesson of the story?