There was a small orchard of cherisa trees behind Sheryn’s house. He remembered going there with her, the taste of the small, tart fruit in her mouth, and then his.
Epifanio was not physically strong. He was a rather small man, with a slim waist. His forearms were corded from years of having worked as a welder at the sugar plant in Victorias. Six months earlier, he had been let go. The foreman refused to give him a reason.
To dream! Ah yes, he had dared to dream. The news spread quickly in the town. He slunk along the seafront, drinking bottle after bottle of San Miguel. When he next saw Sheryn, it was on the arm of another man. There was only the smallest hint of a bulge, beneath her waist. Only someone looking for it would have noticed.
Julio was tall and fair-skinned. He spoke good English. He worked in the business office of L’Fisher Hotel, one of the best hotels in Bacolod.
Epifanio’s eyes reddened. My child! he thought. Mine! Mine! Mine!
Was Epifanio sorry about the fate of the smirking man? Naturally, yes. But he was also a little tense. Epifanio had disliked the man; it was this that made the guilt grow. Could his thoughts have somehow assumed a walking shape and descended from his room to the first floor, where the smirking man sat nodding off behind the desk in the small office?
Was Epifanio interested in the young woman because she reminded him a little of Sheryn? They had the same kind of hair: long and shiny, a treasure of fragrance. Sheryn was a little shorter. She also had a more winning manner, a more inviting smile.
But the young woman had not exactly been a closed door. This, at least, was the implication of the smirk that had accompanied the dead man’s comment about “morning sickness.”
But — was he really dead? What if he had merely been wounded, and the ambulance had rescued him in time? What if, even now, he was lying in some hospital, with a drip affixed to one arm?
Was he the father of the young woman’s baby? Epifanio was surprised at the despair that accompanied this thought.
To hold a woman, any woman — to know the warmth of a woman’s embrace.
Epifanio’s parents had loved each other with a purity and single-mindedness that he had tried to emulate. But the ferocity of Sheryn’s desire had unmanned him. They had been classmates in high school but Epifanio never dreamed of courting her. Then, one day in October, right in the middle of the Masskara Festival, she came up to him in the plaza. “Gusto mo ako?” she asked. Her tone was teasing. “O, tilawi!” Just like that.
During their first time together, she had grabbed him by the root and drawn him close. She had called up his courage and he had done things to her that he had never thought himself capable of. She had pulled him further into her, spreading her thighs wide, luxuriating in his desire. Her lips, Epifanio noticed, swelled with her arousal; her breasts too. He liked to hold one in each hand. They were not large, but they were all he needed.
When Epifanio and Sheryn encountered each other on the street, they feigned aloofness. Her family was not rich, but they were better off than Epifanio’s; his father eked out a hard living as a fisherman. Epifanio had done many things: he had been a tricycle driver. Also, a waiter. Also, a traffic enforcer. Sheryn had graduated from college, whereas Epifanio had dropped out after two years. She worked as a teller in a bank, and wore nice clothes to work every day. Still, Sheryn wanted him! When they caught each other’s eyes, they smiled surreptitiously, like conspirators.
Then, disaster: I am carrying your child, she whispered. The future shrank to the width of one hand. Her desire seemed to wither. There was a new kind of hard determination in her face. He talked of marriage; she said, Wait.
Sheryn’s voice was strong near the bar. A sign said, Deep and Deeper. Epifanio had passed it before, had noticed the women going in and out, he knew what for. The women wore tight clothes that emphasized every curve. They walked languorously, aware that men were watching.
Epifanio lurked about, throwing quick glances at the door. A tall man with a smooth-shaven head and tattoos running down both forearms stood just inside, where he might easily have been mistaken for a shadow. He uttered a warning to Epifanio, and made a derisive gesture with his hand. Epifanio walked quickly away, his thin shoulders hunched up and his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.
Epifanio easily found the bar again two nights later. There was some kind of program going on: he listened to the voice of a man reciting lewd jokes into a microphone. The bar seemed fulclass="underline" the laughs were raucous. A young woman kept going in, out, in, out. She was not pretty. She wore a silvery blouse that hugged her breasts and Epifanio appreciated the slimness of her waist. Only after she had gone back and forth several times did it dawn on Epifanio that she was aware of him, that she was perhaps interested in him. She stood on the sidewalk, peering down the street as if looking for someone. He watched her turn, this way and that. She wore gold sandals; her toenails were painted bright red. Because she was taking her time about going back inside, Epifanio had ample opportunity to devour her with his eyes, to imagine himself doing certain things with her. Now he was sure: she wanted him! But he could do nothing, only stand and stare.
She came out a third time and stood on the sidewalk. Her lips seemed brighter. No one else was on the street, or in the world: there was only the girl, and Epifanio, and his aching need. She turned in a slow semicircle. He knew she was urging him on, trying to arouse him to some form of action. His eyes took what they could.
When she had exhausted every possible movement, she turned and walked slowly back to the bar. Her head was held high, but Epifanio could sense her disappointment. He had saved her, or himself, he didn’t know which.
It was his first time in Manila, but the city had always existed in his head. It was his last remaining opportunity, the one he would run to when everything else had failed, his last card. He didn’t want to be playing that card so soon, but he found the situation with Sheryn unbearable. So, like a gambler, he had played it.
Epifanio went to see Sheryn one last time before leaving. His eyes were puffy and red. She looked at him and grazed his left cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Silly,” she said softly. “Nothing to cry about. Silly, silly.” Epifanio’s gaze traveled to her stomach, the roundness there. That was when she pulled away, both hands over her belly as if protecting it. “You’d better leave.” When he didn’t move, she said, sharply, “Go!”
He rose, stiffly.
The men’s breakfast was provided by the boardinghouse. For lunch and dinner, however, they had to spend their own meager funds. Someone told them that the food stalls near the bus terminals had the cheapest food. These usually served pork barbecue — ten pesos a stick — or “Adidas,” chicken feet. The color of the meat made Epifanio want to retch.
For the past week, he had forced himself to last as long as possible on the breakfast: two small sausages, one egg, and a small pyramid of rice. By noon, he was faint. By dinnertime, he was angry. But he found a way to endure the hunger.
There had been no breakfast served that morning, because of the tragedy. The manager of the boardinghouse had paced the lobby, throwing curses right and left. His wife, who was in charge of the kitchen, moaned, Dios mío, Dios mío. One couldn’t have asked about breakfast at such a time. Epifanio wandered the streets, willing himself into exhaustion.