Man of brawn. Father, former mayor (rival of Anotoi’s dad); mother, schoolteacher (my aunt Juana, a devout woman—she named him after the hero in Voltaire, though sadly, like his brother, he was no scholar, though as we can see, learning is no impediment to the masses’ regard!). Robust even in youth—strong-armed, muscular. Defended me in that skirmish in my first month in Manila. He knocked “Moises” out for good and the kid went back wailing to mother in Tanauan with a black eye. Cemdodi was only visiting. “Moises” never returned to the boarding house. I had no trouble with “Florencio,” “Leandro,” and the boys of Calle Caraballo after that. He believed it was his duty as my cousin to fight for me. Otherwise, I can’t shake off the feeling that he treats me like a loser, that he’s ashamed. His parents are bigshots. My father is either dead or a bandit. Plus, I’m practically blind, a nighttime imbecile. How could I, his own cousin, end up a basket case?
I will never be worthy of his respect, which makes me want to kick him in the butt.
How he became best of friends with Anotoi E., son of his father’s bitter rival, is town legend. Now they are so thick it makes me sick.
His brother Demoat is a weasel.309
Good qualities: Simple-hearted. Loves Cavite. Loves his family. Hates Spaniards. The one-dimensional virtues are his: loyalty, obedience, piety. Chastity, not so much. His courage is profound (though shortsighted), his loyalty enduring (but canine). I love him as my elder, but he’s exactly my age.310 Hearty drinker.
Defects: Simple-hearted. Gains convictions by habit, not reflection; his truths are dog-eared. These are not necessarily defects—but they’re a drag. Killer boxer, however, so one should never mention any of his defects to his face.
Case D
Chuem C.
French charmer. Phony. Schoolteacher with the pose of a remontado—but the heart of a bully. Everyone likes him, taken in by his stranger’s langueurs and amazing, eight-inch mustache, oiled and greased with ritual passion (the envy of Efepoli, who has twice his heart). He avows a shrill, vocal fealty to Cavite that anyone else would find suspicious, except Caviteños. Who knows where his family came from—from the sewers of Paris or the fine houses of Binondo. A bastard child. In any case, he has good qualities.
Good Qualities: Possesses the capacity to throw in his plight with that of present company. Others would call that sucking up; but many view his acts as profound—an honorable empathy. He cherishes kinship, family, the slightest of ties. His nervous system is that of a hound: his loyalty to friends is feral, and his enmity is equally tedious. In this case, he is most like us: blessed with a deep sense of community and a fierce covenant with those of our blood. Tribal. So we, his chosen family, welcome him with open arms: because he is not ours, and yet he chose us.
Was he product of a viscount-merchant’s squandered youth? orphan of a Bruges perfumer? Who knows? Has the ability to make of ignominy an attractive mystery: life is a game of luck he has won. The schoolchildren, his charges, love him—but it’s not clear whether they are mainly fascinated by his prodigal mustache and foreign tongue. Good drinker.
Defects: Same as above.
Case E
Padsi P.
Around 30 years of age. I was proud to be introduced to him, at first, seeing as he was of a generation and kind not my own. Lawyer, of medium build. Smooth hands reeking of French cologne. Spaniard by affect, Chinese by blood. Budding (but elegant) Judas. God Knows Hudas Wear Fine Clothes! Well-dressed voluptuary of Binondo. Piano player. Envy of young Manileños, hero-worshipped by us provincianos. Tu un daldalero!311 Urbane, talkative (ay, stop it already, my God!312), frequent traveler to Madrid and Barcelona. Knows many people—M. Calero! Pablo Feced!313 Hung out in Paris with Juan Luna! Drew his family chest himself! I’m most jealous of his conquests among women, though I would not decline possession of his books.
Good Qualities: Successful in his field. Nice shoes. Persistent (trait most obvious in his dealings with women). If ambition is a virtue then he’s a saint. Fluent though legalistic Spanish. I must admit my own sounds falter, I still can’t lisp. Good at chess. Fine drinker, but mysteriously leaves before it’s time to pay: got to admire talent like that!
Defects: Vain. Pompous. At worst: substitutes fine tailoring for true refinement. Noamla berlemla, mi ra puada vimgoes am at.314 315 316 A liar, one can’t really trust him. Lots of girls fall for him, especially the superficial ones. I hear rumors Lady K. likes him, though she is engaged to another. Let that flirt go to hell! Will stab a man in the back as befriend him, if need arose. Relationships are calculated costs.
He will go far. Let’s say, in a dispute, he sees the chance of his glory from delicate arbitration. He has the worldly opportunism of the best scoundrels. Thus, he settles quarrels peacefully. (I’ve seen him do this, in the case of a duel between a scion from Bulacan and a Dutch merchant.) Will one fault him for his success, as others reap the benefits of his self-interest? If a selfish man averts bloodshed, does one condemn him for his shallow intentions?
An ethical conundrum that awaits a verdict.
Case F
Efepoli C.
I met him in San Roque by Botica Luciano, where his uncles ground my glasses. He struck a tragic figure, even when young. A matchstick, skinny as a marionette, with eyes that blazed in his cadaver’s face (he was, in fact, well-off: it wasn’t his body that was starved). Father, pharmacist. Mother, owner of tobacco store by Cavite’s port.317 318 319
Parents were transplants from Binondo. He did everything in a nervous sputter—whether playing the organ, rolling cigarettes for goddamned cazadores, his mother’s clients, those louts lording over the Cavite piers, or setting the type on an uncle’s Minerva press, which Efepoli operated with lapidary compulsion, caressing the leaden type so that some pages echoed his own
