sad. I only saw her use this once.
Each evening, I would take out my mat and sit cross-legged as she walked into her room. She pretended never to see me, though she wore the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Sometimes I swore she actually waited for me. The evenings in our cordillera village were always deliciously hot, with the scent of the white
sampaguita
flowers that grew like flakes of snow around our house.The heat remained trapped in our valley by the lush jungle-covered mountains of green on either side and the rice terraces like giant steps of velvet jade on the northern end.
I sat enthralled each time she began. First she combed out her long black hair with an ivory comb that reminded me of a fishbone. Twenty strokes on one side, then twenty more on the other. I would pin a scarf to my head and let it fall on both sides of my face and pretend to comb as she did. My cousin Eduardo played his guitar below us during this time. It was as if he quietly serenaded her. If she hummed “Dahil sa Iyo,” “Because of You,” or “Dandansoy,” Eduardo quickly played it. The little birds chirping in the banyan trees joined in every time.
She always lighted three candles as the sky blushed good night to the sun. Then she would take out her scented sticks, traded from a Chinese client. Our rooms would fill with the scents of jasmine, cinnamon, coconut. She kept a gossamer sheet pinned to her window; it was much finer than the coarse ones we had to keep the mosquitoes out. The sheet rippled in the breeze and made her seem all the more a dream to me.
I remember the last week before her disappearance so clearly. I can remember indelibly every customer she prescribed a potion for and every word that was said. That Monday, her week started out so promising. Her first customer made my eyes pop, for it was not often I saw a senator’s wife come to our part of town.
The senator’s wife was named Aling Sofie; she had two perfect children and a house on the ocean with a private dock for their many boats. I could not imagine what ailment she would have. A sick child, I decided.
I must tell you now, the things I saw and heard were not always for a child to witness. But back then, I never considered myself a child. Someone who has to lie and steal time in order to go to the beach and play with friends is no longer a child.
Aling Sofie seemed embarrassed. Her body was closed in. The tight bun of her hair pulled the corners of her eyes back, giving her skin a painful pretense of youth. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest as she paced the floor. Esmeralda sat with her hands folded on the oval table, next to a turquoise-colored vase filled with pink lotus blossoms. She waited serenely for Aling Sofie to be seated.
“Perhaps this is a mistake.” Aling Sofie’s brow wrinkled. “I just had nowhere to go. I have heard you are very confidential. I thought—” She lifted her hand and let it fall. All this time she spoke as if to the floor, her eyes not meeting Esmeralda’s.
Esmeralda lit a short candle the color of ginger, then poured a cup of tea. “Please, you have come a long way. Have a cup before you go.” She extended her slender fingers to the empty chair.
Aling Sofie sat down with a big sigh that rolled onto the table. I think the sound of it surprised even her. “My husband wishes to do things in bed that I cannot—Improper things. I am too old for such things.” She laughed nervously and glanced up at Esmeralda. “And for a senator’s wife to comply … The mother of his children. Preposterous. I have an image to uphold in the community. It is expected of me. He clings to the past, to when we were younger.”
Esmeralda stood and took down a small glass container with tiny pieces of tree bark and violet petals floating inside. “Give me your hands.”
“Such a pretty concoction,” Aling Sofie said, intrigued. She held out her hands.
When the bottle was uncorked, the scent of sunlight and the
Each evening, I would take out my mat and sit cross-legged as she walked into her room. She pretended never to see me, though she wore the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Sometimes I swore she actually waited for me. The evenings in our cordillera village were always deliciously hot, with the scent of the white
sampaguita
flowers that grew like flakes of snow around our house.The heat remained trapped in our valley by the lush jungle-covered mountains of green on either side and the rice terraces like giant steps of velvet jade on the northern end.
I sat enthralled each time she began. First she combed out her long black hair with an ivory comb that reminded me of a fishbone. Twenty strokes on one side, then twenty more on the other. I would pin a scarf to my head and let it fall on both sides of my face and pretend to comb as she did. My cousin Eduardo played his guitar below us during this time. It was as if he quietly serenaded her. If she hummed “Dahil sa Iyo,” “Because of You,” or “Dandansoy,” Eduardo quickly played it. The little birds chirping in the banyan trees joined in every time.
She always lighted three candles as the sky blushed good night to the sun. Then she would take out her scented sticks, traded from a Chinese client. Our rooms would fill with the scents of jasmine, cinnamon, coconut. She kept a gossamer sheet pinned to her window; it was much finer than the coarse ones we had to keep the mosquitoes out. The sheet rippled in the breeze and made her seem all the more a dream to me.
I remember the last week before her disappearance so clearly. I can remember indelibly every customer she prescribed a potion for and every word that was said. That Monday, her week started out so promising. Her first customer made my eyes pop, for it was not often I saw a senator’s wife come to our part of town.
The senator’s wife was named Aling Sofie; she had two perfect children and a house on the ocean with a private dock for their many boats. I could not imagine what ailment she would have. A sick child, I decided.
I must tell you now, the things I saw and heard were not always for a child to witness. But back then, I never considered myself a child. Someone who has to lie and steal time in order to go to the beach and play with friends is no longer a child.
Aling Sofie seemed embarrassed. Her body was closed in. The tight bun of her hair pulled the corners of her eyes back, giving her skin a painful pretense of youth. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest as she paced the floor. Esmeralda sat with her hands folded on the oval table, next to a turquoise-colored vase filled with pink lotus blossoms. She waited serenely for Aling Sofie to be seated.
“Perhaps this is a mistake.” Aling Sofie’s brow wrinkled. “I just had nowhere to go. I have heard you are very confidential. I thought—” She lifted her hand and let it fall. All this time she spoke as if to the floor, her eyes not meeting Esmeralda’s.
Esmeralda lit a short candle the color of ginger, then poured a cup of tea. “Please, you have come a long way. Have a cup before you go.” She extended her slender fingers to the empty chair.
Aling Sofie sat down with a big sigh that rolled onto the table. I think the sound of it surprised even her. “My husband wishes to do things in bed that I cannot—Improper things. I am too old for such things.” She laughed nervously and glanced up at Esmeralda. “And for a senator’s wife to comply … The mother of his children. Preposterous. I have an image to uphold in the community. It is expected of me. He clings to the past, to when we were younger.”
Esmeralda stood and took down a small glass container with tiny pieces of tree bark and violet petals floating inside. “Give me your hands.”
“Such a pretty concoction,” Aling Sofie said, intrigued. She held out her hands.
When the bottle was uncorked, the scent of sunlight and the
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