The San Isidro Mysteries 01 Maria Del Sueno

Many, many thanks to Bebop3, without whose suggestions and guidance, this story would have remained forgotten.

This story has fourteen parts and is published in its entirety.

A glossary of terms can be found at the end.

The characters of this tale are 18 and above.

-------------------------------

PROLOGUE

"Can't I try it,

kuya

, just for a little while? You can always tell me what to do," Emanuel's younger sister, Katrina, begged, not for the first time.

"No, Katrina, threshing is not for girls... farming is not for girls!" Emanuel said, as he jumped off the huge machine.

He took off the kerchief tied around his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Come along now, Lucas wants to talk to me before lunch," he held out his hand to his sister.

"Alright, but I left my clogs by the paddy. You go on ahead, I'll catch up," Katrina said, already running to the opposite field, where her wooden slippers lay under the hot baking sun.

Her brother smiled and shook his head as he watched her, blue-ribboned pigtails bobbing as she ran across the field to get her clogs, she could get away with anything.

"Hurry, Mamá will have a fit if you're late to the table," he shouted back and laughed as Katrina turned and put out her tongue at him.

He was still smiling as he turned for home.

That was the last time he saw Katrina alive .

-----

She was called Maria del Sueño. That was what her mother named her - after a difficult birthing that had gone from bad to worse.

Cradling the tiny bundle in arms that were growing weaker with every minute, she kissed the baby girl with lips pale from the loss of blood, and died.

At first, all that Maria's father could feel was grief, but it did not last long; a week after he buried his wife, he felt the anger... white hot anger... at the fickleness of fate, the injustice of heaven and the heartlessness of a god who could mete out life and death at the flick of a finger.

And as the little girl he was left with grew, his anger turned cold - a dispassionate, uncaring, soulless contempt - which spared no one, not even his own daughter.

Thus, Maria spent a childhood sparse in conversation, lacking in emotion and devoid of touch. Her upbringing, if it could be called that, was spent in the company of her father's servants - an elderly married couple, Naring and Kiko - who made sure that she was fed and dressed and given the comfort she sadly lacked from her parent.

Maria had no recollection of speaking with her father before she turned seven - the age when most children started school. She only remembered

Aling

Naring, waking her up unusually early, giving her breakfast, dressing her and then marching her off to her father's study - a room which the young girl had never entered before.

Don Panchito was behind a huge desk, surrounded by empty bottles of

lambanog

, a potent coconut wine, most of which were empty. He sat unmoving, staring out at the window across the room.

Maria knew what he was looking at. The window was large and offered a magnificent view of the garden and beyond the flower beds, which Don Panchito's wife had planted - Aling Naring took great pains to recount the gifts her dead parent had possessed - the small hill where a lone marble tombstone stood.

The floorboards creaked as Maria and the old woman walked towards the desk. Don Panchito looked at them. The young girl saw the way her father's jaw tightened, it was clear he was not happy with the interruption.

"Well?" he asked, speaking to Naring.

"Maria wants to say good-bye, Señor, it's her first day of school."

Don Panchito's eyes fell on his daughter, and the cold rage once again filled him. It did not help that Maria looked so much like his beloved wife, the beautiful but tragic Elena, whose life was snuffed out by the young girl standing in front of him.

"Go, then."

If Naring was surprised by the curt dismissal, Maria was not. She had known for quite some time, with an intuition innate in all young children, that her father did not love her.

I

It was many years later - a few weeks after she turned eighteen - that Maria was once again told to go to her father's study. She and Don Panchito seldom spoke, except the customary greeting during dinner, if and when Don Panchito was at home in the evening or when he was not too drunk to eat. She sighed, supper would be uncomfortable again.

"Wear the green dress, Maria," Aling Naring said.

"Why?" Maria asked.

"The color suits you, besides the Señor has guests coming over tonight and I'm sure he would have you looking more... presentable," the servant answered.

"Is there anything wrong with how I look, Naring?"

"No," Naring said, eyeing the faded blue dress Maria was wearing, a little haughtily, "but there is a need to impress these guests. Besides, your mother was always well dressed on every occasion. It would be a shame if the same could not be said of her daughter. Now, hurry, girl."

The older woman turned to leave Maria's room, but turned back again.

"And do something with your hair. Put it up or at least tie it back. Show them your pretty face," and with that, the old servant left.

At eighteen, Maria had indeed grown into a lovely young woman. She had inherited her mother's beauty - light brown skin kissed by the sun, long dark hair, a short straight nose, and eyes that were like a cat's - but she had also inherited Doña Elena's timidity, and growing up alone and unwanted, had made her extremely shy. She had no friends, for she could never summon up the courage to make one, so everyone assumed she was either simple-minded, or worse, a snob.

Maria walked to her closet, took out the green dress and laid it out on the bed. It was a deep green and was her father's gift to her two months earlier - her birthday - at least, that was what Naring said.

The old servant had given Maria the beautifully wrapped package while the young girl was having breakfast, told her it was from her father and left it at that.

Maria never thought of asking, although she knew that it was unlikely that her father had given her the present or that he even recalled that it was her birthday. In all likelihood, it had come from Naring herself and her husband, Kiko. She remembered thinking then that she did not care about her father's callousness.

A single tear fell on the green dress as it lay on her bed. The truth was that she did care... and the only reason she never asked Don Panchito, was because she did not want to hear him say he had never given her the dress, in the first place.

Maria wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she stood up and undid the buttons of the blue dress, letting it slide down her ankles. She put on the green garment and smoothed it over her hips. Then, after clipping her hair back, she left the room and went downstairs to her father's study.

-----

"A toast, then, gentlemen," Don Panchito said as he raised his glass.

The other three gentlemen in the study raised theirs in turn.

"You

have

spoken to your daughter about this, haven't you, Panchito?"

Don Simon, the eldest of the three men asked, a few minutes later.

"What if she refuses?" Simon's son, Emanuel, added.

"She will do as she is told," Maria's father replied.

The third guest, Señor Lucas Regalado, Simon's nephew and recently arrived from Europe, spoke up.

"I think what my uncle and cousin are trying to say, Don Panchito, is... will she give Emanuel children?"

A loving father would have taken umbrage at the younger man's forwardness. But Don Panchito did not answer. Instead, he walked to the large liquor cabinet in the study, bent down and looked through the bottles he kept in it.

"My servant woman tells me that my daughter's monthly flux is strong and very regular, sure signs that she will breed well. Have no reservations on that matter, Lucas, Maria will give your young cousin any number of children."

He straightened up, a bottle in hand, and turned to them.

"Another round, gentlemen?"

II

Emanuel entered the nursery just as the ancient clock in the hallway chimed the

orasyon

. He glanced at the open window in the room and saw that the sun had indeed set and the sky had darkened considerably. From the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the faint sounds of the women-folk gathering in the

sala

to pray the evening vespers, led no doubt, by his mother, Doña Cecilia. He snorted softly, he had grown cynical at the mundane yet unfaltering consistency of his mother's faith.

A sound drew his eyes to the middle of the room where his wife, Maria, sat in an old rocking chair, a tiny bundled figure in pink clasped to a naked breast. Her eyes were on the infant's face, a small smile on her lips as she hummed an old lullaby.

The tune was vaguely familiar - perhaps he, too, once fell asleep to its melody when he was a baby - but the thought of his mother cradling him, much less, nursing him was ludicrous to Emanuel; Doña Cecilia may have been very religious, but she had never been a warm and caring soul. She was mildly devoted to his father, Simon, but her greatest passion was reserved for the saints and martyrs whose images could be found all over the house. Simon did not seem to mind - Emanuel's father was a surprisingly dutiful husband.

Perhaps it was just a façade, the young man thought, and there was actually a sensitive and sensual woman underneath the litany of prayers. Emanuel laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts.

Maria became aware of her husband's presence, she gently but quickly pulled her nipple from her daughter's mouth, the babe made a few mewling sounds but already replete, she soon stopped. A soundless yawn escaped from the tiny lips.

Maria stood up and laid her in the small crib beside the rocker. Then she hurriedly pulled her blouse up to cover herself and turned to face her husband, the tenderness in her eyes only a few moments ago now gone, replaced by a fear she could not hide.

Emanuel bowed his head slightly, his eyes on the bodice of Maria's white blouse. Then he walked towards the crib and gazed at his sleeping daughter. He reached out and touched the baby's cheek with the back of his hand. He gently caressed its softness. Then he suddenly whipped the same hand around, to catch his wife's arm as she tried to walk past him.

"So eager to get to the bedroom, Maria? I am flattered," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I was hoping to join in the evening prayers, Manuel," Maria whispered.

"Ah, but they've already started, my love, and you know how upset Mamá gets when anyone is late," he answered.

He reached for his pocket watch with the other hand, looked at it, then dropped it on the rocking chair.

"Besides, you know what time it is, don't you?" This time he gripped her with both hands.

Maria turned her head away as he pulled her towards the door that led to their bedroom.

Emanuel did not say anything, but he laughed cruelly, as he locked the door behind them.

He pushed her atop the large bed that stood squarely in the middle of the room.

"Now, now, my lovely Maria," he said quietly. She struggled beneath him, as his hips pressed down on her. "It is certainly not the time to be remiss in your wifely duties. Besides, you wouldn't want to wake our daughter in the other room, would you? Nor have the maid servants downstairs giggling at what you and I are up to... in the middle of mother's vespers."

He pulled the white blouse off her shoulders. Maria wordlessly struggled harder as she tried to free her hands from his cruel grip. Once again, she turned her head away as he started kissing her neck.

"Please, Manuel, let me...," she started to beg.

"Oh, you will, my love, you will. You... will... please... me," he interjected coldly, pushing a knee between her thighs.

Downstairs, Doña Cecilia and the maids kissed their rosaries as the orasyon ended. Then the servants began to prepare the evening meal. It was to be a special dinner. Señor Lucas, Don Simon's nephew - after another European tour was, once again, back home.

-----

Maria found out that there were two other guests for dinner that night. Señora Ada and her young daughter, Asuncion, had struck up a friendship with Lucas while stranded, almost penniless, in Madrid. The two ladies were quite taken with the young man's kindness and courtly manners but they were even more dumb-founded when he offered them free passage back to Manila.

Señora Ada accepted, of course, and from the moment they boarded the ship, had encouraged her daughter to engage Lucas Regalado in more than just a mild flirtation.

Maria was late coming down. She had lain in bed long after Emanuel had left her, waiting for the tears that inevitably followed the couplings she had to endure with her husband. Aling Naring had assured her, on her wedding night, that there was immense pleasure to be had in the act; but she and Emanuel had been married for over two years, and what she had experienced at her husband's hands was far from pleasurable.

She had no doubt that Emanuel derived great satisfaction from using her, judging from the frequency he lay down with her, but it did not take her long to realize that he also delighted in her fear of him, as well as in the pain he gave her.

He had never been a kind partner, but as the months passed, he had become increasingly rough and cruel, especially after the birth of their daughter.

She nervously entered the dining area but breathed more easily when she saw that though everyone was at their place, no one had yet been seated.

She lifted Doña Cecilia's right hand to her forehead in the

mano

...the time honored show of respect everyone showed to their elders...then did the same to Don Simon and Señora Ada. She managed to smile at Lucas and the younger Asuncion, and then made her way to the empty place beside her husband.

"Isn't Padre Domingues joining us tonight?" Don Simon asked his wife.

Doña Cecilia turned to her husband.

"The padre has sent his apologies, Simon, the journey from Manila was quite uncomfortable. He will take his meals in the chapel."

Her husband nodded and looked at Aniceto, the

mayor-domo,

standing beside the table.

Aniceto bowed and clapped his hands three times.

The servants entered and started seating them.

Dinner had begun at the house of Simon and Cecilia Monteclaro.

Dinner talk that night revolved around Lucas Regalado's recent European trip but Lucas contented himself only with the occasional remark. Instead, it was Señora Ada who dominated the conversation.

Listening to her, one would have thought that she had spent a whole lifetime crisscrossing both the length and breadth of Europe as well as the oceans that separated the continents, when, in truth, it was her first (and unfortunately, her only) sojourn to the old world.

She and her daughter only came by the tickets to Spain because Asuncion, though very pretty, had the regrettable habit of sleeping with any man who showed her the slightest interest.

It was bad enough that everyone in their hometown of San Carlos had labeled the girl the village slut, but things came to a head when Asuncion bedded their parish priest.

News reached the provincial curate who was a personal friend of the young priest's well to do family. Thus, it was agreed that it would be better to send mother and daughter as far away from San Carlos as possible than to send the young priest to minister to the

Moros

in the south (the then accepted punishment for men of the cloth who had been led astray.)

Ada was determined to find a rich husband for her daughter once the pair of them reached Madrid, but though there were quite a few men who were captivated by Asuncion's beauty, no one was interested enough to offer marriage. The small amount of money they had with them was soon gone.

They had been reduced to petty thievery to stay alive, when they crossed paths with Lucas. Ada could not count the number of novenas and litanies she had completed since then, but she would not stop until her daughter, Asuncion Vergara, became Lucas Regalado's wife.

III

Lucas nodded absentmindedly at the remarks of Señora Ada, but he had no idea what she had just said. If truth be known, he had stopped listening midway between the salad and entrée courses of the elaborate dinner that had been prepared for him.

His attention had been on his young cousin-in-law, Maria. She was, in his eyes, the loveliest girl he had ever seen. The fair and pretty Asuncion, with her

mestiza

features, would probably command most any young man's attention, but Maria's brown skin and strange cat-like eyes had intrigued him from the start, the day when she had entered her father's study to discover she was to wed his cousin.

She had given Emanuel a daughter a few months earlier, and the pregnancy had given her a fuller figure which he found even more attractive. If she had been married to any other man... Lucas reached for his wine glass and drank.

His young cousin's letters to Lucas while he was abroad contained some rather intimate details of wedded bliss, but if what Emanuel had written was true, then there should be some physical sign of it on Maria's face, the

'mutual pleasure and contentment'

he had written about should have been evident in her every movement, her

'insatiable desire for me'

should have been in her eyes.

Instead, there was a stiffness in Maria, an almost imperceptible tension, she drew herself slightly away from her husband whenever he touched her - and there was only fear in her eyes whenever she looked at him. And Lucas, like his uncle and cousin, loved to hunt; he knew what prey looked like, and Maria had that same look in her eyes. He placed the glass down.

"Thank you for the superb meal,

Tiyo,"

he said as the servants cleared the dinner table and brought in the coffee cups, a signal that dessert - the

postre

- would soon follow.

"You are most welcome, Lucas, but I was beginning to think that the food was not to your liking... you barely touched any of it,

hijo,"

his uncle replied, "I hope you are well."

"Just a little tired from the journey, Tiyo. I may not have eaten a lot, but what I did have was superb. Please tell the cook that she has outdone herself again,

Tiya

Cecilia."

Doña Cecilia nodded.

"I shall, but there is someone else you must thank, Lucas."

"You'll have to thank my wife for the dinner, Lucas, I believe she had a hand in most of tonight's dishes," Emanuel said, "didn't you, my love?" he added, reaching out to caress his wife's arm..

Only Lucas saw Maria's fingers tighten, the knuckles showing white, at his cousin's touch.

"Thank you, then, Maria. That meal far surpassed any I had in Madrid."

"It was my pleasure, Lucas."

"Asuncion is also quite a cook," Señora Ada interjected, as she realized that Lucas' attention had been on his cousin's wife for most of the meal.

"Really... and what can you cook, Señorita Asuncion?" asked Emanuel.

The young girl coyly laughed.

"Most anything, Señor," she answered, "you must let me prepare my

igado

for you and Lucas sometime."

"I hope you use a lot of liver, Asuncion. Lucas is partial to liver," Emanuel answered, "I do believe it is the only meat he will eat a plateful of," he added laughing.

"It strengthens the blood, does it not?" Señora Ada asked.

"Oh yes, and is known to build one's constitution. It is also an aphrodisiac," Asuncion said, looking at Lucas pointedly.

"There you are, Lucas. If you eat Asuncion's igado often enough, you'll probably not have to go to Europe anymore."

"Why is that?" Ada said.

"My young cousin believes that I frequent the continent because the ladies over in Europe are more to my liking," Lucas answered.