Butterfly People

2 An Arranged Marriage

2

An Arranged Marriage

“OK, Zenny, I’m going to tell you a story about your family that even your mother does not know. My sister Baby is too religious;

she would not appreciate this history. But you must promise me to never tell a soul. I’m trusting you to keep a strict family secret.”

The girl nodded, knowing that, for a Filipino, family is all. “Yes, Uncle Tony, I promise to keep the secrets,” she said.

Antonio rubbed his old sightless eyes and began to tell his story in a low, hoarse voice, “The tyranny of the Spanish devils was finally exorcised from the Philippines in 1898.” The

elder made the sign of the cross as he spoke. “The patriots fought hand in hand with the Americans to oust Spain. Ah, but the white man is so greedy. When it was over, the Filipinos found

themselves conquered again. That bastard William McKinley, in Washington D.C., he gets down on his rich knees and he prays. His god tells him to protect the little monkey peoples of the poor

Philippines. He decides then, to keep us as pets. Ay Apo, he knew well that our Mountain and Benguet provinces were full of copper and gold. This American President also knew well that to

control the Philippines was the first step in owning all of Asia. So in the name of its gods: money and power, the United States of America became the odious tormentor of the Filipino people. What

his gods forgot to tell him was this: the Filipino monkeys are proud. The Filipinos fought bravely for their kalayaan, their independence from Spain. Why would they now be willing to lay

down their sovereignty and kiss the feet of America? And so, times were hard, very, very hard.” Lolo Antonio wiped tears from his milky eyes.

“That is why our family was so hungry. All Filipino families were hungry. Tatang Denise did not know what to do. He tried so hard to feed them, but he had a wife now, and small children.

There were so many hungry mouths.

“Denise was drinking one night with some men. That half-Spanish bastard, Raul Vega, was there at the cantina, drunk as usual. Raul got rich from black-market trading with the Americans,

and selling rum by the gallons. They say he was skilled in black magic and I for one believe it was true. I have no doubt he traded in ammunitions to kill Filipino freedom fighters; some of them

the sons of his own relatives. He would do anything for a profit.

“He gave Denise enough Tanduay Rum to drown a Spanish horse. Then he, Raul, says, ‘I offer you one hundred real Mexican pesos and three fat pigs, plus all the rum you can drink in a

year, for your sister.’

“Denise was angry. ‘My baby sister has only thirteen years. She’s not ready for marriage. She’s not for sale.’

‘By and by, surely she will marry one of these bums. Go on, let her marry for love; she’ll have dozens of children, maybe die in childbirth. Her children will be skinny and full of

worms. I could give her a fine life, a life for a lady,’ Raul bragged.

‘You’re as old as my father would be now, God rest him. How many wives do you already have, Raul?’

‘Denise, don’t be a fool. Vicenta would not have to live with my other wives. For her I’ll build a new house, not a bamboo shack, a house of real wood, with a floor. Think of

beautiful Vicenta married to some poor bastard revolutionary or a rice farmer, like you. What do you have to give your own wife, except your seed, which makes her old quickly?’

“My Uncle Denise was crying. He should not have had so much to drink. What power did he have to resist this half-Spanish magician? His thinking was not clear. So he sold his baby sister

Vicenta, into this marriage. Three pigs, one hundred pesos cash and a lot of rum was her bride price. In those days, it was a fortune.

“Zenaides, don’t cry, the story gets better, but… not before it gets much worse.

“Father Enrique refused to perform the wedding Mass. He fought with Denise. He consoled Vicenta’s mother, Rory; they were old friends. But, the bargain was made, it was too late.

Raul paid a large bribe to get a Jesuit priest, all the way from Tarlac, to come bless the marriage. Vicenta was given away in an Ilokos skirt and a fine bado with butterfly sleeves. She

looked like an angel. She was only a girl.

“Raul Vega was a terrible husband. He was a drunkard. He beat Vicenta brutally. She would run away, only to be rounded up like a slave and returned to her cruel master. Before her

fourteenth birthday, she gave birth to a daughter. Your grandmother loved that baby girl. Father Enrique baptized the child. They called her Gloria.”

“That’s my Auntie Gloria,” Zenny’s eyes shone.

“Yes, the first was Gloria, but she nearly did not survive. Raul Vega was believed to be sterile; all of his other wives were childless. They said his seed was dead. Vicenta was young and

strong, and brought it back to life. She was the first to give him a child. It was not enough for that bastard. He wanted sons, only sons. Every time Vicenta would breast-feed the baby he’d

say, ‘Don’t bother, let it die. Then you will more quickly become pregnant again with my son. I want only sons. The Vega name must live. I order you to let that girl-child die.’

He was drunk, but he meant every angry word he said. He slapped little Vicenta again and again, then reached to hurt the new baby, only three weeks old. She protected the baby by offering her body

to him, though she was not yet healed after childbirth. He was rough with her, as usual. After he had spent himself on this little wife, he was more quiet.

“She gave him more rum, more and more. He drank until he passed out cold. Vicenta, almost fourteen years old, looked at her life. Tonight she had spared her baby a cruel death. Tomorrow

and tomorrow, what would the baby’s fate be?

“Vicenta took a heavy wood board, the biggest one she could lift. With a clear mind, she raised it over Raul Vega’s head. With all her mama-lion strength she came down on him. She

bashed his head open like a melon in the sun. That arrangement was over!

“Running like a mouse with her baby bundled to her, she went to Enrique, the priest. She told him all. He heard her confession. He went back to the house. He took all of Vega’s

money, much less than he had bragged he had. The priest gave it to the girlmother and told her to flee to the mountain town of Baguio. He gave her the name of his friend there, a kind c******n, Lim

Po. He promised to invent a story and to absolve her, but she must go from her village forever.

“The villagers accepted the priest’s story that robbers had come in the night. Surely, they killed Raul Vega for his money or to revenge some bad business he had plenty of that.

Father Enrique testified that he heard them carrying Vicenta off as their hostage. Vega’s other wives crossed themselves and thanked God he was dead. Not one of them cried at his funeral.

They distributed much rum at the wake. The distillery kept the wives well after that.

“Burdened with her baby, free of Vega, Vicenta walked to the cold mountains all alone.”