A Hidden Life

I'm living a comfortable life now, much different from my life when I was growing up in Cimitarra. I'm the daughter of Imelda Guerrero and was born in the slums of Cimitarra. I haven't known my father but I was already using his last name when I started going to school. I remembered, I was in the second grade then, I helped my mother fold the clothes that doesn't require ironing while she was pressing some clothes she washed for her regular laundry customers. "Mother, how does my father looked like?" I asked.  My mother stopped ironing and put the flat iron down. She looked at me seriously. "Eva, how many times do I have to tell you not to ask about him?" she said. "You'll get to know him when the right time comes." "When would that be, mother?" "Soon, my child," she said. "Please understand your mother. I know you want to know him, let's wait until you're old enough to understand." So I tried to ask the same question to my other relatives. They said that my father's name was Enrico Villamayor, a rich man living in Zona Recidencial in Marcelo.  At that time, my mother was working as a housemaid in the Villamayor household and my father was attracted to her. They tried to keep their relationship a secret but when his family found out about it, they ordered my mother to leave and never bother their son again.  My mother left the Villamayor household and went back to Cimitarra. It was already too late when my mother found out that she was pregnant with me.  A few months after when I was born, my father married the daughter of the family's business partner and had two sons. I understood then what my mother went through those times. My mother worked as a laundrywoman, and sometimes, sold food products just to make sure we have food on the table.  She insisted that I go to school, so she sent me to a public school despite her low income. She kept on telling me to study and work hard for my future.  When I was about to finish grade school, my mother got sick. "Eva, my child," she said as she tried to get up from bed. "I have to tell you something." What is it, mother?" I asked as I sat down beside her. She handed me a faded colored photograph of a man who had dominant Spanish features. "Here is a picture of your father," she said. "His name is Enrico Villamayor and lives in Zona Recidencial. Go to him and introduce yourself as my daughter, but use Evangela Guerrero, not Villamayor. Here is his address." She handed me a piece of paper with her handwritten address. I read it trying to memorize it. "Once you get there, hand this envelope to him," my mother said as she gave me a sealed letter envelope. "Make sure that you only give this to Enrico and no one else." "Yes, mother," I said. So I found myself riding a bus to Marcelo that weekend and dropped off at the terminal. I asked around on how to go to the Zona and it took me a short cab ride going there.  However, the guards at the gate prevented me from entering. So I told them that I was looking for Enrico Villamayor and showed them the address and the photograph my mother gave me. After some verification over the phone, one of the guards led me to his residence.  It took me another ten minutes to enter his house. A maid led me to a garden, near a pool, where I saw a man reading a newspaper. "Sir Enrico, someone wants to see you," said the maid.  The man put down the newspaper and looked at us. He saw me and looked at the maid. "You may leave us, Dolores," he said. "And as for you, young lady, come nearer and have a seat. Dolores, bring this visitor something to drink." The maid left and I went to sit down on a chair across him. I couldn't help but look at the surroundings --- the big house, the pool, the garden --- quite the exact opposite of our place in Cimitarra.  Then Dolores returned with a tray containing a glass of fruit juice and a plate of cookies. She left immediately after putting it down on the table. "Have a drink first," said the man. "You looked like you traveled far." I nodded and took the glass. I couldn't help but gulped it in one drinking. I put back the glass on the table. "What's your name, hija?" "My name is Evangela Vi… Guerrero, I'm eleven years old, I'm in Grade Five." I handed him the sealed envelope. He was about to take it when I remembered to make sure that he's Enrico. "Are you really Enrico Villamayor?" I asked as I pulled back the envelope. "Yes," he said, surprised that I pulled back the envelope from him. "Just making sure, Sir," I said. "My mother said that I only give this to you." I handed him the envelope. He observed the sealed envelope front and back. He brought it up and held against the light to see what could be inside. He tore the envelope open at the side and took out a paper. He read the letter silently and looked at me from time to time.  I stared at him and somehow I felt the longing to embrace and kiss him, and call him father.  After reading, he folded the letter back and returned it to the envelope. "How is she?" he asked. "I mean, how is your mother?"  "She's okay, Sir. She just had flu," I answered. "She asked me to do this while she was sick a few days ago." "You're a carbon copy of Imelda," he said as he touched my face. He held my hand and then he pulled me out of my seat and embraced me.  I responded, embraced him with longing. We both cried. I don't know how many minutes had passed. But after our feelings of longing subsided, he asked me to sit down again. "Evangela," he said. "You can call me Eva, sir," I said. "Okay, Eva," he said. "This is just between us. No one should know that you're my daughter. Introduce yourself as Eva Guerrero, not Villamayor, that's rule number one. You can call me Father only when the two of us are alone, that's rule number two. Temporarily, let me emphasize that, temporarily, pretend that you're a housemaid here. Is that understood? That's the only way for you to stay here with me and I'll find a way on how you could go to middle school." I nodded. I don't know what was written in my mother's letter but somehow I sensed that it was what my father had talked about --- me living with him here in the Zona and continue my studies. So I was given a housemaid's uniform to wear and my father introduced me to all of his household staff --- drivers, cook, maids, gardener, about ten of them, I think.  I've noticed an old woman who kept staring at me, she was our head, according to my father. She was the oldest servant and had served his family since he was a kid. He claimed that she was his nanny.  After he left, I was told that I'll be assigned in the kitchen and as much as possible stay there as my father ordered.  The old woman, I've heard my father called her Yaya Laura, approached me and whispered. "May I have a word with you?" she asked. I nodded and followed her into her room, in a servants' quarters separate from the house. "Come in, and have a seat," she said.  I sat down on the nearest chair. "You really looked like Imelda," she said as she locked the door and shut the window blinds. I was surprised that she mentioned my mother's name.  "Are you Imelda's daughter?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "Do you know her?" "Of course," she said. "I was here when your mother and Enrico..." She didn't finish her sentence. "How is she?" she asked. "She's doing fine in Cimitarra, ma'am," I answered.  "Don't call me ma'am. Call me Yaya Laura, that's alright with me. That's how Imelda called me before as well."  "My father said that no one knows about me." "Except me," she said. "He immediately called for me and gave me the letter your mother wrote. That's the reason why I will assign you inside the kitchen, and as much as possible stay there. I don't want you being seen with the Villamayors. You will stay here inside my room, I'll set up another bed here for you. Tell everyone that you're my niece from Cimitarra. Don't worry, they don't know about your mother as most of them are new and haven't met her. You may tell Imelda that you're in good hands now." "Thank you, you're so kind, Yaya Laura."  And that was how my hidden life started.