“Ah, my child, no one is listening to you, there is no use in crying. You will soon learn that you’re alone in this world! You too will be afraid…” – Marie-Claire Blais, A Season in the Life of Emmanuel (1939).
“The sun’ll come out tomorrow/So you gotta hang on ‘til tomorrow/Come what may.” – Tomorrow from the musical Annie; Martin Charnin (Lyricist) and Charles Strouse (Composer).
By Rey Moreno
“Another palamunin!” Baldomero screamed, after being told of the result of his wife’s giving birth when the day gave way to the night. “What kind of a life is this to have the misfortune of having four girls in a row with no son to help me farm when I grow old. I have to do something before we all die of poverty. This situation is definitely unacceptable.”
Baldomero was a tenant farmer of the Divina Rosas hacienda in the province of Tarlac. Like all workers of the hacienda, they were provided a small lot to build a house, mostly made of bamboo and nipa. Each worker had been assigned to till six acres of land with any crop they wanted (as they were responsible for buying the seeds) in a sixty to forty share-cropping arrangement – the sixty per cent was for the landlord.
The landlord was a well-known Senator and resided most of the time at his big house in Forbes Park, Makati. But once in a while, he would pay a visit and stay in his expansive bungalow for a month or so, checking on things to ensure that the flow of money to his bank account remained the same or more, year after year. He had an army of tough guys who were ready to enforce any kind of punishment necessary to put the recalcitrant tenants in place. Even the police, the town’s elected officials and upcoming politicians were in his pocket so they could turn a blind eye to whatever crime was committed in his hacienda. He ran a tight ship ever so ruthless when it came to his self-interests. He would immediately shut down tenants’ complaint or protest by kicking them out of the hacienda without a single thought or sympathy. He would reason that there would always be other poor people to take their place.
Baldomero had been living in the Divina Rosas hacienda for forty years of his life and took over from his father who died when he was just twenty years old. He didn’t have a sibling so his aging mother stayed with him until she died. Not knowing any other way to
make a living, Baldomero had to endure everything that his farm life could provide. He kept his mouth shut in order not to ruffle the feathers of his landlord. But there were times when the harvests were not good and Baldomero was forced to borrow from his landlord. The debts were difficult to repay since the interest rate was usurious. Life in the hacienda was indeed harsh and cruel.
******************************
I married the twenty-one year old Baldomero when I was eighteen years old. I knew he was a hard-working man and would take care of me but I had no illusion that he would get us out of our wretched lives. Poverty was strongly entrenched that I felt if ever we had children, they would not be spared, for such was the usual fate of poor people!
So my heart was heavily stricken with sorrow when I heard Baldomero’s hurtful words about our fourth daughter. I felt helpless like a paralyzed person. Instead I just prayed for God’s mercy and an end to our misery. In the meantime I wondered what Baldomero was plotting to do with our abject situation.
It didn’t take long. He made arrangement to marry our eldest daughter of sixteen to another farmer in the hacienda who was three times older and a childless widower. My daughter came to me in tears, hoping for my intervention. I wished I could do something but I knew that my husband was pigheaded like a mule when he made his mind. I cried with her till the flow of tears in our eyes ran dry. After a few weeks of desolation and despair, my daughter accepted the inevitable. Life should go on no matter how difficult it was. My only consolation was that she’s nearby and I could check up on her as often as I liked. As years passed, my lovely daughter aged a million times over. Her husband, who suddenly found his virility, impregnated my daughter in a space of two years each, resulting in three boys and two girls. My daughter’s life was as more difficult as mine.
*************************
Not far from the hacienda was a kabaret, about five miles away, where men of all stripes went there to be entertained after dark. It offered dancing with the girls at a price as well as a private conversation for a limited time. When my second daughter turned nineteen, Baldomero demanded from her to work at the kabaret. He pushed her hard, incessantly telling her that she could ease the burden of our misery. He played the guilt card effectively until my daughter relented. But every day I saw my daughter crying quietly in her room to wash away the memory of her night’s work, including the filthy smell of men looking to have a good time. My daughter never saw her paycheque. Baldomero ensured it would be handed to him without fail. He used half of the money for his newfound vices – gambling and drinking. Then my daughter experienced love for the first time from an out-of-town business man. He lavished her with gifts and charms. My daughter was easily besotted so she eloped with him. We never heard from her again.
*************************
When my third daughter turned twenty one, she was recruited by an employment agency to be a live-in nanny for a rich family from Kuwait. She’s scared of being away and living with strangers. But I persuaded her to find a silver lining in her situation and to face the new world with courage. I told her that she would be given a time-off to visit us, and if she was unhappy with her work, she didn’t need to go back. On the night of her departure, we spent all night long talking and reminiscing. We couldn’t help but cry our heart out for the burden and sadness of the life we had. When morning came, nature seemed to render its sympathy. Dark clouds were forming to summon their own version of tears. My daughter never looked back when she boarded the bus for Manila. I fell on my knees, praying and asking God to keep her safe.
A year passed and I received a very bad news from the employment agency. My daughter passed away. Details of her death were sketchy at first. Initial report mentioned that my daughter committed a theft and was punished as a result. When the Kuwaiti government stepped up its investigation at the unrelenting demands from the Philippine government, the real facts came to light. My daughter was raped by her male employer. She wanted to report the crime to the police. But the wife intervened and prevented my daughter from leaving the house. Everything got out of hand from thereon and husband and wife started beating my daughter like a dog. Her employers offered a payment of ten million pesos in blood money as a compensation for my daughter’s murder. We never received a single peso nor heard from the Philippine officials again. Even in death, my daughter became a victim of greed and indifference, for such was the usual fate of poor people!
*************************
So it’s me and my youngest daughter left. We clung to each other like a leech. We relied on each other for moral support. Our bond became stronger, especially when my husband vented out his anger on us when he was drunk or had lost money gambling. Soon the verbal abuse became physical. We tried to make ourselves scarce when he was around the house. I just told him we were visiting our eldest daughter. But we were found out not to be there at all since my husband and son-in-law had now become buddy-buddy in their vices. We resorted to hiding in our own home or in our neighbours’ houses. Still it didn’t stop my husband from hurting us. Even when we screamed in tears, my husband remained stonily committed to inflict physical pain in our soft bodies. We ended up having lots of bruises. We healed each other with love for there’s nothing more we could do. Sometimes I pleaded with my husband to spare our daughter and double down on me instead. But my husband had become a total sadist. He was an evil incarnate!
I was afraid for my daughter’s safety to a father who was no longer behaving like one. So I must find the courage to get out for her sake. Not in a million years did I envision to leave this place. This was our legacy – we lived and died here forever. But my daughter must be saved at all costs. With the small amount of money I saved and hid from my husband, my daughter and I took the early bus to Manila while my husband was still sleeping off his intoxication from last night. I had no idea where we would end up. But I could no longer cry for the misery that awaited us. Instead, I would save my tears of joy for a better tomorrow for my daughter, wherever and whenever that might be…or perhaps never, for such was the usual fate of poor people!