Explain Honor to me

She is sleeping across the hall from me. I have not touched the girl. It’s not that she’s hard to look at. Far from it. But what business does a sixty-seven-year-old man have, taking advantage of a girl of sixteen?

Still, I have a deeply troubled sleep, dreaming of what it would be like to taste her charms. I am not feeling honorable tonight, as I dream about deflowering this girl. I am pretty ashamed of myself and wish I had said ‘no’ to her working here.

Sure, she cooks like an angel. Sure, the kitchen is spotless. Yes, OK, even while she was cooking, she found time to sweep the floors downstairs. So I grant you, she will probably be a dandy maid. With all that, I still should have said, no. She is too tempting. She is too close, and apparently too willing. And I am too weak in the place where rectitude and decency ought to be.

Morning finds me a little rattled. If Jecim is going to stay here, I need a palliative. I need to find an adult female to quell my need. How I do that leaves me as stumped as I was yesterday when I couldn’t figure out how to refuse Jecim the position.

I come downstairs to find a breakfast of scrambled eggs with Spam laid out for me. She hasn’t made the coffee and seems a bit uptight about how to do it. I show her and her equanimity is restored. I gather that I will not have to show her a second time.

She has found the laundry supplies, as the next time I see her she is carrying my things from yesterday. Sir, this cannot be all. Where is the rest?

I took it to ‘Cool Bubbles.’

When they say it be ready?

This afternoon.

OK I get it. You have the receipt?

I fish it out of my wallet along with the cash she will need to retrieve it.

May I get some things at the palengke?

Yes, here. And I pass her two thousand pesos.

She hands one thousand back. This plenty. It is best I not have much money when I go to the palengke.

Thieves?

Yes, maybe. … Sir what you do with all the potatoes you buy?

Have you ever had mashed potatoes?

Dili.

OK, well tonight we will heat up the ham and I will make mashed potatoes for you?

You cook?

Not as well as you, but yes, I cook.

Good, I will learn something new!

I return to my project out on the terrace and Jecim goes about her many tasks. She is cleaning, shopping, and picking up laundry, via a tricycle. At four in the afternoon, I put my stick down and go to the kitchen to start peeling potatoes. Jecim sees me and announces she will do it. I hand the scraper/peeler to her and grab a pot. Jecim panics.

What you doing? I can do it!

You, dear, are peeling the potatoes. All I am doing is putting some water up to boil so that we can cook the potatoes, once you have peeled them. This water needs to come to a boil. Relax. I am not doing anything more yet.

I see her eyebrows go up twice¹. She has accepted my answer.

As basic as mashed potatoes are to me, in this rice culture, mashed potatoes is an exotic dish. Filipinos also do not cook with butter. Oh you can find butter in the store, but other than baking, I have never seen it used in the Filipino kitchen. They also don’t cook with whole milk. I have seen them use powdered milk, evaporated milk, which they call ‘evap,’ and they use condensed milk. But not whole milk. I use butter and whole milk in my mashed potatoes. That gets Jecim’s attention.

I make some gravy with butter, flour, Knorr’s pork bouillon and the whole milk. That surprises her.

Also much to Jecim’s surprise, I put the ham ball in the oven, after scoring it deeply, packing it with brown sugar and honey, and then encasing it in aluminum foil. I cook the ham like that for 45 minutes before removing it from the foil and keeping it in the oven for another 25 minutes.

When we are ready to put the potatoes, gravy, and ham on the table, I grab a bottle of Riesling from the fridge, that I was saving, and pour us both a glass. Yes I know she’s sixteen, but if she’s old enough to work for a living she’s old enough for a glass of wine.

If last night was really good Filipino food, tonight is comfort food, American style. Nothing fancy. But the flavors blow Jecim away. She loves it and can’t get over how good the potatoes are. The gravy really surprises her. And the sweet wine with the ham? Yeh, she loves that too.

Jecim is looking at me as if she is reassessing some of her assumptions. Maybe she is. I have no way of knowing what is happening in her head.

After supper I relax. I have found an on-line streaming jazz site. I just sit back in an easy chair and float as I listen to the music. Lionel Hampton’s Stardust plays… A piece from Ray Vega has just finished. Nice. Very nice.

You like this music?

Huh? My eyes are closed and I have no idea Jecim is standing here. Yeh. You’ve never heard anything like this?

No. What you call this?

Jazz. This is jazz. What do you think?

How you sing to this? There no words! No tune!

Not all music has words. Not all music has a simple tune. Some music has themes that get explored, developed and played with.

Why that? Not good for karaoke.

Yeh, not good for karaoke, but good for my heart.

She makes a face of confusion. It makes no sense to her. Harold Mabern’s The People Tree is playing. It’s got a nice swing to it.

I think it sound crazy.

Yah, crazy man, crazy!

Ha, you weird!

She walks away shaking her head. She is sweeping the floor again, staying close. Listening but not admitting it. Next up comes Ella… Ella Fitzgerald singing Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.

She comes close to me again. She sings nice, but not good for Karaoke! Why you like this? I not understand.

Jecim, if you see a beautiful picture, do you decide that you do not like it if you can’t paint just like it? This is art. Enjoy the art and stop trying to figure how you can do it yourself.

She is just confused. To Jecim, the purpose of music is communal and not art. The concept that music is art, is as completely foreign to her, as I am.

Morning comes and I saunter into the kitchen to find breakfast and coffee waiting for me. My maid has been up for a long while. I see signs that the floors have been swept again. No laundry needs to be done, so instead it appears that she has washed the car.

The terrace has been swept and my stick has been propped up against a chair, waiting for me. But where she is, is unclear as I don’t hear or see any sign of her.

I am not concerned. The girl will reappear at some point. I suspect that the problem with her is not if she will stay, but if I can ever get her to leave.

Charline has been gone for how long? Not even a week, and damn, I don’t even care. Fuck her. I feel good, if a little horny.

My walking stick patiently awaits my attentions. I remove my knife from my pocket and sit down. My hands run up and down on the wood, feeling the grain and where I need to pay attention. I can tell exactly where I left off yesterday from the feel of it.

I turn my attention to the work and all else slides away. It is the small narrow channels that appear from under the blade that matter now. The design, as penciled on, now gives way to the three dimensional work that will survive, maybe long after I take my last breath.

I am creating something durable. Something that will last. All my adult life, numbers danced in front of me, on spreadsheets and ledgers. Those numbers became meaningless after the next quarter, or the year, or the next tax filing. Numbers that were transitory in value. Numbers that left no mark on the world. Yes they might represent something that happened in the world at a moment in time, but they, themselves were seen by how many and for how long? They were ephemeral. This simple stick is most assuredly not ephemeral. It is durable. It will last.

The numbers were not art. They were not plastic. Yes I might play with the rules a bit, but the GAAP rules mean that to do the work correctly, there was little room to play. What I did was follow the rules and I was good because I knew the rules very well. Yes there are options in how numbers flow to reflect profits and losses. Yes, to be good and make sure the company makes the most from what they got means understanding the rules deeply, but it is still rules. Color outside the lines and you can go to jail or at least create a real mess.

This stick in front of me has nothing to do with rules. It has to do with heart, and the eye, and the touch, and desire. It is art. As much as the Jazz I listened to last night expressed something, so too does my blade bring forth something essentially new in the world.

There is movement. I sense it, rather than see it. Ah, Jecim has returned. In her hands are plastic bags. I look up with a question on my face. She smiles. It is a big, toothy grin. A happy face.

She puts a bag down, places some pesos in my hand, lifts the other hand up that still holds a bag, and announces, Utanon²!

Where did you get the money?

Your pocket!

Explain please.

You sleep and I not want wake you. I get two hundred pesos from your pocket.

I see.

Breakfast OK?

Yes. It was good. Thank you.

Coffee OK?

Yes, the coffee was fine.

I get another smile. I am not sure I like the fact that she got into my wallet. But she meant no harm. I will think about it.

She grabs the bags and enters the house, to put things away and start on lunch.

I return to my wood as it talks to me and tells me how to cut into it, just so. Ah, yes, just like that…

Days flow by. Other than the nightly fight I have in my slumber to take the girl into my bed, all flows like water over rocks and around bends, effortlessly and with a grace that belies what otherwise would be impediments.

Charline enters my thoughts only on rare moments. Sure, when I spy the tricycle operated by her brother drive by, it is jarring, but my mind is, for most part, at peace.

Life, however, does require trips to service the car, get medications refilled, and buy things like lightbulbs. And so, I am at the Mercury Drug store, filling a prescription, when the pharmacists’ assistant asks if it is true my wife has left me. Shit! Does gossip ever travel fast here. I smile and acknowledge the fact.

So you alone now? No girlfriend?

Yes. No girlfriend.

She giggles and asks, No mistress?

I have to smile as well as this is a nuance that suggests clearly what will come after my answer. No mistress.

You think I am pretty? Yeh, there it is.

Yes, you are pretty.

Maybe you will like me?

Ah, yes, maybe. Are you married?

No!

Boyfriend?

No, Sir!

Why? You are very pretty. Now I am teasing and challenging her a bit.

No luck I think.

I see. How old are you?

Twenty, Sir.

What’s your name?

Zenny.

Do you live with your parents, Zenny?

Yes. That OK?

Yes, it’s fine. Do you understand that I am sixty-seven? I am forty-seven years older than you are.

Yes, Sir. Is that a problem for you? And that is a question you just won’t get in the States. Bless the Filipina, but it is also the beginning of a long con. Just ask Charline.

Huh, I am not sure. Would your parents be OK if you came to my home for supper?

You cook, Sir?

Please call me Roland or Rolie. No, my maid cooks.

You have a maid? Where she live?

At my house. Why?

You say, no mistress. I think that not true.

Really? Well, it is true.

What time you want me to come for supper?

Can you come at six?

Yes. I will come.

Fine, I live by ….

I know where you live. It is a nice house I think.

I see. OK, see you at six.

I drive home, sort of unhappy I invited her. Why does she think Jecim is a mistress? Why did she seem a bit angry and put out by the fact that I have a live-in maid?

Parking the car, by the side of the house underneath the roof of the carport, I wonder why I, who have been horny every night since Jecim arrived, am uneasy about entertaining a girl who is old enough to fuck legally. I suspect she will enter my bed without an argument, if I want it. So why am I sorry I invited her?

Jecim, we will have a guest for supper.

Who?

Really? Huh… her name is Zenny. Why?

She interested in being your girlfriend?

Maybe. Why?

Wala. It OK if I make the mashed potato, gravy and ham like you make last week?

I don’t know. Maybe she won’t like it.

Yes, if she not like it, she wrong for you!

I see. OK. But you will need my assistance for making it.

Why? I know what to do now.

Really?

Yes. I will show you. I watch what you do. I know now.

OK. Jecim, remember what your uncle said to you. I can have as many women friends as I want.

Yes, I remember. It true. But they must be good for you. No evil ones. I watch for the evil ones. I not do what Charline’s family do.

The fact that Jecim has given herself the job of my protector is a bit humorous.

When she coming?

Six.

You need the wine. We not have any now.

Oh? This is needed?

Yes! Please get it.

I can’t. I bought it in Tacloban. There is no way I am going to get there and back!³ We have some white moscoto in the cooler. Use that.

That same?

No, but it is a sweet white wine and it will work.

Sir, please play your jazz for supper?

Jecim, I think you are taking this a bit too far.

For me, Sir. Do this for me. OK?

OK. I can’t say I won’t like it. Comfort food and jazz? What could be better? I get the sense that Jecim is intent on letting Zenny know that I am more than a meal ticket. I am flesh and blood, with tastes, and a reality she will need to accommodate. That Jecim has decided these things about me are worth noting and protecting, is enlightening.

I am back on the terrace. The carving is complete. I have given it some oil, wiped it down, and I am giving the wood another sanding with super fine sandpaper. I will oil it once more, wipe it down again and buff it. That will be it. It will be finished.

It is six in the evening and Zenny has yet to arrive. Jecim giggles about Filipino time. I know what that means, but Zenny is probably not fifteen minutes from here via tricycle. So we should see her soon enough.

At six twenty I am beginning to think that she might not show. Jecim has no such concerns. She informs me that the girl will appear. And sure enough at six twenty-nine a tricycle pulls up to our gate.

I am about to get up from my easy chair to meet her at the gate, but Jecim is out the door and waiting for my guest to request entry before any further action is taken. Sure enough, Zenny, who can’t see Jecim, calls out Ay-oooo!

Jecim goes to the gate and admits our guest. They are engaged in discussion as the two enter the house. But as Zenny enters fully, she stops and looks around. She sees me, gives me a curious smile, and cocks her head a bit, before speaking. This is a beautiful home. Jecim tells me you are truly alone here. She also says you are a very good man. Why did your wife leave you if you are so good?

Allow Jecim to tell you. She knows all about it and I suspect the telling will be faster and more complete in Cebuano.

You trust her with the intimate details?

I really didn’t have anything to do with that. She heard it all from my wife’s family.

Your ex-wife?

No, Zenny, my wife. I am still married and will always be married. Come let us eat while the food is still hot and allow Jecim to tell you the story.

I get her to sit at the table and I sit. Jecim, puts the food down on the table and I get a look from Zenny of pure fright.

What is this? Where is the rice?

Before I can say a word, Jecim is speaking. Sir you forgot the music.

I get up and get the music stream playing as Jecim, I gather, starts explaining that this is American food I taught her how to cook, because following that Zenny asks me if I really taught Jecim how to cook.

No, not really. She watched me last time and announced she knows now. We will see! And I take a sizeable scoop of the mashed potatoes, drown it in gravy, and then take a slice of the ham. Jecim is pouring wine for the three of us.

There is more conversation between the two girls. It seems to be about the wine. Zenny tastes it and seems to like it. I dig in. Zenny takes a taste of the potatoes. Jecim, I guess, tells her to put the gravy on it. She does and tastes again. She likes it.

As I continue to eat what is every bit as good as I made the last time, Jecim and Zenny eat while Jecim tells about Charline. It goes on for a while.

The wine is all but polished off. There isn’t much left of the potatoes or gravy either. We all push our chairs back and Jecim excuses herself to take care of the dishes and the cleanup. 

You really like this music?

Yes, why?

It is odd.

It is very different from what you are used to, I am sure.

Your food is odd too.

It is food I grew up eating. I think Jecim cooked it so you might know a little more about me.

Same for her asking you to play the music?

Yes, I think so.

You know the girl is only sixteen?

Yes. I felt she was too young to be here.

Why she here?

Her mother and her uncle, a PNP officer, said she was not too young.

Oh! … Jecim say you want many women, not just one.

That is not exactly the truth, but close enough. I am married to a woman I will never see again. There is no way I can have another wife. I can never give a mistress what my wife has and will get. It isn’t possible.

But you have no one now?

Yes. There is no one now.

What if you find someone who is good but demands that she is the only one?

I am married so there is always someone else.

That not what I mean.

I think I know what you mean. But a mistress can never own her man.

I think I will go home now. Thank you for supper.

You are welcome.

I escort her out the gate and watch her grab a tricycle before re-entering the house.

She gone?

Yes.

Good.

---

---

Chapter 4