The Way to Paradise - Part 3/10

The period of adjustment was chaotic. They hardly addressed each other by their first names. The absence of courtship was like living with a stranger although being physically attracted to each other made life a bit tolerable. He had no doubt that the baby was his but having to account for each minute of the day was getting to his nerves.

"Out with some friends," too often said began to sound untrue.

She never said anything, never complained, always had dinner ready for him, and even in her condition, conjugal privileges were never withheld although they had to resort to improvisations and more imaginative positions. She had this self-induced docility which bordered on submissiveness that irritated him to no end although he could never bring the subject up even during those periods of tranquility that followed their love-making when she was most content.

She harbored a guilty feeling even though she was not aware of it. She was hoping that he would not think that he was a victim of an entrapment but that apprehension was always in the back of her mind and she would continuously search his face for hints and listen to his words for any clue that he was holding, hiding any kind of resentment.

Marital bliss was theirs at last when the baby was born. The baby was perfect, a veritable clone of the father. "My son,...!" Tears were streaming from his eyes as he embraced both mother and child the instant they admitted him to her room. All the inhibitions, all the doubts and fears, and all the awkwardness were gone from that moment on.

"What will we call him?" he asked between sobs of joy.

"Why, siempre, we should name him after you." She was crying, too, so much relief from the pain, and not only from the birthing process.

"I don't know." he hesitated.

"What? Why not?"

"I just hate for people to call him Jun or Jun-jun. It's so...so common. His name should be unique, one of kind. Strong and commanding."

"I just hope he takes after you."

He looked at her and suddenly realized how much he felt for her and finally and for the first time, he kissed her tenderly on the cheek and whispered softly, "I love you so much." And Sofia started to love her husband just as much.

Menopause is such a trying phase and the heavy-set nurse was tired and in a foul mood. She had worked double shift as the relief nurse called in sick although everybody knew she and the young new doctor from Cebu was having a "secret" rendezvous at some secluded place near Tubay. The nurse, oblivious to everything else except how immaculately white and well pressed her uniform was, came into the room without knocking.

"You won't need this anymore," she declared as she brusquely tore the adhesive tape off and removed the intravenous plastic endocath from a large vein of her forearm. Some blood dripped from her arm before the spotless Miss Nightingale could press a cotton ball on the needle puncture and that was when the husband turned pale and slid off the foot of his wife's bed and slumped down to the floor like an empty sack and promptly fainted. He could never stand the sight of blood.

The boy was christened Russo, a combination of his and her first names. And life was beautiful. And life was wonderful. And when Russo celebrated his third birthday, the couple decided to try for another one. There was no question that they could afford it. The bank just gave him a raise and his investment in the stock market had been doubling in value almost every six months. They had bought a beautiful bungalow at the Paradise Subdivision as well as the lots to the back and sides of their property on which they planted bananas, papayas, and a native mango tree that was close to bearing fruits. They had goats roaming their fenced property and from the herd they were able to sell two, sometimes four of the animals a month to Goat Together, a restaurant frequented by most of the locals who enjoyed the simple things in life like a beer, a bottle of Tanduay, and a struggling college student in need of a patron.

Russo was already fast asleep in his own room. They just enjoyed a hearty meal at the Narra Restaurant two hours earlier.

"You have your son. Isn't it time for me to have a daughter?" Sofia whispered softly to him as she caressed his chest and played with his pubic hair. She had everything she could ask for and now she needed to have a living doll to pretty up with pink ribbons and dainty little dresses. And she would name her daughter Angelita because her idol had always been the congresswoman who was a nurse and who promised during the pre-election campaign that she would build a new three-hundred-bed hospital with the most modern equipment and staff it with the most highly-paid competent doctors and nurses. She won handily in that unique Agusan-style, free and democratic elections where votes were sold to the highest bidder, amid the confusion because several candidates had the same family names, A. Santos for Congressman, B. Santos for Governor, C. Santos, for Vice-Governor, D. Santos for Mayor, Mrs. D. Santos for Vice-Mayor, E., F., G., H. Santos for councilors, and all the way down the alphabet to the letter Z.

A part of him was wide awake before he was. Russell answered her with a drowsy, naughty voice.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"I shall need your assistance, I suppose. I can't do it by myself," she purred.

"Okay, let me help," as he got up from their king-size bed to go and get the towel, tissue paper, lock the door, and turn the lights off.

Two weeks before Angel was born, Russell died. And three months after her husband died, Sofia's hormones started to kick back in. And soon after that, she became a very religious person, receiving the communion almost every day, whenever Fr. Robert was the mass celebrant. She would open her mouth to receive the host and she would feel ever so lightly the touch of his finger on her lower lip. Fr. Robert would pretend not to notice but the warmth of her eager mouth was beginning to torture him.

Fr. Robert, "Botoy" to his family and close friends, had always wanted to be a priest. He came from a family of strong religious convictions. Three of his aunts were nuns, an uncle and a cousin were priests. So it was not a surprise when he told his parents after graduation from high school that he wanted to enter the seminary. His friends and classmates where expecting it. They started to tease him and to call him "Padre Botoy" even when he was still a second year high school student at the then Urios College.

And now, this. Doubt, mental torture, and insomnia began to seep in into his nights and his recitation of the rosary were often interrupted by images of her, her eyes, her smile, and by the music of her voice. The searing stigma of solitude penetrated his soul as he cried silently, "My God, my God, is this a test?" There was no answer.

_{This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or places is entirely coincidental.
Featured Image: Route 6 Iowa}