Chapter 3 – Under The Table

We all bowed our heads. I noticed you all closing your eyes. I was the only one who didn’t. I watched you as Elena prayed. While Elena’s rhythmic voice filled the silence, your presence filled my being. Moments later, I saw your eyes fluttered open. You looked at me. Your eyes were moist, red, and swollen. You forced a smile. It was the same smile you gave me the first time you smiled at me in the hut – forced. But that smile caused fragile happiness to flicker in my chest like a butterfly –  happiness quickly crushed by the circumstances surrounding us. I smiled back and nodded. Then you closed your eyes again. I closed mine, too.

I was happy and sad at the same time. I was pleased because I saw you again. I was sad because of the situation, because of the timing. I am still determining what will happen next. Amidst all the problems you’re carrying, I felt compassion. And here I am, looking like I’m adding to your burden.

“Welcome to the family, brother-in-law,” Daniel said after the prayer.

“Okay. Let’s eat. I’m starving.” That was Elena’s Mom.

“Chicken tinola, pork adobo, fried bangus, and chop suey… wow! You’re really good to Mom, Jeff. Four dishes. When I go here, Mom just fries eggs and opens sardines.”

“Stop talking, Daniel, just eat,” their mother said.

“Sis… what were you saying happened to you earlier on your way here?”

I looked at you when Elena asked that. You looked at me before looking away and back at Elena. I knew you wouldn’t say anything about us. We both know that if the truth gets revealed, it will shatter our lives like a dropped glass.

“It was just in the hut earlier.” You responded after taking a deep breath and a forced smile.

“What, sis? What happened in the hut?”

“It’s just… it’s like someone was following me while I was walking. That’s it.”

“Maybe one of your admirers was really following you earlier?” Daniel said.

“Oh, come on… let’s just eat,” their mother said.

While we were eating, you kept your head down. Very quiet. I tried not to keep my eyes on you because Elena might notice and get even more suspicious. I am almost sure that her jealousy is back. Elena knows the terrible things I did before we became a couple. Elena knows my weaknesses. She knows I’m not a saint, just human, not holy.

“Dad here…” Elena’s voice intruded into my thoughts. You flinched slightly as she leaned across the table, offering a chicken drumstick. “Legs are your favorite, right?” Her seemingly innocent question felt loaded, a veiled challenge to you and me.

You looked at me while Elena fed me a chicken drumstick. It was just for a moment, and you immediately looked away. I don’t know if you felt anything or if you were jealous.

“Camille,” Daniel said, “they’re so sweet. Maybe you could give me the other piece of chicken drumstick the way Elena did it to Jeff. I could feed you, too.”

“Oh, Daniel, stop it. After you fight with your wife, you act like that. If I were Camille, I would shove the spoon and fork into your mouth instead of feeding you, so you’d behave.” That was their mother’s retort, which was laced with a hint of exasperation.

“Come on, Mom. Camille has forgiven me already. I’ve apologized. Isn’t that right, Ma?”

Is that all? If everything I heard from Elena about what your husband is doing is true, does he think a simple apology will be enough to forgive him?

You nodded in response. But it seemed forced. I could see how tears welled up in your eyes when your mother-in-law, my future mother-in-law, said that. I felt sorry for you. If only I could wipe away those tears or hold your hand to make me feel better.

I did what I could. I just tried. I took a chance to see if you would be okay with it. At that moment, defying the constraints of the situation, I reached out with a silent plea for connection.  Under the table, I placed my foot on yours. I gently brushed my foot against yours.  Surprise seemed to flicker through you, but you didn’t pull away.  Instead, you left your foot there, a small gesture that spoke volumes in the silence.

“Are you okay, sis?”

You seemed surprised when Elena asked you. I was surprised, too. You pulled your foot away quickly as you said, “Yeah… yeah. I am okay.”

 But then, just as quickly, your foot returned, seeking mine out with a newfound insistence.  This time, it wasn’t a hesitant touch but a bold claim, your foot resting possessively on top of mine. A memory flickered to life – the insistent pressure of your body on top of mine in the dimly lit hut, a memory that sent a forbidden thrill coursing through me.  Was this a deliberate echo of that stolen moment, a silent plea for connection amidst the suffocating web of lies we were entangled in?

And then we rubbed our toes together. From our stolen glances, I noticed that your face seemed to brighten. Your sadness was gone, and you started eating with gusto. You had no idea how happy I was then.

We let Daniel, Elena, and their mother talk while we eat.  We let the conversation flow around us, mere background noise to the silent symphony beneath the table.  Our occasional murmurs were formalities, veiling the truth that consumed our attention.  A surge of exhilaration, laced with a hint of apprehension, bubbled within me as I decided to take a bolder step.  With a slow, calculated movement, I inched my foot up your shin,  then to your thighs.  A flicker of surprise crossed your features, quickly replaced by a silent acceptance.  At that moment, I saw a subtle shift in your posture, a slight lean towards me that mirrored my unspoken desire.  Emboldened, I continued my ascent, brushing our skins and sending a jolt through my senses.  A satisfied sigh escaped your lips as I reached my destination, and I couldn’t help but notice how your eyes fluttered shut, a silent surrender to the forbidden pleasure.  We continued this delicate dance of touch, each movement measured and discreet, the thrill of defiance electrifying the stolen intimacy.

After we ate, your husband and I started drinking while you and Elena helped their mother clean the kitchen and wash the dishes.

Before we started drinking and chatting, Daniel, with a casualness that surprised me, reached into a clutch bag and withdrew a gleaming .45 caliber pistol.  The metallic glint was almost eclipsed by the sight of small plastic sachets within the bag.   They were probably drugs. Maybe shabu. I played dumb, pretending not to see it. Feigning nonchalance, I averted my gaze, and the metallic click of Daniel cleaning the gun was a jarring counterpoint to the jovial chatter around us.  He downed his drinks with alarming ease, a practiced routine that spoke of a man far too familiar with the bottom of a glass.  Alcoholic wasn’t quite the right word, but it danced on the edge of the definition.  He offered me a drink, his gaze lingering for a beat too long, but there was no pressure.  He let me have a shot whenever I wanted.

“Here’s our secret, brother-in-law. Even Mom and Elena don’t know this. I killed someone with this gun. It was probably two years ago. I did it cleanly.”

My breath hit my throat as Daniel’s words hung heavy.  Killed someone?  The casualness with which he said what he said sent a wave of nausea washing over me.  Was it a twisted joke fueled by alcohol or a chilling confession? I just listened to your husband’s story. It could be true, or it could just be a drunken story. My mind raced, searching for signs of truth or inebriated bravado.  But admittedly, fear, cold and sharp, pricked at my skin. 

He downed another drink, his gaze fixed on me so intensely that I could not reasonably determine if he was trying to intimidate me. I just didn’t know if it was a brother’s way of warning the soon-to-be husband of his sister to better be good or if he was warning me to stay away from you.

“You know why I killed that person?”  His voice was a low rumble laced with a dangerous undercurrent.  “Because,” he continued, leaning closer until his breath tickled my ear, “I heard he really liked Camille. I saw him tailing my wife while she was here in the Philippines on vacation. So I looked for a chance to take him out. Before I shot him, I said something to him. Guess what it was.”

My stomach lurched.  The playful facade he’d maintained all evening had vanished, replaced by a predator sizing up its prey.  “What did you say to him before you…?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

“What belongs to Pedro stays with Pedro, and what belongs to Juan stays with Juan.”  The weight of his words settled upon me, a dark secret shared under the guise of drunken camaraderie.  This seemingly innocent family gathering had taken a sinister turn, leaving me trapped in a web of lies, betrayal, and a chilling truth that threatened to shatter everything I thought I knew.

Daniel even told me the name of the man he killed and challenged me to check the records at the Sagada municipal hall to believe him. I said to myself, why do I need to do that? But Daniel’s challenge hung in the air, a sickening dare that fueled my turmoil.  Part of me yearned to believe it was a twisted joke, a cruel fabrication born from the depths of the bottle.  But another, more terrifying part couldn’t shake the chilling possibility of truth.  The weight of his confession threatened to suffocate me, leaving me gasping for a semblance of normalcy.  Yet, here I was, trapped in this twisted charade, clinging to Elena for reasons that seemed increasingly flimsy with every passing moment.

After about an hour, you, Elena, and their mother went to the terrace. As you joined us on the terrace, a wave of relief washed over me, a temporary reprieve from the suffocating tension that had seemingly settled between Daniel and me.

“Daniel, let’s talk for a while.” Their mother said.

“Come on, bro, put away the gun. It might go off.” That was Elena.

“Okay…okay.” Daniel replied as he put his gun in his clutch bag.

“Daniel, what’s going on between you and Camille? Why are you still blaming her for not leaving for Italy?”

“Mom, if Camille wasn’t such a fool, she would have returned there. I can’t sell any of my vegetables because of the lockdown. I can’t transport the vegetables out of Sagada. At least we would have a source of income if she returned to Italy.”

“Why can’t you understand that I’m afraid to return there because of COVID? I don’t want to work there anymore. What if something happens to me?”

You were crying again when you said that. I felt so sorry for you and was really annoyed with Daniel. His selfishness grated on my nerves. Should I speak up?  Should I defend Elena and challenge Daniel’s callous behavior?  But I can’t, and I shouldn’t. It’s a discussion of family matters I didn’t feel I was in a position to bat in yet… unless asked to. So, just as quickly as the urge arose, it receded, leaving me a silent observer in this storm of emotions.

“Then why is our elder sister Nancy still there and alive?”

“Bro, you should not force  Camille to return if she doesn’t want to. And our sister’s situation is different. Her boyfriend is there too, so she preferred to stay.” That was Elena.

“Damn it! You’re all ganging up on me.”

“We have saved a lot of money. I told you to put the money I’ve been sending you every month for five years in the bank so we’d have something for a business. You’re also earning from our farm.”

“That’s right, Daniel. Where is your money? How much have you saved in the bank?” their mother asked.

Your husband couldn’t answer. You just kept crying and shaking your head.

“Daniel, son, tell me the truth. Is it true that you had an affair with the wife of an OFW in your barangay? And is that where you spent your savings?”

There was a moment of silence. No one spoke. Then Daniel suddenly stood up and grabbed Camille by the hand.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

“Ouch… let go of me. I don’t want to go with you.”

“Daniel, let go of your wife. You’re such a scoundrel.”

“Mom… don’t interfere with us… none of you interfere.”

Daniel was holding the clutch bag containing the gun. He pointed it at us as he said that. I clearly saw how Daniel forcefully pushed you into the back of his car.

There was nothing I could do but feel sorry for you.

Before the car sped away, you looked back at us. It was as if you were asking for help. I wasn’t sure if you were directly looking at me, Elena, or their mother. But I felt like you were pleading for someone to rescue you. But what could I do?

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter 1-A

Chapter 1-B

Chapter 2