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| BLANCHE GUTIB | TRANSLATED BY TIMOTHY R. MONTES |
| My Sister-in-Law, Mama, and Me |
| THE AUTHOR HOLDS THE COPYRIGHT TO THIS STORY. THIS IS POSTED WITH PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR. |
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| THIS IS PART OF THE LITERATURA READING SERIES | CLICK HERE TO GO BACK TO LITERATURA |
| As I watched Ate Weng’s reaction to the news of Kuya Noel’s death, I remembered the character of Mrs. Mallard in the story by Kate Chopin. Compared to the other relatives around her, Ate Weng seemed to take the news of her husband’s death with more equanimity. Mama hugged her while crying, but Ate Weng, eyes almost bulging in the effort to keep back her tears, remained dry-eyed. It seemed very important for her to put up a brave front in the face of personal tragedy while all the rest of the family had broken down. But I saw that the effort of damming up the emotions was a difficult act. Maybe this was why she, after a while, extricated herself from Mama’s embrace and went to the toilet to be alone. In my curiosity, I asked myself: was Ate Weng feeling what Mrs. Mallard had felt in the famous story by Kate Chopin? Could it be possible that she was also happy now that her husband was gone? No more tyrant to order her around. I really didn’t know. It was all conjecture on my part. Maybe she only wanted her husband to be at rest. But then I also had to understand that she was a wife. Wouldn’t it be tough to raise your kids by your lone self? Babet, their only child, was only one-year old. Ate Weng had every reason to be worried about her husband’s death even if she and Kuya had only been living together for a short while. Even Mama, who had seen Kuya’s suffering, could not stop crying. She could not seem to accept the fact that Kuya, her eldest child, was gone. Maybe this also had something to do with the fact that, since our Papa’s death, mother had relied more and more on Kuya to make decisions for our family. I remembered how, when Papa died, Mama also seemed to have died with him. She refused to eat for several days. She could not sleep, and she acted as if the people around her did not exist. She exhibited the same reaction when Kuya got married. Because Kuya had assumed responsibility over the family after my Papa’s death, it was as if Kuya’s marriage was a second death for her. But when Mama got to know Ate Weng better, when she saw how her daughter-in-law was so kind and caring, Mama even chose to live with them. At the hospital when Kuya passed away, I also refused to cry. I may have failed to hold back a tear or two, but this was all that was left after watching him in anguish for a long time. When he was still in his sickbed, I had already accepted the fact that Kuya would only have a short time to live. For I had seen him several times fighting for his life, on the brink of death itself, and he would have gone over to the other side had not the doctors pumped him with medicines. At first I cried so much whenever his kidney problem would act up. I was overwhelmed by the idea of losing the brother I could lean on, my protector during childhood. But as the days passed in the hospital, I also realized that it was unfair for Kuya to continue hanging on when he was suffering from excruciating pain. That was how much I cared for my brother. I couldn’t bear to watch Kuya suffering so much. Therefore I cried out all my tears even before his death. On the first night of the wake, Ate Weng just sat in one corner with a faraway look in her eyes. I thought she looked like she was going out of her senses. Of course she had tied her hair to a bun, and I couldn’t really say she had forgotten to care for her looks in the midst of grief. But her eyes were puffy, proof that she had been crying the night before. Her friends came to her, hugged her, or pressed her hands. They said, Weng, don’t worry, we are here for you. After a few days, Ate Weng went through an amazing transformation. She stopped mourning and didn’t show any semblance of grieving. She served food to the visitors during the wake. Now and then she would even smile. In a way, I was happy for her. She seemed to have come to terms with her grief so fast. I really admired the strength of my sister-in-law. Watching how she comported herself after her husband’s death, I learned a valuable lesson. A man, even if he is your husband, is not worth crying over. Like all things in life, men are passing. If you can’t be with your husband for life as you wished for or had vowed to God and man as witness, you should accept this separation in the same way that you unconditionally loved him. A week later Kuya was buried. Mama was hysterical at the cemetery. All the people in our town who went to the funeral could hear her disconsolate wailing. It was as if she also wanted to be buried with her favorite son. When in it was time for her to throw flowers into the open grave, I had to hold her back because I was afraid she was going to jump in. All the time we were at the cemetery she was delirious, talking to Kuya as if he was still alive inside the casket that she kept on hugging. I could see how she was going through a mother’s tremendous anguish. As a woman, I’d say my mother had died several times over: when Papa died, when Kuya got married, and now, again, when Kuya passed away. I think Mama was the kind of woman who had a hard time coming to terms with losses in life. And because she was emotionally weak, I had to be strong for her. There at the graveside, as Kuya was being laid to rest, I whispered in the wind and made a promise to my brother’s spirit that I would take care of Mama. From my mother’s weakness I derived my own strength. Kuya would have been proud of me to hear this promise. Surprisingly the years after Kuya’s death found our family lucky. The rough walls of our house became smooth because Ate Weng was able to get the money for finishing and painting the house dirty white. In the past, I used to sleep beside Mama; this time, I was moved to a new room. I put away the dolls I used to sleep with and decorated my new room with plastic flowers and posters on the walls. Ate Weng started taunting me about my being a woman now. She said that I was not the girl anymore who, when Kuya was still alive, would cry whenever my dolls would be taken away from me. Ate Weng had been able to put up a carinderia by the market near our house. The business became quite profitable and our family benefited from this. Ate Weng, aside from supporting me and Mama, also sent me to school. She was able to send money to her own parents and saved enough for Babet’s college education. I saw how brave Ate Weng was in facing life’s challenges, and she did so without fear. Tough and independent, she went on with her life without asking for help from anybody. She taught Babet those lessons necessary for survival; indeed, she and her child had managed to survive by dint of hard work and perseverance. Ate Weng became my model for womanly strength and fortitude. This, in contrast to Mama. You see, whenever I would talk with Mama, I realized that she never really got over Kuya’s death. Whenever I would complain about her attitude, she would reply you will understand how I feel when you yourself will grow old like me. God, I told myself in exasperation, the world around us had changed and my mother still kept on thinking about Kuya! It seemed she had forgotten the fact that she had two children. I was there, and, in contrast to my brother, alive and healthy. And in keeping with the changes wrought by time, I too found a man who made me look at life in a new way: John. We were friends since our elementary grades, but we were not close. John and I only realized that our feelings for each other had changed towards emotional intimacy after we graduated from college. After a year, John decided to get married. Of course, this was another kind of death for Mama. The last words she shouted to John and me were Go ahead and run away! You have no respect! You’re useless! Go ahead and leave me! Mama did not come to my wedding. On my part, I was angry with her for being weak. I was angry with her for her failure to get over her personal troubles. I was angry with her for forgetting that I existed, and now that I had gotten married, she said I was useless. After that, I turned my back on my promise to Kuya that I would take care of her. I told Ate Weng to be the one to look after her. I went away with John to Zamboanga. And there I experienced what it means to be a wife and a mother. John was a medical representative for a pharmaceutical company while I worked as an Executive Secretary for a multinational company. But aside from our regular jobs, we also put up our own business to augment our income. In time, we became well off because of hard work. And even if I still felt bad about being spurned by my mother, I did not forget my duty to her. I regularly sent her support through Ate Weng who told me that Mama had also changed for the better ever since I left for Zamboanga. According to her, Mama had realized that the people she relied on in life might also be gone in the future. In a way, I was pleased to learn of this development. Even if we were far away from each other, I was happy to know that in our family, and this included Mama, at least we remained in each other’s hearts. I also thanked God for giving me a kind, loving, and responsible husband. He had planned for the future of our family. Even before our son Josh started his elementary schooling, he had already a college assurance plan for him. Individually, we also had pension plans. When I gave birth to our second child, John asked if it would be all right for me to stop working. He didn’t want other people to take care of our children and to mind the house. Without any hesitation, I gave in to his request for me to become a full-time wife and housekeeper. I also wanted to serve my husband the way Mama, in the past, used to serve Papa. One day, John had to travel to Cagayan de Oro City for a seminar on how to improve company sales. He would be gone two days and was coming home right after the said seminar. The night before he left, we had a heart-to-heart talk: about our parents, our dreams, our children, our plans in life. We seemed to have regained the feeling we had when we were new lovers. Busy as we had been, it had been a long time since we had talked about these things. Ever since we had children, most of our conversations had been about money. Before leaving the next day, he hugged me in a tight embrace. And he said, “Take care while I’m gone.” He then kissed me and turned to go. Two days later, the children were waiting eagerly for his arrival. They were excited because they knew he would bring them gifts from his trip. While waiting, I suddenly felt a strange tightness in my chest. If felt like someone was squeezing my heart. I could not understand the feeling but at the same time I wondered why I felt that way. Maybe, I told myself, I really just missed him. Late that night, when he did not arrive yet, I started to be afraid. He had not called to tell me where he was. I waited the whole night and before I knew it the sun was rising for a new day. And John had not arrived yet. I kept my fears to myself so the children would not be alarmed. I had to be strong for them. That day I did nothing but wait by the door of our house. Deep inside I was drowning in anxiety. I had to drag my feet to be able to walk. My knees were shaking. I did not switch on the TV even if it was my habit to watch the national news every morning. The silence seemed to bear down on me as I waited for the knock on the door or for a taxi to blow its horn. Uneasy as I was, I tried to relax by telling myself, maybe he just got delayed, the seminar was extended. A few hours later, I heard a knock on the door. My heart seemed to leap out of my chest. It’s John, I thought. but when I opened the door, another face met me. It was Mario, John’s office driver. He was out of breath. He must have been in a hurry to get to our house. In one hand he was holding a folded newspaper. I stared at him. I watched him as his lips trembled. Trembling like my knees and my thumping chest. “Ma’am, it’s in the newspaper. It’s Sir, Ma’am, he’s one of---“ Mario was not able to finish his words because some hard thing seemed to have slapped against my heart. I suddenly felt numb and couldn’t hear anything. My knees went weak; I couldn’t seem to stand anymore. It felt like I was standing on top of a tall, tall building. In my mind I saw Mrs. Mallard again, and Mama, and Ate Weng, and like them I felt that tears were a form of language only women could understand. Happiness, sorrow, fear, anger--- it came to me that on moments like this, only I--- only women like us--- could understand what we truly feel. |
| (Including Mrs. Mallard in the Story by Kate Chopin) |