order

we were late for lola’s birthday party. and it was all papa’s fault.
as was to be expected, papa told me to drive mama to the big house. without looking at us, he said he had to finish something at the farm. on a saturday night.
manong raul was more blunt. he told mama he could not stand tito nieto for more than a hour. that left me and mama alone for the party.
mama wore one of the dresses manang loling made her from the swatches of cloth they got for a song from a used clothing store behind the church. she did not wear the pink and white cocktail dress I bought her from the city, the one she wore for papa’s birthday party last month.
tito nieto was already drinking beer at the porch of the big house when we arrived.
“so, efren’s future engineer has arrived already.” I told him semestral break started last week yet. mama did not mill about by the porch. I followed her to the sala where everyone else was waiting for us.
“where’s efren?” lola’s voice was still as sprightly as I used to remember it.
lola was seated in an unfamiliar big steady chair. louise, therese, and michelle were bickering for space on lola’s rocking chair beside the big capiz windows.
mama told lola that papa had failed to take the last bus trip home from the city earlier. mama was looking at the girls when she told lola this.
tita bebeth, the armholes of her dress wet, waved at everybody and told us that dinner was getting cold already. upon hearing this, tito nieto’s girls rushed toward the dining room.
tito nieto came in from the verandah and helped lola rise up from the big chair. he then walked her toward the dining room. mama grabbed my hands as we marched after them.
the chandelier over the dining table was dusted and lighted. not all of the bulbs were working but it gave the massive dining table a sheen like that of the caskets displayed at tito nieto’s funeral parlor near the fish market. the blue and white thick china were set up so far apart from each other on the table. on the middle of the table was an old silk flower arrangement, most of what would pass up for red roses, have fraying petals.
a little square table with just a plain white table cloth thrown over it was set up at the far end of the big table. the children all trooped toward it.
“jorge, since your father is not around, sit beside me,” lola faintly said.
I suppressed a smile while avoiding mama’s stare. upon hearing lola’s invitation, mama immediately sported this sickeningly sweet smirk.
with flourish, tito nieto helped lola settle at the massive chair at the head of the table. lola rubbed tito nieto’s arms lightly after she plunked down in the high backed chair. lola loudly thanked him many times for helping her. mama averted her gaze from the spectacle.
tito nieto then took his rightful spot and sat at lola’s right. lola pointed the chair across tito nieto for me to occupy. mama, without being told, just occupied the chair beside me.
tita bebeth, her forehead glistening with sweat beads, came in from the kitchen with another platter of painstakingly arranged food, one that I could not identify.
“uy, lilibeth, you sit down. ising can do it. she has some help,” lola barked.
tita bebeth sat beside tito nieto and attempted to smile at mama. upon tito nieto’s instructions, the girls from the small table started singing the birthday song. their shrill voices downed the racket coming from the kitchen. as the kids were singing, mama furiously tried to iron out an invisible crease in the front of her skirt with her sweaty palms.
after the girls’ well-rehearsed piece, I asked where the cake was. everyone just stared at me.
lola answered “no one else seems to like cakes in sta. elena, hijo. but we have callos.” mama rapped my knees from under the table.
I grabbed and offered the rice bowl to lola. she looked mama straight in the eye. “roberta, you’ve raised a good son. efren’s blood can be diluted somehow.”
mama beamed back at me. lola took the bowl from me and offered it instead to tito nieto. he then ladled out a small hill of steaming white rice on to his plate. mama looked away and watched instead tito nieto’s girls fight for food at the little table.
then tito nieto started to talk about the family’s corner lot in front of the town plaza. he had this grandiose plan to transform it to the town’s only gasoline station. only that, he continued, he didn’t have the capital to jump start his project. “you want me to loan you the capital for it?” mother laid down her silver and stared at lola. tita bebeth then tried to shush her girls. I feigned not hearing what lola said and reached out for the bowl of callos. the table top tottered over slightly, as I did that. all our silver, I noticed, inched towards me. no one else, however, saw it.
“and what would efren say to that? that it’s really you I favor over him?”
I felt mama’s legs quivering beside me. tito nieto didn’t pursue the topic the rest of the dinner.,
after dinner, the kids went running rambunctiously up and down the big winding staircase. no one else minded them.
manang ising and the two new help came in and removed our plates. manang ising came back with a large platter of ube custard with macapuno strips arranged neatly on top of it. huffing, one of the helpers rushed back to the kitchen and came back with the dessert plates and tiny forks.
“jorge, now this is your favorite, isn’t it?” lola shoved the platter of ube custard toward me. I thanked lola and sliced myself a big one. again, the table leaned towards me. everyone, this time, noticed it.
“uy, jorge, soon, you’re going to be the engineer. why don’t you fix this table while you’re still around?” tito nieto snarled at me.
“I’ll try, tito,” I answered. mama suppressed a cough.
tita bebeth chirped in “that was a lovely dinner you had, ma.”
“thank you. you have ising to thank for all of that.” lola did not even bother to look at her. she was trying to see which leg of the table made it totter.
then for the first time since dinner started, mama said something. “but you arranged it so beautifully, ma.”
lola did not say any word to her, either.
instead, lola peered under the table. as she sat up back, she said, without looking at anyone in particular, “all my life, I don’t remember ever, of putting things in order, beautiful order.”
then she stooped down again, this time toward my side. then she shoved one of her gold embroidered tsinelas under the leg of the table nearest me. that steadied the table.

-- j.e.g.