Collected Philippine Short Stories

Tether | Mary M. Tobias

IT didn't feel like another day, for it was only six hours earlier that he had logged out. There he was, back at his post again. Efren's oldest son was graduating from high school that day, and Mang Arthur took over the remaining twelve-to-six shift so his friend could attend the afternoon ceremonies. It wasn't as if he minded. Mang Arthur barely had sleep that morning, anyway. Nor the morning before. Lately, Mang Arthur's days have been like that—like little, floating, shapeless clouds that blended seamlessly into each other because of his lack of sleep.

"Whoa! You look so handsome today, Pards," Mang Arthur said, pretending to be taken aback at seeing his young friend emerge from the men's room. Efren had changed into a barong, and his security guard's uniform had disappeared into his black nylon backpack that didn't quite go with the barong. His naturally curly hair glistened as if wet, tamed and slicked back undoubtedly with hair gel. "So, what time's the vista, attorney?" he teased, as Efren self-consciously smoothed down his hair.

"Mang Art..." Efren objected to the older man's ribbing. He looked to see if any of the crew members heard; knowing them, he was so sure they wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

"You're a lucky man, Efren," Mang Arthur said. "Only thirty-two but with a son about to graduate from high school already. You and Celina must be so proud." Something pricked the back of his eyes.

It didn't seem too long ago when Maring had the miscarriage. A boy. All of a sudden it dawned on Mang Arthur that had the baby lived, he would have been in college now. How time flies.

"Jun-jun's very bright." A little smile played at the corners of Efren's mouth at the thought of his oldest son. "He's hoping to go to U.P. on scholarship. He wants to be a lawyer someday."

Mang Arthur tried to fight the sadness that was threatening to invade his thoughts. "Maring and I, we still haven't given up trying," he lied. It surprised him how effortlessly the words came out of his mouth. "We're hoping to have at least one before all my teeth fall off," he laughed heartily, "and I would really like to at least live to see him graduate from Grade Six." Mang Arthur laughed so hard at his own joke that a tear came from the corner of an eye.

They must not have made love for—how long has it been?—probably a couple of years now. Since he started drinking, they had not so much as even kissed. But he had since kicked the habit; he gave it up almost as soon as he started it. Still, it hadn't escaped him how Maring always seemed repulsed whenever he reached out to touch her, or even just when his arm brushed against her accidentally. Something had not felt right in their marriage lately. And it hung thickly in the air in the precious few minutes of daylight they saw each other, as he came home from his graveyard shift and she prepared to leave for the houses of the people whose laundry she washed. But there still was enough time, he thought, wasn't there? He was so sure things would be all right again and they could try having a child once more. After all, his wife was too young for menopause, she would only be thirty-six in two weeks.

And it was all a pity, really. Lately Mang Arthur noticed how Maring had suddenly seemed to have a renewed interest in her looks. She had started to fix herself up again, and she had begun to look a lot younger than her years. Although she was not really beautiful, she had a face made childlike by a round nose and plump, pouty lips. The years had rounded her boyishly thin figure into soft, womanly curves; the days she had spent on her haunches washing kilos of laundry under the sun had rendered her limbs brown, muscular and lean. Mang Arthur could not tell when he first noticed it, but lately his wife had even started wearing baby cologne, too. And it lingered long after she had left mornings, mingling with the fresh, wet smell of her soap and shampoo, and always, as he tried to shut his eyes to sleep by burying his face in his pillow, never failed to leave him with a painful sense of longing.