The San Isidro Mysteries 01: Maria del Sueño

"Aren't they, cousin?" Emanuel asked.

"Perhaps, or maybe, unlike you, I have not met my one true love yet or worse, I did find her but let her go."

Lucas looked at Maria and took up the wine glass again.

"Here's to finding life's greatest passion."

He raised the crystal and drained its contents.

"Cheers to that," Simon said as the others took hold of their glasses and drank.

Maria swallowed her tears with the sweet wine. She felt that she was drinking more to how good an actor Emanuel was than toasting love and passion.

She did not know that Lucas was still looking at her through the crystal goblet he held.

Once dinner was over, they all went to the sala. Señora Ada was, once again, extolling one of the many virtues her daughter, unfortunately, did not possess. This time it was Asuncion's musical ability that she wanted to showcase.

Doña Cecilia volunteered to accompany the young girl on the piano in a vocal rendition of a classical kundiman.

Asuncion's voice was breathy and terribly off key, and as she reached the end of her performance, the beautiful kundiman not only was murdered that night, it had been buried .

Polite applause followed the regrettable performance, led by the ever enthusiastic Señora Ada.

"Emanuel," Lucas called his cousin, "perhaps you can return the favor and sing one of those snappy vaudeville songs you are so fond of."

Maria's husband did not need more prompting. He made his way to the piano and sat down.

"I bow to popular demand," he joked, "but please do join me in the chorus."

And with that, Emanuel launched into a succession of popular tunes. He had a pleasing tenor voice and though heavy handed, played the instrument well enough.

Ada and Asuncion Vergara edged closer to the piano and started to sing with him. Soon, most of the audience joined in.

Lucas stood up and made his way to the bay window, where Maria was sat.

"Are you not fond of music, Maria?"

"Of course I am, Lucas."

"Then why not join Manuel in his impromptu concert?"

He looked at the small group surrounding the piano; his cousin had started another song.

Maria shook her head.

"I'm afraid I have no musical abilities, Lucas. And if I were to sing - it's too early for the monsoon," she answered.

He laughed at the unexpected joke. He saw her smile faintly; he drank the last of his wine then sat beside her.

"You do know, Maria, that if you need anything, anything at all, you can always turn to me."

His voice was deep but soft.

She looked at him then and perhaps saw him clearly, for the first time.

Lucas was only a year older than her husband, but had always been the more mature of the two cousins. In fact, even Simon deferred to his nephew's judgment, especially when it came to the varied businesses run by the Monteclaros.

Lucas' opinion bore more weight and it was his signature that sealed any and all dealings. Both his parents had died in a carriage accident when Lucas was barely seventeen and he had inherited everything his father, Simon's brother, owned; virtually nothing was left to his uncle.

Feeling guilty, Lucas gifted him with a farm in Capiz, a town well south of Manila. Simon brought his young family there with him and managed the holding quite well, it was turning a substantial profit in a few months.

Lucas had soon received an invitation from his uncle to visit Capiz; "the town and the people here have been very helpful and the small game in the nearby forest is plentiful," the letter said, but had they both known the ensuing events, Simon would never have sent the invitation and Lucas would never have accepted.

Maria, though, was unaware of the tragic circumstances that surrounded the family she had married into. At that moment, she was only aware of Lucas and the hope of salvation that he seemed to be offering.

"Yes, I know," she finally whispered. She stood up and left the window as the sound of applause drifted from the sala.

-----

The old clock in the hallway rang the hour - it was three in the morning, the witching hour, Aling Naring liked to call it. Maria sat up from the bed and ran her tongue gently over her lower lip, tasting blood. Her whole body was in pain and there would, no doubt, be many more bruises, bruises she would have to hide.

Emanuel had been hard on her that night.

As soon as they had entered their bedroom, he had thrown her against the wall and demanded why she had been flirting with his cousin.

"I was not, Manuel, please believe me!"

"Then what were the two of you doing in that alcove?" he sneered, as he trapped her with his body.

"Nothing, Manuel, nothing. We only talked, that was all."

She had begged and pleaded, but Emanuel only became angrier. He held her shoulders and shook her violently. She managed to push him away.

She ran to the door but he caught her by the waist. She tried to claw his face with her fingers, but he eluded her; instead he hit her with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling on their marriage bed. He sat astride her prone figure and roughly twisted her head to look into her pain filled eyes. A cruel smile spread across his mouth.

"Of course you didn't flirt, my love. I know you too well, you're the most faithful wife a man can have. I just wanted to hear you beg, you know how much I like it when you beg," he whispered in her ear.

He pushed her face down onto the mattress and held her nape there. She started to struggle for breath; just as she was about to lose consciousness, Emanuel let go of her. Then he bent down and once again whispered:

"I have never had you from behind, have I, my love?"

She squirmed beneath the weight of his body.

"No, Manuel, I beg you, not like that... please God, noo...," Maria's voice was cut short as he pulled her head around and kissed her roughly on the mouth. He bit the soft lower lip, drawing blood.

Holding her hands above her head with one hand, he freed his belt with the other and looped it around her wrists. He ripped the sleeve from her dress and stuffed it into her mouth. Tears ran down Maria's face as she gagged.

"Now, now, remember we're trying something you've never tasted, my love. We don't want to wake anyone up with your... new responses," he said softly.

He started tearing away the rest of her garments from her body, just as the ancient clock in the hallway rang midnight.

Now it was that time when most everyone was abed, Emanuel himself had fallen asleep beside her not long after he had finished. But when she turned her head to look at him, she realized that she was alone. She lay quietly, waiting for the tears - but they never came.

IV

The tenant-farmer, Igme, and his wife, Patrocinio, were already wide awake. It was barely three in the morning of market day and they had no choice but to get up at the witching hour if they wanted to get to the ciudad to sell the eggs and vegetables they produced in their small farm.

Igme hurriedly poured himself a glass of the lukewarm coffee his wife had set on their small kitchen table.

"Get a move on, Patrocinio," he called to his wife, "if we're late again, Delfin will hog the best puesto in the market, and we'll be forced to sell everything on the street again."

Igme finished the coffee, shuddering as the bitter liquid ran down his throat. When there was still no sign of his wife, he walked to the small corner of the hut which served as their bedroom and parted the flimsy curtains.

He sighed and resigned himself to again selling their wares on the street... Patrocinio was kneeling in front of the small altar beside their bed, rosary in hand.

"Aba, Ginoong Maria, napupuno ka ng grasya, ang Panginoong Diyos ay sumasaiyo...," she was whispering.

It would at least be another half hour before she was done praying to the Virgin.

He closed the curtains and made his way outside the kubo where a gentle breeze was blowing. He sat and made himself comfortable on the top step of their tiny house. He reached for the packet of dried betel nuts he kept in his trousers, placed a few between his teeth and started chewing.

He wondered, not for the first time, why he preferred the nuts' bitter taste to that of his wife's ill made coffee.

He was about to pop another handful into his mouth, when a strange cry rang out from the dark. It sounded like a woman's scream but it had been cut short. He stood up and peered into the darkness beyond their small farm.

It could also have been a cat or a goat, he thought. He sat down again and started chewing, he hoped it wouldn't rain when they were at the market, no one would want to buy limp wet vegetables.

-----

Asuncion Vergara waited on the veranda adjoining the room she was sleeping in at the Monteclaro mansion. It was a large and comfortable room, its fixtures were definitely European, the bed linen soft cotton and huge windows let in the cool night air.

But Asuncion was not thinking of her surroundings, she was waiting for Lucas to come to her.

She had managed to slip a letter into his vest pocket as he and Maria emerged from the alcove earlier that evening. She had seen him read it as they went upstairs. And he had turned and looked at her with a knowing smile, just before they parted.

There was no mistaking what his smile meant - Señorita Vergara was well versed in the art of unspoken seduction.

Somewhere she heard the chiming of a clock, (did it ring two or three times?) she was not sure. Asuncion wished her mother had not pawned off her watch, it was the only valuable thing her late father had left her but they had needed the money, so...

"Asuncion," the voice was deep and soft, and gentle.

She looked down the veranda wall. A tall figure stood just below her.

"Lucas?" she asked, uncertain if it was him, he was half hidden by the wall.

"Come down to me, Asuncion," he said.

"Yes, Lucas, yes," she whispered back, now excited at the realization that he had actually come! She ran out the bedroom, down the long stairs, past the huge drawing room where the grand piano stood and out into the darkness.

-----

Señor Capitan Gonzales, the newly appointed jefe, of the town had just arrived at the precinto. He knew he was late, he'd had to deal with an altercation that occurred just outside his front door earlier that morning.

It involved two calesa drivers, Julio and Illuminado.

Manong Julio was complaining that Illuminado had deliberately let his pony piss in the tapayan - a large urn where fresh drinking water was traditionally kept. Iluminado denied doing it on purpose and he had many excuses: he could not watch his horse twenty fours a day, he needed to rest, a cuchero's life was a hard one and Julio himself should know that.

"Besides," the older Illuminado added, "only last week, Julio's horse ruined my wife's laundry! She had laid them out under the sun to dry and what did that beast do? He crapped all over her washing!"

The accusations (and counter-accusations) went on and on and only stopped when the Capitan threatened to shoot both horses.

"That way, one cannot accuse the other of anything," he ended.

The two cucheros quickly decided to settle everything after that - Illuminado would buy a new tapayan for Julio and Julio would make sure that his wife would help Iluminado's in doing the next week's laundry.

They thanked the Capitan for his astuteness and hurriedly left, grateful that both their horses were still alive.

So Señor Gonzales was not in the best of moods when he entered his office that day. He had already missed his breakfast and the headache that started with the two coachmen was worsening. It did not help when his sargento greeted him with some rather startling news.

"Capitan," Sargento de la Paz said, nervously clearing his throat, "a young woman was found dead out in the rice fields this morning."

The throbbing in the jefe's temple increased.

"What time was she found?" the Señor Capitan asked.

"About six, Capitan."

"Who found the body, then?"

"One of the farmers, sir."

Señor Gonzales nodded.

"Is there anything else I should know, Sargento?"

De la Paz cleared his throat again,

"She was naked, Capitan and... erm... "

"And?" Gonzales was fast losing his patience.

"Her head - it's nowhere to be found, Capitan."

V

No one noticed Asuncion's absence at breakfast the next day, they had all assumed that she had overslept - everyone had retired to bed quite late the evening before. Señora Ada herself did not feel anything amiss, she was even excited at what she thought she would hear from her daughter, at what had transpired between her and Lucas the previous night.

The older woman knew all about the note that was passed between them - in truth, it was she, Señora Ada Trillanes vda. de Vergara, who had written the letter.

But Ada was feeling slightly embarrassed when mid-day arrived and there was still no sign of her daughter. Asuncion had never been an early riser, but it was almost noon.

"Let me call on her, Señora," Maria volunteered.

She left the drawing room, keeping her eyes away from the knowing gaze of Emanuel as he and Lucas sat across the room playing cards.

Lucas noticed the way his cousin's eyes narrowed as Maria passed. He had also seen the bruises on Maria's shoulders, marks she had tried to hide under her panuelo but he had caught sight of them when she lifted her hand and the large scarf had slipped.

He was sure they were not the only ones she was trying to conceal.

Maria made her way to the nursery to check on her daughter. The baby was in her nanny's arms, chuckling at the cooing sounds the servant was making. Then she made her way down the long corridor to the room where Asuncion was. She knocked gently on the door and waited a few moments, there was no answer. She knocked again and called out the señorita's name - silence. She turned the ornate handle, the door opened.

The room was empty and the bed was undisturbed.

-----

The search for Asuncion Vergara lasted three days, it would have gone on longer, had not Aniceto, mayor-domo of the Monteclaro household, been told of the headless corpse of a young mestiza lying in the town morgue by Mang Julio, the driver of the calesa Aniceto had hired coming home from the market.

"I tell you, compadre," Julio exclaimed, "she must have been quite a beauty. Petite, judging from what was left of her, and fair all over. An expensive night dress, the kind you see in that magazine - what is it called... Mang Call's?... was found all muddied and torn a few feet from where she was lying. What a shame," he added, shaking his head, but whether his pity was for the dead girl or for the ruin of the expensive nightwear, one could not tell.

The mayor-domo had not been paying much attention, until he heard the words "fair and petite." Señorita Asuncion was both - and surely she could afford such luxuries like lingerie featured in expensive magazines like McCall's.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Monteclaro estate. Aniceto quickly paid off the driver and ran to find Don Simon.

It was left to Lucas Regalado to identify the headless corpse.

Señora Ada, hysterical after being told of what could be her daughter's remains lying in the town morgue, was heavily sedated and could not do it. Emanuel went with him, as did Capitan Gonzales.

Lucas was quiet as he was brought into the room where the body of a woman lay on a concrete slab. It was covered by a green blanket and surrounded by slabs of ice, most of which were already half melted.

He supposed it was the only way to keep the remains from rotting, but it was clear from the stench that the ice was not helping at all. And as the blanket was lifted, the decomposition had already started: the mutilated corpse was bloated and had a strange grey color, and at the top of the neck where the head should have been, was a jagged cut, as if a saw had been run through the flesh.

"Is it her, Señor Regalado?" Capitan Gonzales asked.

Lucas faced the jefe.

"You do know, Capitan, that without the head, I cannot be sure, but the body bears a similar appearance to that of Asuncion Vergara... small limbed and petite. As to the complexion, I suppose it is close enough to being the same fair coloring she had. But this," he pointed to a ring the corpse was wearing, "the senorita wore one exactly like it."

The capitan nodded and replaced the blanket.

"Well, that will have to suffice. It is unfortunate that her mother is not here to..."

"You must not expect her, Capitan," Lucas cut in, "she has been through enough. I am in agreement with the doctor; if she sees this," he pointed to the figure under the blanket, "she will lose the little sanity she has left."

"Then what will you tell her, Señor?"

"The truth, or as near it as possible, without the gruesome details. Have you any idea as to who committed such a terrible deed?"

"Not yet, but we are questioning the farmers and tradesmen who frequent the road near the field where she was found. Only they would have been up and about in the early hours and we believe she was killed at that time. Maybe someone heard or saw something."

Lucas nodded and turned to go.

"I do hope, Señor Regalado, that you are not planning any overseas trip in the foreseeable future," Capitan Gonzales suddenly said.

"Why do you ask, Jefe?"

"I'm afraid you and everyone in your household will have to be questioned as to their whereabouts on the night Asuncion Vergara was murdered."

-----

That night, Maria sat with Señora Ada until the older woman fell asleep. It had been such a terrible day.

She was grateful that she did not have to see what was left of Asuncion Vergara but the servants in the house, it seemed, knew exactly what had happened and were more than happy to share lurid descriptions of the poor woman's body, the state it was found in and the ideas they had as to who (or what!) had ended her life.

She heard a soft knock at the door. It opened and Lucas walked in.

"How is she?" he asked.

"As well as she can be, under the circumstances," she answered softly, not daring to look at him, afraid of what she might, or worse - might not - see in his eyes.

He nodded, his gaze still on the tired face of Señora Ada.

"Thank you for seeing to her, Maria. My aunt would never have been able to cope with Señora Ada's pain and grief."

Maria did not answer.

Lucas looked at her bowed head. He knew what he was about to do would only make matters worse, but he could not help himself; he reached for her hand as it lay on her lap. He gently, tenderly, ran his thumb over her palm.

"But you have, Maria, because you know all about pain and grief."

His voice was hushed like the cool breeze on a summer night. He continued to caress the palm of her hand.

"And when the time is right, Maria, you will come to me ."

He lifted her hand and kissed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, tracing the soft flesh with his tongue. She gave a small gasp at the intimacy.

"You will be mine."

He let go of her hand and left.

VI

Asuncion Vergara was buried two days after Lucas Regalado identified her remains.

Señor Capitan Gonzales had not wanted to surrender the body to Señora Ada, the young mestiza's mother; he tried to explain to the distraught woman that the body might bear important clues as to what had happened to the young girl - but the jefe's pleas fell on deaf ears.

Señora Ada was adamant, besides, she had the backing of none other than the wealthiest and most influential man in the town, Don Simon Monteclaro.

"I don't see how burying her will help, Señor Regalado," the capitan said to Lucas, as he and Aniceto came to claim the body, "does her mother not want this terrible crime solved?"