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She brushed her fingers gently over the jacket front, then edged nearer and placed her hands on his shoulders to make sure that they were evenly sewn. Her face was so close that Andrés could see the wet lashes that circled her eyes and a few beads of sweat on her brow and upper lip; he was certainly starting to feel a little lightheaded. It was several minutes before she finally stepped back, not realizing how she had made him feel.
"Try moving your arms up and around," she requested.
Andrés gingerly lifted his elbows.
Porcia lifted an eyebrow.
"A little more vigorously, if you please, Jefe. I'm sure you would not want a sleeve coming apart while you pulled out your pistol."
He chuckled reluctantly and flapped his arms. Porcia nodded approvingly.
"Do you feel free to move in it, is there any discomfort anywhere?" she asked.
He was certainly feeling uncomfortable but in an entirely different way.
"No, it is perfectly... comfortable," he said gently, "and this coat, Señorita Porcia, is by far the most - liberating piece of clothing I have ever worn."
The young seamstress blushed at the compliment. Andrés would reflect, much later on, that that was the moment he fell in love with the daughter of Alberto Fuentes.
-----
Estanislao Javier reached 43 Kalye Escolta, his shop and home, in Manila. He closed the front door after him and climbed up to his apartment on the large floor above the store. He had just been to the telegraph office to send another note to Francisco informing him of the development of their new business.
He had moved to San Isidro and put up the El Hombre Javier after inheriting some money from his late father's estate. The initial inheritance was sizable, but Estanislao had even more sizable debts to settle and when he had paid them all, what was left was just enough to start a small business. He chose San Isidro because the town was far enough from Manila and his former creditors yet not too far that he could not revisit the pleasures the big city could offer. Besides, he was also an opium user and, through his contacts, found out that Francisco Chua's den was one of the largest in Luzon.
He became such a frequent and trusted patron that Chua made him a partner. Soon, he was bringing quite a number of people to Chua's bodega, both as users and investors. Their profits soared quickly and they would have happily stayed in San Isidro, but the relationship they had with the locals had begun to sour in the last year, racial distrust and economic enmity started to undermine the business, so much so that he and Francisco decided it was time to move, and nowhere was more inviting than Manila.
He had not encountered any problem the few months he had been in the city; true, he was still laying the groundwork for the opium den they planned in Manila, but an operation as big and lucrative - not to mention dangerous - such as theirs, would take time to establish. And to keep it running under the noses of the Guardia Civil was no easy task.
Francisco Chua may have been San Isidro's opium king, but Estanislao Javier, tailor and businessman, was the brains.
A sound at the front door of the shop drew his attention. He went down the stairs and through to the haberdashery's parlor just as his friend, Alberto Fuentes, entered.
"Ah, Alberto, have you had supper? I was about to go out again, I've heard of a new place not far from here which is said to serve the best callos in Manila. Perhaps you can join me."
Alberto smiled faintly.
"Thank you, Estanislao, but I've already had a meal at the Manicomio and I really am quite tired. Forgive me."
"Think nothing of it, my friend. Tell me, erm...how is Elisa?"
"Dr. Vito Cruz says she is much better, although...," Alberto's voice trailed off, he shook his head; he was very tired and tired men often had strange thoughts.
"Yes?" Estanislao said.
"Well, her sleep has been troubled lately. The doctor assured me that it's quite a common occurrence when a user is being weaned away from an addiction, but it's very difficult to just watch her suffer. I feel quite - useless."
Javier placed a hand on Alberto's shoulder.
"She's in the best of hands, compadre, Dr. Vito Cruz and the Manicomio are the best in the city. Look, once Francisco relocates here, he and I will treat you to a proper evening out, what do you say?"
Alberto suddenly gripped his friend's hand.
"Compadre, you mean you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"I received a telegram from Porcia this morning; Francisco was found dead in his well yesterday."
Abel Medina looked over his shoulder before turning into the small eskinita. The narrow street was very quiet as he made his way to the safe house where the society was to meet. His thoughts turned to Porcia - and her growing friendship with Andrés Gonzales. The señor capitán had become a constant visitor to the Trajes, arriving at the doorstep long before the shop closed, to escort the young seamstress home.
Their friendship made Abel uncomfortable, not because he was in love with Porcia - his deep affection for the tailor's daughter was more sisterly than romantic - but Andrés Gonzales was San Isidro's police chief and the society was very wary of all the members of the Guardia Civil, even if several of its officers were in favor of more self-rule for the islands. Some had even resigned their positions and joined the ranks of the secret society; needless to say, they - and the rest of the underground movement - were now branded traitors.
He arrived at the meeting place, a small apartment near the end of the eskinita with the number "12" painted crookedly over its door; but did not stop. Instead, Abel kept walking to the very end of the alley where he finally stopped beneath one of the two lamp posts which provided the only illumination on the street, the other being situated at the corner he had entered earlier. He reached into his pocket, took out a packet of cigarillos and placed one between his lips. He leaned against the post and waited, his eyes on the small house he had passed. A few minutes later, he saw the light of a gasera through the space beneath the door, it flickered for a few moments then was quickly extinguished. Abel threw the unlit cigarette down and doubled back. He gently rapped twice, waited for a few moments and knocked again. The door opened; he stepped inside and was greeted by a nervous voice.
"It took you long enough to get here, Medina, I've been waiting for over an hour."
"I'm sorry, Maximo, but I left the shop quite late," Abel answered, throwing his cap onto a nearby table.
The older man checked the empty street before closing the door.
"I've heard you've been busy at the Trajes," he said, as he pulled out a chair from under the table, "has business picked up?" he asked as he sat astride it.
Abel nodded.
"Since El Hombre left for Manila, yes."
"So the sudden influx of customers has nothing to do with your friend's relationship with Andrés Gonzales, then."
Abel's lips thinned slightly; in all likelihood, the other man was just making small talk, and Maximo de Leon was quite known in the movement for his lack of tact. But to hear him mention Porcia's name in such a tone rankled; they were both foot soldiers in the movement and had no right to pry into each other's personal lives - let alone their friends'. The tailor's assistant shrugged his shoulders.
"Probably not, though the good Lord knows the Fuentes family can use the extra income," he answered a little coldly, looking around the room. "Where are the others?"
"They'll be back, although it's been over half an hour since they left. I hope they bring something to eat, my stomach's growling," Maximo said, rubbing his belly.
Abel snorted softly.
"You're always hungry."
"What's wrong with that?" Maximo answered, "I have to keep up my strength, Medina, what with everything I have to do in the movement," he edged closer to Abel, "Kidlat can only trust me with the more important tasks, you know, no one else," he whispered, "he knows I'll get it done," he added rather proudly.
"We do the same things, Maximo - delivering messages and acting as lookouts are not all that difficult," Abel said.
"You know so little of our business, Medina, if that is all you think I do," Maximo stretched his arms over his head, a smile forming on his lips.
"I'll let you in on a secret. I was with Kidlat the other night...you have heard about what happened to that old Chino, Francisco Chua, yes?"
Abel's heart skipped a beat. Maximo had no idea that Francisco was Porcia's godfather, of that he was sure.
"Of course, the whole town is talking about it," his voice was calm, almost disinterested.
Maximo chuckled.
"Well, keep this to yourself, but what we did to that old man was something you would not have been able to stomach."
Abel felt fear and more so, disgust, but before he could say anything, a tapping at the door alerted the two of them. They waited, another knock was heard. Maximo quickly made his way to the door and opened it. Jaime Navarro, Porcia's uncle, entered, followed by Ka Kidlat, the leader of the underground movement in San Isidro.
"Were you both asleep?" Jaime asked a little angrily, "we stood at that lamp post for well over five minutes, waiting for you," he turned to Maximo, "to light the gasera."
"I... er..." Maximo stammered.
"Never mind that now, Jaime," Kidlat intervened, "there are more important things to discuss. Abel, I'm glad we were able to tear you away from the shop."
The young man nodded his greetings.
"Certain matters have come up," Kidlat continued, "and we'll need you, Abel. Are you ready for a more - substantial assignment?"
Abel nodded.
"Good man," Kidlat said, "Now, let's get some food into our bellies. A man always thinks better on a full stomach, right, Maximo?"
Jaime and Maximo laughed and cleared the table. Then the four of them sat down to a simple supper of fried rice and tuyo - salted dried herring dipped in cane vinegar - a side dish of sweet pickled young papaya - acharra - and kapeng barako, the strong native coffee which all four men drank black. A dessert of fried banana fritters coated in brown sugar completed the meal.
Kidlat turned to Jaime.
"Please thank Insiang for this meal, Jaime."
Jaime nodded.
"Are any other members coming?" Abel said.
"No one else will be coming, Abel," Jaime said, "we called you in because... well, what we need to discuss concerns Porcia."
"Your employer and best friend," Maximo cut in.
"Yes, Porcia and I have been friends since we were children," Abel answered, "but I fail to see...,"
"Have you told her about the movement, about us?" Jaime interjected, edging closer to the young man.
"No, I have not," Abel answered.
"Are you sure you didn't let anything slip out, Abel?" Kidlat said.
"Porcia does not know anything about us," the young man answered quietly. He turned to Jaime.
"You are her uncle, you should know if she has mentioned anything."
"Well, Jaime, has she?" Kidlat asked.
Jaime shook his head and leaned back against his chair.
"It's been weeks since I last talked to her."
"I believe Abel," Kidlat said, "I do not think Señorita Fuentes has any knowledge of our business. But if there is one person in San Isidro we should worry about... it is Gonzales."
"So what do we do?" Maximo said.
Kidlat did not answer; instead he stretched his legs out from under his chair, and settled more comfortably in his seat. He eyed his companions over the smoke from the tiny gasera on the table.
"Nothing as of yet," he finally said, "let us keep an eye on the señorita and Gonzales; the good capitán and his lieutenants have been nosing around too much since that raid on Chua's warehouse."
He saw Jaime and Maximo nod in agreement. Abel Medina, however, reached out for the glass in front of him. He studied the now cold black coffee for a moment before drinking it.
"I'll take care of watching them, Kidlat," the tailor's assistant volunteered, as he placed the empty glass back on the table.
Ka Kidlat smiled.
"Thank you, Abel."
Porcia Fuentes gingerly carried the coffee service out onto the small azotea of the Fuentes' home.
Andrés Gonzales met her just as she stepped out to the balcony, carefully taking the tray from her and placing it on a small stone table in the middle of the veranda. A faint trace of camellias wafted past him as she walked by. He pulled out one of the three wrought iron chairs that surrounded the table and gestured for her to sit.
"Graciás," she said as she took her seat, "do you take your coffee black?"
The jefe nodded.
"And a bit of sugar, please," he added.
Capitán Gonzales watched quietly as the young seamstress poured the thick dark liquid into the cups. She had beautiful hands, Andrés thought, the fingers long and slender; she kept the nails short, for, no doubt, long ones would interfere with her sewing. But they were capable hands, too, for even the alkalde-mayor had commented on how well Andrés' new uniforms fit. Moonlight glinted off the pair of combs in Porcia's hair, one just above each ear, framing her lovely face. He studied her closely, her lips were full, the lower one slightly more so, and they tilted slightly upward at the corners, her nose was small and straight and dark brows arched above eyes that were, at that moment, truly the color of midnight.
"I hope you prefer moscavodo, Andrés," she said, lifting the cup and saucer and handing them to him.
He smiled his thanks and took a sip. It was nutty and strong, memories of drinking the same brew with his father years ago came back to him; they had shared a passion for many things - the jefe and his Papá - were alike in so many ways: quiet, reserved, dependable, possessing a deep sense of right and wrong as well as a fierce determination to see things through. These traits had served him well in the service. But like his mother, Capitán Gonzales was also compassionate...and quite shy...especially when it came to dealing with women. He had never had a novia; oh, there were a few 'ladies' back in boot camp, the ones who were eager to please a man provided his pockets had more than just a few coins jingling in them, but a proper lady friend - Andrés had never found a woman he wanted to be close to - until now, of course.
"Is it alright?" the young girl asked, "it's not too strong, is it?"
The capitán shook his head.
She picked up the second cup and lifted it to her lips. The hot sweet liquid warmed her, it was the coldest part of the year in the Islas, which was why she had on her thickest and loveliest mantilla over the full sleeved - and newest - baro't saya she was wearing. She pulled the beautifully embroidered shawl more snugly round her shoulders; she had a second reason for wearing her best clothes; Porcia was no coquette, far from it, but tonight she wanted Andrés Gonzales to see her in something finer - not the ordinary shapeless work apron she wore everyday at the Trajes. She had begun to enjoy his company and looked forward to the afternoons when he came to walk her home.
Andrés placed his empty cup on the table. He reached inside his jacket and took out a case of cigarillos.
"May I, Porcia?" he said.
"Oh, please do, Andrés, I quite like cigarillos, I mean, not for myself, I don't approve of them, er... no, not quite like that, what I mean is...well, Papá smokes sometimes and I suppose it's alright then...," her voice tailed off. What was Andrés thinking of her, she wondered, she was jabbering like a mindless parrot.
Andrés Gonzales cleared his throat.
"Like your father, I, too, only smoke occasionally, usually after a very good meal, or an excellent cup of coffee and I have had both tonight, besides it's been quite cold this week, and there are studies that state that cigarillos," he lifted the case, "help in keeping one warm."
Andrés hoped he did not sound like he was giving her a lecture, but he truly did not know what to say. He took one stick out of the case and once again reached inside his jacket, fumbling for the box of matches he knew he had. Where were they? he thought.
Both he and Porcia saw the matchbox on the floor at the same time and both bent down to retrieve it. Their hands touched - and were quickly pulled back - surprise on their faces at the sudden frisson of electric heat that went through their fingers.
Porcia stood up first, she knew that running back into the house was what most properly brought up young women did - but she could not bring herself to do so.
Everything seemed to stop at that moment, all the night sounds of San Isidro had gone quiet; Andrés Gonzales moved, he drew Porcia into his arms, bent down and kissed her gently on the lips, she let out her breath in one long sigh.
"Please," she whispered, her eyes closed.
Andrés bent down again and kissed her once more, deeper, her lips parted from the pressure, her arms wrapped around his neck. They were locked in a duel where no winner would emerge, but where all - even time - would be lost.
Porcia stirred; the room was cold, yet she felt comfortably warm, even if she was naked under the blanket. She stretched and felt the heat of Andrés' body on her back. She slowly turned and saw the rise and fall of his bare chest as he lay asleep beside her, one arm flung over her hip. Memories came flooding back; that first tentative kiss had led to a rush of passion which neither one of them could - or wanted - to stop. She closed her eyes, reliving the intimacies they had shared, when she felt the gentle pressure of his lips on her brow. She did not look up.
"I know you're awake," he whispered into her ear.
Her eyes still did not open, but Andrés was sure she was smiling.
"Are we playing a game?" he said softly; as she snuggled more deeply into his chest, enjoying his teasing conversation.
Andrés moved and gently licked the sensitive area behind her ear, he felt the shiver that ran through her. He parted her long dark hair, bent down closer and kissed her exposed neck, nibbling and running his tongue over the soft spot where he could feel her heartbeat. Porcia could take no more, she sat up and kissed him full on his lips. It was Andrés' turn to smile.
"Good morning," he said when the kiss ended.
"Is it already?" she sighed, "we'll both have to get up and go to work soon," she added.
Andrés looked at the ink grey sky through the open window.
"We still have time," he said.
"For what?" Porcia asked innocently.
He did not answer, instead, he held her waist and lifted her onto his thighs.
"Have you ever had riding lessons, my love?" he asked tenderly, looking deeply into her eyes as she sat astride him.
Porcia smiled again.
"Why no, Jefe, but I'm sure you will teach me."
She leaned down and kissed him again, her breasts against his bare chest. He pulled her head closer, opening her lips with his, exploring her with his mouth and tongue. Porcia moaned as her passion rose. She ran her hands down the side of his torso; his warm skin, like hers, now slick with excitement.
Without breaking the kiss, Andrés took hold of her hands with his, and sat up on the bed, Porcia's knees bent and parted wider, encircling his hips. He finally broke the kiss and slid his hands behind her thighs, pulling her closer against him. She braced her legs against the mattress and opened herself to him as he eased his hardened member into her. A long gasp of pleasure escaped her lips when the engorged head of his shaft entered her, the slow penetration coursing through the tight moist walls of her sheath, sending hot slivers of pleasure through her.
