ii. the child by the door

  There was no chance that Sal will be let out to visit her brother, Oleon. She should be mistaken but was it wrong to hope that they would at least show her mercy and see her brother? Vague, blurry memories ran through her head of a small boy crying in fear of a frog. His hands were sweaty after playing in the grass fields outside and his voice was whiny and slow.

But at each passing day, the maid did not even speak about his presence even once. Every conversation had outside the Casa, Sal scoped for any mention of the word Napoleon, or the Cuorre’s only child, but it was soon becoming clear that he will leave as soon as he arrived.

Yet, seeing Ren in front of her offering a chance at a reunion was almost too good to be true. He had sneaked inside her room as per usual. He held a gray skirt in his hand and a dull, plain kamiseta with a hairpin piled on top.

“These are the clothes the maid wears.” Sal observed. She touched them, then held her hands back, clasping them behind her back. It was almost like touching someone else.

“Don’t you want to see Oleon?” he asked.

Oleon’s arrival was like the dead coming back to life. “The maid never told me he’s here.”

“The maid is the Signor’s servant after all.”

Is that it now? Disobeying the maid was disobeying her master. “Perhaps, she has to-” She stopped herself. Why else would the Signor not allow her to see her own brother? Should she care about the reason?

Ren clasped a hand over her cheek. “No one pays attention to maids. Besides, I will be with you.” He slid a hand under her veil, completely removing it from her head.

Sometimes, Sal can’t help but feel a certain heaviness and a selfish joy in seeing that this handsome man looks at her the way he does, like her said cursed appearance does not exist. She let him remove her veil and the panuelo and uncuff the ends of her sleeve. Sal changed out of her clothes.

Afterwards, Ren leaned close and wrapped his hands around her to fix her unruly hair bun. The enclosed space.The close contact. It is getting to her. “I’m so shameful.”Sal put her hands over her face. “Her own sister could not see him even.”

Ren buried Sal’s face into his chest. “You are courageous, putting up with all of this.”

“I want to see my brother.” Sal said, albeit in a mousy whisper. She looked at his face. His hand squeezed hers. She repeated with more conviction, “I want to see my brother!”

And see her brother she did. Sal snuck onto the room where he was being held with Ren by her side guiding her on which room she should go. It was one of the few times Sal had ever stepped outside of her room and the house always feels stranger each time. But this time, it did not matter. If she was with Ren, it did not matter.

Sal came inside holding a tray of food, her idea really. Little Oleon liked sweets. Well, she brought sweets they both like. The maid has been stingy with her after all.

She went inside and the door opened to reveal a young man asleep in a bed. If this was Oleon, it seemed he has grown a lot taller than her judging by the way his legs curled from under him. He slept like it was the only time he was able to do so, hs mouth hanging a bit and letting loose a slight wheeze as he slept.

Sal hovered over him. The little innocent boy he was is this man. Did he despise her after all those years? Maybe it was better to see him as he sleeps, not that when he can see her, watch her, confront her. But she was a wild child after all. She poked his cheek. Was this the same boy who laughed and played with her in the mud?

Oleon turned. And as he did, Sal’s fingers poked his cheek. She withdrew her hand fast and covered her face but waited to see the young man come to wake. His expression was bleary at first, weak, until his gaze hardened.

Sal tried to dart away but before she could, Oleon called out. “Please!”

She tiptoed back, her head turned to the side as she did so.

“Ate?” he asked. “Please don’t leave me here.”

The young man labored to sit up. He was a pale bony body draped with loose, bed clothes. He was still the crying little boy Sal remembered. It was a bit strange really, calling this stranger her brother, but slowly she could see him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sal sat on the floor beside her brother’s bed.

The young boy eyed her curiously before averting his eyes. “ Ate, there’s a long chair.”

Oh, yes. Oleon had lived and breathed amongst all the proper people on that place called the Universidad. The two sat in a bit of awkward silences. This man did not seem to despise her as she thought, but-

“Do you find me weird?” Sal asked.

Oleon shook his head slowly.

Sal looked around for something they could talk about. “How are you?” she asked.

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“I’m fine too.”

That was how proper polite people do it. Proper polite people must be boring. But maybe she could use another. “How about school?” People usually asked something of the sort.

The young boy paused. “It was fine. A few Arithmetics here and there, classes on literature.”

“Was it a nice place? Do they have a lot of mango trees there too? Is it bigger than the Casa? Is it really a noisy place like-”

The boy only stared back at him with wide eyes. “Okay, ate. Which should I answer first? And-”

“Well, I am just spewing out my questions, but I am curious on all of them. Hey, is it nice going there?”

Oleon handed her the untouched mangoes on the table. “You can have those. I’m not hungry.” he offered.

Sal wolfed the Marzipans by his bedside instead. She caught Oleon looking at her so she only took few bites and straightened her gait. “Sorry, I was embarassing.”

“Do you always eat like that?” Oleon asked as he eyed the crumbs on the floor.

“Maybe,”Sal replied. “It must be uncomfortable for you. You were surrounded by all those proper gentlemen and proper ladies and here you have your sister looking like a slob.”

“It was unladylike.” Oleon turned his eyes. “But you are my Ate, and I can’t do anything about it.”

She looked up at him. He was smiling, contrary to what she expected from him. Crumbs fell onto the floor as she almost dropped the pastry between her hands. A heavy feeling welled up in her but she tamped it down. The Signor hates crying. But right now, it was almost unreal, surreal to hear her being called Ate. “I thought you tried to forget me.”

The young man tensed . “I-” he stuttered. A confused look crossed his face before he buried his face in the sheets and finally spoke again. “I’m sleepy.”

“But it’s early in the morning.” Sal replied.

A long look rested on Oleon’s face. Eventually, the young boy laid down on his bed and covered himself in the sheets before turning to face away from her.

Sal gripped her skirt. It was wrong to think everything was going fine. Sal sat up to leave but Oleon spoke.

“I sent you letters.”

Sal wracked her head to search any memory of a letter she received. The maid never delivered her any letters since she wrote to Oleon in his address. At first, she’d justified it as just her putting up the wrong address. Putting up the wrong address for years. Years of silence, she believed that perhaps he didn’t receive the letters and he was coming to despise her.

“How? When-”

The boy only lowered his head. “Please go now” It was pleading.

Maybe he did find Sal strange after all.Maybe he did despise her.

Perhaps his hatred was not enough to make her go.

Suddenly, footsteps fluttered and conversations trickled just outside the door.It burst open and a middle-aged man marched inside. His steps matched with the tap of his cane as he marched in a strict, rhythmic, cadence. Each step heavy.

Sal froze as she chanced upon the Signor Cuorre’s hawk-like gaze. She’d selfishly hoped it was not her he was staring at.

Oleon labored to sit up and at least nod. “Pleasant afternoon, Papa.”

“Your school informed me of your leave.” The man marched close to the young boy and tapped the back of his hand on the teenager’s forehead then examined his arms and skin.

“If you’re strong enough to sit up, you might as well be healthy enough to go back to University. Men of old face battles and disease. The youth only has to sit and listen and they cause trouble like hysterical little girls” the Signor remarked. “Your teachers and the administrator have been sending me letters on your lack of progress.” His low glare not being removed from the young boy. “It is not the time to make excuses, child.”

“But I-”

“You call yourself an heir to the Cuorre? You want society to think of you weak? Making excuses to avoid his duty?”

Oleon’s head was bowed, “No, I’m sorry.”

“Then, prove it.”

A storm went wild in Sal’s chest. The Signor always spoke of these things and yet they made little sense to her at this moment. She twiddled her fingers together as she put them by her back. She bowed, half-hoping a fringe covered her face enough and half-hoping that she could just shout.

“Can’t he stay?”

Sal’s voice was not above a whisper but she clamped her hand to her mouth. If she escapes by the door now, it will be easier to see her face or be noticed. Sal stood there with her hands wrung together as she kept her head low.

“Basic manners dictate that you should not speak until you are spoken to.” The Signor put his hat above his head as he cast a hard, condescending look at Sal.

Sal kept her head bowed until the cane kept clacking on the floor. She let out an audible sigh and a quick glance at her brother. But he sat aghast.

The Signor stood in front of Sal just by the door. She quickly averted her eyes but it was unmistakable. She knew that expression.

“It seems like with my absence these days, there is a lack in discipline among the new staff.” He faced the doorway where Ren stood. “Please excuse us, if you will. Seeing as you also, were deceived because of my incompetence.”

“It was not an inconvenience at all.”Ren conceded. “Now, I reckon the Signor Castiglione must be looking for you.”

“I need to tend to urgent business.” He insisted.

The Signor called for Sal’s maid and the maid in turn called for Sal to follow her. The maid’s responses to the Signor seemed rush and monosyllabic, different from what she displays in front of her. As Sal followed the two of them, she glanced behind. Ren mouthed something to her, but she was too far to see it clearly.

Sal almost forgot how scary these kinds of days were.In her small room, the Signor towered over the other two in stature and aura. Sal kept her eyes fixed on the cane.

“I expected more from you.” The Signor said. Sal angled her head up so she could see through the slit space behind her veil to make sure who he was talking to. For now, he addressed the maid. Waiting like this on what he will say is torture.

“I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”

“A tiny crack is enough to destroy the whole tower. Don’t you forget that.”

Sal waited on what he will say to her next but there was only a long, fat silence. The air only punctuated by Sal’s nervous twiddling and the sound of cicadas in the air. Sal dared not to look at the Signor for a reaction.

“Keep the chamber pot in her room, and enough water for a week.”

It looks like it will be another complete week of isolation. Nothing new but Sal held her breath. She cannot rest easy. Who knows what misfortune follows such a light punishment.

“I’m s-sorry. It was shameful. I got carried away because I haven’t seen Oleon. I got too excited and-”

“An explanation and an apology does not matter, action does.” The Signor replied.

The Signor turned to leave and Sal cannot be any more relieved. But the man instead went by her bookshelf to inspect the books stacked on the shelf.

“I had to take extra precautions to protect you but I trust the Castiglione’s steward knows how to keep his mouth shut. And on that accord.” The man drew a line of dust in the bookshelf. “I cannot have allowed the exchange of letters between you and Napoleon.”

Sal stared blankly on the floor. The realization trickled in. She glanced at the maid, who from her limited vision, she can make out to have not moved from her position. The maid was quiet too. Sal stuttered a response. Then, where are the letters she sent?

Thrown away? Burned? Then, could Oleon’s letters, where were they?

“The letters?”

The man only thumped his cane and breathed out a sigh. “Disposed.” He turned to her.

Sal backed upon the corner, instinctively protecting her shelf.

” You think you could afford to reveal your existence to the world?”

“People should not see me, I’m sorry.” Sal could only see the floor yet, at the edge of her sight, she could see the cane under the long line of lace in her veil. Sal held tight to the shelf where she kept her sketches and letters.

“Remember that. Always.”