I could get used to the lack of plumbing; we did not have pipes in Korea and Vietnam either, and we had to fetch our water and dig filthy latrines to relieve ourselves. I could get used to the lack of electricity; here, the weather was nice and warm, and there was no need for a heater. I did not mind that there was no internet since I was an old soul and never did or even wanted to learn new technologies.
What I couldn't get used to was the presence of a doting daughter. Isabela Lardizábal was Martín's only daughter from his deceased wife. The lovely 17-year-old cherub would not leave alone. She made sure I ate properly and on ti, cooking tasty dishes and baking appetizing pastries. I regularly got assaulted by sudden hugs and forehead kisses. Whenever I was alone, she would sit beside and start to talk, often giving the latest gossip in town.
I couldn't believe a man could get this much love. And it kept planted, constantly reminding that I might be in a fantasy land. And that I should not get attached to this wonderful new reality, lest it shatter and leave irrecoverably heartbroken.
But August went by, then September, October, and November, and then the last month of the year 1898 arrived. By then, the doubts had lted. Although I felt guilt for taking the identity of another man, I started to be Martín. John McClair of North Carolina was sent to the back of my mind as I gave in and resolved to enjoy this new life.
I beca a father to Isabela, which was a joy and a responsibility.
I also took over Martín's estates, which ensured that I would live this second life in relative luxury. His abaca plantations, for instance, had singlehandedly made him one of the richest, if not the richest, n in the province.
I also took the mantle of Politico-Military Governor of the far-flung province of Marinduque, which, as it turned out, was not as impressive as it sounded. It did not exist in the Spanish era, with Marinduque being under the jurisdiction of the nearby province of Tayabas. The months-old position had an authority that barely extended beyond the towns of Boac and Mogpog.
Nonetheless, I got to live in the governor's quarters in the Casa Real, built to accommodate the Spanish governors during their occasional visits to the island, as well as enjoy the love and respect of the townsn.
I interpreted this sudden and unbelievable turning of fate as God's compensation for the sad and pathetic end of my forr life.
The choir of roosters greeting another rising of the sun graced my ears again. It was noise to months ago; now, a morning would be disturbingly odd without hearing them.
It was a sunny start to the day. I could hear the distant voices and the subtle noises of moving carts as early risers passed by the building below.
A group of kids ran around the plaza, flying their colorful kites, taking advantage of the windiness of the season. The air slled of the sea, of wet soil, and dead leaves. Here, December did not have the curse of snow.
A maya bird briefly perched on the windowsill before it saw and promptly flew away. I watched it land on the branch of an acacia tree.
I shifted my attention back to the newspaper, onto grimr things. La Independencia was a paper recently founded in September by a man nad Antonio Luna, a well-known general in the revolution. Marinduque was a remote province, and here, newspapers were not a common commodity. So, I did not complain when I got the October release in December.
Needless to say, the pages contained revolutionary propaganda and were unashadly anti-Arican, and I had been reading with caution and vigilance.
But amongst the fluff of the passionate columnists were tidbits of facts that even I found disturbing. It had been months since the Arican occupation of Manila, and instead of allowing Filipino authorities in, there had been a continuous military buildup. To further fuel the fire, there had been reports of negotiations in Paris between the Aricans and the Spaniards about what to do with the Philippines, without a Filipino delegate.
I rubbed my forehead. I did not want to believe it, but it would take blind folly to believe the Aricans had nothing but noble intentions. Aguinaldo had been begging for months to have his governnt recognized, and the Aricans, alongside the world, ignored him.
There was no peace coming. The paper proudly reported that the Filipino army was swelling in size and ready to engage should the Aricans decide to take over the archipelago. The editorials heavily denounced the U.S. for acting like the new colonizers and urged the Filipino people to unite and prepare for war.
"Don Lardizábal, the kalesa is here. Should I ask Rodrigo to be ready?"
The old man standing at the top of the stairs startled . I had not even heard his footsteps. Rafael had been the mayordomo, the Casa Real's caretaker, during the past two Spanish governors. When the revolutionaries took power, he willingly offered his service to the new one put in place.
"Kalesa?" I asked, and I imdiately rembered that I had not specified that I wanted both carriages to be brought over. "Forgive , Rafael, I ant for both of them to be brought over. I will be fetching a guest at the docks."
"No problem... I will be right on it." Rafael smiled, making his old face more wrinkled. "Is it your nephew from Manila?"
"Yes, he is here to spend Christmas," I replied.
Western traditions had been imported here through Catholicism, which dominated the islands. Apparently, the disapproval of the Spaniards did not extend to the religion they had brought.
There was so much I did not know about the situation in the north.
Hopefully, I would get my answers soon.
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