Padre de Familia

John Rey Dave Aquino

An unexpected odor welcomed Lyon home from school. Entering their small apartment, he smelled his mother’s sampaguita air freshener, but what followed, the overpowering and unmistakable reek of cigarettes, reminded him of the tricycle drivers in front of his school casually dropping their cigarette butts on the ground while waiting for passengers. He was so disoriented by the smell that he did not immediately notice the man sitting on the long wooden chair in the living room, though once he did, he recognized him immediately.

His father, Roman, sat comfortably on the bamboo chair, wearing a sando, jersey shorts and slippers. He squashed his stick in an ashtray, stood up and walked towards Lyon, who was surprised by how tall his father was. His father knelt and held his shoulders with both hands, looking at him from head to toe, his large hands growing heavy on Lyon’s shoulders. Uneasy under his father’s stare, Lyon observed his father in return. He sported a thick mustache and light sideburns, while the hairs on his chin were short enough to be missed. His eyes, which people said Lyon had inherited, were narrow with large brown irises. “You’ve grown so much,” his father said finally.

Lyon hugged his father back when Roman kissed him on the forehead and embraced him, but he almost gagged with the overwhelming whiff of cigarettes mixed with the equally strong smell of perfume.

Julia, Lyon’s mother, entered the living room from the kitchen. His baby brother, Brian, slept in her arms. She smiled when she saw her husband and eldest son. “He’s already more handsome than you,” she joked.

“No. He looks just like me. Don’t you think we look alike?” Roman asked Lyon.

Lyon nodded his head hesitantly, because he never understood how people recognized family resemblances. Both his parents laughed. Roman let him go and told him to change out of his uniform.

He stopped by the door frame of the bedroom to look at his father. Roman didn’t have a mustache when Lyon last saw him, two years ago, when he last left for Saudi. When Roman started working abroad, Lyon was three. He came home every two years, and each time he came back, he was different. This time his father looked altogether larger, because of his prominent belly. There was also a black tattoo on his right arm, an animal, frozen midair in the act of jumping. Lyon was certain the tattoo hadn’t existed two years ago.

True to the adage, news of the balikbayan reached everywhere. Relatives on both sides of the family and long-time friends of Roman’s visited. They all expected him to offer alcohol, and he always did. Such nights were filled with the noisy banter of men downing gin and beer way past midnight, while the women and children struggled to sleep in the small bedroom. When Lyon entered the living room in the morning, the mixed stench of alcohol and cigarettes attacked his nose.

The drinking usually started late afternoons, while Julia cooked dinner. Lyon noticed that men become animated when drinking with other men. Roman joked, talked, and argued with his brothers, in-laws, and friends about all kinds of things. Lyon could never keep up with their conversation, some topics of which he knew he shouldn’t be hearing. He also observed that men get angry when they do not get their pulutan fast enough, so much that Roman often yelled for Julia to deliver his sisig or kinilaw.

They lived in an apartment unit in a row of nine, but the walls were ineffective against the boisterous laughter of drunk men. Complaints were bound to happen. Lyon was playing outside with some cousins when their next-door neighbor Paul knocked on their door. Julia looked embarrassed as he told her that he couldn’t sleep the night before because of the noise. Other complaints soon followed, even from the neighbors farthest away.

When Julia told Roman that neighbors were complaining, he disregarded them. “How can I enjoy drinking when I don’t talk with my visitors?” he reasoned.

On Sundays after mass, Roman always insisted they go to the mall. He never went inside the church, staying well outside of the premises. They always found him sitting on a park bench with cigarette stubs on the ground.

The mall they went to was in the next town. They would arrive just before noon and eat whatever Lyon fancied. Then his father bought him new clothes, shoes, toys, or anything his father thought he might want. But most of Roman’s expenditures were for new appliances and furniture, the apartment gradually becoming smaller, with space lost to a washing machine, a dryer, a larger refrigerator, a flat-screen television, speakers, a sofa to replace their wooden chair, a TV stand, a larger dining table that took up half the space in the kitchen. They always returned home with plastic bags of groceries and boxes filled with the smell of conditioned mall air.

Roman also bought a new computer one Sunday. He set it up as soon as they arrived home. Lyon watched his father unroll, untangle, and plug cords into the monitor and CPU. A few days later, a man came and set up their internet connection.

The computer became Lyon’s favorite thing in the world. Roman taught him how to use Encarta (“For your studies,” Roman said) and introduced him to virtual tours of ancient sites like the Acropolis in Greece, the Abu Simbel in Egypt, the Azuchi Castle in Japan. His father also taught him how to play online games on Miniclip. Lyon usually returned home from school and found his father in front of the computer, and they played games until Julia called them for dinner. Father and son spent a lot of time in front of the computer, trying to beat each other in multiplayer online games.

There were times, however, when Roman didn’t let him use the computer. Lyon didn’t understand at the time. His father acted strange sometimes, like when one Saturday, Lyon woke up to his father laughing. He went out to the living room and saw his father in front of the computer, only wearing his briefs, talking animatedly with the headphones on.

“Pa.” Lyon began to approach his father, but Roman looked at him and raised his hand, telling him to stop. Lyon stepped backwards.

Roman removed his headphones. “What is it?”

“Where’s Ma and Brian?”

“They went to town.” He moved the mouse and clicked something. “Go eat your breakfast,” Roman said. “There’s egg and hotdog on the table, and some fried rice.”

Lyon went to the kitchen. He put food on his plate and then returned to the living room, where Roman was talking to someone again. His father told him to eat in the bedroom. “Don’t come out unless I tell you,” Roman said seriously, and Lyon obeyed. He left Roman in his underwear with the computer.

Julia worked in a hardware store from eight to four and so, throughout his short vacation, Roman watched over Brian. She always said that it was hard for her to pacify Brian when he cried but was easy for Roman. Brian also got used to sleeping between his parents, instead of between Julia and Lyon.

Lyon often arrived home to his father and brother playing airplane in the living room, a game where his father lay down on the floor with his knees raised and Brian seated on his feet. He raised his feet while holding his son’s hands, and the little boy giggled as he kept lowering and raising his feet. Lyon supposed that he had played the same game with his father before, but he couldn’t remember the exhilaration, as a little child, of being raised in the air, laughing, while Roman smiled at him.

Through the years, Lyon had never figured out how to talk to his father, either when he was abroad or when he was home, but he liked spending time with his father.

Roman woke him up once and told him they were going to the mall. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he sat up on the bed and saw a polo laid out on the ironing rack. Brian was on the floor, playing with one of his new toys. Lyon wondered where his mother was, and remembered that she had talked about going to Manila for a friend’s funeral. He asked his father where they were going.

“Somewhere fun,” Roman answered. “Go take a bath.”

When Lyon came out of the bathroom after his bath, Roman told him to put on the polo hanging by the doorknob. The light blue polo, still warm from the ironing, fit Lyon’s small frame perfectly. They’d bought it two weeks earlier at the mall. He pulled one of his pants from the small cabinet, put on socks and shoes, and carried his brother out to the living room. Brian was dressed in a polo, too, a shade darker than his.

Roman also wore a short-sleeved light blue polo identical to Lyon’s. He had a small bottle of perfume with a blue cap that he always sprayed on himself, a strong musk. “Come here,” he beckoned, and Lyon followed. His father sprayed perfume on his neck, damping his shirt’s neckline. “I’m going to introduce you to someone, so you have to look handsome, like me.”

“Who?”

“Secret. You’ll see.”

The trip was long. Lyon kept looking out the window and realized that he wasn’t familiar with what he saw: different stores, buildings, and houses. He realized they were not going to the usual mall. He laid his head on his father’s lap and fell asleep.

“We’re here,” Roman woke him. They unloaded from the jeepney, as did all the other passengers. They were in front of a super mall with two letters for its name, followed by the name of the city. He’d only heard about it, from a classmate who had gone. They followed a steady stream of mall-goers towards the open glass doors. There were separate lines for males and females to enter the mall.

They stopped at a fast food restaurant, Lyon’s favorite. “Let’s eat here first,” Roman said. They occupied an empty table near the door. Roman asked a service employee for a high chair and strapped Brian in. Lyon watched his brother play with the toy robot they’d brought along while waiting for his father, who lined up to order food. The line was long and the counter was far from the entrance.

“Hello. Are you Lyon?”

Lyon looked up in surprise. A woman was standing in front of him. She had a bright, swollen face, and she was wearing a red dress. It took him a while to respond, wondering whether he should answer the stranger or not. She was smiling. He nodded.

The woman sat across the table; her lips were bright red. “I’m your father’s friend,” she said. “I’m Carmina.”

Lyon’s eyes drifted to his father, who was looking back at him and smiling from his place in line. The woman followed his line of sight, and Lyon saw her smile.

“I worked with your father in Saudi. You look just like him,” Carmina said. “It was tiring to get here, right?” She pulled out a comb from her bag and started fixing his hair, which had been messed because he slept in the jeep.

Lyon remained silent until his father returned with a fast food tray containing their meals. He put it down on the table and sat beside Lyon, but not before kissing Carmina on the lips. “Have you introduced yourself to your Tita Carmina?” he asked him.

He nodded, momentarily confused. They started talking; Lyon couldn’t hear them. He fixed his eyes on his plate, eating his food in silence. Carmina doted on Brian, saying he was adorable. His little brother looked scared of the unfamiliar woman.

After eating, they went to the department store, a movie house, the supermarket, another fast food establishment. While walking from the movie house to the supermarket, Lyon found himself looking at a drop tower in the entertainment section of the mall. It was only nine meters tall, according to the sign. The drop didn’t look too scary. Roman must have noticed, because he asked Lyon if he wanted to try the ride. He nodded.

Roman bought the ticket. The man who managed the tiny drop tower strapped Lyon in, at the right end of the bench seat that served as a carriage. Once all five seats were taken by children around his age, the drop tower began moving. Lyon watched the ground fall away as the bench climbed the tower, the people getting smaller, until they reached the top. From up there, he could see Roman and Carmina, who were deep in conversation. Brian was sleeping in Roman’s arms, having refused to be held by Carmina.

Suddenly, the bench dropped, knocking the wind from his lungs. He swallowed the bile that threatened to come out of his throat.

On the ride home, Roman asked him, “So, what do you think of Tita Carmina?”

Lyon didn’t know how to answer. He just looked at his father, blinked a few times, and settled for a tentative smile, even as he remembered the way Roman had kissed Carmina before they boarded the jeep.

Roman smiled back. “Let’s keep this a secret, okay? Don’t tell Mama.”

After that day, the secret was already out so Roman didn’t bother sending him away when he was in front of the computer. For a long time, Lyon dreaded the day that Julia would arrive home to witness Roman video chatting with Carmina. Deep inside, he knew he should tell his mother about that day at the mall, but at the same time, he was afraid. Of what, he didn’t know.

When that day came, Julia cursed. It was the first time Lyon had heard her curse. She stood by the door frame for a few seconds and Lyon, who was sitting on the sofa with Brian, stiffened as realization dawned on her face. In a few seconds, she had slammed the door, stomped to the wall socket, and unplugged the computer. The screen winked out.

“Why the hell did you unplug it?” Roman stood up and faced his wife. Their height difference enabled him to look down at her.

“It was a smell he associated with his father, who people said looked like him, always mixed with the odor of burnt nicotine.”

Julia slapped Roman twice on both cheeks within a second. “I knew it! You have a mistress, again!” She picked up the nearest object, which was Lyon’s math textbook, and threw it at her husband. “Aren’t you ashamed? You’re talking to your woman in front of me and your sons?”

“You weren’t here a while ago.”

“Stop being sarcastic! I can’t believe you have the audacity to show your son that you’re a shameless, cheating excuse for a man!”

“What did you say?” Roman clenched his fists. “I can do anything I want! You’re just my wife, you can’t tell me what to do!” He had raised his voice, and Lyon was sure the neighbors had heard what he said.

Julia pushed Roman’s bare chest, but he didn’t budge. She did it again, but he caught her hands and he pushed her so hard she hit the wall. “You never change! You promised you’d never cheat again!” she screamed.

Brian started crying as their parents shouted at each other, each word harsher than the one before it. Lyon picked his brother up and stood, to get his parents’ attention, to let them know they could hear them shouting.

“Why don’t you just separate?” Lyon piped up. His voice carried throughout the room, interrupting his parents and surprising even himself.

His parents were also clearly stunned, but it only took seconds for Roman’s expression to contort into anger. “Why? Do you want us to separate?” He glared at Lyon with his fists shaking, then took a step towards him. “You think you can handle that, huh? You think you can live without me?”

Lyon stepped back.

“Stop it, Roman!” Julia took Brian from Lyon and carried him out of the house. “Come, Lyon,” she said. Lyon followed after her, and she slammed the door again.

They went to their next-door neighbors, Kuya Paul and his wife, Ate Edith, who suggested that they should drink. The adults spent the night drinking while Lyon listened to their conversation, dominated by his mother. She said that it was not the first time Roman had cheated, and she cried after three bottles of beer. By the fifth she was throwing up in the toilet and slumped on the tiled bathroom floor, reeking of alcohol, just like the house had in the past weeks. She eventually fell asleep leaning against the wall.

Roman fetched them sometime before midnight. He carried Julia home, and Lyon followed, carrying his sleeping brother.

A couple of weeks before he was to return abroad, Roman woke Lyon up. “Take a bath,” he said curtly.

Lyon stayed in bed for a while. Roman left, then Julia came in with a newly bathed Brian. “Mama, where are we going?”

“To your grandparents, in Heaven’s Gate.” She gave Brian to him, then took out a couple of polos from the closet.

Lyon noted the strain in her voice. Silence had reigned in the house in the days since, especially between husband and wife, but his parents had somehow started talking again, even if they only did so when necessary, like when they had to put up a façade of marital harmony for visitors. Planning a visit to his father’s dead parents, he supposed, was necessary. They were still a family, and there was peace as long as Roman only talked to Carmina behind his wife’s back. No apologies were made, as far as he knew, just a silent agreement to get along, for Brian and him.

“Go on,” said Julia, handing him a towel.

Roman was in the bathroom, so Lyon waited in the living room. He turned the television on and was watching a Sunday morning cartoon on the local channel when Roman came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. When he saw Lyon sitting idly, his expression went dark. “Take a bath now.”

Lyon turned off the television. He felt his father’s eyes following him as he went to the bathroom.

When he finished his bath, his father was already wearing his pants, but not his polo. Roman held Brian in his arms and played with him. Lyon went to his parents’ bedroom where his mother was ironing his light blue polo. He sat on the edge of the bed and just watched his mother iron the bottom part of the polo. When she was finished, she handed him the polo and left to take a bath.

Lyon put on the polo and pants, and then went out again. His father had stopped playing with Brian, who was on the floor with his toy robot.

Roman was sitting on the sofa. “Come here,” he commanded.

Lyon followed. His father sprayed him again with his perfume, the one with the blue bottle cap, all over his shirt and neck. He’d gotten used to the odor. His father used it on him every week, but he suddenly got nauseous when he breathed the fragrance now. He felt as disoriented as the first day when he’d smelled the cigarette smoke inside the house. He gagged, as if he would vomit.

“Buy me hair gel,” Roman ordered, holding out a crisp fifty-peso bill to Lyon.

To get to the nearest sari-sari store, Lyon would need to walk by the main road. He disliked walking to get there. “I don’t want to,” he refused, again surprising himself.

Roman’s forehead scrunched. “What did you say?”

“I don’t want to walk to the store, Pa,” Lyon muttered. Roman stood up and took a step toward him. Lyon stepped back.

Roman held out his hand. He was still holding the bill. “Go borrow the neighbor’s bike,” he said.

“I don’t know how to ride a bike, Pa.”

“Then walk!”

“I really don’t want to.” As an afterthought, Lyon muttered, “Why don’t you buy your hair gel? You will use it anyway.”

The blow came, hard. His father’s palm sent Lyon reeling, and he hit the wall.

“Useless, gago!” his father shouted. Lyon felt a foot hitting his leg. “Is this what your teachers teach you in school? To disobey your parents?”

Lyon watched his father go to the door and pick up the broomstick leaning against it. He quickly stood up and ran to the kitchen, out to the backdoor. Roman ran after him and he felt the broomstick hit his leg first. He fell and two blows followed, one on his side and another on his arm. Roman was shouting, cursing, at him. “How dare you disobey me! I dress you! I feed you!” Two more blows. “You’re nothing without me!”

Julia had gotten out of the bathroom and was behind Roman, pulling him back. “Stop, Roman! I said stop it!” She slapped her husband’s shoulders, his chest, but he ignored her. Lyon cried and winced with each blow. He saw someone, a playmate maybe, peeking out from the door of the next apartment unit. He only saw the broomstick as a blurry object coming at him. Inside the house, Brian cried because he couldn’t see anyone else in the room with him. When the blows stopped, Lyon just sat there, hugging his legs and crying.

They didn’t visit his grandparents’ graves.

Lyon was left alone at home when his mother saw his father off at the bus station in the town center. Before they left, he pretended to be asleep, even as Roman sat beside him in bed and shook him in a gentle manner, asking him to wake up. He opened his eyes, but he blinked and squinted to make it look like he was sleepy. Julia joined her husband to tell Lyon they were going out already and he should say goodbye. He muttered goodbye to his father and kept his eyes shut, even as Roman kissed him on the forehead, his breath stinking of cigarettes.

When he heard the front door close, he peeked out the bedroom window. He followed his parents with his eyes as they walked towards the waiting shed where the tricycle drivers waved at them. The situation perplexed Lyon; he didn’t understand how his parents could stay civil towards each other. The three months had been short, but so much had happened since his father arrived.

He went out to the living room. The apartment was quiet, and even the neighbors seemed to be sharing in this silence. There was breakfast on the dining table, but he didn’t feel like eating. Instead, Lyon turned on the television. He had just sat down on the wooden chair when he noticed the tiny bottle of perfume on top of the TV stand, with its sapphire blue cap and clear, still liquid. His father must have left it for him, or, most likely, his father just forgot to take it with him.

Lyon realized that his father hadn’t smelled musky when he said goodbye. There was only the whiff of cigarettes, the odor that had taken over the apartment when Roman arrived three months ago. Among the belongings he brought with him was a whole suitcase filled only with reams of cigarette boxes. Some he gave away, but he kept most of them. He smoked inside the house, preferring to watch TV while consuming one stick after another. Julia emptied out the ashtray every day. The reek of cigarettes overpowered her sampaguita air freshener so much that she stopped using it altogether and just kept all the windows and doors open.

Even with the bottle nowhere near his nose, Lyon could smell the perfume. It was too strong, too imposing; it was a smell he associated with his father, who people said looked like him, always mixed with the odor of burnt nicotine. Again, he wondered how people saw the resemblance, and decided that he didn’t like that people thought that. Gripping the bottle in his hand, he decided that he wouldn’t be using it, even if his father had apologized after the beating and explained to him that it was his way of showing his love.

There was a trash can by the front door. His mother wouldn’t miss it.