“There, there, Mei Lu,”“He is a grown man, hehas his own life,”
“What kind of Brazilian?”
ffrom manuel
“Twenty years he stayed away,”
“He’s bringing home his Brazilian wife,”
“I don’t know,”
“I speak little English...”
“Sssh...”“Dope,man. That’s where the action is, haven’t you heard?”“Wait, my wife’s with me,”“Consuelo, este e o meo primo. My cousin Carlos.”“Carlos, mi esposa,Consuelo.”
“Such a big guy you are now, Ah Puy,”“Where’s your stuff?”
“I can help, maybe?”
“Consuelo, this is mymother Rosario. She’s been dying to meet you. She’s a soprano.”
“It’s okay, Consuelo,”“Elaesta so umpouco cansada.”
“She’s not feeling all that well,”“Oh no, she’sjust a bit fatigued.”
“Oh, is she sick?”
“Excuse me,”
“Come on, Consuelo, give it one more slot,”
“I can walk,”“I can walk,”“after all these years.“Bless you; you arean angel of the Lord.”
She’s now a widow,you moron,I curse you this dayrefugees’ camp of a factory turn into a nursery
After Consuelo's death, there were reports about a "black widow" in Jolo who could cure any ailment. I never checked out the story and she has since moved to Malaysia. On the first anniversary of their arrival in Manila, I received a postcard from Rio signed Manuel and Consuelo.
Samantha and Nic-Nic's baby Consuelo, who has Sam's thin lips and eyes, points at something in the early evening sky. I look up thinking she's discovered another constellation and know my life will never be the same.
I'd probably never know the whole truth about my cousin Manuel. Or what myAunt Mei Lu and cousin Consuelo said to each other in their fifteen minutes togetherness. But I know it shouldn't be bothering me as I sit here in the veranda of our beach house in Bauang, La Union.