THE WOMAN WHO HAD TWO NAVELS
463
excited about-as she could not help noticing (she said) all even–
ing. Paco laughed, and clicked into step: h e told her all about his
journeys of discovery through the streets of Manila-until it was time
to return to the bandstand. She was with several young girls whom
she had introduced as not her daughters; she danced a few times with
the girls' young men but mostly sat alone at the table, nibbling salted
watermelon seeds, and chatting with people round about.
Before she left, a little past midnight, she called Paco again and
suggested that-since he was
curious
about Manila; and she, about
Hong Kong-they should meet and trade information. He agreed;
she gave him her card; and late the next morning-and every day
after that-they met at her house, which was a white Spanish mansion
in a suburb of tree-lined avenues, very, very prodigal with pavement,
and of newly built mansion villas, whose terraced lawns were unfor–
tunately cluttered with signs that warned: "DANGER-The Dogs Are
Savage !" and "BEWARE-There Are Armed Guards Watching This
Area Night and Day !"
Paco had no intention of snuggling up with a married woman old
enough to be his mother-nor by the least flick of an eyelash did she
ever indicate she had anything up her sleeve ex'cept a lady's arm.
If
he was Tex to her she was never Concha to him; though they were
daily together they were seldom alone together. She was an active
clubwoman: in the mornings Paco drove her to hospitals, orphanages,
committees, conventions, cultural lectures, and mah-jongg sessions. In
the afternoons she took him for tours through the slum barrios of
the city, so he might savor the style and swagger of what she called
"los majos de Manila",'
or out to the country, so he might see carabaos
and hear folk music; or to the homes of intensely nationalistic families,
so he might catch-among the lavender and old lace; the ikons and
family albums and interior patios; the elaborate baroque furniture
and the framed daguerreotypes of mustachioed patriots-a feel of the
country in the old days. In the evenings they met at whichever night
club he was playing, where, arriving late with people picked up from
the night's parties, not dancing much and remaining cool and composed
while folk rioted, she sat and nibbled watermelon seeds until the club
closed, when she would collect Paco and a dozen other persons for a
midnight snack at her house.
Intimate with no one, she yet needed a crowd always around her ;
the door shutting at dawn on the last guest oppressed her like a
coffin's lid. Locked in her room, she paced the floor and prayed, wring–
ing her hands but unable to weep; and quietly rocked herself to sleep,
