Dogeaters Read Free Page A

of the week, each story beginning on a Sunday and ending on a Saturday. Everyone weeps at the inevitable, tragic conclusion on the seventh night.
    According to my father, Love Letters appeals to the lowest common denominator. My Uncle Agustin’s version of the lowest common denominator is the “ bakya crowd.” It’s the same reason the Gonzagas refuse to listen to Tagalog songs, or go to Tagalog movies. I don’t care about any of that. As far as Love Letters goes, I’m hooked—and though I’d definitely die if cousin Pucha ever found out, I cry unabashedly in the company of Lola Narcisa and all the servants.
    Without fail, someone dies on Love Letters. There’s always a lesson to be learned, and it’s always a painful one. Just like our Tagalog movies, the serial is heavy with pure love, blood debts, luscious revenge, the wisdom of mothers, and the enduring sorrow of Our Blessed Virgin Barbara Villanueva. It’s a delicious tradition, the way we weep without shame. If Pucha could see me, I’d never hear the end of it. She has no use for Barbara Villanueva, Patsy Pimentel, or Nestor Noralez, whom she calls “The King Of Corny.” She has no use for anyone who isn’t Kim Novak, or Rock Hudson.
LOVE LETTER #99
    Dalisay (Barbara Villanueva) is a beautiful young servant who’s been deflowered by the handsome Mario (Cesar Carmelo), the son of wealthy landowner Don Pedro de Leon (Nestor Noralez) and his wife, the haughty mestiza Doña Hilda (Patsy Pimentel).
    Dalisay writes Mario a love letter as soon as she discovers she is pregnant. Mario is away at a military school in Baguio. To make matters worse, Dalisay must function in her role as servant in Don Pedro’s hacienda as if nothing has happened, especially under the suspicious scrutiny of the arrogant and possessive Doña Hilda, who calls her only son “a gift from God.” Dalisay, of course, has no one to turn to or confide in.
    The letter is intercepted by the snoopy headmaster Pating (Nestor Noralez) at Mario’s military school. Pating doesn’t tell Mario about the letter, but instead sends it back to Mario’s horrified parents. Don Pedro and Doña Hilda have their hearts set on their son marrying Elvira (Patsy Pimentel), the daughter of the town mayor. Elvira is actually in love with a soldier of humble origins, but she is willing to marry Mario to please her parents.
    The beautiful young servant is cruelly thrown out of the house on a stormy night, and there is no place she can run to but her widower father’s hut on the outskirts of town. Dalisay’s father, Mang Berto (Nestor Noralez), is a poor tenant farmer who works Don Pedro’s land. Mang Berto vows to take care of his innocent daughter, and accepts responsibility for the care of her unborn child. Everyone in the small town is scandalized, and treats the miserable Dalisay with scorn.
    Mario wants to come home for Christmas and profess his love for the poor servant girl at the risk of being disowned by his powerful father. He still has no idea about Dalisay’s condition. Doña Hilda is worried about the possible outcome of her beloved son’s impending visit, and decides the only practical solution is to get rid of Dalisay by staging an accident. The unsuspecting young girl awaits the birth of her child, meekly resigned to the fact that Mario refuses to see her.
    Meanwhile….
    Barbara Villanueva’s melodious voice sings an ominous invocation against witches: “ Asin , suca / get-teng, luya / bawang, lasona ”…“Salt, vinegar / scissors, ginger / garlic, onion”…An invocation against death, to protect her unborn child.
    It is raining outside, a torrential rain, a sign that the typhoon season is about to begin. I can smell the rain, a thickness in the air. The furious downpour clatters against the tiles on our roof, beating a mist up from the ground. I pray the streets will flood and there will be no school tomorrow. It is a godsend, this sudden storm, this lightning and thunder and static