It had been a long day. He came earlier than usual to help cover the remainder of a friend's shift. His friend was going off to a hot date, it was said. The heat was a torture, and walking the two miles in this humidity had caused him to sweat through his shirt. But he was prepared. He had a spare one with him, even cleaner, very white, and by the time he put on his jacket that they were required to leave behind as it was restaurant property, he looked very cool in the air conditioned banquet hall. Customers were already filling up the place, and the AC helped lure even the die-hard ones as long as they had the money. Most of them were like him, a Chinese immigrant, but the rest were middle-class Filipinos who found the Chinese food a good break from their own beloved cuisine. But many of them came for the great service. And our waiter has a good following of loyal customers who sat at his section of tables all the time. They often would rather wait until a table was open than to sit at another section. He was always very attentive, very gregarious, very friendly, without being slavish. He was able to make something of a friendship with whoever sat at one of his tables. Sometimes his fellow waiters got jealous. But the manager loved him as his section drew a lot of customers. He would also share stories with the customers, his adventures crossing the South China Sea, the people he met and the wondrous stories he had heard and now repeated. He was a great story-teller, weaving plots to attentive eyes, but at the same time he always got them to order without interrupting their attention, and he knew when to leave them alone to their food. He could tell who was super hungry and who was there just to relax.
For all this he made decent money as a servant of the restaurant. There was a lot of tips left for him, and as the owner started to turn off the lights of the restaurant, our waiter was just about finished counting the tips he earned from his section of tables. He folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket, also where a small knife was hanging. You never know this time of the night in Manilla. He said goodbye to his fellow waiters and the big boss, who, as always, gave him a big smile as he bid him good night. The big boss was born here but his father came from a town not too far from the waiter's in China. Before the waiter goes down the stairs, he turned and asked the boss, who was doing one last inspection, "How's Maria?" "She's doing great! Watching a little too much TV, but all right. When the new grandson comes to our world, she will be more active," he said, grinning, referring to his Filipina wife. "It's nice to have an established family already," the waiter added. The boss nodded and said, "I was lucky. I found Maria pretty early on."
"Right, you told me. But did you have someone in China already?" he asked.
"Maybe. You know how things were. They just chose a girl for you when you were a little kid and expect you two to get married by some ridiculously young age later," the cherubic boss said, grabbing his set of keys while the other waiters stepped out. As he locked the door with the waiter behind him, he added, "But I can't be bothered. Here was my home; I wasn't looking back. I sent money to my parents and that was to me enough for being the second son, you know?" The clanging sound of the keys as he turned the one needed interrupted the talk. He resumed talking to the waiter, still in their dialect, "I am glad I did that. Not looking back. I never even thought about the possibility of some girl waiting for me. If there was one, she wouldn't have known who I was until the wedding night." As they walked down together on the marble steps, the boss finished by saying, "Now I am the proud owner and manager of one of the best restaurants in town, and partly thanks to you!" He padded his favorite waiter on the back with a smile. But he noticed that the waiter was forcing out smiles, and he asked, "What's up?"
"No, nothing, sir. Just silly thoughts," said the waiter.
"We aren't working now. You can tell me, your friend!" said the man with the red smiling face.
"I should be going. I have an appointment," the waiter confessed.
"At this hour? Must be a lady," the boss said, then broke into a guffaw, padding the shorter man again, this time a little rougher. Then he said without waiting for a response, "Hey, this some hooker down the block in that brothel? That place is disgusting. Find yourself a cleaner place!"
The waiter was embarrassed and shook his head, "No, not like that. Just having a tea with this lady friend." He was looking at the ground the whole time. The boss dished out a bill from his wallet and said, "Take her for a drink, not some crazy useless tea. Get her all relaxed, brother!" The waiter shook his head violently and refused, "You're too nice, but this isn't necessary. I just wanted to talk to her."
The chubby man stuffed the bill in the waiter's right palm and said, "Whatever. But make sure she's pretty. Is she pretty?"
The waiter nodded and then asked, almost looking at the man in front of him, "If you had known that girl in China, if you had met her.... Would you still have married here?" At this point the chubby man puts his left hand on the shorter man's shoulder and said, "I would. But that's me. You are a more decent man than me. Maybe your heart tells you something different. I know which brothels are good, but I think you have never even thought about going inside one, am I right?"
It was true. He has only been thinking about making as much money as possible. And after he made a final bid of good night to the boss and started walking alone towards the cafe a few blocks down, he thought about his life. for a long time he had only thought about his family. At first it was just an adventure to be here. He was young and it wasn't hunger and a family that drove him here, it was adventure. He had heard so much about the adventures his ancestors had in worlds far away across oceans. But then one day, after the War was over, he went back to his village.
Why?
And there he let them find him a wife and then he married her.
Why?
And then he left them all to return here so that he could make money for them.
Really?
Yes, really. He found out when he left that a baby was coming. Even a greater motivation to work. He thought about his wife back home and the unborn child, and he made an effort to be even friendlier, more talkative, more attentive,so he could send the money back. But something had always been wrong. He didn't have much money saved for himself, and he always went home feeling empty, not just of money after most of it was sent back, but his soul, it felt empty. He was in an exciting city he had worked in then fought for and now work in again. And he had many friends, but there was a kind of love that the city hadn't been able to give him, unless you counted how it gave him money to send back to the people he supposedly loved. But somehow that conduit of money transfer never made him feeling any less empty.
He turned the corner, instinctively holding on his knife and releasing it only when the coast was clear. He had been attacked once, and he never let his guard down again. Imagine if something happened to him; what would happen to his family. Lately he was also saving up money to buy a ticket back soon to reunite with his family. See the child that is going to be born soon, within days. Back then there were no easy ways of instantly getting information. No phones, and telegrams were expensive. So when the child was born he wouldn't know until much later. That thought made him feel even more disconnected. He had risked a lot to stay connected, but there was something fragile about the connection; it was all just money and the letters he received from his wife weren't helping him with his loneliness at all. He had tried to write her a lot, especially in the beginning, but then more and more he wondered if she even understood what he was writing. He was being poetic, deep, his thoughts were wrenched out deep from his soul, but she never mentioned what he wrote or gave him feedback. So eventually she stopped expressing himself, just tell her over and over again that he was doing fine, just busy with work.
He stood in front of the cafe. There was a small glass pane on the door and through which he could see that the Filipina lady friend of his was already inside, sitting with a smile and waiting patiently without knowing that her gentleman friend was standing outside with his thoughts and feelings. In China you would never do this. A man and a woman didn't just meet somewhere and talked. And where he was raised, a village, not even two men would talk like the way they had been talking, about life, about love, about perspectives in life. She knew that he was married, but she still was paying attention to him. In China he would have been off-limits to any friendship with a woman, but here he felt he was being taken as a human being.
He reached in his pocket to take out the bill his boss had earlier stuffed in his hand, but it was the wrong pocket. It was the pocket with his tips of the day. There was a lot of money, and he thought it was the most he had made in one day so far. granted, it was a long day. Then he thought, at this rate, he could soon have enough money to run his own business. Not restaurant business, but something more interesting, like restaurant supplies, produce delivery, import export too. Suddenly that joy he had when he was just 15 crossing the South China Sea flared up. His life was really here.
No?
He could still be sending money back.
To buy off guilt, perhaps.
But what a life he would have. He looked through the glass pane again and saw the same patient smile on that beautiful, auburn face with big brown eyes. He remembered wanting to touch those hands of the same auburn hand. They were darker than his wife's peasant skin, but infinitely smoother. Then guilt came and he had to excuse himself that time. She didn't complain. She gave him space. Now he thought about his joy with her in the center. People in his village didn't seem to know much about joy. Granted, they had food shortage during the War and even after. But still, it wasn't just the War, but also these were simple people whose sole purpose in life is to survive and smiling was something of a lower priority. At least that was what he thought.
And with this thought, he released his hand from the wad of bills in the wrong pocket and opened the door with a big smile. Her reciprocating smile was even bigger.
