Chapter Twenty-six

Carmen looked at her reflection in shop windows. She didn’t care that her dress was now shabby and soiled. The truth was it had been a disappointment. The problem with having nice things to wear was that you needed to show them off to people who could appreciate them. That cow Maria was too spiteful and jealous to say anything nice about her no matter how pretty she looked, and, as for the people of the village, they were cattle as well, stupid beasts who worked, ate, and slept. They knew nothing and couldn’t appreciate anything. No, to enjoy wearing a dress a woman needed a proper audience, people educated in the ways of fashion. And today, she decided, she wouldn’t hurry making her choice. Last time she had been too excited and paid too much attention to the smooth sales talk of the woman who owned the shop. This time it would be her own choice, and it wouldn’t be just a dress. To look really well dressed a lady needed other things, the right hat, the right shoes. These things mattered to people sophisticated to know about them.

Carmen went back to the same shop she had bought the last dress and was welcomed by the owner. The last dress had been a good one but not one of the more expensive, the sort a superior servant might buy to wear on Sundays. She had recommended it because she had pigeonholed Carmen as a young woman who had saved hard to buy one good dress and it would have to serve her on her day off and on Sundays for several years. It had been smart and durable. On seeing Carmen again the shopkeeper was puzzled and intrigued by its condition, as if it had been worn for a long journey on foot, a very long journey. When Carmen announced she wanted a new dress, a better one, the shopkeeper’s surprise and curiosity both grew.

‘My dear, what happened to your dress?’

Carmen gave her a look.

‘My dear, it’s none of your business. Now, if you have anything better than this, much better, then I will stay and consider what you show me. If not I will take my custom elsewhere.’ And she walked to a chair, sat down, and folded her hands on her lap.

The shopkeeper paused only for a second. She was a proud woman and had been rudely snubbed, but while she was in her shop she was a shopkeeper, so she forced a smile to her lips; after all this woman seemed determined to pay well. ‘Yes, Madame, I think I can show some things you may like.’

‘Very well: begin.’

When she finally settled on a dress it was one of deep red with puffed out shoulders, a tight waist, flared skirt, the bosom edged with fine, white lace, and an embroidered, stiff collar. She also bought a small straw hat trimmed with feathers. She had enough money but the shop, alas, didn’t sell shoes. She decided, however, that shoes weren’t too important as the dress came to the floor and her feet would hardly be seen at all. Shoes could wait until another day. She decided to wear her purchases straight away and show them off on those streets of San Juan where she was sure she would turn the heads of any gentlemen who could appreciate beauty when they saw it. Having paid she told the shop owner to keep the dress she had left. If it was properly cleaned and mended at the hem it might be of use to some poor servant girl who couldn’t afford to buy a new one. The shop owner thanked her fulsomely and showed her to the door all smiles and compliments. Carmen had suddenly become a good customer: two dresses in just over a week, the second one of her most expensive. Having closed the door she turned back into the shop.

‘Slut.’

Carmen made one more purchase: a pretty and quite impractical white parasol, all lace frills and ribbons. She opened it outside the shop where she had bought it and set out to enjoy her walk through the smarter streets of San Juan. Her leisurely stroll was a great success from the very beginning. San Juan had its social elite who did their best to keep up with Manila fashions and the shop Carmen had used to buy the dress was the one most favoured by ladies of fashion. Fortunately for Carmen the dress she had chosen had only come in the previous day and was the very latest design; having made its debut in Paris only eighteen months before. As she walked Carmen was more than gratified to see that she had, as she thought, been able to turn more than a few heads: ladies as well as gentlemen. The dress, hat, and parasol were a great success. But soon the first flush of pleasure began to wane. What to do now? If she went back to Enrique’s house there would only be Maria and she knew how she would behave. Enrique might be there but he probably wouldn’t be much better. Look at how he’d behaved last time, hardly noticed her and when she had gone to his room that night the door had been locked. He might be Spanish and educated but he still had no taste. That was his trouble: being a priest had knocked all the taste for beauty out of him. Look at the way he was in bed, fumbling, too hurried, all pushing and grunting. It was passion without pleasure. He took and she gave, but it wasn’t exciting or beautiful or anything like it was with her husband who knew how to make love. With Enrique there was nothing for her except hard work. Of course he was a priest and that must make a difference: all the time he was pushing and grunting he knew he was pushing and grunting his way to hell. Oh well, he was the priest, she wasn’t: it was no sin for her. It may be wrong to let a man who is not your husband get inside you but this was different. Her husband knew and had agreed it was the only thing to do, the only way for them to get out of the Philippines and to America with enough money to start a little business. Everyone became rich in America, she knew that, everyone succeeded. That was where she belonged, on the streets of some American city wearing the latest fashions. In America they could be happy and she would have a nice house and servants and all the dresses she wanted …

The man who stood before blocking her way raised his hat, held out a white handkerchief and smiled.

‘Excuse me, Señorita, but is this yours? Did you drop it?’

Carmen looked at the handkerchief and then at the man. He wasn’t very good looking, nor particularly young, but he was very well dressed, expensively dressed, in a white suit of fine cut. From his head to his feet everything about him spoke of money added to which, from his accent, he was Spanish.

With some regret she answered his question.

‘No, it’s not mine.’

But how she wished it had been.

‘A pity. It is always a pleasure to do a kindness for a stranger, especially when that stranger is so pretty.’ Carmen wasn’t sure what to do. Such words from a casual meeting on the public street almost amounted to a crude insult, not a compliment. The man, though obviously aware of the situation, continued. ‘I apologise of course for speaking as I do but I am an artist, a painter, and we painters must be allowed a little latitude, surely? If I create a thing of beauty I want those people who see it to say so, to let me know they appreciate what I have done and what I am. So, when I see something of beauty I must say so, I cannot let the petty restrictions of social convention restrict my natural instinct. For the artist beauty comes first, everything else,’ he made a small gesture with his hand which encompassed all that surrounded them, ‘all of this which people call life, is nothing more than a blank canvas awaiting the hand of creation, awaiting the eye of the artist to bring it truly to life.’ Without having realised it Carmen found she had begun walking beside this man. She liked his looks, his voice, and what he was saying. Of course if he was an artist, a painter, then what he said was true: you are allowed to be different if you are an artist. But what she liked most was what he said about her, that she was beautiful. ‘Have you ever been to Paris?’

She was almost ashamed to have to answer.

‘No. I have never left the Philippines.’

‘Ah. In Paris you would be appreciated. In Paris you would have been a muse, the inspiration of someone like myself.’ Here he paused, pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket by its chain, and flicked it open. ‘Excuse my boldness but I am on my way to dine, early, yes, but in food as in fashion I make my own rules. You would not by any chance care to join me?’

Maria knew what her answer should be. Artist or no, respectable women didn’t go and dine with total strangers whom they had met quite casually on the street. On the other hand she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which was a long time ago, and it struck her with some force that she was hungry, very hungry indeed.

The struggle was as brief as the outcome was inevitable and when he held out the crook of his arm she shamelessly slid hers into his.