An excerpt from "A Case of Two Husbands"

By Heinz Lawrence Ang

“WELL, ROMULITO,” the Teniente Rafael Hurtado began. “It’s very good of you to visit this old hombre, eh, no? If only I hadn’t drunk my private stash last week—”

But the criollo officer hardly gave the impression of being old. True, white strands were already creeping into his hair, beard, and mustache even though he was only in his thirty-eighth year, and his former Spanish military uniform was more dirtied and frayed than ever. Yet the Teniente’s limbs still moved with ease as he gesticulated in conversation, and his dark eyes still pierced with the same mixture of humor and raw shrewdness that Romulito, now of the Guardia Civil in Manila, remembered from six years ago. And the comandante of the cuadrilla, who mixed the local beverages as he did Tagalog and Castellano, still drank as heavily as ever.

“No, no, Señor Teniente. It’s all right, really. It’s just a short vacation, after all.”

“Exactly, you stupid Indio! You don’t visit this backwater town often enough. I don’t get the chance to corrupt you everyday anymore. Now you’re going to stay a sad and decent person forever. Puñeta! All the gallivanting we could have enjoyed together! All the whorehouses we could have visited! Ah! That would've been fun, eh?”

“Dios mío! I love my wife, Señor Teniente!”

“Pah, you’re a hopeless case all right, Romulito,” said the Teniente. “One thing you must know about them mujeres is that sometimes—no, no, I mean most of the time—they do not desire love, but rather flattery, caresses, and the occasional romping! That’s why women go out of their way to dress flamboyantly and wear colorete and heavy perfumes, eh? And—ah! Here we are!”

The door opened and a woman stepped into the cuartel. Her face seemed ageless, as if caught somewhere between the salt of a woman’s twenties and the dignity of her forties. But she was all in black, as if widowed, though her attire was of the most expensive satin weaves.          

“No, no, I can manage. Stay with the carruaje,” she turned around and told her cochero. Facing the two, criollo and Indio, she asked, “Is the Señor Teniente here?”

“The one and only, señora!” The Teniente rose from his seat and bowed. “And how is this humble servant to be of service, eh?”

“Buenos días, Señor Teniente.” The woman nodded. “I am, in society, known as Doña Fermina Aragon, of Villa Batangas. I thought it best to consult you with regard to my problem, if you would be so considerate. I know this is not within your jurisdiction, but you are my best hope. The Señor Teniente is unmatched in finding and uncovering things and—”

“Ah, señora! Really, that is too much!”

“—Oh, but what must I do, Señor Teniente? My dear Luis is missing! And I fear my first husband took him. It is terrible, señor, terrible!”

Romulito sprang up. “What!”

“Eh? Quiet, Romulito! I’m sure our señora here has a good reason for having two husbands, no?” •

> Heinz Lawrence Ang graduated from the Ateneo de Manila University in 2011. He enjoys pasta, traveling, Philippine and Western history, and video games.