Chapter 3: Compensation
I could get used to the lack of plumbing; we did not have pipes in Korea and Vietnam either, and we had to fetch our water and dig filthy latrines to relieve ourselves. I could get used to the lack of electricity; here, the weather was nice and warm, and there was no need for a heater. I did not mind that there was no internet since I was an old soul and never did or even wanted to learn new technologies.
What I couldn't get used to was the presence of a doting daughter. Isabela Lardizábal was Martín's only daughter from his deceased wife. The lovely 17-year-old cherub would not leave me alone. She made sure I ate properly and on time, cooking tasty dishes and baking appetizing pastries. I regularly got assaulted by sudden hugs and forehead kisses. Whenever I was alone, she would sit beside me and start to talk, often giving me the latest gossip in town.
I couldn't believe a man could get this much love. And it kept me planted, constantly reminding me that I might be in a fantasy land. And that I should not get attached to this wonderful new reality, lest it shatter and leave me irrecoverably heartbroken.
But August went by, then September, October, and November, and then the last month of the year 1898 arrived. By then, the doubts had melted. Although I felt guilt for taking the identity of another man, I started to be Martín. John McClair of North Carolina was sent to the back of my mind as I gave in and resolved to enjoy this new life.
I became a father to Isabela, which was a joy and a responsibility.
I also took over Martín's estates, which ensured that I would live this second life in relative luxury. His abaca plantations, for instance, had singlehandedly made him one of the richest, if not the richest, men in the province.
I also took the mantle of Politico-Military Governor of the far-flung province of Marinduque, which, as it turned out, was not as impressive as it sounded. It did not exist in the Spanish era, with Marinduque being under the jurisdiction of the nearby province of Tayabas. The months-old position had an authority that barely extended beyond the towns of Boac and Mogpog.
Nonetheless, I got to live in the governor's quarters in the Casa Real, built to accommodate the Spanish governors during their occasional visits to the island, as well as enjoy the love and respect of the townsmen.
I interpreted this sudden and unbelievable turning of fate as God's compensation for the sad and pathetic end of my former life.
The choir of roosters greeting another rising of the sun graced my ears again. It was noise to me months ago; now, a morning would be disturbingly odd without hearing them.
It was a sunny start to the day. I could hear the distant voices and the subtle noises of moving carts as early risers passed by the building below.
A group of kids ran around the plaza, flying their colorful kites, taking advantage of the windiness of the season. The air smelled of the sea, of wet soil, and dead leaves. Here, December did not have the curse of snow.