Saturday, March 15, 2008 Sula: No father, like son By Jun Sula Commentary
I ASKED a provincial official if he felt alluded to by a Sun.Star story about a fatherless son whose birth certificate was surreptitiously circulated in media circles in Manila recently.
"I will never disown my own flesh-and-blood," he said. "But," he quickly qualified, "I will never cheat on my wife, either." Of course, the official, a long-time acquaintance, wouldn't want to be identified, just like the father of the boy named Rafael in the birth certificate.
"But assuming, for the sake of argument, that you did father a son out of wedlock, would you sign your name on the birth certificate," I pressed.
"I don't want to start an argument, especially with my wife, over a theoretical subject that runs the risk of incriminating me pointlessly and disturbing my domestic peace," he said.
"But, as you said, it's only a theoretical exercise and definitely absent with malice,"
"Come on," he said," a theoretical question is always malicious."
"Why would anyone ask that kind of question?"
I receded after I saw his brows join his hair in upward direction. I knew he wasn't' about to cry.
Next question, please.
"Who do you think is the provincial official being alluded to in the story," I shot back.
"It's easy," he suggested, as he started counting his left fingers with his right index and his right fingers with his left index. He stopped at his pinky.
"Wow," I exclaimed. "That few?"
"I could be wrong," he said. "I'm good with the opposite sex but not with counting opposite fingers. But there are fewer than half a dozen officials in the province that I could think of as suspect."
"How do you narrow down the list to the most likely candidate?" I asked.
"Piece of cake. Just work hard on the facts given in the document."
"Like?"
"The name of the boy, for instance," he said, "Why would a father name his son Rafael. It sounds saintly, doesn't it? I know someone by that name -- also a former provincial official -- and decided not to name his son after him, for some reason. He named him after the king of the jungle.
"You mean, the father could be religious?"
"Well, the popes had their own indiscretions, too and lived to name their sons and daughters."
"I guess they probably signed the birth certificate, too?"
"That's it. Sire and sign -- not slam bang, thank you, mam and sign off."
"That explains the mother's name. Lourdes."
"See. That's where religious people go for a pilgrimage where they fall on their knees and kiss the lady."
"And the BMW?"
"That means I'm not the father, for one. I can't afford that lifestyle. Not even many of my colleagues here at the Capitol. Under the law, it can be a serious sin. And I'm not inclined to go to the confessory. It could be bugged or the priest hearing my confession could be a friend of you-know-who. That's how the Katipuneros were rounded by the guardia civil."
"What about the mother's house in an upscale village and the son going school abroad?"
"It only means he's a good father and lover because he looks after them very well."
"It also means he's making good money."
"Double jobs, probably. But that's not allowed in government, unless you have permission from authorities."
"One of you is a basketball coach."
"The guy is clean. Just look at his head."
"What about the old man?"
"He flaunts his conquests like Pacquiao and gives them the title, too"
"That leaves three out of six." I said "One has a mounting problem while the other is a virtual eunuch," he said.
"That leaves the new kid on the block as the likely father," I said.
"Your guess is as good as the birth certificate," he said.
"But he doesn't fit the description of the boy in our story," I said.
"That means you're barking up the wrong tree," he barked at me.
"Maybe I should ask our parish priest," I mumbled at walked away, disappointed.
