After seeing his uncle Boyet forcing himself on Lydia at the back side of the bodega where his father used to pile all those metal scrapes and some plastic and glass bottles, he decided not to tell anyone what he saw that night. He knew why; he was afraid.
By now, Orlan had noticed the silent fear in Lydia’s eyes whenever uncle Boyet is in their house. He would notice too how queer Lydia and uncle Boyet would look at each other whenever their eyes met. Lydia’s eyes seemed to dance crazily, and those black circles would quiver in fright. As for uncle Boyet’s, he could only hiss the word “maniac” under his breath.
“Orlan.” It was his uncle Boyet.
“Uncle?” His heart skipped a bit after hearing his name being called by that familiar voice.
“What’s wrong with you?” his uncle asked after they were left alone in the kitchen that Sunday noon. Orlan’s family was having a small gathering of all close relatives of his father. Occasions like that had seemed ordinary now for his family.
“Me?” he paused for a while and forced a laugh. “No, uncle. Why did you ask?”
“You sure?”
This time, Orlan saw his uncle’s eyes piercing right through his. And he felt his ears burning.
Orlan tried to laugh coolly.
“Why uncle? You seem so worried about me.”
“Worried. You’re right, Orlan.” And he tapped his hand on his shoulder, and Orlan felt its weight.
“What do you mean, uncle?”
It took a few seconds before his uncle started to talk.
“I’ve been noticing you lately.” Orlan swallowed air on his throat.
“Like what?”
“You were looking rather strangely at me…and…” His uncle stopped for a while and looked at Orlan again. “…and at your sister.”
“Lydia?” Orlan tried to laugh but he knew it was of no use at the moment.
“There’s something you’re not telling me, Orlan.”
This time, he could feel the loud thumping of his heartbeat and wished that he would blow himself up so that he could escape from answering his uncle’s question.
“Orlan.” His uncle’s voice sounded firm this time.
‘Promise Uncle, I’ll never tell anyone what I saw that night. I’ll never tell father. Please, uncle. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” He did not know why he was saying these to him. He was always scared at him, and he never wanted to taste his fury.
His uncle Boyet gave him a smile and touched his right shoulder.
“That’s my nephew. You’re like your father, eh,” he said, this time in a gentler voice. “Always obedient and never a bad boy.”
Orlan only nodded as he looked at his uncle walking away towards the door where his family was waiting outside for their usual lunch together.
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