“Do you recognize this place?” I said. “It's supposed to be in Bacolod.”

     “I am not sure. My sister will know. Is it important?”

     “That's his cousin. She teaches there.”

     “A beautiful girl.”

     “We want to talk to relations, there's a place to start.”

     “That's a real probinciana.” He held the photo almost at arm's length. “They aren't like modern girls, you know, their attitudes. That's a real Filipina treasure. Do you want me to interview her?”

     “I can handle it,” I said. “Soon as we figure out where the school is.”

     “Ah.”

     “She ought to speak English, a schoolteacher.”

     “Yes, her English should be good.”

     “I have to do something,” I said. “You're going to find the driver, right, I'm not just sitting in the house all day.”

     She could almost have been his daughter, the fond little smile on him.

     “The province-reared girl is very hard to get,” he said. “She is malambing, that's tender-hearted, she is mabait, that's patient and kind, but she is also mataray, that's strict, and pakipot, that's hard to get.”

     “I don't want to jump her bones, I just want to talk to her.”

     “A genuine probinciana, she may not even let you do that.” He didn't seem to be joking.

     “I'll figure something out.”

     “This kind of girl is not like other women. To pursue a girl like this requires much patience and hard work.”

     “For crying out loud,” I said. I felt myself get hot, and didn't know why. His certainty, I guess, so sure of her and me and of what would happen between us. “I'm just going to talk to her. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

     He held the photo out to me between two fingers, and his voice was mild but serious.