The mestiza española’s ancestor was generally a bureaucrat or a military man (or a priest for that matter) while the mestiza china’s was a peddler who sold carbon or bundles of textiles in the streets of Manila who, because of his thriftiness, was able to save enough to establish a store eventually and provide both for his native family and his Chinese one back home. It was not unusual for these Chinese men to return to China to die and be buried in their native soil.

These women wore their skirts long and wide ending in a train at the back. The blouse of piña or jusi was waist-length with wide and airy sleeves showing off two or three gold bracelets on their wrists. A pañuelo crossed over their bosoms but didn’t impede exposing chokers or necklaces and even a smooth cleavage. Gumamelas or a granado Silvestre adorned hair and they wore embroidered barely-there slippers. To distinguish herself from her native sister, the mestiza, it is claimed, did not wear the tapiz.

Her life until she married did not consist of much; in the early morning she went from church to church to see and be seen. She prayed with her mother or was accompanied by an old aunt or friend of the family.. She’d kiss the hand of her parents after eating breakfast as well as that of priests she met on the streets. This was common to the Filipina of those times educated in the Spanish manner in the fear of the Lord and respect for her elders and betters. Barrantes thought it the reason for her docility and inclination to the good. (Barrantes was nuts; thank heaven for women’s lib.)

Whenever there was a procession or a religious feast near or far from her home, infallibly the mestiza was found with her coterie of fans. If she had a carriage it was full of sweets since she was addicted to what then passed for junk food. If she went walking she would stop in all the panciterias and similar stores along the way. In contrast she also liked acid things due, according to the idiot author, to the heat that left her stomach in a state of languor and decadence.

She was preoccupied with love, basically vehement and voluptuous, and the foreigner who married her was assured of wealth and lucrative positions. If her father for instance was a town mayor chances were the family ran the canteen in the jail; if he was with the Treasury then they’d be part of a government monopoly or if she was married to a government appraiser or a lieutenant of the Carabiñeros she’d receive an abundance of tobacco from Igorot farmers.

The mestiza also dealt with the Chinese trader of opium and her husband could hardly complain since this arrangement brought in four or five hundred more pesos monthly. (She was a pusher?!) She also underhandedly took over all the buyo stores in the town. What could the husband say since his larder was full and his pocket book replenished?

No woman in the world had better commercial instincts or a most developed organ for acquisitiveness and speculation. Stated simply, she was (and remains) an excellent businesswoman. There were of course exceptions but no doubt there were other compensatory factors.

Barrantes wondered whether the blind, absolute, servile submission that these women demonstrated to their husbands or fiancées was born of astuteness or came from indifference or frailty. The famous "vos, cuidado" as in "whatever you wish," "it is up to you, Sir" was her response to the most serious questions. (Poor Barrantes; I’m tempted to comment but I’m afraid I’m going to end up fed to the sharks by my sisters.)

He gives the example of a Spaniard who had fallen in love but wanted to make sure it was the right choice and so had gone back to Europe. Before leaving he wanted to see her one last time. He found her impassive, serene, without a tear in her eyes or a wrinkle in her forehead:

"So you don’t care if I leave," he exclaims, desperately.

"No."

"But…what if I don’t return?"

"You will."

"But…if I don’t?"

"It’s up to you."

He had a year to decide and was in Spain for three or four months in a robotic state, constantly thinking of her despite finding her words cold as marble but remembering "the flash of fire like a volcano in her eyes." He returned in six months having written ahead of time to go ahead with the wedding preparations. She, without any show of emotion told him: "I was sure you’d come back."

Under an all embracing sun, it was said that the women of the country were water and that the Spaniard was fire with the inevitable conclusion that water kills fire. Barrantes knew few marriages happier than between Spaniards and Filipinas (mestizas or otherwise) even if she did not seem particularly affectionate and even if he had actually met husbands who had died without hearing their incomparably virtuous wives affirm their love even once.