empire of memory - eric gamalinda
TRANSCRIPT
Sod Manilal
AT ~ PAST TIiREE in the afternoon ofJuly 5, 1966, a mob hired by PresidentFerdmand Ma~~oschased the Beatles out of Manila International Airport. Iremember the Jittery footage of the scene being replayed over and over on theNews:onite on ChannelS, and a grim-looking commentator saying the Fabbut Disc.ourteousFour had openly humiliated the First Lady and her childrenby refUSingto pay a courtesy call at Malacafiang Palace. Imelda Marcos her-self ~astily issued a statem~llt saying the Beatleswere to be treated humanelyd~plte the snub, but this was said after the fact-after the Beatles had beenkicked, spat at, cursed, md chased into a waiting jet.
. Julian Hidalgo, known by the nickname Jun, took me and my sisterDelphi to the Beatles' concert at Rizal Memorial Stadium. Atthat time he wascourting my sister and was hoping to win me over byplaying the older hrother.They were both twenty, and the ritual~ of this older generation meant noth-Ing to.me beyond a few free passes to the movies, where I had to chaperoneDelphI. But the ~ree of us would witness, not by accident, the Beatles being?eaten up at th~ a.J1'P0rt,and wewould become, after this experience, bondedIn a way conspirators are mystically united by their stealth. Jun explained tome a few things about this incident eighteen years later, when, in the ironictwists of fate that coursed through our livesduring the dictatorship, we found?urselves colleagues once again in the censorship office in Malacanang. ButIn 1966 we were young, brash, and bold with hope, and like the entire coun-try,we seemed on the verge of a privileged destiny.
Three days before the concert, Jun rushed to our house with threefr~nt~rowtick~ts.Delphi's eyewidened like 45s. "Where did you get the moneythiS time, ha? she asked, incredulous.
"The First Lady gave them to me," Jun said proudly. And, in re-sponse to our howls of disbelief, "Well, actually, this reporter from the Ma-
nila Times gave them to me. The First Lady was giving away sacks of rice andtickets last week. This reporter owed me for a tip I gave him years ago. Theone that got him the Press Club award. He wanted the rice, I asked for thetickets. Hewas one of those Perry Como types."
Imelda Marcos had flown in friends and media to celebrate herbirthday in her native island of Leyte. There was roast suckling pig and arondalla playing all day, and she herself obliged requests for a song with atearful ballad in the dialect, "Ang Irog Nga Thna," MyMotherland. Tocom-memorate the sentimental reunion, each guest went home with the rice andtickets.
"Now that's style," Delphi said. Then, upon reflection: "They won'tlet Alfonso in."
"Of course they would," I protested. [ was just thirteen but I wasalready as tall as she was back then.
"That's not the point," Jun said impatiently. ''I'm going to get my-self assigned to cover the Beatles and we can talk to them ourselves."
"All the other reporters will beat you to it," I said. Jun was stringingfor the Manila Times and was convinced ~hatgetting an exclusive interviewwould land him a job as a staff reporter.
"All the other reporters listen to nothmg but Ray Conniff," he said."Besides, nobody knows where they're staying. But I do."
Jun's modus operandi wasn't going to be that easy. He managed toget stage passes for the three of us, which turned out to be inutile; it was theofficial pass, printed and distributed in London, that we had to wanglt ;; ''''were to get near the Beatles.
"Go ahead and do your job," Delphi told him icily."We'll seeyou atthe stadium."
"I can still get you the pass," Jun said. "Somehow." He was begin-ning to realize that concert security would directly affect his personal rela-tionships. But not even his religious coverage of preconcert press briefingsseemed to help. Local promoters announced that the Beatles' only press con-ference was going to be held at the War Room of the Philippine Navyhead-quarters, and that the concert was being staged, not by coincidence, on thefourth ofJuly as a birthday gift to the Republic Ouly 4th) and the First LadyOuly 2nd). Other questions were left unanswered. Had the Beatles secretly
arrived bysubmarine? "That's confidential." Were they actually going to stayat the Palace? "That's confidential." In the end somebody asked if the Beatlesactually existed, and the joke was that that, too, was confidential.
The excitement was further fueled by a series of wire stories thedailies ran on page one, including coverage of the Beatles' world tour, warn-ings of possible riots all over the world, and a rare discordant moment inTokyo, where a reporter asked the group, "What are you going to be whenyou grow up?" The reply: "If you grow up yourself you'd know better than toask that question,"
Radio stations kept playing Beatles hits (most requested: "Yester-day" and "Help!"), and DZUW,Rainy Day Radio, preempted everyone andbegan playing the new single, "Paperback Writer." The Philippine SecurityCorporation created the biggest stir when it insured the Beatles for a millionpeso.!:.1\vohundred Philippine Constabulary troopers, seven hundred police-men, detachments from the Pasay City and Parafiaque police, the CivilAero-nautics Administration, the Bureau of Customs, and the Marines were on redalert. The First Lady bought fifteen hundred tickets and distributed them tovolunteer recruits to Vietnam, who were going to be the show's guests of honor.Pro-Beatie fan clubs were staging rallies, counterpointed by anti-Beatie dem-onstrations where placards said, "No one is more popular than Jesus!" Gov-ernment bureaucrats had to drive away contractors who were bribing them·with concert tickets. And on the eve of the Beatles' arrival, a young colegiatathreatened to jump off the roof of the Bank of the Philippine Islands buildingunless she was granted a private audience with the band.
Backstage at the Rizal Memorial Stadium, an air-conditioned dress-ing room was hastily installed a day before the concert, complete with state-of-the-art TVmonitors and audio equipment. Quarter-page ads l!-ppearedinthe dailies for a week, announcing concert schedules and sponsors. Finally,on the day of the Beatles' arrival,]uly 3, a full-page splash appeared in all thedailies:
LIVE!THEBESTIN THEWORLD!
THEBEAnESIN MANILAWith Asia's Queen of Songs, Pilita Corales, Carding Cruz
and his Orchestr~ The Wing Duo, The Lemons Three, DaleAdriatico, The Reycard Du'et, and Eddie Reyes and TheDownbeats!
Early that morning,Jun called us up. "Get dressed, both of you," hesaid. "We're meeting the Beatles at the airport."
"What do you mean, we?" Delphi asked."I told you we'd talk to them, didn't I?" ]un said, "Did I ever break
a promise?"On many occasions, yes, but this was one promise for which Delphi
was willing to risk her life--and mine, if need be. She drove our parents' '64Ford to the airport as though she wanted to mow down everything in our way,laughing as irate motorists yelled obscenities at us.
When we finally metJun at the parking lot, he handed us a pile ofobviously used porter uniforms, "I paid the guy twenty pesos to rent them,"he said proudly.
"Does this guy know what you're renting them for?" Delphi asked,crinkling her nose as she daintily held her uniform away.
Jun held up a bootleg 45, the kind they pressed in Hong Kong, hJred vinyl. "If I get an autograph, we get a refund." '-ITHECATHAYPACIFICjet swooped in at half past four. The airport was jam-packedwith the biggest crowd I had ever seen in my life: girls in bobbv socks andleatheretle miniskirts and boys in seersucker shirts, all perspiring andscrunched against a chain-link fence. This was definitely the wrong place tobe. As the jet taxied in, we tore ourselves away from the crowd and wormedour way to one of the departure exits, just in time to catch a baggage trolleyrattling toward the plane,jun hopped on, and Delphi and [ awkwardly clam-bered after him. I was afraid Delphi'S bobbed hair would spill out of the capshe was wearing and blow our cover. But, haVing regained her composure,she stood handsomely in the last car, gripping the rail; it was no wonder ]unrisked life, limb, and career for her.
The trolley rattled past armored cars, fire trucks, riot squads, andtroops of motorcycle police who were wearing special cowboy hats for thisoccasion. Assoon as the trolley cranked to a stop under the jet, jun hopped
off. He was about to head toward the stairs when a limousine careened andcut him off. Three official-looking men dressed in the formal barong Tagaloggot off the limousine and rushed up to the plane, and what followed was aninterminable, bated-breath pause.]un walked up the stairs and saw the offi-cials argUing with passengers near the plane's exit. Somebody was saying,"Is there a war going on?"
Finally, one official tentatively walked out of the plane. This wasenough of a presence to excite the increasingly impatient crowd, and imme-diately a cacophony of screams burst from the viewing deck. The screamsgrew louder as other officials and soldiers walked out of the plane. By thetime Brian Epstein groggily stepped out, the screaming had reachedearsplitting level-no matter that the soldiers surrounded the Beatles fromjet to limousine and we caught glimpses of them only through spaces in thecordon sanitaire: George Harri30n, his hair tousled by the humid wind, hisred blazer flashing like a signal of distress, Ringo Starr in peppermint stripesand flapping foulard, Paul McCartney, round-eyed and baby-faced, and]ohnLennon, hiding behind dark glasses.
]un hurried down the stairs and motioned for us to follow him."What happened in there?" Delphi asked him.
• "I don't know," Jun said. "All I heard was a lot of words your folkswouldn't want you to hear."
"What docs that mean?" Delphi asked."Nothing we can't find out," said]un.
THE·MAN,LA TiMES ran a story about the press conference at the War Room. Junfumed over his colleague's story, saying, "This idiot did little more than tran-scribe from a tape." It turned out, however, that the Beatles' replies would beuncannily prophetic.
THE BEATLES!r;:AH!ByBobby Tan
When did you last get a haircut?In 1933.
Would you be as popular without your long hair?Wecan always wear wigs.How much taxes do you pay?Toomuch.What attracted you to your wives?Sex.Do you feel you deserve the Order of the British Empire?Yeah.But when you 're between 20 and 23, there are bound to be somecriticisms.How will you solve the Vietnam War?Give it back to whoever deserves il.
(What'S your latest song?LPhilippine Blues. "Mr. Lennon, what did you mean bySpaniard in your latest book?Have you read it?No.Then read it.If there should come a time when you have to choose between the Beatlesand your family, whom would you choose?Wenever let our families come between us.What is your favorite song?"GodSave the King. "But it's the Queen now."GodSave the Queen" then.
~
hat will you be doing ten years from now?· W7Jy bother about ten years from now? Wedon't even knoUJif we'll hearound tomorrow.
ONTIlE EVEOFJuly 4, Philippine-American Friendship Day,President FerdinandMarcos urged Filipinos to "recall the lasting and valuable friendship betweenAmerica and the Philippines" and issued a statement saying a revamp of thegovernment bureaucracy was imminent. "Heads Will Roll:" the d~j~ieSshrilled, their bold prediction thrust audaciously by street chIldren agaInstcar windows along Highway 54.
At the Quirino Grandstand the next day, the President sat in thesweltering heat as troops paraded before him. Three stations covered theFriendship Day rites, but ChannelS ignored it completely and ran a twenty-four-hour update on the Beatles, Marcos seethed in the grandstand, and cam-eras caught the expression on his face that might have said: Damned Trillos,they real.lyget my goat. The Trillos owned the Manila 7imesand many broad-cast stations and refused to accommodate First Family whims. But Marcoshad the last laugh, On this very afternoon, back at the Palace, rmelda andthe children would be having lunch with the Beatles. All television stationsand papers had been invited for a five-minute photo opportunity-all, thatis, except the Trillo network, Marcos tried to stifle a smirk as he saluted thetroops. Proud and dignified in his white suit, he stood out like some sartorialtitan: people said you could tell he was going in for a second term.
THECAI.lA LILIESwere brought in at nine by Emma Fernandez, one of the BlueLadies in Imelda Marcos' retinue. They adorned the corridors of the palaceall the way to the formal dining hall, where about a hundred youngsters,ages three to fifteen, listlessly waited for the Beatles. Imee, the eldest of theMarcos children, sporting a new bobcut hairdo, sat at the head of the table.Irene sat beside her, reticent and uncomfortable in Sunday clothes. FerdinandJunior, master Bongbong to one and all, was wearing a bowtie and a starchedcotto.n shirt, and his attire apparently made him restless, as he kept slidingoff hiS seat to pace the floor. Around them were children of ministers, gener-als, business tycoons, and friends of the family, sitting under buntings of red,white, and blue and paper flags of the United States and the Philippines.
Imelda Marcos walked in at exactly eleven, Emma Fernandez ap-proached her, wringing her hands, and whispered in her ear: "They're late!"Imelda brushed her off, an imperceptible smile parting her lips. She kissedthe children one by one, Imee dodging and receiving instead a red smear onthe ear. She inspected the cutlery, the lilies, the nameplates: twor's for Harrison,yes; two n's for Lennon; and no a in Me. She scanned the room proudly,deflecting the grateful, expectant faces, the small fingers clutching cardboardtickets to the concert.
Athalf past eleven the children began complaining, so breadsticksand some juice were served. Imelda walked around the hall, stopping to strike
a pose for the palace photographers, "Good shot, Madame!" The photogra-phers were the best in the field, plucked out of the newsrooms to accomp~nyher on all her itineraries, They had been suffiCiently instructed on whIchangle to shoot from and which side to take, and anyone who took the wrongshot was dismissed posthaste, his camera and negltives confiscated, The chil-dren were more difficult to shoot: bratty and impatient, they always came oulpouting, with their chins stuck out. It was always best to avoid them.
Unknown to this gathering, acommotion was going on at the lobbyof the Manila Hotel. On hand were Brian Epstein and members of the concertcrew; ColonelJustin Flores and Captain Nilo Cunanan of the Philippine Canstabulary; Sonny Balatbat, the teenage son of Secretary of State RobertoBalatbat; Captain Fred Santosofthe Presidential Guard; Major Tommy Youngand Colonel EfrenMorales of the Manila Police District; and local promoterRene Amos,
"We had an agreement," Colonel Flores was saying. "Wesent a tel-egram to Tokyo," " . .
"I don't know about any fucking telegram, EpstelO repiled."The First Lady and the children have been waiting all morning.""Nobody told them to wait.""The First Lady will be very, very disappointed."Epstein looked the colonel in the eye and said, "If they want to see
the Beatles, let them come here."Atthe stroke of noon, Imelda Marcos rose from her chai r and walked
out of the dining hall. "The children can wait," she said, "but I have moreimportant things to do," . .
Assoon as she was gone, Imee pushed back her chaIr, fIshed out herticket, and tore it in two. The other children followed, and for a few secondsthere was no sound in the hall but the sound of tickets being torn. Bongbonghovered near the plate that had been reserved for John Lennon. "I reallymuch prefer the Rolling Stones," he said, Photographers caught the youngmaster at thatmoment, his eyes wide and blank. Imee looked at hlln andremarked, "The only Beatles song I liked was 'Run forYourLife.''' She lookedaround the hall defiantly. She had never been so embarrassed in her lIfe.People always said she was an emotional child. That morning she seemedshe was about to cry.
The Beatles: Mass Hysteria!ByJun Hidalgo
Eighty thousand hysterical fans cramped intoRizal Memorial Stadium to watch the Beatles, the largestcrowd Manila has seen since the Elorde-Ortiz boxingmatch in the same stadium.
While traffic snarled to a standstill along DakotaStreet, 720 policemen, 35 special detectives and the entirecontingent of the Manila Fire Department stood guard asthe Liverpoolquartet performed their hits before thousandsofcheering and screaming fans, many of whom had waitedto get inside the stadium since early morning.
When the gates finally opened pandemonium broke loose. I held on to Del-phi, who held on to Jun, and the three of us braved the onslaught as wesqueezed past security and found ourselves, miraculously intact, on the frontrow beside the Voxspeakers.
"1 don't want to sit here," Delphi protested. "We're going to blastour e,arsoffl"
"Relax," Jun said. "Everybody'll be screaming anyway. Wehave thebest seats in the house."
~vmone. in the stadium was a mophead. except the Vietnam vol-®teers sitting in our row, whose heads had been c1ean1¥shaved; they wereyoun men lucked from the provinces, and man of them w rver am-ing home again. 1was so relieved 1 a grown my hair longer that summer.My hair was a clear sign that, despite my young age, 1had gained honorarymembership in the exclusive cabal of this generation. Youcould tell who thepigs were: they were the ones who roamed around, their ears pink and theirheads shaved clean like the Vietnam volunteers. Some of them had gunstucked into their belts; they had been warned that a riot could break out.
Soaked in sweat, Beatles fans impatiently heckled the open-ing acts, and emcees had to threaten the crowd that the
Beatles would not perform until the audience simmereddown,
And when the Beatles finally opened with "1Wanna BeYour Man," you couldfeel the excitement ripping through you, a detonation of such magnitudeyour entire being seemed to explode. 1couldn't hear anything except a long,extended shrill-the whole stadium screaming its lungs out. 1 looked atDelphi. She was holding her head between her hands and her eyeswere bulg-ing out and her mouth was stretched to an 0, and all 1could hear was thislong, high-pitched scream coming out of her mouth. 1had never seen Del~phi like that before, and 1 would never, for the rest of her life, see her asremorselessly young as she was that afternoon.
THEMORNING AfJ'ERthe concert, Jun asked Delphi if we could take the Ford toManila Hotel.
"Why do you have to take us along?" Delphi asked him. It was clearthat for her the concert had been the high point of our adventure.
"We still have to get that interview, don't we?" Jun reminded her."Besides," he added, "1 need you to cover for me," Jun said.
"Cover?" asked Delphi. "As in war?""Looks like war it's going to be," said Jun.1was going to pose as a bellhop. Delphi was going to be a chamber-
maid.Jun had bribed someone from room service to let him take a snack tothe Beatles. Apparently our plan was to swoop down on them in the name ofimpeccable service, with Jun secretly recording this invasion with the help ofa pockel-.sized tape recorder. As usual, he had the uniforms re~dy, re~ltedfo~rthe day for half his month's wages. "The hotel laundry boy s a childhoodfriend of mine."
"You're the company you keep," Delphi teased him, because sheknew it tortured him whenever she did that.
1 wore the monkey suit perfectly, but somehow it still didn't feelright. 1 looked at myself in the men's room rT'irrorand knew 1was too youngfor the role. And Delphi looked incongruous as the chambermaid: her bobcut was too in. As it turned out, all my misgivings would be proven true. We
crossed the lobby to the service elevator. Jun walked several paces ahead of usnonchalantly jiggling the car keys, but I kept glancing nervously around. '
"Hoy, where you going?". J~n ~idn't. seem to hear the house detective call us, or maybe the
detective dldn t notlce him walking past. I felt a hand grab my collar andp~1l me ~ide:, Immediately, Delphi was all over the detective, hitting himWIthher fists: You take your hands off my brother or I'll kick your teeth in!"Struggling out of the detective's arm hold, I could see Jun hesitating by theelevator. I motioned for him to go. The detective draggeCIDelphi and me outto a backroom where several other detectives were playing poker. "Dy,got twomore right here!"
As HERECALLEDUTER,Jun wheeled the tray into Suite 402 expecting to findtelltale debris of a postconcert party (and hence an excuse for us to mop up).What he came u!Jon was something less festive.
. "Compliments of the house, sir," he announced cheerfully as hecamem.
George Harrison and Brian Epstein were sitting on the sofa, andPaul McCartney was precariously perched on the TV set, brooding. The threeof them apparently had been having an argument and they all looked upsurprised, at the intruder. '
"All right," Epstein said, curtly. "Bring it in.""I'll have to mix the dip here, sir," Jun said, to prolong the intru-
sion. "House specialty."Nobody seemed to hear him. George Harrison continued the con-
versation, "Wecame here to sing. Wedidn't come here to drink tea and shakehands."
"That's precisely the reason we've got to pay customs the bond forthe equipment," said Epstein.
"Let them keep the money then," Paul said. "Everyone says herecome those rich mopheads to make more money. We don't care about themoney."
"We didn't even want to come here," George reminded them."The only reason we came here," added Paul, "w~ because these
people were always saying why don't you come over here? Wedidn't want to
offend anyone, did we?Wejust came here to sing. You there," indicatingJun,who jumped with surprise. "Do you speak English!"
"Fairly well," repliedjun."Does the government control the press here, as they do the cus-
toms people, the airport managers, and the police?""Not yet," saidjun.Paul then observed that everything was "so American in this coun-
try, it's eerie, man!" He also remarked that many people were exploited by awealthy and powerful few.Epstein wanted to know how he knew that, as t~others had simply not heard of the country before, and Paul replied that h~had read one of the local papers.
"What are we supposed to do?" he a3ked. "Show up and say, 'Well,here we are, we're sorry we're late!' Weweren't supposed to be here in the firstplace. Why should we apologize for something that's not our fault?"
At that point John Lennon and Ringo Starr, who had been bookedin the adjacent suite, walked in. Ringo, sweating and tousled, plopped intothe sofa between Epstein and George Harrison. John Lennon, wearing :,;"dark glasses, walked straight to the window and looked out. "We've got a fewthings to learn about the Philippines," he said. "First of all is how to get out."
THEMANIlAHOTELDETECTIVESdeftly disposed of Delphi and me with a push viathe back door, where a sign said THROUGHTHISDOORPASSTHEMOSTCOURTEOUSEMPLOYEESOF MANIlA.Wewalked back to the Ford in the parking lot and waitedfor less than an hour whenJun, struggling out of the hotel uniform and backto mufti, sprinted toward us and hopped into the driver's seat. "Get in!" heshouted. "We're going to the airportl"
. "Did you get the interview?" Delphi asked."Better," Jun said. "The Beat\es are going to try to leave thls after-
noon. They're paying something like forty-five thousand dollars as a bond orsomething. Customs is charging them so much money in taxes for the con-cert."
"Wait a minute," Delphi protested. "Is that legal?""Who cares?" Jun said. "All I know is they're paying the bond and
now all they want to do is to get out. But they think something's going tohappen at the airport. There's been talk of arrest and detention."
"Who said that?" Delphi asked."]ohn Len~~n, I think. [don't know. I was mixing that stupid dip."Wewere driving toward the south highway now,past the mammoth
hulls of ships docked at Manila Bay."You know all those people who've beentrying to get the Beatles to go to the pal ace? Youknow why they were so keenon bringing the band over to Madame's luncheon?"
"Can't waste all that food, right?" Delphi said."Bright girl, but no. There's going to be a major revamp soon. It's
allover the papers, if you've been reading. All these guys are going to get thetop posts. Well,most of them were, until the Beatles screwed everything up."
"What guys? Who?""That Colonel Fred Santos, the one who led the group to talk to
Epstein, he's being groomed to head the Presidential Guard. Real heavy-dutyposition, accompanying the' First Family all over the world, luxury apart-ment at the Palace, the works. There's one Colonel Flores, Justin Flores [think, who's bound to be chief of the constabulary. Then there's Colonel EfrenMorales, most likely head of the Manila Police."
. "But these arc junior officers," Delphi said. "Marcos can't just pro-mote them to top posts:' .
• "That's the point. Marcos is going to bypass everybody and build upan army of his own. All these new guys will be licking his boots and there'snothing the generals can do about it. That young mophead, the son ofBalatbat, he was there for his father, who's going to be reappointed secretaryof state, And if I'm not mistaken, Salvador Roda, the airport manager, wantsto take over customs. The man's going to be a millionaire, kickbacks andall."
"How do you know all that?" Delphi demanded,"Homework," ]un said, swerving the car toward the airport, his re-
ply drowned out by the droning of jets, "I'm the best damned reporter in thecity, and everybody's going to find.out why."
SALVADORRODAwas briefing the press agitatedly at the VIP lounge of the airportthat afternoon, explaining why the republic was withdrawing security for theBeatles and why customs had slapped a hundred-thousand-peso tax on liv-erpudlian income. "Too much Filipino money wasted on such a paltry en-
tourage, gentlemen of the press, and not one centavo of the profits going tothe nation. PUla, where's the sense in that?"
Wewalked up the escalators to the second floor to change into ourporter uniforms, which we had lugged in backpacks.
"This airport getsworse everytime [ come here," Delphi complained."Nothing's working."
"And there's nobody around," observed]un. The entire second floorwas deserted. "LUCkyfor us," he said, pushing Delphi into the ladies' roomand then pulling me into the adjoining gents' .Wechanged into the uniformsand stuffed our clothes above the water tanks.
"You think there's going to be trouble?" I asked]un."will you guys back out if I told you there might?"I had to give that some thought. In the pastJun had taken Delphi
and me on some insane adventures, mostly luvenile pranks that left us breath-lessly exhilarated, but with no real sense of danger. For the first time I wasafraid we were up against something, well, real.
"We'll stick around," 1said, tentatively.He put his arm around me and said, "Kapalid! That's my brother!"
]uly 5, 2 P,M. The Beatles arrived at the airport in a Manila Hotel taxi. Theyweren't wasting any time. They ran straight up the escalators, their crew lug-ging whatever equipment they could carry. Atthe foot of the escalators a groupof women-society matrons and young college girls-had managed to slippast the deserted security posts and, seeing the Beatles arrive, they lunged forthe group, screaming and tearing at the band's clothes. Flashbulbs blindedthe band as photographers crowded at the top of the stairs, It would havetaken a miracle for the band to tear themselves away from the mob and toreach, as they did in a bedraggled way, the only booth open for passport clear-ance, where Roda had been waiting with the manifest for Flight ex 196,
"Beatles here!" he hollered imperiously, and the band followed hisvoice meekly, almost contritely. Behind the booth a crowd that had checkedin earlier restlessly ogled,
"Those aren't passengers," Jun observed as we stole past a booth."They look like the people we saw earlier with Roda,"
"Seatles oull" Roda boomed.
And then it happened. A5 the Beatles and their crew filed past thebooth, the crowd that had been waiting there seemed to swell like a wave andengulfed the band, pulling them into an undertow of fists and knee jabs.There was a thud-Epstein falling groggily, then being dragged to his feet bysecurity police. Someone was cursing in Tagalog: Helo 'ng sa yo bwakanginang putang inang tarantado kal Paul McCartney surfaced for air, hischubby face crunched in unmistakable terror. Hepulled away from the crowd,and the other three staggered behind him. Somebody gave Ringo Starr aloud whack on the shoulder and pulled atJohn Lennon, who yanked his armaway, tearing his coat sleeve. '
That was when we started running after them-the three of us,and the whole mob.
The crowd overtook Delphi, who was shoved aside brusquely. Theywere inching in on me when the exit doors flew out into the ~aring after-noon. From the viewdeck hundreds of fans who had been waiting for hoursstarted screaming. The band clambered up the plane. I kept my eye on theplane, where Jun wa.; already catching up with John Lennon.
"Please, Mr.Lennon," he pleaded. "Let me help you with your bags!"At the foot of the stairs a panting John Lennon turned to him and
said, "A.friendly soul, for a change. Thanks, but we're leaving.""I'm sari)'," Jun said, trembling.John Lennon made to bolt up the stairs. At the top he stopped and
took off his coat and threw it down toJun. "Here," he said. "Tell your friendsthe Beatles gave it to you."
Afewweeks after the Beatles' frantic egress from Manila, Taal Volcano erupted,perhaps by way of divine castigation, as happens often in that inscrutable,illogical archipelago. The eruption buried three towns and shrouded Manilain sulfuric ash for days. Amonth later a lake emerged from what had beenthe volcano's crater-a boiling, putrefied, honey-yellow liquefaction.
The Beatles flew to New Delhi, where they were to encounter twofigures that would change their lives and music: the corpulent, swaying Ma-
harishi, and the droning, mesmerizing sitar. Back in London later, they weregreeted by a swarm of fans carrying 'placards with mostly one message:
Manila's columnists took umbrage, and the side of the offendedFirst Lady.Said Teodoro Valencia, who wou1dlater become the spokesman ofthe Marcos press: "Those Beatles are knighL) of the Crown of England. Nowwe have a more realistic understanding of what knights are. They're snobs.But we are probably more to blame than the Beatles. We gave lhem too muchimportance." AndcolumnistJoe Guevarra added: "What if 80,000 people sawthe BeaHes?They're too young to vote against Marcos anyway I "
Imelda Marcos later announced to the lavishly sympathetic pressthat the incident "was regrettable, This has been a breach of Filipino hospi-tality." She added that when she heard of a plot to maul the Beatles, sheherself asked her brother and her tourism secretary to make sure the Beatlesgot out of the airport safely.
But the virulence of anti-Beatles sentiment would not be assuagedby her magnanimity. The Manila Bulletin declared that Malacanang Pal-ace had received no less than two hundrl;c, letters denouncing the Beatles bythat weekend. Manila councilor Gerino Tolentino proposed that the Beatles"should be banned from the city in perpetuity." Caloocan City passed an or-dinance prohibiting the sale, display, and playing of Beatles records. AndQuezon City passed a law declaring Beatles music satanic and the mopheadhairstyle illegal.
. Jun Hidalgo wrote his story about the Seatles' departure, with in-sider quotes taped, as an editor's introduction to the story revealed, "whileundercover as a hotel employee." Afew weeks later he was accepted into theManila Times,where he played rookie, as was the custom then, in the snakepitof the local press: the police beat. He gave John Lennon's coat to Delphi, whodutifully mended the sleeve, and they went steady for a while. But like mostyouthful relationships, the series of melodramatic misunderstandings, peri-odic separations, and predictable reunions finally ended in tears and manyunprintable words. Mysister, older and more healthily cynical, later immi-grated to the United States, from where she sent me postcards and books-
and once, a note replying to one of my continuous requests for records, say-ing she had lost interest in the Beatles when they went psychedelic. I myself,being the obligatory late bloomer, only then began to appreciate the magi-cal, mysterious orchestrations and raga-like trances of the band.
Delphi left John Lennon's coat with me and r became known inschool as the keeper of a holy relic, and, like the martyrs, I was the object ofmuch admiration and also much envy.One afternoon, armed with a copy ofan ordinance recently passed in Manila, directors of the school rounded upseveral mophead boys, including myself. In one vacant classroom we weremade to sit on hardboard chairs as the directors snipped our hair. I sat stol-idly under the scissors, watching my hair fall in clutchfuls on the bare ce-ment floor. Back in my room that evening I stared at myself in the mirror fora long time. Then I folded]ohn Lennon's jacket tightly, stuffed it in a box,and tucked it under my books and clothes. I felt no bitterness at all. I knewthat something irrevocable in my life had ended.
Emgire of Memory
A Lost Tribe
ATYPHOONAPPROACHESQUIEnY,massive and grey. Thunder rumbles but alwaysseems too distant to cause alarm. The wind is thick and hard with brine. Andas always, everything is caught by surprise: the sky darkens immediately, likeink in water, and the rains begin to pour in unrelenting torrents, as if some-one had ripped the sky open and drained enormous oceans out of it. Thewhole world throws a tantrum.
The howler blasts through the archipelago on its way to mainlandAsia, ignoring borders and unleashing its fury on islands of small fortunethat disappear p'romptly into the sea. Now the sea repulses and leaps, pillagesland of all signs of life, and dredges the shores of huts, poultry, blankets andsmall children.
Farther inland, tidal wave subsides to eddying flood, swelling, inchby inch, towards TVantennas and coconut trees.Debris and mementoes, bodiesandfurniture drift past. Families marooned on rooftops die quietly of hungerand pneumonia. Giant mosquitoes, the size of tutubing karayom, nest andbreed in the fetid waters, bringing amoebae and malaria. For days the ty-phoon would leave the little villages isolated. When the sun returns like apoltroon, it sends epidemics of cholera and sunstroke. Uprooted coconutssettle to the ground. Houses topple into open fields. The parched land cracks,breaking open into little dry canals.
Typhool1 Maling, the strongest to hit the Philippines in a hundredyears, ravaged inland just after the summer of 1980.
It rampaged across the tiny villages of Central Luzon, uprootingfresh stalks, beating down weathered huts and bamboo wattles and decimat-ing entire herds of carabao. By the second day, when the typhoon had sub-sided to a niggling drizzle, the death toll had already reached three thousandfive hundred, not counting the bodies washed down Apalit River among eels,crabs and milkfish. .
Apalit River winds through towns of faded earthen hues, flat andmuddy, but fertile and abundant with 'fish and moll usks that teem and crawlout of its banks. Such wealth is largely undeserved, as most people here think:which is why the monsoon takes what the river bestows. In one blow every-thing is flushed downstream, dead and bloated. Weeds and barnacles chokethe water, turning it into a viscous, emerald slush.
This is a land both fact and fiction, where generations leave notrace of themselves and everything is constantly wiped out, punctually, byclockwork destruction: typhoon, tsunami, earthquake, drought. Because ofthis we have no memory of ourselves: we remember only the last deluge, thelast seismic upheaval.
Across the river a f1eetof fragile bancas wends its way towards thebanks of ravaged towns. It disgorges its load of relief workers carrying plasticbags bursting with Nutribuns, canned sardine, condensed milk, and soap.Stencilled reminders across the bags declare that "These Goods Are a Giftfrom the First Lady." There is a mad scramble toward the bancas: ragged andbesotted children, followed boisterously by their mothers. And then, in a stam-pede, boys and men darkened to leather by the sun. Abag slips, spilling itscontents into eddying water.
"Pufieta!"Asoldier guarding the disembarkation hoists his AK47,slams the
butt down and hits a face. Something in the crowd eddies under too: a headsinks, and the gap it leaves behind is promptly filled in by another, complet-ing the crowd that swells up again. Only later do we see the unconsciousfe1l0w,bedraggled, face up, on the bank. Except for the blood on his foreheadhe seems to have just decided, out of an impossible whim, to stare at the sun.
THEYOUNGBOYcame running to us, his hair wet and smeared with mud. "Fa-ther quick!" He stood just outside the relief center, this quonset hut oncehastily transformed into a local school, now transfigured once again to ac-commodate the hundred families displaced by the typhoon. Their huts hadbeen blown down and washed downriver, a~.d for days they clung helplesslyto coconut and acacia trees, their small possessions drifting away from theirsight. Now they were huddled together on cots, cardboard and newspapers.
like refugees from some forgotten war. "Father quick! We find Kuya Rudy!Father come to river!"
Father Ted Agustin was the parish priest of the barrios of San Simonand Santa Clara, twin townlets collectively referred to by gender-specific infi-dels as simply San Simon. Ted (as we called him) was a robust, broad-shoul-dered man of thirty-eight. Nine years of administering to the flocks of the ricegranaries and haciendas had given his face a leathery tan, framed by a lushbeard still referred to here as pellirojo. [ met him two days after Rudy Vega,one of the young acolytes in the parish, had been reported missing.
The typhoon had subsided since the past week, and now small pos-sessions, broken furniture and the bloated carcasses of chicken and pigs weredrifting towards the South China Sea. The young boy had been walking alongthe river and had seen Rudy's pale hand bobbing to the surface.
There was a crowd murmuring like fishmongers over the recoveredbody, They made room for Ted and myself. Ted lifted the blanket off the bodyand examined the boy'Swrists and ankles. Then he turned the body slightlyon its side and showed to us three stab wounds just below the heart. Oldwomen crossed themselves, LoloTato edged his way towards us and said, "Wetell him don't go to foresl."
"Ana po?" Ted asked."Last]uly," Lola Tato said, "We tell Rudy don't talk about forest."I asked Ted over supper what Lola Tato me\ln t. Heset his spoon and
fork across his plate. I noticed he had the habit of crossing his hands over hismouth, as in prayer, an unconscious signifier that he was about to divulge asecret.
"Rudy-Vegawas an adventurous boy," he said, "He would wanderfor days along the trail of the river, and come back with souvenirs-ferns,driftwood, butterflies. Everyone in the parish liked him. He was quiet, andintruded into their lives only like a punctual diversion."
Rudy had heard a story last summer about a tribe in the peaks ofSusong Dalaga liVingprimitively, but with a complex mythology of monstersand demigods, They believed not in the usual capre, werewolf and aswang,but in fabulous creatures more diaphanous than zephyrs.
"It didn't seem too unusual that a boy like Rudy would decide tofind out if this were tme," said Ted, "Susong Dalaga was, if you'll pardon the
expression, virgin forest. That part of the m~untain had been enclosed offsince 1974 after a counter-rnsurgency. raid. Nobody had lived there for sixyears, Or so we thought." . .
And then Rudy discovered the sawmill: a vast compound bUIlt In aclearing, an entire community grinding with--actiVity.Logs, an arm's breadthin diameter, were being rolled in as the blades whirred in anticipation. Rudysaw women bringing water in jugs on their heads, and small children play-ing in the mud. He came back to tell the village about it, his story rich Wi.thoften hyperbolic detail. People took a break from the soap operas and 1Is-tened to him, That was his mistake.
"Three men visited Rudy last month to warn him not to talk aboutthe mill," Ted continued. "When we asked neighbors who they were, theysaid they were ¥elchor, Gaspar and Baltazar 1.ocalhumor."
The sawmill belonged to Colonel Jose Zabarte, not of San Simon orSanta Clara but from farther south in the island, of San Miguel. Now that itsexistence had been exposed, the colonel's caretakers took it as a maller ofcourse. The workers soon came to spend their weekends in town, where manyhearts were broken.
"Was it the colonel then?" I asked Ted."No hay prueba," he said, mimicking the rival Dominicans. "You're
not the only one who suspects the colonel, and he himself is aware of therumors, Haven't you read the statement?"
"What statement?""The colonel issued leaflets explaining that one of his men had
spotted Rudy along the embankment, and that the young boy had been acci-dentally speared by hunters of the lost tribe of the Isnegs."
"The tribe he had been looking for,""Sabi-sabi: rumor has it. They tried but failed to fish his body out of
the river, and downriver our little boy found it. To make a long story short,Colonel Zabarle was inosente, off the hook. Accidents do happen. And themill, as we all know by now, had been put up to provide protection for thetribe which had been recently discovered by the Ministry for Minorities orsomething. Have you heard of it?"
I said no.
"It seems the colonel was legit and Rudy shouldn't have trespassed.The Isnegs are said to be highly territorial."
"And do people believe that?" I asked him."Inevitably, I think. It's difficult not to believe the colonel some-
times. He can be very convincing.""What do you mean?""I mean his soldiers had been ordered to protect the tribe, and also
to protect them from their own, shall we say, inherent violence. They weretruly sorry about Rudy, they said. Many people here thought it would causeless trouble to believe that."
"And what of the tribe? Has anyone found it?" I asked him.Ted leaned against the back of his chair and, with a dismissive wave
of the hand, answered, "Pure imagination."
I MUST NOW EXPlAIN how I discovered the Lost Tribe.At the typhoon refugee center there was a young mother who had
had an amorous liaison with one of Zaharte's henchmen and had been aban-doned six months ago. Her hut had been blown away by the typhoon, and she
~ trudged to the center with a four-pound belly, a bedraggled mat and a clutch~ of clothes. She was understandably hysterical, but during her lucid moments:t she wollld repeat to everyone in the center what life had been like at Zaharte's~ mountain camp:
, p ~ It was "garaiso, parang ibang bayao.," which in varying degrees is.the republic'S motto: Paradise i~Another CGl:lf:ltI:¥--
They arrived there before sundown, the young couple. She had sto-len away from heFparents, leaving a scrawled note, and gripping the hand ofher young lumberjack she clambered upwards to the camp. "[t was so high,"she exclaimed, her testimony barbed with a difficult accent, "like heaven!"There were, she said, quarters made of pine log and smaller huts of nipa andwattle, punctuated bysmall fires for cooking and a larger bonfire, all of whichwere not visible from San Simon because the camp had been built in a clear-ing on the far slope-the eastern side-of the mountain.
They stayed in a cubicle separated from the rest of the crew by acurtain of frayed cotton, and she kept silent even if in the thick of love shewanted to howl. ("Nahiya ako, pero masarap!") In the morning she bathed,
wrapped in a blanket, with the other women, her body smarting from theprevious night's kisses. They welcomed her with the eagerness of next-of-km,because indeed many of them could have been cousins. San Simon was not alarge town.
She learned three basic rules in the camp: [1] the women were toremain faithful to their men, to avoid drunken duels; [2) they were not towander outside the periphery of the camp; and [3) no fires were to be litduring the full moon.
She understood some of the rules and inquired about the others. Noone could wander out because careless neophytes could get lost and be eatenby pythons and wild boar. And no fires were allowe~ on a full moon b~causethe elders of the Lost Tribe considered it a desecratIOn of the mount~an invocation of its demoos, You wouldn't think that a tribe as small as this would lnci te fearamong a sensible community of hardworking men. Compared to the head-hunters of Mount Pulog, these people were gentle as rabbits. There were a lotof curious things about the lsneg, which was the collective term for all moun-tain tribes around Susong Dalaga. Among the facts:
They wore clothing of bark and twined rattan, and they did notcomb their hair.
They ate mouse deer, crickets, wild chicken and wild boar, but dur-ing typhoons they subsisted on salt and tubers.
, They lived in caves. ,. .'~,' They blackened their teeth and burned tattoos onto t,he,Ir flngert,IPs.
0: G' The took no orders from lowlanders from someone the\~, - ~ir simpleangua~the PuliDiwaJL\gI~.<\ god of the Isneg. . ,
. Theydidn't have names. They existed only by instinct, therefore asa collective organism.
They didn't have a word for 'war'. .They believed the earth is triangular, and the lowermost plane IS
nothingness, like falling off the edge of a cliff. "[M there was one contradictory ,l<;pectto these seemlllgly benign
people: they believed they were given divln~~author.ity to kill all sighl.!!.n1Q~who harmed the white thrush, known elsewhere In AsIa as 1~;!~1?9S~.'...I~e
·\~~~ . j k .~y -j_ a a uti was considered sacred because an one who came in contact .()' its droppings e IOtoa deep sleep. Our unfortunate and inordinately curious
Rudy had gone back to the cam' in his final meanderin~ocatch t e Ir an was speared by one of the Isnegs.
"The poor idiot was malas lang," our young narrator commiser-ated, and punctuated her sympathy with the sign of the cross. Asfor herself:her young lover was reassigned to Mount Pulog, and also turned out to bemarried with two children Jiving in limbo in a town off MacArthur Highway.She decided to do what she had to do: go down to look for him. On the eve ofher search she was swept away by Typhoon Maling. .
, !hat was how this primipara's sad storywent, and how we explainedRU~; s mIsfortune. I was curious most of all about the presence of this "palegod .an~ had wanted to ask her more about it, but the young woman beganbawllOg mto her spare clothes, and a wave of commiseration from the sur-rounding refugees engulfed her. I would get my answer eventually, whenanother woman, claiming (0 be a disgruntled member of the tribe, crawledher way to the center one afternoon.
ArrER SPENDING a few days at the refugee center I knew [ was beginning to geton everyone's nerves, particularly since my often sacrilegious humor didn'tgo dOWAwell with theDevotees of the Sacred Heart, not to mention the Marian~aiden.s, solicitous social workers who had been dispatched by headquartersm Mantia to administer to the infirm. I myself sometimes feared thev wouldpray over my meals for me. And so, as happens when people share to~ manycauses together, I found it best to avoid them on many occasions. When notm~ch more work,needed to be done and there was talk of packing up andgOing home, I spent most of my time shooting peripheral vegetation, I meanphotographically.~ by tben MPiring to become a (so-called) video artist~hat meant I shot a lot of footage that didn't get aired in public.
Wandering dangerously around the woods where many souls hadbeen devoured by python and boar, I saw..QiliQ1That was what village chil-dren would later call her. She came slipping down the slope, her entire bodysmeared with mud onto which had clung vines and shrubbery.
She wore ragged sacks of jute, and until she spoke it wasn't clear ifshe had indeed stepped out of another aeon. I helped her straggle back to the
center, where the women fussed over her, cleansing her and untangling herhair and rubbing eucalyptuS onto her numb arms-only to discover she wasnot one of them.
They interrogated her and, failing that, threatened to throw her outto the wild boar. She relented and confessed that she didn't know who hadkilled Rudy Vega,but she knew that there was in fact a sawmill on the ea';[erncrest of Susong Dalaga. She herself had been there, and had heard of theIsneg's pale god. They called him DoJs!Qr.He brou~ht no gift of medicine ~rhealing but more basic necessities - canned sardmes and, on rarer expedi-tions, Target corned beef and baked bread. In exchange for this Doktor be.:..came probably the richest middle~fQund Susong Dalaga. Ihey offeredhim sites of small excavations, dug by hand, of ancient bones and ores. Thebones he threw away,but from the ores he taught them to extract gold. With-out knowing the relative value of gold and offer..dedLy the nonchalant des-ecration of their ancestors, the lost Isnegs were said to fear him and resent thework of his men.
The camp had been set up, she finally revealed, not to protect theIsnegs aSCOlonel Zabarte's statement had earlier announced, butto protect ...this flourishing, volatile transaction.. "What did the camp get out of it?" I asked the obvious questionwhen I finally managed to wedge myself into her mass of interrogators.
In short she replied that the camp, or the sa,vmill, was very obvi-ously sui generis. And I knew for a fact that barely five years ago, after theraid on the NPA,the area had been declared a sanctuary. Mymeanderings onvideo were taking shape, congealing into a story.
Dilim continued:This Do.ktQr.hollgbtfrom the Isnegs rare birds and wild animaJp-
co~ktatoos and crocodiles, plovers..1nd bearcat5-anddelivere~IDfl!lthe.camp where they were swiftly dispatched to a man-mad~eated forBongbong Marcos, the President's teenage son. Doktor. reportedly donatedsome of these birds to wildlife conservation groups worldwtck..clfendin.l?J.m!11y-of the general's mw who could oat earn eOQ!!&bJrom-b-tibeslo.rJQ.&glog.permits, much less afford to bequ~~r~!~Jaurutwhiffi.iIl the il!t~~n_alio_n~lan<rposT:legallllalket ~n them a Swiss dollar acco~~t. He tradedferns, orchids and crude jewelry of gold. He incited envy as well. Not a few
wanted Doktor assassinated. Dilim herself had been one of the discontentedand sought ~er way out. Many of them asked her why she spoke the dialect:and she replIed that, contrary to belief, the Isnegs were proficient in manydialects, and seoke in fact a sort of Esperanto culled from seven major dja-~ec~ learned from all their dealings with Doktor's visitors or, as many sa})patIents.
1\vo weeks later, after everyone had gotten used to Dllim's by now~nstoppable patter, she stole off one night with many of the refugees' belong-Ings-food and money, and also family mementoes she had picked up inher haste - and clambered into the woods, perhaps to return to the site ofthe tribe. we found out that she herself had been . about her kin-s!}ip to the tribe, and at she lost her way. which was unlikely of one who~ lived her entire life in the mountain, and was devoured by a pack ofbQaL~body's tatters, strips of clothing and her booty-paper bills, photographs,t~ans - were found scattered among grasses and fungi the next morn-ing. Alsoa driver's license with her picture, giving her name as Leonida Ca511~
A day later her grieving sister, a bent, black-veiled spinster from thenaval base town QfAkeldama, came to claim her body and was besieged byreporters, who had rushed by ferry and plane to interrQgate her when news Qfthe IVishap came to Manila. "No more na," she brQkeher English, "we sufferenough."
Back in my quarters that evening, as I prepared tQpack my gear, Icaught a nQte being slipped under my door. r yanked the dQor open andfound a small dark boy crouched before me. He looked up, startled, at myunexpected apparition, and I held him down firmly by the shoulder as I read:
. If you lived in a place called Akeldama, wouldn't you want to take a.1jjbL . ~. \ 0 ~ nMAl!'-' \f . ' . 'Yqearer WIll takeyou Inlosi tribe. ~ ~/ o.Jl. ~'s. ~\
\f\ \'I folded the slip, tucked it in my pocket, and released the boy, who \~
jumped up in gratitude. r saw his face light up as I handed him a peso and achocolate bar. I felt once more the tingle of danger running down my spine.My curiosity, as they say, was piqued, and I prepared my camera, fortunatelypalm-size, state-of-the-art and a mere kilo in weight, plus water and a pack
of fresh shirts. If I were to make a statement to this tribe and become part ofiL~germinating myth, I was going td he at my best.
WE HIKED TO THE o..\1P by midmorning, taking the southwesltrailthrough thedensest part of the forest. There were patches of sunlight where dappled leavesthe size of surfboards trembled with a secret nervousness, and also areas over-hung with thorns and vines, arachnidal interstices where there was absoluteshadow and gloom. The little boy was leading me to the camp. He limberedup with the precision of a homing device, brushing aside the marvelous foli-age with unrehearsed indifference. I stumbled along behind him-l wasused only to dodging pickpockets and street urchins in the Quiapo under-pass. I must admit that I chose to follow the cryptic message with both trepi-dation and childlike eagerness. I was younger and more reckless then. myenthusiasm for adventure yet unabated. I braved thickets of wild palm throb-bing with leeches and white-furred higad. I expected birds as mythical as theadarna. Or worse. We clawed our way up with less fabulous mosqultoes andsalamander lizards, slipped over crags pillow-soft with lichen, and finallyreached the camp by sundown. We stepped out of the tangle of balite andnarra and onto the rim of a slope, at the bottom of which nestled the camp. Isaw a footpath leading down to the camp and told the boy, "Let's go."
He sprinted up and said, "No! We wait!""Why?""Dangerous to go down," he stammered. "Zabarte men shoot you.""But aren't you Zabarte boy?" I asked him. to which he responded
with a violent shake of his cropped head,"We wait for pale god," he said.Then we heard the metallic scrape of an Armallte rine being loaded .
I turned around and found an M-16 pointed straight at my face by a localRambo burned raw by sun and sweat and definitely displeased with our pres-ence. Behind him, and coming around us from the shrubbery, were aboutfive of his clones. "Patay ka," he snarled cinematically.
The little boy jumped up and began to twitter, "Not him, Doktor askto see him!" to which I Vigorously nodded assent. The rltle was lowered dan-gerously to my heart, and still more dangerously downwards,
"ID," the sentry demanded, incredulous.
, I fumbled in my jeans and realized I had left my driver's license,voter s ID and cedula in my coat. I was dead meat. AvanJ Garde ArJisJNapagkamalang NPAI the tabloids would titillate. I saw the rifle slowlymaking its ascent again, and at the apex of that arc I knew my head wasgoing to be blown off.
But then a figure rustled out of the shrubs. As it straggled towardsus against the light I could discern the silhouette of an M-16 pointed at mycaptors. Rambo turned around with a growl, stared hard at the intruder, andlet out a long, ear-splitting yawp. Hewalked up to the figure and chocked it ina finn embrace. The newcomer brushed him aside and said, "The camp'sfolding up, boys. Too much milagro going on." .
"I go home also," Rambo said cheerfully, surrealistically at ease.Then he looked at me and said, "I shoot him now."
"Tarantado ka talaga," the figure said as he stepped out of the shad-O\l/S. "I called him here. He's almost my kid brother."
I watched quiZZically as he approached me, rifle by his side. "Four-teen years I no see you," he pidgined mockingly, "and you're still knockingabout where you shouldrl't be?" And then I realized I was looki~up, with_considerable surprise and r~~a!~led, sootened face o~n Hid~-l&0'.\kWE 'Ula A FIRE and boiledwaterfor ginger tea, the only kind availab~t.\l\~nomadIC vdlages of the lost tnbe. Laced with rum it gave us wannth andlooseness of tongue. Around us the tribesmen were tearing down wattle bon-fires and cloths of long, oily bark.
"Welcome to the lost world," Jun annotated over tea. "Everythingyou've heard about it is true. The lost tribe is as old as little Dilim down
. under. y!e set it up for a couple of photographers from National Geographic._I myself dislike these location shootings."
"And National Geographic doesn't know you went through all thetrouble," I commented wryly.
"Of course," he said. "Unfortunately, I don't get the credit.""Hudas?" I asked, and we of course chuckled at the pun."I mean the ministry I work for. This set-up was partly funded by
the Test Center for the Dissemination of Rumors-my creation if I might say
so. A thankless job, but very creative. Come to the office and take a look. Imight even have a job for you. Got a job?:'
"No,n"Good.The Ministryfor Minoritiesis looking for a fewgood m~
People call us M In' M, and we used to tell the hookers in town, IWemelt iyour mouth not in your hand.' "
"So why are you packing up?" I inSisted."The stonn, as they say,isover," he said. "Besides,Zabarte got greedy
and started making money outof all this. It was an elaborate set-up, be warned.We couldn't afford to let Geographic know what we were up to."
"Who killed Rudy and Dilim?""Not my actors. Many of them, by the way,come from a respected
street theater group in Akeldama. This has been their biggest break. The oth-ers are real Isnegtribesmen, that much I can assure you." Then, in answer tomy question: "I suspect it was Zabarte, who had to keep his logging a secret.Originally he was supposed to keep curious Manilenos like you from seeingus set up our show. In the end we wound up covering up for his logs. I hatethe motherfucker. Sorry."
"They say you made a lot of money trading endangered species," Ireminded him.
"You're one of those too, huh? No, we shipped them to CalamianIsland, recently declared ifyou've been reading your government press a sanc-tuary and reserve. I know you know about the private safari. Rumors as far asI know. This lob actually gets my mountain goat sometimes. The horror."
"Are you the pale god?""Natural pigmentation precludes that," he replied. "But Zabark
was supposed to protect these brainchildren of you might have heard of himMinister Armando Lizares. Mandy to one and all except the Isnegs, who calledhim Diwata Isneg. Megalomania, I think, is how we call it."
"So why did you set it up?" I persisted."The tribe? Fame and glory, I think. When was the last time you
saw the archipelago in National Geographic?""Why are you telling me all this?" I <l'ikedhim, and he gave an
expression of genuine sU~Jrise.
"Youwanted to know, right? The whole thing's screwed up anyway.We'll all probably be sent to a Bicutan for Bunglers."
"And you have work for me," I said drily."They're depackaging the center after all this controversy, Haveyou
been reading the tabloids? Bad headlines, Everything'sbackfired since Zabarte'smen killed those two. Rabid academics are raising a howl, the commissior)'spersonnel are getting restless, National Geographic is expected to sue. We'reall being kicked around as a favor."
"And what happens toZabarte?" I asked."Heads," he predicted, "will roll. But not Zabarte's. He's got friends
enough to mount a coup." He handed me a card with the address listed,simply, as Malacafiang Palace, Manila. "It's a glamor job, but somebody'sgot to do it. Stilt working for pennies for those what do you call them? Thosevolunteer groups?"
I said yes."They told me you took some pretty good footage of the mountain.
What for?"I said I didn't know, and asked him if he was reversing the interro-
gation .•"I haven't sold out, AI," he said, calling me by name again for the
first time, "If you work around a system bigger than you are, you can makesome real changes. But you know that. Call me in Manila as soon as you can.Call me Thursday." With that he stood up and drained the last drop of the tea,Hehoisted a huge native basket stuffed with clothes and provisions, and thenproceeded downhill, following the trail of the ex-tribe. They really seemed tome like actors walking away from the scene of a crime; in a few minutes theywould return, I thought, for curtain call,
. ..\ ~ lA~~tO~U~Jj'-t7 ~J\04-E\ \y\~\f \. . )
.-_/"
A.S.l.A.
I ARRIVED IN MANIlA under October's colorless sky; the entire city had the feel ofdriftwood and the hulls of cast-out things. In Quiapo that afternoon twojeepneyloads of fortune tellers were rounded up and taken to the Manila CityJail.
Quiapo's fortune tellers were the first to re-open shop upon TyphoonMaling's exit, and were immediately swarmed by cro~ds of mat~ons, youngcolegialas, housemaids, poets and professional occultiStswho milled aroundPlaza Miranda, waiting for their turn, Under the parsimonious shade of para-sols, the fortune tellers read palms and cards within earshot of a dozen othersouls. Bynoon, when many of the flower shops and Chinese pawnshops wereonly thinking of opening up, they had earned more than enough mO,neytheshops could make in a week. And, as was the custom, that was the tIme thepolice came in to collect a portion of their revenue. , .
The third district police arrived. Slippers, vegetables, Itltes andclothespins were thrown about as the vendors, accustomed to the waves ofarrests here, scampered to stash their merchandise in rented havens, usuallynearby shops that let them meander like windowshoppers ~hile t~e raid wasgoing on. The economics of faith alwa~t!i~eQjo\\l~J9.1tspe!~
,~ ,The best QfQuiapo's fortune tellers was said to beth€. old~l1£!L
Dayang of Siquijor, whQm I met under these circumstances shQrtly after I~etumed to Manila. I had taken the express bus back to the city and arrivedthat afternoon. I proceeded immediately tQthe nearest carinderia-:~l2..&~Bistro was its name-to relie~mys~lf and, returning the favor, forced my-seifWordersome tea: it was served in the usual thick mugfound in Chinatown
·~laur.-ants. WaW~gfor the dirty liquid to cool,! looked up towards the door-';ay~d found the vendors and SQoths7iyersdarting for safety.The raid wouldbe swift and decisive, pouncing on the old and slow-footed.
Out of this drift rushing past Oyang's, Dayang the witch extricatedherself, walked into the carinderia, sat in front of me and, with her handsclasped on the table, stared at me with ferocious yet beseeching eyes. Her hair,tattered and grey,was tied to a bun below the nape; wisps of grey threads nowformed a poorly woven halo around her head. Her clothes were dusty, of ashade of black that constant wear had faded and frayed at the seams. Shesaid, "I am too old for this now." She stretched her legs under the table andlet out a long, exhausted "Aahh" which everyone in the carinderia heard.She smiled broadly, embarrassed by this sudden unguarded act. "Drink,'~ shesaid. "Don't mind me."
"Can't you tell when they're coming?" I asked."Wesee what h ens in heaven, but not on earth." That declara-
tion of fait em oldened her enough to in orm me of her work history, as itwere: alia sociedad matrons sent their drivers to fetch her, and she told for-tunes in Forbes Park and Dasmarinas mansions. She felt uneasy there-"nalutula akol"-and lost concentration, Many of the matrons wen~satis-fied and paid her thick wads of pesos. fult they were nothing, she said, com-Eared to her most famous llatroness, whowas the First Lad;.
"You read for'unes for Ma'am?" I inquired (nobody, as I ~~dared to sail her simply Imelda back then, and the name was conjured onlysecretly and often in derision). .
Twice,she said, except that the first one included a healing session."You're a healer toQ." I observed the obvious, and she said yes, us-
ing the local, less mystifying term: "Hilot."-,The first time was when the First Lady developed fish scales on her
legs. Apparently no doctor in the palace could find a cure, and many of hersilk stockings could no longer conceal the silveryscales that covered her thighsand shin, Imelda asked her Blue Ladies what possible cure they could find forher, and obediently they hustled Dayang into the palace, her old tatters neatlypressed and her face buffed with talcum powder. Presuming it was the cus-tom, she bowed bending at the waist, before her new client.
"Tell me what's wrong," the First Lady told her.To which Dayang, shrinking in the opulence of the receiving room,
replied, "Humingi kayo ng patawad sa tubig," Askforgiveness of the water.Palace think-tank specialists pondered what it could possibly mean, and con-
lilt""'" lll"~ :~II"'~. l
gling the health reporter's copy when they barged in. He spent the next twomonths in a jail cell with other editors, poets and farmers, after which he wasreleased for lack of Evidence {i.e. he was not significantly-to )Iii &:be~uzzword then-subversive), He thought of going to Davao to farm, thentoyed with the idea ofpublishing light entertainment magazines, which werethe onl~ ones allow~d by the government. Mandy Lizares invited hi~mtoMalacanang when Llzares was appointed Minister for Minorities; Jun hadafter all written aprafile in the Sunday Times which had somehow madeLizares guapo to the Apo.
"A think tank, I think, is what it's called," he said as he pulled achair and offered coffee. "Let's have a look at your Cv." He glossed over it,
~ humming importantly and nodding his head, and then he asked without
~
IOOking_up, "How's Delphi?"_ <::;;: ")n the States," I said. .
. .••.~ "She married?"1~~"Not anymore. Four-year old brat liveswith her."~ *~Heput the folder down and said, "This looks fine. What's his name?"~ :'Whose?" ,.
~'The brat's," r-tJ ryJ-t- ot~d.fM:COpernic1JS.~ was taking it out on her kid, I think. They ~
him Nico'for short. He might eventually become Machiavellian." -J'"How soon can you work?" he asked me. \ ,,' c _ J . ,Il ~ J.,ll"Anytime," I said. '-v \'1 (W7\::t YV\Q-WU
"Goo& Tomorrow morning at nine. Now let's go get a beer."Wetook his Mitsubishi Lancer to Ermita, where we let the smoke of
E,epe'sGrill engulf us,Jun commandeered the table nearest the curb. "Goodfor people watching, Garcon! Est-ce que vouspouvez nous donner de la biere?" 'f?And to me: "They like it when I do that. Or 'dalawa na bier: Means it hasn'tbeen a terrible day at work."
"And when does it get terrible?""You can't tell," he said. "Sometimes Ma'am or Sir gets an idea
and we're up to our necks in research.""So what's happened to the Test Agencyfor what?""Dissemination of Rumors. Flunked, It'll be all over the papers in
the next fewweeks."
"What wil!?""For one thing, a battalion of scholars and researchers have ganged
up in Zagreb-""Yugoslavia?""Yup, To debate over the issue of the Gentle [sneg, the Lost Tribe,
What Have You.Do you have any cigarettes? Non-menthol? Good, Ur Nicole~aroard, a scholar on tribal language:, in the Philippines, has questioned _our Pinoy Esperanto not to mention the artifacts follnd among the tribe. Alocal researcher, one Charlie Balak or somethin , contested that the artifacts~t came from the ~ationa Muse~
"And this hoax was all your idea?""No, Mandy's. That's why he's flying out of town. Mandy's sort of
cornered a mining prospect there, if you were suspicious enough. The GentleIsneg covered up a lot of things. They themselves, incidentally, have beguntalking to the Zagreb conferees. There's one story in the New York Tt'meswhere they confessed being made to walk naked for Tom Walker, the photog-rapher."
"The Geographic guy,""Well, Geographic's disclaiming him, says he's freelance, More free
lunch, actually, The guy never paid for any of his bills, The agency's expenseswere truly astronomical. Wish I could say the same thing about our salaries.Let's get this clear,,& Myagency did background research for Mandy, all thistribal stuff, you know, what they do, what they eat, what they think, Mandysort of extrapolated and came up with the idea for the Lost Tribe, Zabartemoved in to protect the secret, and went into logging on his own, Mandy'sbeen eyeing the mines. This elaborate hoax, as the scholarly journals havebegun denouncing it, will be dragged like a carcass for sometime, Mean-while, being clean and clear of conscience, I have other matlers to atlend to.Let them fry."
"And the President's clean, too?""Wait till you see the people you'll be messing with," he said, eva-
sively. "Artists, intellectuals, ex-professors, ex-journalists, and certainly a lotof assholes, We'll be working directly under A.~sholeNumber One,~ax Pla~,"
"The journalist?"
".So-called.Don't let him bother you, though. He'shere for the moneyand the chicks. But he won't be bothering us all the time. I'm being moved toa more or less autonomous bureau, and that, my good friend, is where I'mtaking you."
"What is it?""The bureau of censorship. Don't give me that look. We're not go-
ing to call. it that, if it's any consolation. It's going to be turned inside out, atotal facellft. Anew name even. I'm thinking of something like 6SIA. Apedl2Q.S period I period Aperiod, to make it look more offidal. At least the acronymdWS DO)lOII still wrjte pQetry~"
I said no."Pity," he said "We'll not onlywateh out for slips in the press, boobs
on the tube, flicks on the screen, but also trends of censorship and mindcontrol all over Asia-the region I mean. The work opens a lot of possibili-ties."
"And what will A.S.LA.mean?""I don't know yet. I'm thinking of something like the Ageng for
~e Scientific Investigation of the AbsurQ..Howdoes that grab you?""It," I saidsuccintly, "grabs me." I was, all told, desperately in need
of work, as many of us were. I suspected sometimes that ]un felt the sameway, ahd wore his earnestness like a camouflage.
President Richard Nixon and Vietnam President Nguyen van Thieu rebuffedproposals for a coalition government with the VietCong, while in Singapore,amid clashes between ethnic Malays and Chinese, an Indian occultist pre··dieted the follOWing:(1) the death of another Kennedy and a third marriagefor Jackie Onassis, (2) China's "self-destruction" in the 1980s, and (3) also,natural calamities and political upheavals "with unknown figures comingto the fore."
Undaunted by prophecies of doom, the biggest hit in local Pinoycinema was Mu-Muu Fiesta, starring Eddie Mesa and Helen Gamboa. Therewere rumblings of impeachment against President Marcos in the LowerHouse,while a vice consul in the United States embassy was being reassigned follow-ing complaints that.she bad been referring to Filipinos lining up for visas 2S
ijlQnkey~.Somewhere between hippiedrome'sdehin-goli and the Diliman Re-
public's makibaka, ]un met, as they say, his love.Of these moments we have sketchy, reluctant information-more
because most of our truancies at the MilkyWay beside Malacanang were inthe company ofJun's current fiancee, the laVishlycharming Susan Tala. Susanat that lime was working for the National Historical Institute. The fact thatthey were dredging up neutrinos of ancient Philippine history would furtherstrengthen the institute's professional relationship with our own .A.S.l,A.Butfor now ours was purely personal, as conspirators in a regime of pure ennui.
"We've got documents straight out of Pigafetta's treasure chest,"Susan would invariably announce when she walked into Milky Way whereJun and I went for beer. Wewould wince with envy; we had only memos andblacked-out texts to amuse us the whole day. "Documents full of supersti-tions and miraculous events," she would continue. "Out at sea, Magellan'smen saw mermaids and sea creatures five times the size of galleons."
"Some people," Jun said, "call them whales.""Not quite," Susan replied. "Whales with the sad faces of ogres,
whales with human feet and the voices of angels. Heat and hunger, I think,could have caused thaL"
Jun had met Susan "after martial law," :hat is to say sometime inthe late seventies. She was to him a gift of light in what seemed like intermi-nable darkness. She walked in looking for a book that had accidentally been
FROM BEAllEMANIAC to hippie to student activist of sorts,Jun Hidalgo's life fromthe late '60s to the early '70s seemed, to use the patois back then, one with theflow. In 1969, for instance, he had shot through the Times rank and file fromreporter to special assignments writer to the sinecure of column-writing.During that year Mariner 6 and 7 were on their way to photograph Mars,their mission occluded by something more momentous the following month:Man Lands on the Moon. Jun had suggested using that headline but the~itors v?ted for Man Explores Moon! instead. The news shared eq~al space10 the Ttmes with Gloria Diaz is Miss Universe! These events summed upthe times: it seemed that America had claimed the moon, but the Filipinoshad won the universe, with Gloria in ~celsis and a swimsuit. In Czechoslo-vakia, Alexander Dubcek, the popular liberal leader, was replaced by GusaxHusak in a new authoritarian communist leadership. In the Midway Islands,
transported to the censors office-the bureau at that time had to squat in asmall room in Malacanang, He looked up, she stared at him-and then sheyelled. "Don't t0uch that!" He had been going over a Journal purportedlywritten byAntonio Luna, the young, irascible leader of the insurrection againstSpain, and how and why it got to the office was the question he had beenpondering for the last fifteen minutes,
She rushed to him, scooped the document from his hands and savedit from felt-tip annotations. lilt's not banned yet, you dummy," she told him.
"I was wondering what this was all about," Jun replied. "I thoughtwe were going after history books now, Not a farfetched idea." They intro-duced themselves, he made tea (Susan wasn't a coffeedrinker - "Too high-strung as it is," she told him), With Luna safely back in the commissio~hands they had dinner that evening and were lovers the next morning. ~
"And?" I asked Jun."And what?""Is that all you're going to say?""What, you want all the details? Go get your own girl."
~
They had their first fight whenJun accidentally mentioned that hehad gotten married somewhere along the way to the Diliman Republic. Per-
aps this was why Jun refused to mention the incident again after that, andwe l~arned little of that phase of his life. Susan would have a stabilizing effecton him: since he met her his life seemed to settle to a comfortable equilib-rium, His restlessness simmered to trust and the comfort of companionship,It was better, in many respects, than getting married.
He had met his wife during a rally in front of Congress. She wascarrying a placard-"Marcos '[Uta ng Imperyalista!!!" It began to rain, butthey stood their grou od. Drenched under Manila's relentless rain, she seemedshe was capable of passionately believing anything, and of defending thisbelief to the death. He became an activist, spoke in at least two rallies, andtravelled with her on social immersion and education tours to Central Luzon.Somewhere in the Cordilleras they were united in a guerrilla wedding, swear-ing companionship with their hands clasped over an M-16, They went backto Manila, found a dingy apartment beside an estero in Quezon City,madeends meet, and eventually succumbed to the tenuousness of their hasty mat-rimony. She left and he moved upward in the Times. When martial law was
declared in 1972, Jun found out that sill: bad gQneback tQ the Cordillerai,had..gQtten married a~a~l41ter kille.j iR ar:1epcoJloterwitb goyerlli.ment troops., -
Bythe powers granted upon me by the Constitution, I, Ferdinand E. Marcos, asPresident of the Republic of the philippines, do hereby decree the creation ofA.S,l.A, the Agency for the Scientific lnvestigation of the Absurd, on this day ofthe Lord the sixteenth of November Nineteen Hundred and Eighty, and appro-priate for this purpose the amount of etcetera etcetera from the National Treas-ury and-
[ myself wrote most of the text and Jun moderated it to the properversion found in many of the books the Ministry of Information issued later.The acronym certainly stQod for something else, which we have no need tQdivulge here. We gathered at the Malacafiang Reception Room fQr its inau-guration, angelic in polo barong. It was the first time I saw Sir and Ma'am(as I too had begun to call them) up close: he hobbled towar~ the thr~,,,c~(of carved wood and Capiz, emblazoned with gold leaf), while she dnftedclose behind, or seemed to, her pale face encumbered by a lacquered bouf-fant. 1wondered why they looked unreal on my first encounter, and nQWIrecail that it was because they were bathed in video lamps all through thenight. The entire ceremony was being cQmmited to memory, or at least to ~-matic tape. The air-conditioning, thankfully, was Qnfull blast, a~d we shiV-ered with applause when the President finished reading my scnpt and de-creed us into existence,
Days later Jun and I listed down the functions of A,S.l.A.and circu-lated them in a memQrandum dispatched to a team of researchers, clerksand accountants,
Office of the PresidentRepublic of the PhilippinesOfficial Memorandum
The Agency for the Scientific Investigation of the Absurd is herebyauthorized to perform the follOWing:
1. Instruct media on matters of national security, and to expunge
from any and all media any material the Office of lhe President deems a lhreatthereof;
2. OVr,lsee a bureau whose task Is to expedite the above;3. Enforce the suspension of any entity found violating the above.
For some time most of the periodicals all over the country bore themarks of Jun's new profession. Later, to Jun's relief, Marccs issued a decreestipulating that publishers should censor theIr own work. Jun would walkaround the news stalls inspecting random copies of magazines to see if theycomplied with the new decree, Most of them, in fact, tried to outdo one an-other, and there were pages full of blacked-out lines that made no sense atall:
"That's it?" I asked]un. "That's all we've got to do?""Don't look at me," he said, "That memo was written by Max Plata
himself. Our work now is to expand it.""I suppose Max will have to take credit," I said."Only if it works, AI. If we screw up we lake it alL"I must confess that fromjun's stories and the few moments when I
had seen Plata, I had very little-affection for our immediate superior. Asmall,garrulous man, twenty pounds ovelWeight, with a pasty face and thinninghair, he was a sleaze who once worked as an editor for one of the pre-martiallaw dailies and wrote stories largely flattering to the Marcoses, which ex-plained how he got his post in the palace. Atrue expert in the delicate art ofingratiation was how Jun once described him. The man of-eourse had taste;drove a BMWand wore Versace shirts, Dior ties, Bally shoes. The trappings ofhis charmed life he displayed with a studied candor: you could tell he wasuncomfortably, deliberately bon vivant, often excessively so. lWice a monthhe traveled out of the country on behalf of the agency; there were symposia inBangkok, meetings in Zurich, conferences in London and NewYork.Jetsetti~with Ma'al11,he was photographed in tabloids from Makati to Manhattan. Hehad published, through our office, a novel of outstanding mediocrity, andhad once toldJun and myself, in front of his adulant staff, that he was theonly Filipino qualified to win the Nobel Prize. .
In 1973, a few months after Marcos declared martial law,with Plataat the head of the censorship office, it was not uncommon to find magazineswith entire. paragraphs blackened with special felt pen, and photographs ofAmerican rock idols with their long, friZzyhair opaqued to crew cuts. Therewere instances when Plata even suggested clipping the tres.c;esof Beethovenand Mozart. Later he decided it was time to monitor books as well. Andso Jundutifully spent late hours deciding which works were passable and whichwere to be condemned,
xxxxx want to take you XXXXexperience XXXpower comes fromthe XXXXbut if you believe the closer we get to xXXXXXXXbecause we weregood in XXXXXX,they thought we XXXXXXlike to see how XXXXXXXX,becausenoneofthis XXXXwhen you're alone, XXXXXXXbetter not tothink and remem-
ber.
ONEOF THEFtRST PROJECTS of A.S,LA.was to declare Manila the City of Man, Thetitle was Plata's idea, and Imelda Marcos, who was going to be Governor ofManila in a year, extrapolated it to include national highways brimmingwith bromeliads, Metro Aidestreet sweepers clad in bright t-shirts designed byPierre Cardin, cathedrals of Capiz and filigree silver devoted to the SantoNino, and lavish processions in honor of tbe Marian image. In October LaNaval de Manila would accede to the lavishness of the cult of Mary, and inIntramuros, the walled city would heave its burden of legacies in a candlelitprocession towards sundown. Fifty-SiXimages of the Mother of God in vari-OUS guises would totter out of the cathedral, on floats decked with calla lilies,plated gold and fake pearls. Nuestra Senora del Rosario, Nuestra Senora deGuia, Nuestra Senora de Penafrancia, Nuestra Senora de la Paz, NuestraSenora de los Desamparados, Mater Dolorosa, Mother of Perpetual Help.
It deserved no less than a visitation of Pope John Paul II, who for-mally announced over DZDouble F New Society Radio that he was stoppingby the Philippines on the Asian leg of his world tour.
We were rattling past Recto and Legarda, Jun's Lancer picking itsway through potholes and debris, "City of Manholes, indeed," Jun, who wasdriving, told us, "Wait till His Holiness sees what the First Lady's prepared forhim."
"We're going there ourselves.""But we were supposed to see the Marian procession," Susan pro-
tested. "I want to see the gowns. They say they're actually sewn with rubiesand diamonds."
"Not in the procession though," ]un said. "Everybody will want asouvenir."
The Pope's future lodging was going to be the Coc®H1..Palace. Thetitle was literal, because the entire mansion was mostly made of parts of co-conut trees. Massive trunks rose to ceilings ofcoconut panels; the Luzon roomhad canopied beds draped with coconut fiber and a ceiling painted with elec-tric scenes from the Creation; the Visayasroom was done in pastels and gauzefabric, mirrors framed by husks, cherubim peeking behind fronds; theMindanao room promised passionate evenings amidst the metalwork of krisand kulintang. Three years ago Marcos' most trusted crony, Danny Cuenco,set up the Coconut Bank by draining small contributions from all the coco-nut farmers of the country. The fund was supposed to have sourced (to usethe palace jargon) infrastructure and services for the farmers, but Cuencodecided to invest it in more profitable ventures, and the palace was his tithe tothe national landscape.
We walked past solicitous guards to survey our little Vatican.• "Why are they doing this?" Susan whispered. There was in fact an
oppressive solemnity to the whole place that seemed to prescribe lower deci-bels.
balikbayans started to fly back to the New Pllilippines with their crates ofStateside pasalubong. DiscO"King Denny Terio was scheduled to swish on theAraneta Coliseum stage, and one sashaying couple would make it to the fi·nals of Dance Fever. Marcos announced in the government press that hehad ordered the completion of the Agoo-Baguio highway in time for the Pope'sarrival, where presumably the Pontiff would pass enroute to the [gorol~ andthe USAirForce in the Summer Capital. Allover the city there was a growingbuzz of anticipation, even as Jean Saburit tried to titillate the pious inKaladkarin, while at the QUAD,Ali-3, tuneta and Gotesco, four clones insynthetic moptops reenacted TheBir/h of/he Sea/les. In the United Kingdom272 Filipino domestic helpers were arrested and deported. And in the MiddleEast, Iran and Iraq had begun exchanging air raids, with threats of anthraxhovering in the air. ~
But not even television's World Tonite, with its exclamations of upheaval around the globe, could top that night's latebreaker: Marcos was lifting martial law.
"Let AIanswer ct1at,"lun said."Pinoy hospitality," I volunteered."Half tfie answer," ]un said. "It looks good.""It's tacky," Su~an said."Not the palaGe, dummy. This whole thing. We'll look good to the
THEANNOUNCEMENTwas issued on the day of the feast of the Black Nazarene InQuiapo, and instantly it spread through the rumor mills of the district fasterthan the periodic fires that razed its shabby tenements to the ground. MAR-TIAL LAWTO BE LIFTED SOON! the tabloids shrilled among vendors ofsampaguitas and talismans. DETENTIONCENTERSWILLBE PHASEDOUT!echoed the morning dailies. Seven hundred forty-five detainees were going tobe transferred from the military camps to the National Penitentiary, there toserve the rest of their terms as ordinary criminals. Camps Crame, Bonifacioand Bagong Diwa were going to be converted to-what? "GolfcC\lW~," sug-gested]un as we labored over the press releases we were supposed to Ooodthenewspapers with. "Or wegamalll. now that's a thought. Shopping plazas forthe self·contained communities of the future. What do you think, AIBoy?"
Better than getting caught in Quiapo in the thick of the BlackNazarene procession. Allafternoon the machos of Manila had been converg-ing around the church, waiting for the cross-bearing figure of the black Christto emerge. These were the district's pickpockets, bag-sbL'ihers, pimps, rapists,male prostitutes, and usurers who jostled with young men from the Catholicschools, officeworkers, jeepney drivers, taxi drivers, boys frol11the bote-diyaryo
"Why try to look good now?" I asked."Better now than never," Jun said.Imelda Marcos was not taking any chances, that much we knew.
1\.vodays earlier she had flown to NewYork,where she opened an exhibit ofcrafts at the Philippine Center entitled "(sang Bansa Isang ,lliyia," whichwould later become the slogan of the new decade. More than two thousand
carts, rugby sniffers, pushcart dwellers. Stripped to the waist, they swarmedbarefoot around the image, forming a concentric wave of piety and repent-ance. If they lasted through this day's ritual they would be forgiven all theirsins, that much was guaranteed. Their naked bodies undulated like a copper-colored sea under the sun, a sea bearing the heaviest cross in all Christen-dom, because the more mortal one's sins were, the heavier the image be-came, It was exhausting merely to stand there and watch this swirling massof bodies advance, and it seemed as if this force could truly dispel by sheermass alone the consequences, divine or not, of all past misdeeds.
Atthe birthday bash of Erafio Manalo, head of the Iglesia ni Kristo,Marcos walked up to the podium and announced, "Before you, I say frankl}that before January ends, I will lift martial law." Aday later the agency fol-lowed that up with a press release: End of Martial Rule No Scam -PM.Minister of DefenseJuan Ponce Enrile, answering queries about the military,replied, "Even though the military assumed vast powers under martial law,the military establishment has always subordinated itself to civilian author-'ty "1 •
selves, eight years and four days less than four months, a martial disciplinein or~er to save the Republic.
"Today, we are privileged once again,"The magnitude of this moment brings us back to the very first
crisis in the life of our people, when nearly a century ago, our forbears offeredtheir lives, happiness and honor to a quest that we pursue to this very day: thequest for a New Society.
"This has always been the Filipino dream, a dream of a new orderJof national existence, a dream thwarted for close to a century. We have.Ma.atlliodred }£Cars of solitude. a century of alienation from one another, a hun-dred years of humiliation and distorted values.
"And so eight years ago the consequences fell upon us: a social or-der in which the privileges of the fewwere enjoyed over the degradation of themany. And in the revolution of the poor, many exploited legitimate griev-ances by conspiracy and subversion-all to what end? To destroy the repub-lic, to bring about the death of the nation, through a violent revolution.
"Sixteen years ago I promised to make this nation great again. Butsoon the greatest perils were upon us: anarchy, assassination, arson, pillage,destrHction, and a proclamation that a new nation would take over the Re-public .of the Philippines. I saw that crisis as a test of greatness, and the Fili-pino people shared my vision.
"That crisis, my fellow countrymen, is far from over. But we haveproven ourselves in the past. Wehave shown greatness. Weare a great people,a great nation, Aswe lift martial law and move on to the New Society, this isthe one thing that wHi never change."
Marcos invited a group of diplomats to witness his formal lifting ofmartial law at the palace. We gathered at the palace'S Heroes Hall to listen toone of the most important speeches (edited by)un and yours truly) of ourtime:Max Plata had imposed the task on us, and for days )un and I wentabout the office dazed as zombies, thinking of the proper tack. "Max gavejust one rule," )un told me. "We can say anything, but don't make it soundlike Gabriel Garcia Marquez."
"Why not?" I asked him."Because the man's a commle," he said. "No kidding. That's what
Max said. You don't have to follow everything he says."The president, wearing a neatly pressed barong, never seemed more
confident, more self-assured than he was then. "HiStory," he began, "sum-mons us once more to an encounter with destiny. This is the privileged fate ofour generation, yours and mine: that it has been called upon twice by historyto serve, to risk life and honor, in the hour of crisis and the hour of need. Thefirst time was when we had to fight a war, a war not of our own making, inorder to defend our country. The second was when we had to impose on our-
AMONTH LATER, Pope John Paul II arrived at the airport of the NewSociety.Thepresident himself met him there, and was photographed on his knees, kiss-ing the Pope's hand. The Pope, borne on a float, motored along bayside RoxasBoulevard to Rizal Park, where two million people had gathered for the be-atification of Lorenzo Ruiz, a seventeenth-century clerk who refused to re-nounce his faith and was tortured in Nagasaki, Japan. He was the perfectideal for Asia's only Christian country, where faith in divine providence wastransmuted into a fatalism that endured calamities of weather or govern-ment. "Kahil maging isang libo man ang buhay ko, "the Pope enunci-
ated in perfect Tagalog, "sf Kristo ay aking susundan. " For years after hisvisit the Pontiff would remember his ovelWhelming flock in the Philippinesand include the country during his Easter morning prayers from his Vaticanbalcony. Hewould remember the teeming multitudes in the slums of Tondo,as his float drove past Del Pan bridge and down into the bowels of Manila'soldest port district. The Palace had arranged for a few hundred children;garbed in new clothes courtesy of the Blue Ladies, to greet the Pope withflowers and songs. But there was no controlling the sudden swell of the dis-trict's poor, the stevedores, seamstresses, chimays and yayas, drivers, streetsweepers, the dregs of the City of Man. The motorcade veered towards Tondo'santithesis, Binondo, the other side of the silver coin as it were. Years a 0
er ope, Paul the sixth had lant arra tre talwhere the statue 0 San Lorenzo Was now standing. The First Lady arrived in--a virgin white temo and a white veil clutching a rosary of diamonds. Onehundred communicants were accommodated by the Pope, led by the daugh-ters of the president and followed by Mother Teresa, who had flown in fromIndia.
The Coconut Palace had been scrubbed and spruced for the visit.\But the Pope declinE:dthe accommodations, and instead offered to stay in a~m at the Papal Nuncio in TaftAvenue.TaftAvenue?Haven of smoke helchers
and pickpockets? What would all of Christendom think? Wh~t would the Holysay,what would the Holy See? 1\vo days later, after the Pope arrived to swell-ing crowds at Mactan airport in Cebu, the First Lady flew in on a private jet,attended by a small party of eighteen Blue Ladies. Photographers at the air-port had been informed ot her arrival, and now they swarmed about her asshe parlayed questions and said, "I am here only as a worshipper." So werethe thousands of Cebuan0s who crammed over Mactan bridge, waving andcheering. In Antique, two islands away, a hundred residents who were notable to hire boats to Cebu woke up that morning with a disturbing vision: astrange disc, huge as a hippodrome, phosphorescent like the crucifixes androsaries given by nuns during First Communion. It hovered over the fieldsand paddies and the huts of the black magicians and the mangbabarang,wobbled over the trees and then zoomed out to the Pacific Ocean,
The next day the Pope flew back to less festive Luzon and motoreddirectly to the Vi~amese refu~e camp in Morong, Bataan---Coming out to-==-
meet the young refugees, he was surprised to see the First Lady once again,hobbling over the mud paths of the camp to meet him. He lifted his hand in
. benediction, and for the third time that week the First Lady received grace.The Pope looked at her radiant face, and then was distracted by the cheeringcrowds of Vietnamese families. Things happen in this land, he thought, thatGod alone, He alone, can understand.
"OYE,YOU BOYS are going to write a book." That was Max Plata calling us toconference, one of those big, ceremonious powwowswhich came once a monthat least. "The Apowants you to finish volume one of his encyclopedia for theNew Society, Leatherbound, gilt edged, a national heirloom, He wants it bySeptember, guys."
"A martial law anniversary volume," 1 tested the idea, then pro-tested: "Nobody can produce a book in so short a time."
"Not just a book" Diaz, You're going 10 do a hell of a lot of workyourself. You're going to produce a documentary to supplement the series.This is a multimedia project, by gum. And you're not calling it an anniver-sary, puneta. It's going to be known aspeedom Day fro~. I myselfchose the name. I've done what I'm paid to do, 'ifuWTWantyou to do yours."
"What's the first volume going to be about?" Jun asked."Philippine prehistory.""That's going to be a short subject," Jun said, "A Brief History of
Philippine Civilization, in ten pages.""Tarantado, the Apo isn't iokin~ Hjdalgo,," Max said. He lit a cigar
and pouredbrandy in a glass, asign that the conference was going to stretchwell into lunchbreak. "When the Apo wants something he wants it done.You've been here long enough to know that."
To know, that is, that the President had been planning an ambi-tious series detailing the history of the Philippines and leading to the decl~-ration of martial law and the founding of his NewSociety, "The whole damnthing," said Max. "Everything from the stone age to the birth of the Filipinonation. The staff of the Historical Institute will help you. 1 know you'ye gotmistresses there. Here's a list of names to interview, give you research, Friendsand family. The whole point is, hoy tarantado, are you listening to me?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean?" asked Jun."I mean to make it appear, as it should, that the entire history of
the Philippines had prepared us for the Marcos presidency. Discover the logicin the destiny of the race. Rizal said we are a nation without a soul. Well,we'll prove Joey wrong and give it souL"
"Sounds like Madam's words," Jun observed."Exactly," Max said. "The First Lady's excited about the project.
She gave the names for you to get in touch with. Anthropologists, geolo-gists"."
"Paleontologists?" askedJun,"Also places, events to cover. Fiestas and religious rites. Everything
you can find in the country. You lucky bastards are going to crisscross thecountry like those backpackers you hang around with in Ermita."
"Wait a minute," Jun said. "We?Where are you going?""Where I'm needed," Max said. "The First Lady has asked me to
organize things for her-speeches, press conferences, you know the damnroutine. The Philippine Center was a smashing success. We've got world ex-ports,left and right. The country's the greatest place on earth. And you'regoing to write about it."
He flew to NewYork the next morning, where ostensibly he squan-dered time and dignity on gala premieres and shopping binges atBloomingdale's.
Aftera couple of weeks, when we mulled the project over and gener--ally paced around the office with nothing but an atmosphere of malaise, Junas always slowboiled to enthusiasm. "Abook," he said, "of imaginary beings.Or beings real and imagined. That's it, Diaz. We'll dredge up bits and piecesof prehistory, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle. There'll be obscure authors withobscure references. The whole world will be dazzled blind."
"Not even Bor es " I said, "could have written anything like that.Q!:lru!:ybehe could. He's still alive, isn't he? Wecan call im up an er 1mthe national treasury."
\
"He won't see," Jun said, "the point. Max is mad. The presidentdoesn't want it that soon, or maybe he does but he'll settle for a year, maybetwo,"
~ "Max will skin us," I said, "if we don't have it by the time he gets~ back."~ "Screw Max," Jim said. "Now there's a good title, The man's puro
~ dila, a real ass Iicker if you've ever seen one. Mark that down for the bool\.. Philippine imaginary beings: ass Iickers, stool pigeons, buwaya, manok~ (as in: manok ko 'yan or ang galing ng manok mo), mga katapatin
.~'"" rr:ababa a~g [pad, mga aso 'tpusa, Or should I say tuta 'tputa. I'm get~~, tlng too CynIcal for my own good, I know. What do you say, Diaz?Will it P
~ . the censors?")~ "Weare the censors," I reminded him.~~ "I rest my case," he said.
~ Our prequel would introduce a magnum opus ostensibly begun by/-'t:ii the president in 1976. Marcos had commissioned a series of volumes on the/t history of the Filipino rnce, and !wi asked professo", schola" and histortans
to compJie research for thIS monumental undertakmg. Its title was".' "Maharlika," after the ancient Ta mahadlica, meaning noble and free.
In Volume 1\\'0of the series the Spanish chronic er Francisco Clavio reportedin 1518 that it was common to say "minabadlica ako nang panginoonco, "which translated as "my master has freed me." Maharlika was also thename of the guerrilla contingent Marcos was reported to have led during theSecond World War. Some pundits (mostly from the clandestine OPPOSitiOn)1noted that in Hindi the name meant big prick (maha = large, linggam =Jprick). The priapal pun, although said derisively, appealed to the President'sego, who had always taken pride in his sportsmanship and machismo. Not sofor the First Lady,who was said to have been offended by rumors that shepreferred specimen more prodigiously endowed. In 1975 she allegedly hajone Ramon Foronda incarcerated and subsequently tortured in the army stock-ade in Bicutan for using the name in vain; that is, in the Hindi sense,
Three books had already been launched: one on the early Spanishera, another on the beginnings of the American empire, and the third onMarcos' ascent to the presidency.The first volume, the task at hand, demandedconsiderable research from the Historical Institute, which had been laboring
over the job for the past four years. When I saw the wealth of materials Susanand the staff at the institute had prepared for us, I was both overwhelmed andexcited at the prospect of writing the volume. Not only were there transcriptsand codices from 1521 onwards, from Hernando de Magallanes' unfortunateforay into local politics up to the era of the first Spanish colonialists; therewere also transcripts of ancient native rhymes and epics, transcoded into an-cient Castellan; hymeneals, dirges, incantations, curses, oratories and pa-laver; also indices of strange and obscure mammals, extinct crustaceans,migratory pterooactyls and fabulous creatures diligently recorded by the Span-ish chronicler, Antonio Pigafetta.
I was so worked up by the project, its metapossibilities andimpossibilities, so that when I reported for work the next morning, I wassurprised to find Jun stooped over the transcripts, his head in his hands, Itwas often difficult for me to understand his schizophrenic generation: onemoment exhuberant, the next moment seriously sentimental, or pensive, ormerely spaced out. He looked up when I walked in. He seemed as if he hadjust woken up. "Somebody's shotJohn Lennon," he mumbled. "Putang ina."
This history encompasses the seismic upheavals that created this ar-chipelago, the pleistocene era which carved from rock and volcano these fertileislands, [t traces man's beginnings in the Philippines and the development ofhuman culture, It follows the Austronesians in their epic peopling of these is-lands, and the eventual evolution of the culture of Southeast Asia And it tracesthe destiny of the proto-FilipIno through the supremacy of religion, the inclpl·ence of revolution, the colonial community and the development of the Fili-pino state, It culminates, but does not end, with the transfonnation of our soci-ety as a challenge to the oligarchic, nco-feudal institutions and extremist popu-lar movements i111972 which necessitated the need for our own democraticrevolution,
This search for the Filipino identity has gained real purpose anddirection in the New Society,
Bymy constitutional authoritarianism, I have retrieved and strength-ened the basic bonds of culture, from which we shall weave a fabriC of suchmemory, New societies have been vital in the creation of our nation, The revo-lution of 1896 against Spain had created its own "new society," its own epochwith its own moods and patterns' Our own New Society has brought its ownchanges, It has brought with it new ideals, new hope, new pride.
My life and deeds will pass, but with this book let it be known that Ihad sought only one thing:
AsPresident I have always been aware ohhe absence of historical information,knOWingwith great regret that whatever my people had written and creatcd-
• their myths, beliefs, arts-had been destroyed,by the colonizing Spaniards inthe 16th century. ,
I have met with men who had been part of history but had neversought to write it. My earliest memories are of nights spent on th~ lap of mygrandfather, who had fought bravely in the war for the first Philippine Republicin 1898, I had conv~rsed with its general and later president, Emilio AgUinaldo,who explained to me his difficult decision 10 execule the revolution's leader,Andres Bonifacio, And I remember, with much sadness, when I delivered a eu-logy at Aguin;tJdo's funeral.
I write only to explain to myself and my children how our peopler.ame about, and where we are going.
Asa young student 1grew up delighting In the adventures and histo-ries of another country, the United States of America. [was alienated by my owneducation, and felt that in the study of history one must also dispel the crisis ofidentity, I have since tried to navigate my course Lothe source of this great river,the Filipino's true history,
"Should I say something like, 'to inform my people of the nobilityof our race,' or should I be less pompous and more direct to the point, as in'to improve our lot'?" I askedJun as Iwent over the president'S introductionto our volume.
The printers had used the latter phrase and had misspelled the lastword, bestowing upon it a double 0, Heads would have rolled had Inot notedthe error, Not a few had been sent to various camps for reasons of nationalsecurity; in Camps Crame and AgUinaldo violators of the curfew had pulledweeds to the tune of the New Society march, rendered by popular diva~Marie Lepanto, More hardened criminals, communists, student activists, labor=leaders, former senators and councilors had been incarcerated in CampBicutan, which had been created out of dead swampland. This camp both-ered people little at that time, perhaps because there was no news of it in theDaily Express or the 7i'mesjournat, papers owned by the Firsl Lady's family.But nine years into martial law, it was hard to believe there was life before itanyway: everything had the feel of tricolor bunting, a simulation of a fiesta.
In fact, the living had never been this easy: it seemed that time had favoredthe New Society, and we were in the prime of our lives. AtleastJun and I were.Everyone in the palace felt life was going to go on forever, and would getbetter by the day. One proof: by the summer of that year Imelda announcedher plans for theJ!rst Mapila kilkm13ljonal Film FestJ.yal..The whole worldwould look far eastward to exclusive champagne and caviar parties by Ma-nila Bay;wj.lch out, !y~awa here come the seven samurai: belat, BertQI~i.The feel of heady anticipation, the drunkenness of it, was followed by thehurried establishment of the Center for Cinema, the ce, headed by the presi-dent's daughter, black-tressed, black-laced Imee, her young face perpetuallypouting, ~immiRg witb mega-.i@as she picked up, like divinei~ the eorridefS sf Prjnceton.,It was often difficult to understandwhat obsessions haunted our presidential family: or perhaps everyone of usfelt we had to monumentalize our small existence. Because no matter howmuch wecried wewere small, our small livesspeckled across the South ChinaSea. Driving past the dingy barrios of Manila, I couldn't help feeling all thisjubilation was unreal. All along the South Superhighway, the Department ofPublic Works set up fences of wooden planks, twice the height of a man, tocover thedilapidated warrens from visiting dignitaries. The fences extendednorth.wards to Taft Avenue and onto Espana, all the way to the wattle housesof Tatalon, Quezon City.This was the New Society's ~nythingbelow the minimum wage had to fall out of view.But beyond that, beyond thepetulant vociferations of ~g students sta in assiona a~ol~e balls-ofsaint Scho asticafbWnd all the.speratlie rallies f1usheG-~
t b water nnons and all the impossibl word . oos-Girc-ulatedb~pelessly diligent Qpposition~w Socj~ had done its job. Nowmartial law was ending by magnanimous decree, by the powers vested uponHis Excellency by the constitution and the people's mandate and the Pope'sblessed arrival. Anew world was about to begin. j
And it would take, just one child, small and shriveled and dying 0
hunger in the island of San Miguel, to burst this bubble.
Semana santa
HISNMlE was~a~m~ Abra and he.was thirteen mont~s ~, All the world'~ griefconverged in hIStmy body and tnto the VJlutes of his tmy soul. Cradled In th.espindly arms of his mother, he look~~~jf he had known, all throughout hISb]'ief~tence, the destinies ofiiithe generations whohad been born beforeblat.. The black-and-white photographs of this gnome-like infant bit tbe-,~es of &New York Times, :md sllcldenly,castigating!)!, the world looked-- .t;:ard the island of San Miguel, acchangel of the archipelago., "Puneta!" Mad Max crackled by long distance from New York."Ma'am is furious, she's about to crack up. You boyswrite something fast, orI'll skin you. Go to San.-MigueJ,find outwho the beck tbis Ahra is and get thestory right. puOe1a los cabrones' Hijo de leche!"
Not to mention lechon de leche, which was going to be slaughteredcome ~r Sunday in the San Miguel mansion of Colonel Jose Zabarte forour impending intrusion. Undaunted by Max's pidgin Spanish, we new intothe island in the thick of Lent. On Easter Sunday this surreal ritual of repent-ance and recrimination would culminate in an outburst of bacchanalianexultation and feasting.
We arrived on Palm Sunda~ el Domingo de Ramos, and were wel-@!ped wit~fispas and swirls of incense. The parish priest, a tall man wit~the saddest face in the world, led a procession of purple-clad devotees, theirhands roped with rosaries, and small girls robed in silk and rags and wearingpaper wings on their backs. The rest of the community followed, brandishingpalm fronds; they looked like a gigantic, murmuring centipede as they woundtheir way to the plaza.
Ajeepney owned by the colonel picked us up at the airport-actu-ally just a small barracks swarming with pedicab drivers and hawkers of dried
fish and coconut candy. We rattled past dirt roads to the poblacion, where astage was being constructed in the Plaza Mayor in front of the parish church.
The driver, a leathery man wearing Raybans, annotated our swingthrough the town center. "~o," he iflfermed liS, swerving the' , ~jeep to avoid a pushcart laden \ffib small children . .§a Bi¥frnes Sm,lQ,hai. l\mga Kristong ipapako " R
"What's he trying to tell us?" I asked]un, ~"Reenactment of the crucifixion, if you haven't seen others like it
before," he said."Why is he speaking in Esperanto?" I asked him."Not Esperanto, but Carolan," he said. "You didn't read my research,
did you? I thought so. Many of the original residents here were hybrids ofvarious peoples, truly halo-halo. German kaong and French gulamans. AlsoChinese mung beans and Spanish garbanzos, just your regular hilos ckfrailes." ~
This random osterization of various bloodlines and diverse origins, S]un told me, found its manifestation generations later in the Babelogu~that ~w..asto become the Carolan dialect, a curious hodgepodge offusions the origi-.nal Carolanes (meaning the insulares who had driven the mies back tothe Monte) clung to with amant ri e and 0 . ness. Noweveryoooelse,' including migrants rom peripheral islands, bastardized it into street
atois."How far back does it go?" [ asked]un. "The sixteenth century?""Seventeenth, ~ctually, You had to give a generation enough time
to create the insulares. Susan, bless her heart, did all the research for me, TheSpaniards hated them, and called them Carolanes, after the mountain pyg-mies, Who, by the way, are an endangered species,"
"And?""And they withdrew among themselves and formed the community
of San Miguel. They became a very exclusive lot, these Carolanes. Never joinedthe revolution ag:linst Mother Spain, But then again, who did? The townitself used to be called San Miguel, as it was the only populated area apartfrom the pygmies' camps. Later it came to be called after the river, Rio delFuego, and still later after our destination, the colonel's residence, If we studyit~various names we realize the Carolan territory was gradually shrinking
through the centuries, That's Susan's theOl)'. [ miss her so much already.Now the Carolanes have left this godforsaken island and have scatlered incities all over the world, But they continue to control practically ewry busi-ness on the island, by long distance as it were,"
The jeep swerved off the main road and jiggled towards the north-western mountain ranges, known collectively as .Monte de Om The driverbecame more relaxed now, which was not good news, He slumped lower inhis seat, tapping on the accelerator as though to music, and we sputtered pastvast stretches of sugarcane, coconut and banana. He had been eyeing me inthe mirror throughout the ride, and now he found the appropriate pause inmy interrogation and asked, "You take pictures?"
I acknowledged his question by tapping the camera bag beside me."Life is hard in San Miguel," he said. "You will have many good
pictures,"I thanked him for his prescience and asked him if he was a Carolal1."No," he said, "[ come from Akeldama, NQCarolanes there,"Akeldama was the town o;the eastern slope of the Monte de Oro,
The entire island was bisected by this sinuous range, cleaved as it w~Yin and Ya~, The highest peak was a dormant volcano, and since its lasteruption 600 years ago a lush jungle of ferns, vines and trees became refugefor macaques, negritos and communists, The two towns along its slopes werecompletely antithetical: Villa del Fuego's somber provinciality was Akeldama'srowdy inebriation, The latter had been built next to the American naval ba.~of La Paz, for whose sailor Joes a boulevard of na.~hy nightclubs had sproutedin the town.
"Makes you want to spend the week there yourself, no?" Jun re-marked,
"No can do," the driver swung to Akeldama slang. "No ship sinceDecember. The putas are dying,"
"All the more reason," saidJun,We gazed out at the searing landscape that seemed to overwhelm us
and straddle the entire horizon, Mirages slithered from the road ahead of us,rising to imaginary skies, cloudless and desolate, Everything seemed to havewilted in the heat. Cane stalks and banana fronds looked like mangled refuse,swept by a dry, hot wind, The ride rattled infinitely on and lulled me to half-
sleep, until Jun nudg~d my arm and pointed to the field towards our left. Ilwas overgrown with untended banana and coconut trees, whic~ grew intogiants webbed with shrubbery and vines. The ground seemed to have sunkwith the weight of this vegetation and was submerged in a muddy swamp. Inthe distance was a battered obelisk towering over the trees llke the limb of anancient gall
"What is it?" Jun asked the driver."s,lmborio," he said. "No one go tbere ""Why not?""Ahas," he said. "Full of snakes.""Howald is it?""Veryold.""Veryhelpful," Jun said. "If it's as old as I think it is, we might have
a word or two for the Ministry of Tourism. Joe Asp might want to remake itlike La Union. There'!! be cherubim bearing our faces,"
He was referring to a recent project undertaken by the tourism min-ister,Joe Aspiras, a close friend of the First Lady.Joe Asphad rebyilt an eigbl:..eenth century church in his hometown of A a . .miSSiOO local artists to adorn its ceilings and walls with portraits of aD.~lJic creation The First Family were depicted as seraphim, and, as addedgumption, Minister and Mrs. Aspwere portrayed as zephyr and wife floatingat Imelda's heels.
"No walls there ahara," our driver said. "No ceiling either. Just thesimborio."
"What happened to it?" Jun asked him."Quemada," he replied. "Burned down a long time ago. I was not
said again, stepping on the gas upon sight of our destination, "it makes eve-ryone loco."
VILlA DELFUEGOwas built at the turn of the century, long before the newlyopened American market made millionaires out of the sugar barons whobuilt their haciendas close to the fields. Now there were V,l'ltaZUCarer,L'ichurn-ing in the distance, towards the Rio del Fuego. Plumes of smokes rose fromthe mills, engulfing the coastal villages with the burnt odor of molasses.
The jeep wound past thickets of azaleiL'Iand bougainvillae towardsthe colonel's mansion, from whose orchid-choked balconies one could lookstraight out to the Visayan Sea. Exhausted from the trip that had swooped usout of humid Manila to torrid San Miguel, we hobbled into the colonel'sfoyer, where domestics in crisply starched uniforms offered us dew-speckledflutes of ice-cold buko as we cooled ourselves under the ceiling fan. Beyondthe windows we could see the faded hues of the plantations and the distantperiphery of villages of sacadas. We could hear, faintly, the pentatonic wail-ing of women rehearsing the pasyon. Their eerie, dirge-like ululation waftedthrough the windows:
Pedro ieao may naligaoat nageamali sa daanmali ca sa eatouiran ..Pastor aeo at iyong i1aona pageaeaguinhauahan
"Burned down by whom?" ]un asked him. "Piratas? Bandidos?Pulahanes?" .
"Pulahanes, bandidos," the driver said. "I know not. I was not born.The heat makes everyone loco."
Hecontinued his annotation as we rumbled towards Villa del Fuego,the colonel's residence built on a crag towards the Monle de Oro. Its stonewalls loomed in the distance like an oasis, or a fortress. "The heat," the driver
"Incroyable," the colonel's wife remarked as she sat down to meet us, "howthey continue for days," She turned to Jun, who was sitting next to her, andexplained, "'[,be singing. I mean. The caotada The same women misrI:!.a
..Qerform evetYyear. And then their daughters take over when they die.""We must go there and talk to them sometime," Jun said. "We've
been collecting texts for a book commissioned by the President. Perhaps youcan help us?"
"Que se yo," she remarked. "T~ women there are muy timido. Themen mor~' She fanned herself with an abanico which wafted a scent ofpowder around us. She looked at Jun for some time, unllinching; then she
~miled, or seemed to. Her lips drew upwards minutely, but in that split secondIt seemed to change her visage entirely, like a rainbow, or a chameleon. Shesat with her back arched but without tension, as though she h~d spent herwhole Iif~ in proper posture. Her name was j)olores Zabarte She had !nogbla sleeked to ebony with coconut oil and herbs . t
.Jsnot below her nape..Now t e scent of burnt coconut and crushed lavenderenve~oped ~s like a fragrant cloud. Her softly rounded face, the legacy ofmestizo Chmese ancestors, was sharpened by the fierce line of her brows, astrong Iberian nose, and a full mouth, for which she thanked her grand-mother, the late Dona Consuelo Suarez nee Paz. DoPa Suarez' portrait, done.bythe famous painter Felix Resurrecion Hidal~ watched over us now, aboveher striking facsimile of a granddaughter.
"You are not," she remarked absently as she swayed the abanicolazily before her face, "related to the painter? Que lastirna HeWas a sad manthis Hidalgo. Vea' soft and sad. Mi abuela used to talk of him when we wer~verYyoun,('
"He was in love with a young Spanish maid, [ understand," Junsaid. "His model for forty years. She brought home his ashes from Paris, butwas repelled by his family'S coldness."
"Yes," she said. "You know your Hidalgo.""And," Jun continued, "when she decided to come back to live in
Manila, her ship was wrecked somewhere in Africa: Verysad.""C:;Are you a historian, Mr. Hidalgo?"'£~. ."Ju~," saidJ~n. "Writer, researcher, editor, mostly at your service.
::t m afraid we re here tor I'ery unfortunate reasons.""The child, yes," she said. "I have read your report.""We've been told to clear things up," I volunteered."You will need time then," she said. "We have prepared rooms for
you. The colonel has insisted that you stay at the villa. Wedo not have goodhotels, 10 siento."
"No tourists?" Jun asked."Peligroso," she said. "The toufists go to Akeldama. They have en-
tertainment there.""You've never gone there?"
"llike it here," she said. "But yes, once or twice, to the t\mericanstores. It is not for women, you understand. But my driver will take you there.The trip will go around the coast. You will like it here," she said, the laststatement directed at me.
"[ have enough film for Cecil B. de Mille," 1 assured her. "Videosand transparencies."
"I studied photography once," she said. "But the chemicals mademe-what is it?-allergic." Reed-thin and fanning herself, she seemed paleand frail. She had been a sickly child, given to attacks of pollen fever andpneumonia, "But the air in the villa revives me so. 1do not like Manila somuch. Me parece demasiado rujdo. Mucha baruIlQ," ,
"A mi tambien," Jun accorded. "I much prefer the great outdoors.The colonel and I halfWorked together, you know,"
"I do not know much of his work," she demurred.Later, the colonel walked in, followed closely by three men in cam-
ouflage uniforms. The colonel himself was in uniform, his boots leavingdusty imprints on the mahogany floorboards. He walked straight to us andwe stood up to acknowledge his presence.
"Compadrel" He grippedJun in a tight embrace. And then he pulledhis revolver out, backed away from Jun and pointed the gun straight at hisface. "Putang ina, you lying thief," he said. "You took away all the jalak}putL You're fucking rich now, aren't you?" J
"Dirt poor, sir," Jun protested. "The jalak puti had to go, you knowthat. The Wildlife Fund was after us. I saved your skin."
The colonel wavered for an instant. Then he (ucked the gun in hisholster and laughed. Hissunburned face glistened with a light sweat. "[ know,"he said. "That's why 1told Max to send you over,Jun 11idalgo," he turned tohis wife, "has brains. That's why 1 like him."
"I am so relieved," she replied, and sl",emust have meant it sin-cerely. She stood up and said, "Dinner will be served at six, The lighLswill beturned off early tonight. 1 am getting tired of your men's games, Jose," Shewalked to him and planted a kiss, Ilght and fragrant, on his cheek, and hereceived thIS benediction with genuine gratefulness,
DINNERBY aNDLEUGIITat the Zabartes. We peered at each other's faces as wedevoured our Palm Sunday meal. The tanguigue had been grilled in bananaleaf and drenched with butter and garlic, and the rice fluffed to perfection.We tossed flakes of lobster with our salad, sipped German wine and becameloose of tongue,
"Why do they shut the lights off?" Jun asked."Power source was bombed two weeks ago," Colonel Zabarte said.
"Bandidos get bored very often here, they don't have much to do."Dolores zabarte laughed mildly, holding a hand to her throat. "lie-
~lIs all of them bandido~," she said, turning to Jun."Who?" Jun asked."ljEh" said..the a"lonel. 1!~'tle6fRi to San MigueU!"And they have bombs powerful enough to trip the power source,"
Jun reflected. "1 had no idea they've become that strong.""All it took," said the colonel, "was a metal rod thrown across the
main lines to ground them. These boys do not have bombs, compadre. Littleboys playing infantile games. You have heard of my famous brother, senor?"
"I wouldn't thin brother's ac . , "the colone . "He seems convinced that what yop call bandidos are fighting.-fQc a jnst calise.".
• "Amada," the colonel resorted to carina, "these are things you reain propaganda leaflets and the mosquito press in ·Manila. My dear brotherhas been deluded into the movement out of some idealism he has never un-learned from the universities. It's all so fashionable now, raising an outcry onbehalf of the poor. But when it ceases to be the trend of the day, we'll havedear Antonio dining with us again, I assure you: Boy,more wine!"
The subject of the conversation-as Jun enlightened me muchlater-was the colonel's younger brother, Antonio, with whomJun had workedbriefly at the Manila Times,.Antonio Zabarte was news editor when Marcosdeclared martial law in 1972 and was arrested with the rest of the editorialstaff and placed under maximum security at Fort Bonifacio, During one ofhis trips to the local courts where his trial for subversion was being con-ducted, he managed to elude his guards and went straight to the mountainsof San Miguel where he periodically issued statements on behalf of the south-ern comm<:nd of the New People's Army. There were rumors (largely -un-
founded) that he was being groomed to lead the entire ~outhern command,and that he would one day head the communist ur,derground-news whichthe colonel now dismissed as hearsay, "My brother is too sickly to head any-thing, much less a ragtag battalion in the mountains, They bomb a fewpowerlines and play little games, that's all."
"Is it unwise for you to stay here then?" said Jun, "[ mean, why notlive in Manila?"
"The Zabartes have never liked Manila," Dolores said,"We do, actually," said the colonel. "Her side of the family never
did, Generations have argued violently about it. It's a family tradition,""Don't say that, Pepe," Dolores said. "There was only one in our
family who ventured to the city," she continued, turning to us. "But surelyyou find the story aburrido? There was a grandfather who lived in the city butcame back some years afterwards. He chose never to go back again,"
"Amada, he brought home a wife," the colonel corrected her. "Herabuela, I talk like them already."
"You're not from here then?" Jun asked him."From El Faro island..compadre, Beacon of the Visayas straiL'i,My
ancestors were a proud, warmongering people. They migrated to San Migueland became enamoured of the island, Look at my wife to see why. It embar-rasses her when I fawn so much, Dolores went to the best schools in Paris,Now she wants to live like a mongha in San Miguel. Senor, do you under-stand women?"
"The wine is too strong, I think," she reprimanded him."When you don't touch alcohol for two weeks on end," the colonel
told us, "your resistensiya goes down, One must learn to catch up," Wetoastedonce more to that, and he continued, "You have no idea what it is out in themontes. This little revolution will be over If I have to strafe their pueblos withnapalm,"
"Jose," Dolores said,"She says my name," the colonel said, "That is the ultimate re-
proof. She says it like a curse. Now we will retire to the sala for some air, Weshall need it after strong wine, [ think."
We retired to the sala, The room wa~spacious, elegantly appointedwith ~tacas, chaises lounges, gallioeras Giant Ming vases stood cheek by
jowl with antique santos, salvaged from churches in the southern tip of Cebu;.Upon entering this room one immediately noticed three pianos spread out inthe sala, all of an antique ivory color: one upright pianola had been pushedagainst a wall and, being presumably out of order, was burdened now withartifacts and relics: photographs and statuettes, ceniceras and cowries foundin a beach long ago. Th'o baby grands had been positioned diagQnall~ in..both the far corners, beside which stood two bacps of polished mabogan¥-Between these two sets the wide window .winds that blew rom t e south. In ancient times, wrote the historian CesarI<UIZ 10 hiS VlSayan OJronicles (Barcelona, 1762), these winds foretold death,because they brought not only howling typhoons that rampaged over crops,but also the ferocious Moros from the darklands of Mindanao, riding land-ward in vintas embellished with colors of fire. No such terrors accompaniedthese winds now. We loitered by the windows and watched the pinpoints oflight from bancas scouring the sea for crabs and weeds. We cooled ourselveswith tea and Brahms.
The colonel, drunk with the wine, staggered towards a butaca. Thischair must have been designed not only for women giving birth, but to catchinebriated fathers during times of nonconception. The rest of us walked outto the balcony, where the wind slapped us with warm, drowsy vents. In thedis'tance we could see the dithering lights. To the left the water rubbed againstthe hacienda, now blOlted in the darkness. In this black void we could seebonfires pulsing in the distance.
"What are those fires?" Jun asked our hostess."Preparing for the next planting season," she replied. "The land
lies fallow for some time, to make the soil heal," she explained. "You seethem often at this time of the year. It's a ritual here. Burning the old crop tomake way for the new. There is something of a resurrection in this."
"My Wife," the colonel boomed from his chair, "cannot help herexclusive Catholic education."
Dolores smiled towards the door, trying to hide her mild irritation."After this," she said, "tiempo de muerte. There are stories in the Manilaa ers about eo Ie starvin durin t . on. We cannot hel them. The
lan Itse refuses to yield anything."I!t"=
"She believes, compadre," the colonel appended, "we must helpthe poor to earn our place in heaven. Amada, we are in heaven. It cannot getbetter. Tomorrow you will take Jun and AI to your orphanage, One of her.projects, you see. Why do they use that phrase, I wonder? Aproject for pets? Asif these people were shih tzus one can coif and tie on a pink le;Lsh.,," Hebabbled on until his soliloquy ground to a murmur.
"If you want to see the orphanage," Dolores said, "I will take youthere manana.l go there at this time of the year. The children call me mama.Muy carinoso. Do you have children? Ah, a pity. They make life so noisy andpleasant. We have no children, you see. But I have two hundred at the SantaIsabel."
"There's proof, senor," the colonel suddenly spoke up, and we weretaken aback to realize he had been following the conversation. 'There's proofwe do not have starving children here. These newspapers make up storiesthat hurt us. Perhaps the photograph was taken in Manila. You have dyingchildren there, no? Allover Ermita, childre,1 selling themselves to tourists.Putang ina."
We looked inside at him. He had slouched deep into the seat, hislegs supported by a quaint piece of decor, a rocking horse crudely carved v.;:of wood and embellished with intricate designs painted over with chalk blue,ochre, powder pink. It was slowly rocking under the colonel's heavy boots, asthough it had a small, mechanized life of its own.
SHE WAS PlAYING Vaughan Williams in the sedan as we drove past the fields thenext morning. Her profile was sharp against the nascent sky, framed by thesilhouette of the car window. Jun sat in the back seat, drowsy with a hangover.Holy Monday rose early over the haciendas, tinged with hues of pewter andsalamander.
Less than a hundred years ago this was unclaimed land, an ex-panse of weeds and nothingness. Her grandmother, Dona Consuela Paz, hadjust recently married Don joaquin Suarez who had helped the American troopsfight the dregs of the Spanish colonialists. He had just turned twenty-two, hisimagination fired by the revolution of the Katipunan and dispirited by theirdefeat, and then revived by the obscure but decisive successes of the invadingAmericana-\'. The Spanish armada was sinkir~g all over the Pacific, Latin
America was erupting with republics. Commodore George Dewey vanquishedthe fleet in Manila with a perfunctory roll of cannons and led the Spaniardsout. Harper~ Monthly reported what it considered a minor Insurrectionamong begrudged Filipinos when the Americans pulled into Manila and tookover the government. Small rebellions (said Harpers) sparked in mountainbarrios, spreading like wildfire throughout the archipelago, but were quelledwith SWift,violent reprisals. Bythis time DonJoaquin Suarez, already acoJo-nel in the Filipino army, had surrendered peacefully and come home. In thearmy he learned two things: how to kill a man, and how to gamble. Withmonies he had saved from wagers won between skirmishes, and with the helpof American officers whom he supplied with vital information on Filipinooutposts, he bought the land just under the Montes, shipped workers fromthe impoverished towns of surrounding islands and set up his plantation.World demand for sugar gave him impetus and wherewithai to team up withAmerican investors WilliarnJackson and SOl)S,and a friend he had made inthe army, Colonel Elias Camacho, who became his confidante. Together theyset up a mill which later expanded, by legacy and intermarriage, to theAzucarera Zabarte. The couple had a son they named Manuel who becamethe heir to the conglomerate.
Their fortunes fluctuated erratically: Colonel Suarez was ambushedby irate bandits who never forgot his betrayal of the revolution, and the youngManuel grew up alone with his mother. Pensive and taciturn, he devoted histime to books and the sciences, studying agriculture and classical literature.~ a young man he meandered around the plantations in a white suit and astraw hat, quietly observing the business. Evenings found him at theirbalustered porches where he sat with his mother on wicker chairs and readuntil the lamps hissed and sputtered.
Years later he met Isabela Santiago, who became his wife. She sawin him the saddest man in the world, but his face was so beautiful that any-one who looked at him cried for such beauty. When he realized, at an earlyage, this powers to elicit such lush emotions, he became even more with-drawn, nurturing both terror and a quiet narcissism, a sense of unearnedtriumph. He pored over his studies, convinced that it was only his mind thatneeded perfe~lion. Perhaps an early knowledge of his limitations created in
him a contrapuntal humility as well, or a faint lack of confidence. Peoplesaid he looked far removed from the concerns of the world, like a saint.
Dolores Zabarte's long divagation abruptly ended there, when wereached the §anta Isabela orphanage,1Vhich had been named after both thesaint and her mother. The sisters pulled the gates open, the rusty hinges ach-ing in the morning chill.
"The children have been restless all week," said one of the sisters."Where is Mama, why doesn't she come? That is all we hear all week"
Wewalked into the orphanage, which turned out to be a tidy house,vintage American colonial, converted into dormitories. [t had been owned bythe Suarezes, and until the early 1930s was an equestrian club built withpavilions, gazebos and stables for thoroughbreds. Nowthe aged wood hintedquietly of this faded splendor: balusters and balconies had been torn down toaccommodate San Miguel's children.
The long passageways seemed empty and desolate, echoing ourvoices and footfall. Adoor opened at the end of a corridor, and we heard thelistless chatter of young voices: pristine, glassy laughter tinkling from thedormitories. A small girl peeked from behind the door. When we came closershe gave out a yelp. "Mama here, Mama here!" Immediately we found our-selvesengulfed by little hands, little faces looking up with bright, newly-wokensmiles. This wave of adulation propelled us farther into the building, thelittle hands tugging at our pockets. "What did you bring for me, what have 1got this time?"
llooked at Dolores, herself delighting in this swarm of young bod-ies. She was letting herself be pu lied in to the rooms, her hands held out andgripped by small, pleading hands. She was laughing with abandon, her mirthnow genuine and unusual. This was the first time we saw her without herusual guardedness and her imposed restraint. Behind us Jun groggily fol-lowed, carrying the bags Dolores had brought with her. Upon seeing him thechildren rushed and pulled at his sleeves, sending a fewcontents of the bagsspilling on the tiled floors: candy and stuffed rabbits, little dolls with pink,nodding heads. "Get away, there's enough for everyone!" Jun boomed out,and Dolores, laughing, pushed me out to aid him.
She then knelt beside the round-faced girl we had seen behind thedoor, and in a swiftembrace she lifted the girl up and kissed her on the cheeks.
rusty cry. Jun scooped her up and walked back to us, handing her over toDolores.
"AII right now," she whispered to the child. "S;t!alllat, seiior,salamal."
The sisters, ever vigilant, must have seen all this happen. Sor Teresarushed to us, and Dolores called out to her, "She's all right. She's not hurt."Cooing placations, the nun lifted the child from her. The sisters retreatedsoftly, like a crisp white cloud bearing the child with them, their habits rus-tling quietly.
"I.alita is everyone's favorite, I take it," remarl\edJun.Dolores had not taken her eyes off the sisters "Very frail," she said .
"That child is very sick.""What's wrong with her?" Jun 'lsl\ed."Doctors can't tell," she said. "She can't seem to light oil illness,
She catches anything and hardly recovers. I've taken her to the arbularyo, toeveryone. They say she has thin blood. They say we can't do anything at all.Do you know, senor, how small she was when she W,lSbOl'n'l She W,lSno morethan five inches small. Pequenita, we called her. I chose Lalita. 1)0 you knowwhat that means?" '
"Earth mother and nurturer," offered Jun."So you know your Eastern religions. I hear Max Plata h,ls been
hiring the best minds in Manila, Do not be embarrassed. The colonel dop.snot accept visitors without checking thei I' credentials. ~pC)lone in our gen::,.eration has at one time or another turned to religion for co' ?
if that is wh we are a Sica 0She said we, as though we were suddenly bonded by these most V1iJIle
similarities. "I wonder," she continued, "if it would be..proper to (jlll IRe earl~poe's mother It is as if she bad beeu cQ[:lQer,J,moQ 10 become a woman. and~~ aoytbjpg else,"
"Condemned?" Jun replied. "My good woman, that W,lSno con-demnation, but acknowledgement. Awoman is what we hope the earth shouldbe. Otherwise, we perish,"
"r., 1 . "I' I "I ."~J1( cr 1$ not [J{'cessacy s)(' Simp SJ! rVIYl'
"And what is'I" Jun ~lsked
Dolores was crying, All this adulation crumbled all her defenses and madeher more human than she wanted the world to know, "My beautiful, beauti-ful one," she said, nudging her kisses onto the flustered child, "Yes, love,Mama is here, Mama is staying." The little girl reciprocated her embrace andlooked at. the other children scrambling for Dolores' presents. She smiledwanly at us and at the children madly swarming around us. There was some-thing othelWorldly about that smile, I recall now: evanescent and pale likesoft moonlight. Her name, we would find a 've Sakti:little oddess born of love an ~ar"
f1" O~u.~~"I W!'S BORN on a day full of rain" Dolores said. "How man eo Ie
•kDow who can.,1eIU~ajfliftg eft ~flesay t~ey were born?" She was hold-ing Lalita on her lap, feeding her a bar of chocolate. "My mother told me '~itwas una dia de dolor, a sorrowful day, because the rain looked bleak anddesolate. I was her little sunshine,"
The little girl turned her face up and smiled, and Dolores repeatedfor her sake, "My sunshine," The little girl sputtered with laughter, "Do Ilook, seflot, like someone who was born on a rainy day?"
No, but her face was always clouded over by a silent, unrememberedslidness, Somehow it made her look more dignified and severe. Her sharp,handsome features we;e her father's, but her mother gave her a burning ob-stinacy that hardly showed now, as she bounced the little girl on her knee. SOl'Teresa, obsequious and deferential, offered us coffee and biscuits, which waccepted for Jun's sake, He was now. wide awake, having spent the last feminutes doling out Dolores' presents to the children who returned his largesse with delightful yelps and jealous squeals,
We walked to the gazebos. The sun was not yet high and the grassglistened wit!1 light dew, She held the little girl in her arms all the while,When we sat on the benches she finally let the girl go, and the child skitteredabout on the grass like a whelp learning to wobble, She ambled off, paused amoment, and suddenly tripped, falling on her face on the grass, Dolores hadbeen talking to us ar4d she gave out a gasp when the child fell, Jun surprisedus both and sprang towarcis the child, hoping to catch her in midfall. Hemissed, the child's face rubbed onto tne grass and she gave out a hoarse,
She didn't answer the question at once. Then she said, "Many things,senor, of which we have little time to think. One must be too busy being aliveto wonder so much about them."
"That sounds very Zen," said]un.Dolores laughed. "We seem to have covered the major Asian falths,"
she said. "I suppose Lalita's name does provoke a number of questions.""I apologize," Jun apologized, and then picking the language:
"Perdone, perdone. I wasn't too forward, I hope?"But she seemed not to have heard. She said softly, as if to herself, "I
always wish the child were stronger." She looked 'at us. "Lalita, I mean. Weworry so much about her, the colonel and I. We have no children, you see,Shall we come in now, and join the sisters?"
We came in to the tinkling of flute glasses being filled withcalamansi, and fresh bread on the tables. The children were singing a nurs-ery rhyme all of us must have endured at some point in our childhood:-
nen pen de sarapenLDe cuchillo de almazen
How how the carabaoBa Tu Ten
There was a nonsense refrain that followed, which we could notcomplete, Sipit namimilipit/gintong pilaklnamumulaklak-and then
what? ~ ~ 1""f"Isn't it frightening, senor, not to remember anything? Memory is 'the last of the graces, I think. Without it we will surely not be alive. Have Ianswered your question now, senor?"
AKELDA.\\A,MAUNDYTHURSDAY.The colonel, bored with Holy Week rites, took us tothis city on the other side of the Montes. The road wound through themountainside, dropping several feet below into the rocky lagoons of the Marde las Almas, the Sea of Souls. We were smartly saluted in at least five cheCKlpoints. The road to Akeldama was government territory, and we travelled witbjout worry of an NPA ambush here. But not taking any chances, we rode withtwo M-16s under our feet. The wind, thick with brine, hummed in our ears.
The scorched peaks of the Montes gave us shelter from the sweltering aftel-nOOn sun-but not from the colonel's inebriated annotations, which kept usmortified throughout the trip.
"[ believe," he said at length, "my wife took you to see the orphan-age. How did you find it?"
"Clean," saidJun, "and populous, Where do these children come
"Families left behind by the insurgency," he said, "Some are chil-dren of soldiers. Some of villagers south of San Miguel. Children have no
./. ideology. senor. They are all wounded easily, Now you see that the pulajanes
>.{ are up to no good."He called the ~PA pulajanes; the colonel was not ignorant of his
IA\4- !:liSIO'} Towards the end of the nineteenth century Filipino guerrillas who~ fought against the Spaniards but became disillusioned with America's for-
gotten promise of independence retreated to the hills to continue the war--. ~ rehThey came to be called...1Lulajanes, after the red troll$Pr$ they ..JO$e, Their onlyweapons were bolo knives and rilles stolen from armories of the defeatedSpanish government. They were led by eWers called babaylanes. fierce andandro nous warriors who were also shamans and blac . Natu-ra fy,subjugation was conducted violently reported Harper s), but after someyears the revolt was snuffed out. Perhaps the most popular'of these babaylaneswas Isio the Po e of Ne ros Island, Pa a Isio continued to alarm theAmerican colonial government with sporadic raids and am ushes, and alsob the fact that eo le allover the archipelago considered hIm no less tha alivin c ture in ten ears into the war iCJve, old and on a stretcher. He was sixty-eight years old,
"Your wife does good work taking care 01 the orphanage," saidJun,"Catholic guilt," said the colonel. "She studied in the nun's school,
did she tell you that? She feels she needs to prove to them she's earned her !\s,Do you like my Wife, senor?"
Jun sputtered for a minute, and remarked, "She's a marvelouswoman, sir, You are very fortunate,"
"Not quite fortunate," he said, "The woman always wanted to havea child, I myself. seDor. can introduce you IQfiye of my own chi ldren, to prove..
./ to you that I am not the QDewith the prQblem.': He guffawed, bending backX into the seat.
~ ••tI\tI'-: The driver, our IQquacious companion from the airport, drove onwith abject seriousness, acting as if he CQuld hear nothing. With the colonelQn board he seemed tQ have IQst all ability tQ communicate and became anautomaton zipping us into the sleaze and dazzle of Akeldama. Bumping down-hill, we careened towards Magsaysay Avenue, past glittery dancehalls anddilapidated rodeo bars, and headed straight to the Holy City Zoo. Hostessesloitered outside the bars, blOWing tired kisses at us. There had been a slightdrizzle; now the neon signs nictitated in puddles all over the avenue, metallicas shrapnel.
The Holy City ZOQwas a bungalQw crammed between an open beergarden and the HippodrQme. The Hippodrome's main attraction was adancefloor as wide as Asia; the Holy City Zoo's was a row of caged dancers alldressed in late 60's fringes and minis, and Sal X, the superstar of Akeldama.The young rock singer's photographs-long, shoulder-length hair greaseddown to frame a chiseled, handsome face-were plastered in front of theZoo, alongside a selection of the club's most voluptuous dancers.
SALX ANDTHE ART DODGERSPRETrY DANCERS ANDTHE COLDEST BEER IN TOWN
ONLYATTHE HOLYCITY ZOOWELCOME USS TOMAHAWKWE LOVEYOUJOE
WEHOBBLED into the Zoo while little boys in khaki shorts and tattered t-shirtstugged at our hands. Central airconditioning reprieved us from the twilightheat and miasma of the streets, and we were welcomed effUSively. Maria led~the tables, Zenia brought us cold beer: Tina, svelte in a ruby-coloredcheongsam, gave us the names Qf the da 'presence a . The sailors, young boys driven tQ rQwdiness andmayhem with liberty and beer, were crunching their ladies in rituals of des-
perate affection. Their curses mingled with their kisses, made even moreraucuouS by the nervous metronome of rock music. Maria and the ladiesclambered up the bar tables to dance, their sinuous gyrations casting quivel~ing shadows over Qur beer. Behind them W,l~a wall Qf slightly wa~)ed gLL)S
which reflected not only the dancers but also th~ired, vapid faces of lonelierensigns along the bar.
- The owner, a slightly balding Chinese mestizo with the im 1robablename of PatCbiu, greeted us wit the obsequious bow of a mandarin. "Colo-nel Zabarte," he whined, "has done the honor of coming back."
"Don't be fooled, Pat Chiu, "the colonel said. "[ don't come herefor your beer or your noise. Where the fuck i~Lingling?"
Nonplussed, Pat Chiu looked arQund for the colonel's favorite dancer.
~
hat a stunner little Lingling turned out to be: dusky and small, with theface of a girl fresh out of CQnvent school. She sidled over to the colonel andsat on his lap, Beside his girth she seemed even smaller, more fral!.
"Say hello to the boys, Lingling. They'll put in a good wQrd for youat Malacafiang."
"Hello," Lingling obeyed. Her voice was small and birdlike. Her eyesglistened with genuine, pathetic affection for us. "You will stay for the con-cert?"
"Concert, fuck," the colonel said. "1 have two hours to eat you allup. She hates it when 1 say that. Now go get mc.;a room and tell1tnja to lookup some girls for my guests. tiot Vina; we don't want them spreading tbings
d "among my saca as.Lingling scampered off to hunt for our partrlers, whde. Pal Chi~
li~red solicjtOl lsly 00.. ~s wea rjn g a Jlack ~in~n su it with enou gh sheento make it look f ' I overused. The little naIf he had had been slIck'~own with Three Flowers Pomade, the stench of which made Jun and myselLreel faster than tbe beer dia.- "The Hippodlome," he lallated, "makes big competition, But theyhave no Sa!."
"Truly worth his salt, eh?" Jun said. "Funnywe haven't heard muchQfhim in Manila,"
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,{r
"Funny of course," said Pat Chiu. "Here in Akeldama the sailorslook for him like he is lost brother. They love the girls but they loveSa! more,because maybe Sal sings their music. I don't like it but I make money,"
"You, senor," said the colonel, "are a very ruthless entrepreneur.The country needs people like you. I like him, don't you?"
We tacLfully assented, encouraging Pat Chiu to continue."Hippodlome big space but nobody dance. Here when band play the floor isflll!. We need bigger 11001'."
"Cheap gimmickry," the colonel commented. "I like that, Pat. Senor,do you know what makes this boy, this whatsizname popular? Tell them, Patboy."
"Tomollow he kill himself," said Pat."He what?" I asked,"Tomorrow," the colonel corrected, "this Sal gets himself crucified
in the cenaculo. Good Friday blood and gore. You've heard of it, no? This Salactually gets crucified. I mean they actually nail him on the cross, just for afew minutes, sefior, until he passes out. Stay for the night here and find out.Pat boy, give the boys the suite."
"Yes,yes," Pat obliged. "Many tourists tomollow, just to take pic-ture of Sa!. Much blood and good photos. And then many fanatics-that isthe'word? - come to visit Sa!."
"What fanatics?" Jun asked."All these rabid women and the town's sinners," said the colonel,
"visit Sal while he's still unconscious and scrounge for some relic. It's been atradition since he first crucified himself four years ago. National dementia,bah, but it keeps the tourists and the GIs coming. I like that."
"Sounds like good material for a documentary, eh AI?"Jun ref1ect~"Let's beat the Ministry of Tourism to it."
Before I could reply,however, there was a drumroll from behind thestage, The lights went down and the metronomic music grated to a lento.The almost threadbare velvetcu rtains parted to the sound of creaking hinges.Asickly,jaundiced spotlight beamed centerstage. !here, before a room packed"f.!!l1 drunk, howling GIs, these young boys plucked from home to fight tlicircountry's invisible wars, we saw Akeldama's Main Act:Sal X.
Good news God is loveIt ~ coming from the sky aboveSo I'll do what I'll doAnd be what I amBomb the Vatican
The young singer, the star sensation of Akeldarn<J'sMagsaysay Avenue andthe Messiah of the Holy City Zoo, leaped onto the stage in ripped jeans andleather jacket, his thick black hair swirling like a dark halo around his headas he trotted about, gyrated and whirled before hoisting his Stratocaster heav-enward to an invisible demon. Seeing him the girls of the Zoo extricatedthemselves from the desperate embraces of their drunken GIs and leaned,hypnotized, towards the scene onstage.
Good news from aboveYou can't fight my love!do what I dojustfor youBomb the Vatican
"It doesn't make sense," said the rationaljun.Perhaps it wasn't supposed to, I volunteered and he agreed, scan-
ning the audience around us. By the third stanza, with Sal's guitar cater-wauling a solo, several Marines had hopped onto the bar and were doing astriptease in tandem with the dancers. Lessacrobatic ones were trying to swigtwo bottles of San Miguel beer at the same time: twobottles propped into theirmouths, to see which Joe could drink the fastest. The foam gurgled down totheir shirts and slacks and on to the tiled floor, and soon became a muddy,sticky glue.
The show went on only for less than an hour, during which time, asPat Chiu informed us, we heard selections from the Four Million Braum~mericans compilation and Sal's first album. tilled The Best o[Angsf. Thislatter album, I heard, had caused a minor conlrollllrsy soon after its [(·i£·aseby a t.erminally uncommercial private label called Ak,l~hlcRecor(k iL~cover
.1. s~owed a l?inclo~hed Sal floating in a sea of nimbo-cullJIIlus clouds, b is sidL~ -r~ silt open, Itke a rISen Christ. •,JI~ . Amidst the pandemonium the band ground to its last chord. "&,v!t.
if" ),. e::rme love Sal," Pat Chiu underlined the obvious. "People in Akeldama veryploud of him."
No curtain call answered the wild hooting and howling comingfrom the bar. The girls stopped dancing, placed their fingers to their lips andwhistled. Sal Xslipped into a gap in the curtain and was swallowed by dunesof dusty velvet. We would not see himJor the rest of the evening, even if theother members of his band eventually popped out from backstage, lingeredamong the tables, accepted kudos and generally got drunk with beer offeredby GIs. The women threw them obligatory congratulations which they ac-cepted perfunctorily, all this being part of the job. '(hey were back-IlP musi-cians of meager talent and were ho in to get out of the club as s ycould, erha s 0 to some Yakuza bar in Shin'uku a an. They thoughtof Sal as a gimmick to veer GIs 0 the rival Hippodrome, and like the rest ofthe city they thought of his annual ritual of sacrifice as a bizzareness under·taken on behalf the city:jkeldama was populated by young Americans fa~J~thered by passin GIs of man Ii' . .city, they elieved that salvation woul .Sf nth fleet but somewhere in California, in Chicago. in Newyork And SalX, eccenlric, reclusive,demonic, beautiful['l"I, was golDgto take them ihere.-.~ON GOOD FRIDAY we S2W Sal crUCified.
The event, culminating the afternoon's cenaculo, was duly attendedby the city's parish priest and his cofradias, the city mayor and his barangaycouncils, the prostitutes from the bars and a scattering of overly curious Ma-rines. Of that episode I remember only these things: the brutal heat that boreupon us that afternoon, the earnest, glistening faces as they watched withhorror and fascination that very moment when the nails-five-inchaluminum rivets-were.driven through0.al's palms and ounded onto the~ood of the cross; and the bloo oozing out of those holy woun , tricklingunder his arm, into the arm it and down his side to stain his loincloth, downhis leg and over ,is ro ed feet down to the round where it create pu csunder t e bent knees or Akeldama's widows and daughters.
Hours later, we drove past his house, a rundown bungalow of oldstone and lime, where a crowd of devotees had lined up to view his body.Thefaithful and the recondite sweated profusely under the sun, their restlesschatterdrowning out the novenas of the damned. But once inside they' fell into areverent hush, wiping handkerchiefs against his side, smooth and cold asporcelain, and planting swift, furtive kisses on the stigmata smarting in hishand<. There they ""re, ancient women gripping knotted rosaries, tatt1stevedores, students from Catholic schools, beggars and thieves, poets andphilanderers, rich matrons in Gucci pumps, vendors and pimps, all the ve-l!!&.offenders of tbe Monarchy of Sin. Dawn of Easter Sunday, Sal would stirout of his coma, and at that moment all their offenses against God and coun-try would be absolved, as his sleep itself absolved him of his. This youngAmerasian. the son of a MariQ~who had taken liberty in tbe bars ofAkeldamatwen -five years ago, had vowed to have himself crucified evhis father c aimed him and delivered him out of his countcy's reckless desti-lution and irredeemable despair. In Akeldama, Sal X was not just pop'guruand hanky tonk superstar: no, not an icon: a saint.
"OYE,MA'AM LIKEDYOUR REPORT and sends her warm regards. The agency getsadditional funds and you boys get a raise. Don't you love working for thiscountry? Now hear this: we've got more work to do, yes, here at the Palace weearn our keep, not like those freeloaders in Pt.:blicWorks. Loscabrones sit ontheir butts all day and let the national highways eat all our taxes, puneta!Next year I get kicked up to the Film Palace. Oy,don't look glum, I know I'llbe sorely missed. You boys are on your own."
That was of course Max Plata, fresh from the Big Apple, announc-ing his presence Monday at the office. Diplomacy dictated that Jun and Ishow effusive gratitude. I was also grateful for the prospect of having Max offour backs for the next few months, as the Manila International Film Festivalwas being launched as a major fiesta soon.
Construction on the Manila Film Center was underway. The build-in was desi ned v . l who had een cr "l . • ne'~ind of cOlWete and coconut diarrhea for tb.\Wt~ Imelda had aln~adydrawnup a guest list which included her closest huddles ~r~e J IalJ1 iI\011 ,Chmtil0..Ford, and Mnan K,l~shoggiJlalls were also ;lfoot to s:\IIilii.e alld beautify
Manila: whitewashed walls for shanties; white sand a Manila Ba . flowerol~ of blue ename ; uses aying fuzak versions of "F . " And so
fw;!h.-- ()'u.A~;'
For Max this was a dream assignment, but not because he liked orunderstoo? filQl§..Max couldn't tell a dolly from a teddy bear, a pan from a )~IJepot. Fassbmder could have been a brand name for brassieres, Fellini a new L.t-Lsexual position for all he cared. The new job meant getting closer to Ma'am,which meant more frequent sojourns around the world. In Kenya he woulsafari with Brooke Shields; in New York he would dine with Dame MargotFonteyn. The Reagans feted him in California, and George Hamilton tannedbeside him in the French Riviera. Consigned to home base,jun and I workedon the assignment bequeathed by him, which meant completing the Presi-dent's book on our own, We were naturally exhilarated, because this meantwe could work on the book without follOWingMax's general concept, whichread like a thesis belabored in Manila universities. Wewere going to be crea-tive, brilliant, exciting.
"Oye, not so fast. I don't grant paradise to everyone just becauseI'm going. Ma'am says el Dente likes the first draft, says he likes this familyhistory you've unearthed at the Historical Institute. Puneta, I don't knowwh~ the heck cares for a third rate penny novella, but if he says he likes itheck. Ma'am wants you to use the book to trace her family roots to theZabartes,"
"I didn't know she was related," Jun remarked."Tonto," Max said, "She doesn't know that either. The author of
this novella will have to h;lVe some Romualdez blood in her. The story re-mains in your hands."
"And what would the Zabartes say about that?""The Zabartes," said Max, "would be beside themselves with pride."We couldn't be too sure about that. Jun phoned the villa to inform
the colonel of the First Lady's plans and then announced to the office that hewould return to San Miguel to conduct more research, much to the distress ofour little crew of accountants who were busy padding both Plata's shoppingaccounts with Ma'am in Fifth Avenue and our considerably minor reimburse-ments from San Miguel, and had to adjust our quarterly budget for this trip.Alittle spat between Jun and Susan Tala concerning the green eyed .!JlQoster
.fulJowed soon after, startin~ with our usual dinner trio at the Milky Way and«mding, a deux, with the volatile couple reconcjlin~ in ,1ua's car and hQDDjn~Q[ to the Stormy Weather Motel in Sail luaD ,~'()~ 61," Susan callcd frolll thecar" makes one false movc he'll n.' orl t0ll10 wa l'll-
rwch. I promise you that!" I blew her a kIss an Winced cOlTlmiseratingly almy endangered colleague,
The next fewdays were spent paperchasing in the office, filling ledg-ers and completing progress reports, I bad decided to represent the agency inlbe mjni fjlm fe~til/lll being organized by the President's daughter Imee per-~ps to coincide with and stealtbllnder from her wolber's decidedly macelavish baysjde carnival.
Later that summer, out in the eddying shark-infested Tablas Strait,the MVDon Juan collided with the tanker Tacloban City; both ships explodedinto a pillar of fire that lit the strait for four days, burning children and dol-phins, octopi and garupa, and casting their embers into reefs of lilac-coloredcoral.
Now to the book in question: It seems that Susan had unearthed, inthe course of her research for our project, a short novella published privatelyby one Jaime Lorenzo. The title was the rather unimaginative Song of /I1l-Islands, and the topic was an undisguised and very unflattering family his-tory of the Suarezes, who later married into the Zabartes via their heir anddescendant Dolores. It turned out thatJaime Lorenzo was a pseudonym, andthat the author was no other than Dolores' estranged aunt, one Amalia San-tiago Romaldes. Apparently the print run for this book was very small and noother extant copies could be found.
But what was interesting about the novella was that it used the namesof real people-ancestors of the Suarez and Zabarte clans-in romanticportrayals of quite compromising situations. I had the suspicion copies of thebook had been suppressed by the understandably offended clan, butJun andI would find that out, and the unfortunate Miss Romaldes' fate, much later,
Just before the rains pelted Manila and turned its dingy strcets intomuddy torrents, Jun headed straight to San Miguel airport. [ would not seehim again for some time, having found out that my elusive sunjl-el, Sal X,had returned to his parents' island province·--Y'allli, on tIll' Iwtlll'rnl1losttip of the archipelago-to recuperate after his definitely excruciating per-
"\ form~ce. I was going to receive word much later that the young performer
1 was gomg to meet me back at the club in Akeldama, and I left without so. much as a by-your-leave, seeing the accountants were all too happy to be rid
ofme.In the next few chapters are fragmenl~ of documents culled for this
"\....proiect, t~e first being extracts prepared by]un from Amalia SantiagoROffialdes roman a clef, meant only to plot out crucial turning points, whethertrue or not, in the family history. The others will be in the form of notes takenfor my video of the mysterious, demented Krista of Akeldama, after which wewill plot his difficult ascent to the airwaves of Manila and beyond. The readerhas been warned.
Villa del Fue 0
THEY TIlREW TIlE BODIES off the ferry's starboard like sacks ofspoilt rice. They heard the bodies,crash into the water, andsaw them bobbing up and down before finally sinking intothe shark-infested San Viceote Strait. The wind howled and-J..~
snuffed out the lamentation of the bereaved. Thus the tripfrom .§.ombrio to San Migu.elcontinued, sixteen hours af-ter it h ad left port.
The unfortunate island had been stricken withsmallpox, malaria, beriberi, cholera and every conceiv-able disease the tropical miasma brought with it. Mem-bers of the American cavalry, upon orders from the newlyinstalled Director of Health in Manila, filled the moatsaround its battlements with soil, tore down their flimsynipa houses and, when no amount of diligence seemed todisinfect the land, later burned the villages and flung ter-rified, emaciated families onto ferries of fragile wood-small boats that could accommodate forty people, a coopof chickens and some pigs. From the starboard of the lastferry to leave the island, Elias Camacho watched the smokecurling from the island like a funeral pyre.
Their destination was the port of Cebu. But threedays into the strait a squall rose from the.west, intensifiedinto a storm a few hours later and cast them off courseinto the thick, briny crashes of the Visayan Sea. The poorboat clambered up six meter-high waves and swoopeddown wiU1terrifying speed, tossing il) load into the turbu-lent water. Bythe end of the storm the next morning there
were only fifteen people left, many of them dying, Therewere no provisions, no water, no hope of land in sight.The captain, an ineffectual man hastily assigned to steerthe boat to Cebu, was himself sick with dizziness andmalaria.
Elias Camacho directed the crew himself, follow-ing only his instinct. He had spent his twenty-five yearsamong these islands, but had not experienced so relent-less a storm as they did that night. They steered the boatdue east, straight to the path of the sun, knowing that ifthey couldn't find the port of Cebu they would-eventuallyveer towards Samar island. In the unlikely event that theywould miss that, they would have to crash onto th~ small~aDd of SaD Migu,rl. beyond which was certain de'ath inthe inhospitable, unpredictable Pacific Ocean, He himselfwas no navigator, having spent much of his youth in theFilipino cavalries on land, fighting a hopeless insurrec-tion against Mother Spain, Towards the twilight of the in-surrection the small islands scattered in the periphery ofthe Visayan Sea declared themselves separate republics,perhaps not without the foolhardiness .of the naive. Theirgovernors wooed the support of the invading Americans,who helped them preserve their fragile governmenl~ witha handful of cavalry men. He became a colonel, faithfullyguarding a tattered regiment of Filipino soldiers inSombrio. And then, when the government was no morethan a week old, the pestilence struck, decimating every-body, native and YanqUi alike, even Elias Camacho's fam-i! -his father and m ir and Constancia, a younger
..sislerJf he seemed unmoved now as t 1ey t r e lesinto the sea, it was because he himself had been stalkedby death throughout his life: the violently dead in thecourse of war and the quietly dying in the streak of pesti-lence, words of appeal and remorse drying on their lips,
Something was rocking the boa: now, somethingcaught underneath. Elias'Camacho peered off the side ofthe ferry into the morning mist. The boat had hit a hiRhjut of coral, scraping against the calcified branches andbreaking them off. They had reached the island of SanMiguel. He gazed out, expressionless, at the island. In theface of war, epidemics or typhoons, he remained unfazed.People said later it was a stoicism born out of constantlyfacing deprivation and tragedy. But he always knew hewas born lucky, even if all around him he saw nothingbut despair. His own undeserved luck brought on him amelancholia without reprieve, the exultant sadness of peo-ple who knew they were going to outlast the entire world.
The island rose in the distance, dry and burnt.As the ferry approached its shoals a burst of gunfire torethrough the air. The passengers on the boat, stirred out oftheir lethargy, whined and crunched deeper: there wereseveral women and children among them, many of whomhad proved the sturdiest among his pasSl:ngers. They driftedto shore slowly, the waves nudging them inch by inch untilthey could hear the corals grinding underneath. There wasanother burst of gunfire, and now ~hey could see a troopof Filipino soldiers crowding around the shore, riOes heldaloft and shooting into the air,
Elias Camacho jumped out of the boat into waistdeep water and waded ashore, He held his hands up as agesture of surrender, holding a white kerchief in one hand.When he reached the shore the soldiers pointed their riflesat him. He stopped for a moment, then walked resolutelyon. There was a faint smile on his lips like the smile of thebeatified-an almost exalted insouciance to his own pre-dicament The leader of this troop stepped forward lo meetthe approaching stranger. At first EIi;l~Camacho cOllldn 'trecognize who this man was, young and smart in a stiff,unbearable uniform of warm khaki. For a minute all his
fortunes seemed to deceive him, and he imagined thiswould be, after his excruciating odyssey from war to pesti-lence and typhoon, his inglorious end. But when he sawthe man's face there was a spark of recognition, a mo-mentary nash. His smile broke to a boyish grin.
"6.mjgo." Elias Camacho said. "I've come to the..island, as I had promised.",
farm in Cavite and for years would have nothing to do with the idea of inde-pendence, no matter if successive American governors continued to drop;"and consult him on the status of the Filipino's clamor for self-rule.
Elias had not had a week to layout his plans in Sombrio when theepidemic struck and killed more than half of its population,
Jn his notes Jun said the author Amalia Suarez Romaldes musthave probably known Iittie of the history of the surrounding islands. Theentire novella mentioned the war against the Americans as a tidy little affairthat was soon settled and forgotten, but in fact many of the islands aroundSan Miguel had put up a valiant resistance to the American infantries, Weknew that in Samar the American army retaliated against a particularly vio-lent insurrection by decimating the population of the island, and male na-tives above the age of eight were all mercilessly killed. We also knew thatbarbarous forms Qflmlme were practiced by both camps: the Americans usedthe water cure (later practiced by the Japanese during World War II) while!pe Filipinos buried their prisoners in anthills. §ombrjQ was a fictitjollS is- j
land, probably somewhere between Iloilo and Cebu, ~ow Elias and his rag-ged crew could miss the other islands on their way to San Miguel was impos-sible for us to imagine. Jun speculated that Elias may have in fact sailed fromone of the towns of Iloilo. Medical records from that era showed there wereseveral epidemics that broke out in that island around the time of this story.
When Elias reached San Miguel it had been several years since theAmerican government in Manila declared the war over On fact it would goon for some more years). We didn't know exactly what year he arrived, butthere were receipts of expenses kept by the diligent Colonel Joaquin Suarez,himself an astute and punctilious entrepreneur, whic!1 indicate that Eliasmay have arrived as early as '900 -,
FROMHEREONthe presence of Elias Camacho would unsettle the fates of thepeople in San Miguel. The man he met was ColQnel Joaguin Suarek,' TQ-gether they had fought in the revolution when it reached its apex, sometimein 1897. A year later, the Americans sank the fragile and antiquated Spanishfleet in Manila, drove the revQlutiQnaries Qutside the periphery Qfthe city andset up a provisionary government. In less than a few months a new war againstthis more modern, mQre formidable enemy had begun.
With the century drawing to a close, the two young men felt theyhad been overwhelmed by a war they had not fQreseen. They felt their younglives betrayed. Their leaders had all been arrested or executed, all YQungmencut down in their prime. !hey themselves were appointed colonels of th~.!Fown regiments, holding guard in the crevasses of Los Banos. While fightingintensified in the north and the islands in the south, their own men grewlistless aJld sick, and many of them soon preferred to drown their misfortunesin gambling, local wine and the barrio women with their sad voices and eyesQfglinting metal, 1ather than fighting a hopeless, invisible war. They longedto capitulate, to get this baltle done with, to imagine there had been no en-mity at all. One morning in July in a year they had already forgotten, theirtrQopswere captured by the American regimenL~,Afew shots were exchangedand a few soldiers wounded, but the capture was swift and brief. They werebrought to Manila, where they were obliged to pledge allegiance to the Ameri-can flag Th.ree years and two wars later, ColonelJQaquin Suarez and ColonelElias Camacho finally abandQned what they had tfiQU ht w~H~ wata d went wit ou
The revolution iL~ef drew to a close after Filipino spies led Ameri-can troops tQGeneral Emilio AgUinaldo's headquarters in Palanan, Isabela,Tile old supremo, disillusioned with the outcome of the war, retired te his
They rode by horseback towards the plantatlOll. The sun had risen over the fields,searing the brown stalks, The ragtag group of survivors ambled behind them,carrying the last of their possessions: a few dry clothes, ro~aries, breviaries, a fewchickens that had survived the storm, They arrived at the plantation bl' noonand were led to small villages built around the fields There they were fed anddoused with sea water to revive them.
JUNINCLUDED111 IS PARAGRAPHfor one reason: we learned that in fact Elias broug~tfarmers from nearby islands to work the plantations of San Miguel. This hedid regularly during his stay.jun suspected that Elias may have earned somprofit providing labor for the plantation, but he was by no means exploi~tive, many workers in fact looked up to him as their leader or guide. He him-self was asked to stay in the house recently constructed for ~Suarez and his new wife Consuelo, She was described here as "pale and slight,and she had dark hair w'(lu;d tight at the nape, and dark, piercing eyes," Thehouse had been constructed of unshaved wood, whose spartan constructionwas counterpointed by a clutter of furniture brought years ago from Europe-divans and chaise longues and Viennese chairs, all of which still maintainedtheir original dignity despite years of humidity and rot in the tropics, Picturesof the original residence of the Suarezes were kept in the library at Villa delFuego, The ancestors of the colonel's wife had traveled, in the distant hazi-ness of the centuries, from Germany and France and had setlled on this is-land, quietly and diligently working the soil and paying tribute without com-plaints to the ruling Spanish friars. The Spaniards left them alone to conducttheir work, and they themselves refused to mingle with the rest of the popula-tion whom they thought extremely immoral, being bastards of the frailesand the indios. That was a long time ago. Their children eventually broke'their isolation, intermarried among the new mestizos, expanded the farm,brought trade and commerce to San Miguel, and sent their children to thecolegios in Manila where they learned the wanton gaiety of the city and alsoits intellectual progressiveness borrowed from ~ unjversitie) and~Madrid, Barcelona and Paris..
- Consuela Paz studied at the Instituto de Mujeres, where she wastau ht th;'iess anarchic chores of co ua es.ln Manila she met
e young 0 um, recently returned from the inhos ltable insurrec Ions inthe mountains ot Ulon. He was a restless, indomitably assertive young m~
her heart and blood, she relented and became his wife one fine mornin~ at thechapel of San A~ustin.
A PORTKAIT of this fine wedding could be seen in the house: the colonel, hand-some and burned by the sun, standing in attention, his right arm hent at theelbow, on which the young Consuela clung tcntatlvely, her sha'1) featuressoftened by a spray of flowers and a lace veil.
When he saw her passing by the cafes of lntramuros from the college, he didwhat must have been expected of a man so attuned to his own destiny: he pur-sued her and bu rdened her with roses and poems written by youngsters of thedefunct Propaganda Movement, until. haunted by the scent of roses and lines ofpoetry bursting in her head and her own incomprehensible fevers pulsing in
THEISlANDOF SANMIGUELwas a different world, Everything was bustling there:his friendJoaquin Suarez had revived an industry left in a terrible state by hiswife's forebears whose isolated life in the island had remained untouched bywars, insurrections or the petty jealousies of the ruling friars. Colonel Suarezimmediately had natives from less fortunate islands shipped to his farm, andmany of them became loyal enough to be trusted with guns. He took uponhimself the title of Don, and had a small army patrol the periphery againstbandidos and hooligans who occasionally swooped down from the jungles ofthe Monte de Oro, These were farmers who once fou ght the war against Americaand stubbornly refused to surrender even towards the twilight of the war, Theywould send him curt messages telling him to continue to support the rebel-lion. When he finally refused to submit to their demands. Don joaquin sentfor help from the government in Manila, 1\\'0 months later the governor gen-eral sent him back a cache of rifles. With it was a letter stating that the newgovernment had received voluminous orders for raw sugar from the UnitedStates, and was counting on his support to IT'E:etthe demand,
Don Joaquin immediately decided to construct a railway from theoutlying fields of San Miguel leading to a mill towards the Monte de Oro,where the sugar could then be processed and shipped to the United States. Hehad fortune on his side, but the colonellackcd thorough knowledge of thesemodern mastodons. Elias, who in the war had been consulted on these mat-ters, stayed on to oversee the construction. He kept much of the operationsgoing and became a reassuring presence at the villa.
One evening, in a patio under the moonlight, they dined and drank to theircollective fortune, Consuelo had not heard of the two men's transaction through-out the afternoon, and when Don Joaquin informed her that their visitor had
agreed to stay through the construction of the railway, she looked at him andremarked, "We are blessed by your presence, colonel." She raised a glass as atoast and sipped the wine.
"Everything, amigo," said DonJoaquin, "has been granted to me bythe good Lord. Mywife, my farm, this new business, and now my dearest friend.I am the happiest man on earth." He took the glass from her hands and kissedher, full and strong, on the mouth. The suddenness of this gesture, its drunkenbrazenness, seemed to surprise her, and she accepted his kiss stiffly, with muchreserve. She kept her eyes on their visitor, perhaps with a trace of embarrass-ment. On this small island there had not been any occasion to display her affec-tions to anyone, and now this gesture seemed to her a trifle indiscreet. Eliashimself felt like an intruder and averted his gaze. When he looked at her againshe had closed her eyes just slightly, taking in the wine-drenched passion of thekiss.
In his room that night, drunk with wine and his new fortune, hekept pacing around to assess his new life. It h.ad opened before him, as suddenas a squall rising out at sea, and seemed to overwhelm him and toss his destinytowards its obscure, frightening, magnificent end. There were several times whenhis own sadness deepened at the thought that nothing of the future, not eventhe next minute, was revealed to him, and that he lived his life as a wayfarer outat sea, tossed by waves and drifting with little concern. 6nd he thought· Wh~twas in the wine and in the moonli ht that made her eyes so fierce asadness more SD? He tore his shirt off and threw t e window open, letting the
~ wind cool the sweat I)n his skin. Farther out at sea he could discern the moon-flecked wave.e.lapping on the shoals. It seemed so long ago that he h ad seen hismisfortune staring out at him on the coasts of so many islands whose shores hecould now barely remember. This evening, looking out at sea, he had found hishome.
Who were these people? Somehow he had thought he would find somebody fromhis own island among them, b1,lteach face rp.cededinto anonymity. The same-ness of their countenances, the same darkne&Sand the sad and bl ank expres-sions In their eyes made them look like replications of one shadow, an entirevillage built out of shadows.
They stopped In front of a shack and the soldiers unloaded the man·gled bodies of the victims. Elias steered his horse around and ordered the mento help the women bury their dead. Nobody moved. He repeated the order, andstill nobody responded. And then one soldier found the courage to say to him:
"They will not bury their dead, sir, because there is no church In ,I.,
That evening, over dinner, Elias told Don joaquin that he needed achurch if they were to continue working on the railway.
"Do you need God's help to finish your work, amigo?" Don joaquinasked him.
He said, "If there will be more accidents in the course of work, myworkers will need to bury the dead." He had found out recently that the villagesdisposed of their deceased in an elaborate and ultimately practical ritual. Theyfirst bathed the body in oils before wrapping it in pliant mats of woven palm.Then they brought it in a quiet procession to the shores of the island. There theytied it to a raft of coconut logs which was then pushed out and left to the sharksand ravages of the Visayan Sea. It was not unusual for islands farther south ofSan Miguel to discover the wreck and the torn-off limbs of the unknown dead,and sometimes to hear reports from sailors who discovered them shriveled andcalcified, like coral, from as far as the shores of South America.
"[will think about it," Don joaquin told him, "when the need arises."There were no further accidents after that, and as work progressed the couplesaw less and less of Elias. There were many evenin~ when he failed to jointhem for supper, as was the custom since his arrival many months ago. But theyreceived continuous reports of the work's progress from soldiers dispatched byDon joaquin and from the kitchen heip sent everyday by Dolia Consuelo tobring food and water to the colonel's guest. Each time the food returned un-touched, and the colonel's wife's heart sank not so much from the rejection butfrom the wastage of so much food - nothing lasted more than a few hoursunder the tropic humJdity. She was kept awake at nights, looking out Into thefields, at the coal fires where she knew the camps would be. Finally, one morn·ing, after five nights of this continuous insomnia, Don Joaquin suggested thatthey should take their horses Ollt to the field to see what had become of theirrailway.
They left for the camp towards sundown to avoid the scarin~ heat.Thc coloncl and his wife rode sidc by sidc, her face silielded from the brine and
The caisson lumbered up the bend towards Monte de Oro. When itreached the downhill slope it sprang loose like a bull off its tethers. Severalworkers who had been awaiting its turn down the hill sprinted out of its way,but it was too late: the caisson's load of logs swung towards them and hit thenearest ones with a dull whack. Five men died in the mishap. Elia,sbrought thebodies over to their families in the workers' village, not far from the Suarezes'cabin. There he was met by the dark, speechless faces of the bereaved: childrenin tattered shirts of rough cotton handed down by theIr fathers, and womenwith hair twined and knotted, falling like dark vines around their shoulders.
sun with a lace veil that hovered over her eyes like a thick mist. When theyreached the camp they found that the men had finished work for the day andbegun a wrestling match in a clearing not far from the foothills. There wereseveral of them crowded in a circle, all howling and throwing sliver peso coinsin a wager. Inside the circle and the swirling dust were two of the strongest menin the camp: a man who had survived the accident, perhaps miraculously, as hehad halted a log in its tracks with his bare hands, and Elias Camacho. Half-naked and smeared with mud, they were locked in a knot, their limbs kickingup dust, when Don joaquin and his wife arrived. Several men noticed their ar-rival, and the howling and heckling simmered down until there was no soundto be heard but the two men struggling. Just when Elias swung his opponent tothe ground, he noticed the unexpected visitors. He sprang up, wiping his handsagainst his trousers. And then his darkened face broke to a smile, his teeth andeyes white against the mud and grime.
"I have imagined," DonJoaquin said, "there would be little time forsport until the work is done."
Elias was silent for an instant, and then he threw his head back andlaughed. The other men ioined in his laughter.
"Senor," Elias said, turning towards the foothills. "Come and see foryourself."
There,w~ no time to finish his announcement, because at that in-stant a collective howl rose among the men who sprinted towards the directionhe had indicated. From the distance, hidden by the stalks of cane that had risenh1ler than any man, a plume of smoke curled up, churned in the breeze andtrailed like a grey distended cloud above the fields.·The train car hobbled pain-fully, rattling over the steel rails and shaking the wooden planks. It sputtered toa stop just a few meters from where the men had gathered to cheer and throwtheir shirts and caps into the air. The car, a formidable machine that had beenshipped from Manila a year ago and had been left unused until now, loomedlike a huge, monstrous god, capable of mowing down any man.
Elias looked on proudly and said to Don Joaquin, "[ have given youwhat you want. Now give me what J ask."
"The church, senor?" Don Joaquin said. "Why is it so important to
"Men have given their lives for your train," said Elias. "Now givethem back their souls."
Don joaquin steered his horse around and called after him, "Comeback to the house, my friend. You deserve everything you ask for."
Th~ new railway more than quadrupled'production at the mill, and more work·ers had to be shipped from the outlying Islands. They arrived on small boats notunlike the ferry that brought Eilas Camacho to San Miguel. In a few months,the workers' villages would blo:lt Into oversized communities encumbering theplantations. At night, plaintive ballads wafted from the fragile huts, singing oflife and death and the moon.
Elias Camacho built a cabin not far from the shore. He wanted todrown out these mournful songs and be near to the sea whose thunderous rum-bling disturbed some people but put him gently to sleep. His blood yearned forits rhythms, haVing heard them all throughout his life. With work on the rail-way reduced to occasional repairs and maintenance, there was not much forhim to do, or so he felt. He longed once more to sail off, perhaps to islands pastthe Canarias where people were not troubled by the bonds of hunger and theearth. Perhaps to Europe, but no: people were looking farther than Europe now.
.I~e firebrands of the revolution for~otten after five years by a people who rg;.fused the burden of memory, had succumbed to pneumonia and tuberculosis.,~e would go to the farthest eod of the latitude: to cities as unknown and mythi-cal to him as the heavens of the discredited frailes and which he read abo t onlin the anuncios 0 the news a rs i n NewYork,San Francisco.In Manl a he had seen shops selling cigars and leather shoes, emp, iron roof-ing, hats, even exquisite coffins. Yet none of them really offered anyth ing. Hewanted so much more and yet nothing. His life had reached a cul-de-sac. Thisevening he looked out towards the Pacific Ocean and thought how calm it was,but only If one kept one's distance. It could ease or ravage the lives of those Itcame in contact with, bringing them not only abundant fish and tales of di·aphanous beings but also horrible and undeserved death.
He dreamt he was walking along in the streets of Manila It was oneof those splendid evenings and the bridge over the Pasig had just been newly litwith incandescent lamps. There were people staggering from some revelry, theircostumes scraping on the cobbled walks, their faces hidden behind silk masks.Only their laughter, loud and drunken, made them seem human. A mist hov·ered about them, carrying their voices out into the river.
Ahorse neighed outside his door and woke him up. Alittle boy pushedthe door open.
"The colonel wants you, senor," the boy said, lingering oUl,ide the
He heaved himself out of the cot, his back soaked with sweat. Helooked at himself In the mirror: the shadow of a beard had darkened his jowland his eyes looked grey and devoid of life. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Hesmiled at the boy to see if he would smile back, but the boy receded into the
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darkness, Elias walked out heavily, but as soon as he stepped outside the seawlndrevived him. He jumped on his horse and motioned for the boy to follow him. Inthe distance they could hear the sad ballads of death and deprivation. Across thepath, the moon, a pale crescentln the sky, tossed its milky Ught. The mountainloomed ahead of them like a sleeping hunchback. He was wide awake now. Hecould hear the thunder of the sea recede behind him. And because he and t~eboy rode in sl[ence, he heard only his breath, just as in his cabin he heard onlythe sea's lelentless call.
Don joaquin Suarez was sitting on the porch with his wife. He stoodup to greet Elias with a warm embrace and offered him a seat and a glass ofbourbon.
"We have been wondering, sir, what has become of you," Consuelosaid. "The sea must envigorate you so, that you cannot leave it for a momen!."
"It makes me think, Dona Consuelo," Elias said succinctly."Tnen we must not keep you away from your thoughts," said Don
joaqu in, "because great deeds have been born from them. The soldiers say thereis talk of your leaving soon. 1 hope that is mere hearsay, Elias."
"I have done my work here," Elias replied."And you have done it well," said Don joaquin. "There is an old .
friend of mine in Manila who wants to open new prospects fo~me in Am~~You must have heard of him: William jackson, a very enterprising YanquI. He 'owns many shops and the Hotellnternacionalln Escolta. I have 1000000000yawager in his cafes, but that has not soured cur friendship. Nonetheless [ do nottrust the Yanqui. They had, after all, deceived us into war. But all that is past, Iknow. I need a man in Manila to represent the mill. TIlere is no one else [ cantrust, senor, but my best friends."
He looked at Don Joaquin and said, "When do I leave?""At your convenience, my friend," Don Joaquin said.Elias looked at his friend and Consuela, who were both waiting for
"I shall leave in the morning, on the first ship OUI," he said.Don joaquin poured more bourbon into their glasses. He brought
his glass up In a toast and said, "We shall be rich men, my friend. No moreloitering in beaches for the rest of our lives." He downed the bourbon and, withthe satisfaction of a man who had never made a wrong decision in his life, stoodup to scan the fields below them.
Consuelo walked to his side and slowly turned 'around to addresstheir guest. "Om prayers will be with you, sir," she told him. "We and the islandwill miss you terribly."
THE AZUCARERA'S collaboration with William Jackson would be successful only_ to a certain poinLlackson was a former officer of the American troops in the1 Philippines and bad decided to stay and deyelop the reS0llrces of [be new'),
~~ ~. There is an interesting anecdote about him in Henry Shaw's The~ Americans in 'he Pbt'lippines (1913): After gaining considerable income
~ from his associations with sugar planters, he invested his money in devel9.l2.:.
\
ingswamPlandSOUlb of Manila, an area that people at that time regarded asworthless real estate. He had the idea that if he could turn .l!JeSe swamps ieta~elf-contajned villages and draw the wealthy out of the bmgeoning bar~ios ofMmllla, he could eventually develop the land between city and new Villageinto prime real estate. His sons later married into the wealthy families ofManila and carried on his plans, eventually establishing some of the busi-ness districts and most expensive residential properties in the city.
William Jackson tried calling at the Hotellnternacional thr~ times that after·noon and could not find him there. He scribbled a hasty note, left it with theconcierge and stepped out Into the waning heat The clopping of hooves and thegooselike honking of the trams in Escolta assaulted him. He wondered whyElias Camacho insisted on staying in a busy street like this when with the moneyhe was earning he could have booked himself at the elegant Oriente where thenotables stayed and were feted. Even the late Doctor Rizal had roomed thereand written stories about its impeccable service. Here in Escolta there was noth·ing but the bustle of commerce.
He looked around distractedly, his wisp of greying hair wet with per-spiration under his panama hat. He walked towards Plaza Morga, passing thenumerous shops and tipping his hat at the managers posted at the counters.Most of them had become, in recent years, clients of the azucarera: the NewYork Bar, the Paris Confeclionary, the Philippine Trading House, the BritishIndia House, La Commercial, EI Luzon. He greeted the passing merchants andtourists. Soon after the war, when the American governors opened the islands tothe rest of the world, a steady trickle of Prench alld Spanish traders set up busi-nesses all over the city, overtaking even the most diligent Indians and Chinese.We have opened the islands, mused jackson, to the drifters of the Old World.
At that moment Elias Camacho was in a bar next to the Hotel deFrance in Intramuros. The bar was called EI Pin de SI~IQ and its darkly litinterior and creaking furniture, inherited from many of the condemned housesof the walled city, certainly added atmosphere 10 the Hnachronism. This surrep'titiously run establishment had long been the bane of the management of the
hotel who had been advertising it in the dlarlos as "the best hotel In Manila."Time and again they had asked the constabulary to flush out Its raucous denI-zens, and time and again the raids were called off when persons of high stand-ing were found to be its most loyal clients. At this moment Elias was Its centralattraction. The women of El Fin de Siglo always pined mockingly for his pres-ence, not because he continually lavished them with generous gifts, but be-cause his sad, beautiful face always lifted them from the dreariness of theirprofession. Many of them actually fell in love with him and would weep una-shamedly when he chose a different partner for the evening. Although the roomsat the back of the bar could accommodate no more than four, he would gal·lantly offer to take more than one woman at a lime. There they would undresshim lovingly as though he were a gift, fighting over who should unbutton hisshirt, or unlace his shoes, or kiss the scars he received from the war, and whichadorned his smooth torso like indecipherable hieroglyphs. After their lovemak-ing they would ask from him a lock of his hair, and he would adamantly re~usebecause it would make him vulnerable to the hexes of the city's witches to whomhe knew these women would run in order to entrap him.
The azucarera had done good business, expanding production withthe help of money from partners Donjoaq uin Suarez had befriended in Manilasoon after the war. The success of this venture was a topic Elias relayed faith-fully to Don joaquin in San Miguel. Replies pertaining to the steadiness of pro-ducti'on in the island reached him promptly, and the routine of accomplish-ment soon bored him and led him to the pleasure quarters of the city. Thewomen with their sad protestations and unbelievable lives drew him away fromhis own loneliness, and he would stagger back to the hotel at night, drunk withwhiskey and affection. His bills accumulated to astounding proportions, andnotices from his friend Don joaquin came in periodically, urging him to rent ahouse somewhere in the residential quarters of the city. This was the day hewould decide to do so.
William jackson finally caught up with him that evening at El Finde Siglo. The women stayed deferentially a few feet away from him, as was themanner in which they treated American businessmen, but hooted invitingly athim from the bar. He dismissed them with a polite tip of the hat, his silvermoustache quivering above his lip. Elias was sitting underneath a whirringceiling fan, with his feet up on a table. jackson pulled a chair beside him andhanded him an envelope. He opened it, unfolded the letter and read slowly,peering at the small script. Then he looked at jackson and smiled, his leethflashing white.
"They have buill the church, Don William," he said."I traveled all the way from the Escolta," said jackson, "just to hear
ne\ys of a church?"
Elias folded the leller back into its envelope and called for more whis-key. "You and I have been Invited to attend Its first ~eremony, sir."
"I suppose when Don Joaquin calls we can't refuse'" said jackson"What does one wear to a church Inauguration'"
"Not an Inauguration, sir," said Elia.s. "It seems Don joaquin andhis Wifehave chosen this occasion to renew their vows. !l's something we Filipi-nos do to remind ourselves of the Holy Sacraments."
"You seem more like a skeptic to me," jackson said, laughing."Yes," said Elias. "( have been known 10 be many things. " He tucked
the letter In his shirt and said, "Lavish preparations are underway. The colo-nel's wife is arriving here this weekend."
"Good Lord," said jackson. "Was the note from her then? [ think weshould prepare for this visit. Should we book her at the Oriente?"
"You know these things more than I do," said Elias. "She will behere for only a fewdays. Yes,the Oriente will be fine."
The MYMarinaJailed towards Manila Bayat dawn. She stood againstthe railings, watching the US Customs House loom into view. Its arched win-dows set a pattern against the breaking day, like a perfect row of teeth. Thestripes flew over the shadow of a mascot, an eagle with spread wings. Cascoeswere nudging the banks of the bay. The city had waken up hours ago, answer-ing the Marina's mournful bellows far out at sea.
They disembarked at the pier, where immediately they were met by ahorde of drivers of carromatas and calesas. Somehow she had never Iiked thecity, harboring like her forbears a secret disdain for Its vulgar commerce, itsunabashed sense of progress. Riding past the wider streets towards Intramuros,away from the cramped, cholera-stricken quarters of the pier, past the dankhuts of the traders and stevedores, she noticed the fire trees starting to bloom.
Astranger had met her at the pier and shuffled her into this coach:wide-set eyes and brows furrowed as in a perpetual frown. He frightened her,even as he offered her a note of introduction with an awkward bow. She hadbeen informed that she was going to the best hotel in the city, and already shecould see its arches from a distance, its wide porticos and whitewashed facadeand its stained glass windows looming high over the wailing calesas. Suddenly,she wanted not to be here, to be anywhere else hut here. In a few hours themorning chill would giveway to suffocating heat, and the entire city would wilttill sundown gave It reprieve from the sweltering sun She directed 11](' driver toturn past the hotel and toward~ th~lnla Clara conveo1. Nonplussed but obei-
sant, the driver clucked at the horse and they trotted off farther Intl) Intramllros,stopping at the stone walls of the convent.
~ventl months aKa!he convent broke its tradition of a hundred yean:it opened jts doors to a man. the American doctor Victor Helser. \Q fumigate il$.
1Ia11s and purge i\ of cholera .1'he epidemic had taken its toll all over the city,~d everywhere the sick were being hauled off to quarantine, IQu} 3m3!' UOijJ
wailing relatives. The nuns themselves were not spared the wrath of God (whichwas how many residents of the city interpreted the epidemic). Their oodles werepiled in front of the convent and then carted away to a common pyre outside thewalls of lntramuros ..•.
Don joaquin had warned her not to go to the city, and, failing that,he told her to stay at the Oriente and 'not at the convent as she had said shewanted to. But sailing northward and staring out at the violent waters of theVisayan Sea, she suddenly felt viciously alive. Outside of the constrictions of herown island and her own past, she felt sparked by an unfounded sense of pain, orsome amorphous thing that stabbed at her as she stared at the hulls of moun-tains drifting past. DoDa CQnSllelawanted tQKQstraiwht to the conyept not tQ
.• some antiseptic cos;;opolitan hoteL to confront death and stare it in th~ gte.The nuns welcomed her with affection and stories of the horrors of
the epidemic. They told her how, In the evenings, they had watched districts ofthe city burn in the distance, their fragile lives curling to smoke In a sacrificialslumlJer. Farola was the first to go, its parched huts torn and burned t . ~
otlinto decimate the Filipino population. and there were VOCiferousoutcries from.t~ indignant aod the bewaved. She listened patiently to their stories. Andwhen 4
the sisters finally asked if she wanted to spend the rest of the day in privatequarters, she smiled wanly, and replied, "I have come at last to the end of theworld."
"That morning, at the Hotel Oriente, Elias Camacho waited for herto arrive. Perhaps he had seen the coach driving past the hotel, and perhaps hehad darted out of the lobby, recognizing the profHe staring resolutely aheadinside the passing coach He asked the concierge If Dona Consuelo was due toarrive that morning, and the concierge answered for the fifth time that indeedshe was. And then, just when he saw the last passengers from the Marina beingdriven into the city on coaches that hobbled with the weight of centuries, he sawhis driver coming back from the convent. The driver halted beside him, hishorse neighing with thirst and exhaustion.
"Perdone, senor," the driver called to him. "Dona Consuelo Suarezis a very stubborn woman."
He gave him his day'S pay and hopped in. He Instructed the drblet.1O,t~im back to his quarters, a house he had found ~nly yesterday in the p~
..suburban district of Qujapo. They made their way through the wakening trafficof the clty, overtaking some calesas clopping over Puente de Espana towardsEscolta where the diners and reStaurants were now setting up meals for the d~y.Hesat inside the coach with the uncomfortable feeling of being suspended som~.where, of haVing company with a ghost. Hecou ld smell her powdered fragrancesstllllingering in the coach. When he closed his eyes he could almost imagineher beside him.
Manila, Don William averred, was a city that had shed one persona to assumeanother. Like an actor on a stage, he said, it changed its costume quickly beforethe curtains rose for the second acl: American bars and tradi ng shops now stoodcheek by jowl with older cousins left over from the Spaniards. People had alsolearned to supplant the Spanish language and were. now chirping in haltingbnglish.
Elias was not listening. The heat inside the carromata was sLiftlingand soporific, and he felt he was slowly losing consciousness, The enLire citywas in a state of ether. He had not seen Dona Consuelo for the past week andnow there was word that she had decided to sail back to San Miguel on the nextmorning's ship. They parked in front of the Hotel Oriente, where Dona Consuelowas staying for her last night. Porters were busy herding horses to a trough, andvisitors kept going out and in. This was the last place he had wanted to be,thought Elias.
William Jackson finally turned to him and tweaked the ends of hissilver moustache. "You must listep to me this one time Colooel " be said.
Elias turned wearily to him and nodded absently,;'There are passions that are lJestleft unheeded, ,. Don William said
"Elias smiled and lifted his hat to let some air in. He was sweallDg£rofuse1y "I am aware of that, Don William," he said, "I thank you for your~
The driver stepped out of the hotel and rapped on the carromata'sside. "Dona Consuelo says she will see you now," he said. Elias Camacho roseheavily from his seat and straightened his hat. He smiled at Jackson and tappedhim lightly on the shoulder. "Abi muere," he said and walked in
Her room was on the upper floor, She was standing by the wide win-dows which gave onto the street below and let the warm breeze in,
"We were wondering, sir, why you never answered our letters," shesaid as Elias walked in.
"I have sent reports on the business punctually," he replied curtly,
"Oar joaquin says you have done a very good lob. The haciendawould be nowhere without you. You are living comfortably here?"
"I have just moved to a house In the suburbs, senora. Adistrict calledQulapo. The air Is cool, and from my quarters I can hear the river. Don Williamlikes it, and stays late on some nights to drink with me."
"And how is Don William?""He can still hold his liquor, is all can say, senora,"They stood there awkwardly conversing. There was only one divan
in the room, and she was afraid that if she asked him to take a seat she wouldhave to share it with him.
"Don joaquin worries about you," she said."Please assure him the business is noi neglected here," he said."But my letters have been left unanswered," she said."If 1refused to answer them, Dona Consuelo,.it was not to spite you,
but to keep myself from saying what 1am not allowed to say,""You have thrown them away then, my letters?""No, senora."She approached him and with the weight of her sadness she said
that she was leaVing in the morning for the island, "We would like to see youthere soon," she said. "They have started building the church,"
"You must tell Donjoaquin that 1am very grateful, and that he mayexpect me there in the future."
"In the near future, 1 hope," she said. "Our son will be baptizedthere within the year."
Hewas taken aback, and she noticed his confusion. "Not within ninemonths, senor. The sisters have a way of knowing, you understand. 1am certainthe colonel will choose you for a godfather. He trusts no one else,"
He staggered to the window and drew a deep, audible breath, It Isover, he told himself, I will shatter everything, my world and all the peoplearound me,
"What is it, senor?""1 have not been well," he said. "It Is the heat."She begged him to sit down, He hobbled over, dazed and confused,
And then in an instant something took hold of him, an unknown force born ofthe heat and the suffocating air of the city and the unpredictable winds: hecrushed against her, holding her by the shoulders, and kissed her on the mouthwith such desperation that she succumbed Immediately. This sudden, briefmoment obliterated all their misgivings about the past, and there was nothingnow but their own weaknesses confronting them. They felt all alone in the world.
She broke free from his grasp and turned towards the window. In theIig~t she seemed once more unreal, a shadow, Perhaps, he thought, she had not
really come here, and this was the ghost of someone else, someone he had en-countered only in a dream. Hewould have wanted that. He would have wartPt1
to wake up and know that all of this had been unreat: her back against him,silhouetted in the light, the curtains undulating in the breeze like a wave, In amoment now he would be awake, He walked to her, and the scent of floral oilsand herbs swarmed about him, On the sleeve of her dress he saw a black butter·fly alight, Itsominous wings slowlybeating In the shadows, The sight of Itstoppedhim from approaching any further, but as in all dreams he was soon devoid ofhis own will and he drew nearer, As he held out a hand to her she turned herface slowly and looked at him with the eyes of someone who had long ago given.up her own world.
SOMETIMEAfl'ERTHAT we know that construction began on Villadel Fuego, namedafter the river that coursed through the mountains and gave respite and nour-ishment to the island.
"\t" ' .. , rowrds the end of summer, when the searing heat gave way toincessant rain, DOilaconsuelo gave birth to a boy.The baby was delivered inthe villa, with herbalists and nuns assisting the midwife. Dona Consuelo hadsubsisted mainly on the water and meat of young coconut during her preg-nancy, and the midwife warned her this would make the child not only slightof weight, but also melancholic. Jun found records of this birth still extant inthe townhall of San Miguel. There were very precise details about the birth:the baby was born under a full moon, in the sign of Cancer; they named itManuel, short for Emmanuel the King, Of the child's baptism AmaliaRomaldes writes:
Today the se~nts and workers were in a frenzy, The aroma of roast sucklingpig and spiced vegetables permeated the house, and cooks hobbled about thekitchens, hauli pots overflOWingwith sauces and steam, Buntings of palmand paper were set up around the mansion grounds. The soldiers ambled dis-tractedly about, cajoling the cooks' maids into lavishing them with an earlymeal.
The church had been finished a month earlier, It was a stone struc-ture built to withstand not only the ravages of typhoons but the occasional on·slaught of bandidos from the mountains who periodically burst into the townsfor goods and ammunition. Aparish priest had been shipped from the villagesof Sombrio. He was a whiskered, aging man of indeterminate years, efficientand unobtrusive, and chosen specifically for his lack of purpose which ensured
that no sennon of his would agitate the workers. Padre Juan Ferrer christenedU!.:..church after San Isidro, patron saint of laborers, and declared two days Intb.t1.ummer as tU!Stas tnliOnor of the saint.
From the vllla a small procession wound Itsway towards the church.The men were garbed in starched colton suits and the women in lace veils,shielded from the brutal heat by umbrellas of silk. A few of them, dressed evenmo~ impressively In boots and~~hpurs, were on horseback, leading a fragilecarnage on which rode Dona Consuelo and her newborn son. D6nJoaquin rodehis horse next to the carriage, surveying the crowd that had already gathered bythe church doors: a few of his guards, some of the foremen from the workers'villages and their wives, and Elias Camacho, who had arrived early that morn-ing and stood out in a striking white suit and silk hat.
"Amigo," Don joaquin called out. "You have honored uswith yourpresence." He dismounted and walked up to Elias and gave him a warm em-brace.
The carriage stopped in front of the church. Consuelo stepped out,holding the sleeping child whose baptism dress of diaphanous lace trailed downto her knees. She saw the two men talking and walked up to them. "He seemsnot to bother about all this," she said to them. "Thank you for accepting ourinvitation," she addressed Elias. He placed a hand on her shoulder and kissedher. They walked to the font, and she handed the child to him. He accepted itand was surprised to discover how light, almost weightless, it was. He had neverheld a child In his anns before.
Padre Ferrer was waiting beside the font. A crowd moved in with areverent hush; this was in fact the first time many of them had entered the newchurch. Large panels of mahogany and marble lined the walls, punctuated bythe heads of smiling cherubs and intricate candelabras of brass and shell. Thepews were of polished malave, over which splinters of color were cast by stainedglass windows.
The baptism ceremony was qUick and solemn. When the ancientpriest poured water over the young Manuel's head, the shock of ablution wokehim. He gav~ out n crackly whine and then a robust cry which echoed throughthe church. The congregation burst into applause after the priest announcedthe acceptance of the young master, Manuel PazSuarez, into the community ofChristians and welcomed him into the grace of the Lord. Elias Camacho turnedto show them the newly baptized and caterwauling Manuel. The chUd begansquinnlng Itself out of his tentative hold. Consuelo came to his aid and scoopedthe child from his anns, calming it down with the incoherent, arcane placatlonswhose meaning is reserved only for mothers and their young, In the distancethe fireworks began: the soldiers set off the cracklers and small explosives bought
from Chinese merchants in Manila and accompanied this revelry by firing theirrifles Into the air. The guests streamed out of the church to look, and thensomething happened. .
No one couid say exactly when the first horseman arrived, but in aninstant the guests were scampering about. Some scrambled back to the church,while the others flitted to the back courts. One young man, confused by thesudden rush, stood alone In front of the church doors, looking about with un·mistakable alarm in his eyes. Ashot rang out again, and in the same Instantthat he looked towards its direction a bright rose bloomed on his shirt. spreadacross his chest, and he tumbled backwards, hitting the door.
The bandits had been waiting all morning for the congregation tofill the church. They attacked the soldiers who had been idling outside and rodetowards the churchyard as the crowd cowered in the vestibule. The leader ofthese bandidos, one Oscar Roca, was riding roughshod over everything in hisway, his rifle aimed at the church doors·- "Don Suarez!" he shouted out as they rode past. "Your heir will payfor the crimes of yom family' Mark these wordsJ"
Inside the church, Consuelo cradled the child even more tightly inher arms. People said there was no fear in her eyes when she heard that warn·ing: only a fierce, inchoate rage. Don Joaquin and Elias Camacho drew outtheir pistols and took position by the doors, but the bandits rose past swiftly andleft only a trail of blood and swirling dust. Don Joaquin walked back to his wifeand placed a hand over her velled head. She looked up at him and said, "Aslong as I am alive they will do no hann to this child."
The ancient priest waddled to her side and took her arm. "DonaSuarez," he told her, "as long as this church stands, he will be safe from harm."
The statement brought general relief to anyone who heard it. It wascertain thaI not even the bandidos of the mountains could defy the laws of God:they had to respect the power of sanctuary or else suffer the Lord's rebuke in thenext kingdom. She looked at him gratefuliy and then stood up and announcedthat they were calling off all festivities until the congregation had buried itsdead.
AMALIA ROMALDES here takes writerly liberties with history. In fact, the festiviti~continued, and there are doubts whether the bandits attacked the church atall during the ceremony. Inventories and receipts for the banquet still exist,as well as several people's accounts of the feast, which lasted for three days.Don Joaguin died two years later at the villa, seriously wounded after a skir-mish with the bandits. There is no actual person with the improbable name
of Oscar Roca, but the villa did receive intennittent warnings from maraud-ers in the Monte de Oro, lt~ms that DonJoaquin'scapitulation to the Ameri-can government was common knowledge in San Miguel and was even lookedupon as an act of heroism, therefore his death caused considerable unpopu-larity for the bandits, a ragtag group of nationalists, They were E:ventuallyflushed out by the Philippine Constabulary, with considerable help from theAmerican troops in Manila. Here is how she ends her book:
That evening, when the last visitor had left and the debris of the aborted feasthad been left outside for the dogs, he suddenly realized he had not seen'his sonsince that morning. He dashed about the house, knocking things over, andstonned through the kitchen where the cooks were cleaning the stoves and haul-ing more firewood in for the next day'S chores. He went around the grounds,agitating the dogs and chickens and sending them skittering out of his path.When he went back in and found the house empty and cavernous, he called outthe child's name and then his wife's.
He heard the voice of Consuelo and followed it to the nursery.Consuela, still dressed in the formal clothes she had worn that morning, washolding the child in her anns and singing softly to it. At their feet were largewooden traveling crates. She looked up at him as he opened the door. Little bylittle he could see the room: the carved wooden closets had been dredged ofclothing, much of which had been discarded and left disheveled on the cano-pied bed. Bottles of oils and ointments lay scattered on the dresser and the floor.Seated on a chair next to the window was a figure he recognized at once as EliasCamacho.
Hewalked in. Elias rose to meet him. "J'm sorry," Ellas said. "( havebeen telling her all morning this was not the thing to do."
Consuelo didn't let him finish. "This is not the place for a child togrow up in," she said.
"That is not for you to decide," said Don joaquin."I will decide everything for the child until he is ol~ enough to make
decisions for himself," she said."Where will you take him?" Don joaquin asked."Where we have no enemies," she said.Don joaquin laughed. "That's a difficult place to. find," he said. "Is
Senor Camacho taking you there, wherever that is?""Amigo," Elias said. "\ have been dissuading her.""( know, senor," Don joaquin said, "she has been going to the city
for reasons of her own." Heslumped down on a chair, and it seemed that for the
first time today he could feel the whole weight of his troubles bearing down onhis shoulders. "1 have never dreamed my two best friends wuuld betray me likethis."
Consuelo said, "There has been n0 betrayal. lIer~ is proof of my faithin you, and I will do everything to protect it. I would even leave this frightfulplace to save it from harm You do not undrrstand anything at all. Perhaps Ishould have betrayed you."
Don joaquin flewfrom his chair to Consuelo's side, holding his handup as if to hit her. Elias bolted to the couple and gripped Donjoaquin's arm.
"That's right, my friend," Don joaquin said. "She relies on no oneelse now." He yanked his arm free and walked out, calling his soldiers. "Carlos,Domingo! Get me my horse! Don Suarez will turn this land into a place to livein!"
Elias ran after him, with Consuelo close by, still clutching the child."Don joaquin, don't be a fool!" Elias called after him.
"Afool?" Donjoaquin said. "Is it not foolish to ruin the only life youhave, and your only friend's?"
"[ have never stopped being a friend to you," Elias said. But therewas no time to finish the declaration: in an instant Don joaquin hit him In thejaw. He reeled momentarily but stood his ground.
"I won't hit you, amigo," Elias.saidDonjoaquin rushed out of the house, hollering for his soldiers Mem-
bers of the household, servants and cooks roused by the commotion, peered outat their distraught master who was riding away and up to the mountain withfifteen of his men. In the distance they seemed like a hunting party going out,on a whim, for wild game, their rifles slung behind them. The crescent moonheaved its sharp horns over the mountain ridges.
Late in the evening a squall rose among the fields, and by morningit had intensified into a storm. The rains battered the crops and flooded thefootpaths, turning them into muddy torrents. All day they looked out for signsof Don Joaquin's brigand, but all they could see wa., the hovering grey of thestorm swathed about the mountains like a shroud At nightfall the dogs bayedat the thundering sky, the windows of the villa were shuttered and the lampskept on.
Late that night the cooks were awakened by the sou nd of horses clop-ping into the villa. They looked out to find only a few horses staggering in. andbrought out blankets Don joaquin leaned on his horse, his side punctured by adeep wound. He could hardly walk, so they carried him into his room. DoiiaConsuelo stayed up all night to dress his wounds He was delirious for most ofthe night, calling out to the men he had left dying in the storm. Elias stayedclose to her but did not speak a word. At some point in the night [Jon joaquin
woke from his delirium. He looked up feebly at Consuelo and saw Elias in acorner of the room. "Now the island is yours," he said in his stupor. She tried tohelp him sit up, Elias rushed to help her, and immediately Don Joaquin seizedhis hand and held it tight. He released his grip slowly and submitted himself tothe tenderness of his wife's embrace, "Call for help, please," she told Elias, andhe ran down to alert the servants. She could hear them darting about the groundsof the villa, sending off a carriage for the doctor and the priest. For the first timein her life she could feel herself trembling, not out of fear but out of the uncer-taintyof lifewithout him. She looked into the fading light in his eyes and searcnout the love she had always looked for and things they had seen together: blacstorm, ocean water, great mountain. Warm tears streamed down her cheeks.She whispered a prayer in his ear but found she could barely remember beyondthose words: storm, ocean, mountain. She lit a votive candle beside him andsaid, "Look at the light, my love. As long as it burns I will be here beside you."When Elias and the servants finally came back with the priest they found herarms still draped over his body, and the candle still burning beside them, throwingshadows across the room.
Hidal 0 Discovers A Journal
THESEFRAGMENTSfrom the lovelorn Amalia Santiago Romaldes my colleague]un endured during his retum to Villa del Fuego, Most of the time, he said, hefelt he had to go out of the villa and into the villages around it. He spent oneafternoon In the planters' barrio just outside the azucarera. Wrinkled womenwith furtive eyes rrlade way for him as he scanned the lean-to's with theirsickly fires. The barrio was unkempt and unnerving, the negative of every-thing he had been used to at the villa. There was a small artesian well wheregrimy children splashed around and washed their clothes and drank, Ase-cluded shore lined with drab brown huts stank with mulch and refuse. Eventhe sky seemed cloudier, dusted with smoke from the mills, They called theirvillages by the names of saints, many of whom may have been invented toaccommodate the proliferation of barrios: Saint Genevieve, Saint Andrew,SaintGregory, Saint RebeClCa,Saint]ohn. Collectively they called their villageUos.-Ciudades de Muerte, Cities of Deatb. After the summer, when all the caneshad been cut, they went Qut to sea for fish, throwing dynamite they had im-prOVisedfrom gin bottles and gunpowder. Many of them blew up accidentallyin the course of fishing, and many others hopped on to the trawlers of Tai-wanese and]apanese fishers, where they found work for the season.
There was much work for jun to do. He had to peruse most of tneprivately published volumes written by members of the family: the SuarezesandSantiagos were indefatigable writers of treatises and priv.atejournals whichhad been dutifully collected,jun later found out, by Colonel Zabarte's mother,Dona Maria Bernardina Zabarte.
On the afternoon of his arrival back at the villa, the colonel's wifewasted no time and led him to the library. Although he had earlier made thecourtesy of informing her about the task, he sensed Dolores Zabarte was merelyobliging now, without her former hospitality. But in the library, tojun's sur-
prise, sh~ showed him a copy of Amalia Romaldes' despised edition. She pulledthe book out and handed it to Jun. The soft cover had been crisped and
. browned, like a forgotten pastry, by the passing years, and whenjun opened itthe pages seemed to crackle and smart with the stiffness of inertia and disu e.
"You can see, Mr. Hidalgo, that most of it is untrue. My aunt, yousee, was quite disturbed, and she needed to write this to heal her blessure-how do you say it?-her wounds. My parents were only happy to make herbelieve it was being published, despite its contents. Have yay pyblished abook Mr. Hidalgo? I am told it is the final moment of a sacrifice when thdemon its writer in thraUts finaU cast oul."
Her aunt Amalia ironica y suffered the fate she had intended forthe-subjects of her book: she was no longer around to come to her defense. Inthe mid-1950s she died of tuberculosis at the convent in San Miguel, unmar-ried and unknown. Little did she know that her book sold ani two co .and that there was a print fliP oeonly fifty.Q[le coPYhad been kept for purelyhjtorical pu!])oses by Dolores' mother herself, Isabela, and later, after Isabela'stragic death, delivered to Dona Zabarte. The other had been sold by mistaketo a curiolls collector who later bequeathed his IibratY to tbe ~2tionaJ MJt~ It seemed that the obsessive Amalia was infatuated with her older sis-ter's paramour, the disconcertingly angelic Manuel Suarez, offspring of Colo-nel joaquin Suarez and Consuelo paz whom she had unmercifully deni-grated in her novella. Unable to woo the young man away from her sister, shewr')te her book many l'ears later in an attempt to sully reputations, perhapseven with a view to breaking the relationship. However, there is much specu-lation about this, Dolores insisted she must have written it as a way of therapyduring her convalescence in the convenl. Her delusions drove her to adoptthe surname of Romaldes which she picked up from a treatise on ichthyol-ogy in the family library. She wore a gold band all the rest of her days, boast-ing of her loving albeit fictitious husband. 'IWiceshe atlempted to kill herself,once by imbibing turpentine. Taken into the convent as a tubercular conva-lescent, she vowed to become a nun but died long before she was strong enoughto prepare for her calling. ~
"Very good research scholars are in the universities," Dolores re-minded Jun. "If they see a loophole in your work the book falls, like a houseof card)."
Books passed on from the time o(Dona Consuelo filled the librarywhich she had built to indulge her~on's predilection for the written word .There were leatherbound editions published in Spain, France and the UnitedStates, gilt-edged Bibles, original editions of the Harvard Classics; and firsteditions of Dickens and Thoreau.
Along the walls were portraits of the family: the young Don JoaqLli~'handsome, determined and stately in a white suit; Dona Consuela, coy but
\~ with a strong mouth, her eyes glazed and almost alive; Dolores' parents in awedding picture-her father, Manuel Suarez, tousle-haired and seraphic,and her mother, Isabela, firm and proud, with sharp features and very blackhair. Dolores herS?lf had been photographed in various ages: as a child hug-ging a rubber doll on the beach; a teener in convent school, pale and wiry,knock-kneed and shy; a young lady in a ballroom gown, suddenly blossomedwith youth; and as an older woman now, her face sharpened like her moth-er's, her eyes determined and full of purpose.
Along one wall, occupying a space of their own, were portraits ofthe Zabartes. Their father, Don Egidio Zabarre, looked prQlld and dignjfi~d .(but incongruous in a Ford sedan, his face punctuated by a waxed mlJ5t'Jc~i-€l. y'tat..f1'l':J '~ had arrived in the island soon after the Second World War as part ob-aFili ioo peacekeeping contingent follOWingthe violent dispersal of the
. nese kempeltal. anipu ative an etermined to ma e a name for himself,he revived most of the sugar mills here and was said to have helped restorethe industry by working the mills himself. There were several pictures of himin the family album, one with arm resting on a shovel but with clothes stillimmaculate and hair neatly pasted with brilliantine. There were also pic-tures of his wife, a young convent girl with a dark, sad face, whose namecould be found scibbled under a portrait she had sent the young volunteer. Tomy beloved Egidio, from Maria Bernardina.
Besides these were several photographs of their sons, Colonel JoseZabarte and his younger brother, Antonio. From these pictures it was almostpossible to tell the personalities of the two brothers. The colonel seemedhealthier and more robust, while his younger brother looked pale and with-drawn. There were photographs of them while in college in Manila. For sometime it seemed as if the brothers were inseparable, and had they looked morealike they would have claimed they were twins. But as the years wenl by they
became more and more dissimilar. During one Christmas eve dinner (so re-counted Dolores) the family waited for the young Antonio who had taken thetrip from his Manila dormito'ry a night earlier, When he arrived, he stared atthe lavish fiesta waiting for him and remarked, "All this food could have fedManila's poor," His mother cried but Jose was unfazed by the remark. "It'sjust like Tony," he said, "to be disgusted by all this attention we lavish onhim." The brothers grew increasingly aparl..6!}tonlQ joioed the f1el)j idealis-tic demonstratiQns and marched towards Mend' wherehe ave ra in s eec es enouncll1 t e residenc and American foreignQlic . a fused tQtake art in the idle intellectual ames 0 t e universi-.es and in cafes and headed or t e mi itary academ in Ba uio where heraduated a ba e is class. During one of their soirees at the
cQuntry club he met DolQres, a reluctant socialite and azucarera heiress fromthe old hometown. For many afternoons thereafter they met at the countryclub, walking under the pines and discussing poetry in the chilly air. Theywent home together on several occasions. Antonio frequently saw them dur-ing summer breaks, and the three of them would go off for days tQthe beach.She stayed quiet while the brothers argued about politics, the people and thestate. She herself was bored by the affairs of men and hoped for some kind ofpeace, if only to avoid such talk. She wanted her life to stabilize, and whenJose asked her to marry him she knew their life, his and hers, would now takeon an even keel, like a ship that had set sail for calmer seas. She insisted thatthey stay at the villa, her mother's home. Now she was anchored safely, andhe with her, Unlike her largely peripatetic forbears, she found reason to stayin one place and be as immobile as a rock,
"This one, sir, was my husband at the academy, and this on a dayduring our honeymoon."
In one corner of the room was another portrait: a young man witha sad, brooding face, lean and handsome, his eyes dark and piercing. Junaskedher who the last portrait was, and Dolores gave a surprising reply.
"That is Colonel Elias Camacho, who to the very end remained agood and faithful friend of the family, The book you have in your hands, sir,is an unfortunate lie."
108 Empire of Memory
SPENDINGTHEREST of his stay mostly at the library,Jun found other books thatcaught his attention. There was, for instance, a'slim volume of prayers com-piled by Dona Consuelo Suarez, It was made up of quaint appeals mixed withpagan salutations: some were prayers for safe juurney, childbirth and sleep,while others·were invitations to saints, ghoSL~and demons, (l~well a~shortcourtesies to appease the spirits in rivers, trees, stones, They were prayers, shewrote in an introductory note, she remembered being taught as a child, aswell as those she had heard her governesses and the help recite, and she hadcompiled them as a way of relieving her mind of the grief follOWingher hus-band's tragic death, She had another book dated almost at the same time asthe one on prayer, but this had sketches of butterflies and short annotationsand no explanatory note. Apparently the aggrieved Dona Consuelo had takento studying the island's lepidoptera when prayers were not enough to consoleher.
There were also several volumes by her quiet and studious sonManuel: one was a treatise on pesticides, and the other a study on crop rota-tion in the tropics. These were books Jun didn't care much to read-therewere neither short biographies of the author nor loving dedications.
And then something curious happened. When he tried to put thebooks back they wouldn't go all the way in. He peered into the shelf anddiscovered that another volume had been pushed back, perhaps by mistake,He pulled it outand, to his surprise, discovered that it was a clothbound jO~·r-nal by Amalia Santiago Romaldes herself. He decided to take the book se-cretly to his room.
Over dinner one evening the colonel's wife asked him if he hadfound enough material for his work in their library, Guiltily he told her hehad looked the books over but would only begin reading the next day. Hesuspected they wouldn't be too happy if they knew he had Amalia's journalwith him. The colonel was exceptionally jovial, (l'l ?.Icohol always had thiseffect on him, and persuaded JUll to reminisce a~out his days at the Times.Jun confessed he didn't bother talking to Antonio Zabarte back then becaus~he was just a newcomer and Antonio seemed too abjectly serious. Antoniohad led the Times employees union, recalledJun, and once managed a week-long strike, The union WQn,Dolores seemed interested in his story, but thecolonel was not;Jun found out later from Dolores that the Zabartes tried not
to talk too much about their renegade son. It was a subject considered em-barrassing for the f:3mily,she said, because rebelliousness and attracting at-tention to themselves were not something the Zabartes approved of. Then shetalked at length about the orphanage and her favorite waif, the sickly Lalita.Jun told me later he thought she and the colonel would adopt this girl some-day, if they had not already made plans to do so. But what held them back, hesuspected, was the girl's condition.
Afterdinner and the customary drink,Jun excused himself and poredover his discovery. He jotted down some excerpl~ for his report, and took noteof the fact that the sisters, Isabela and Amalia, had ~ecently moved into theisland from Manila at the time Amalia began writing her journal. The sistersapparently lived in a mansion rented near the villa by their parents who weredoing business with the Suarez mills. They were brokers, acquiring ordersfrom the States and Europe, and spent almost all their time traveling. Thetwo sisters for most of their lives had been entrusted to the care of governessesand convent sisters in Manila, but apparently the city, with its burgeoningcommerce and entertainment industries, was not deemed a proper place fordecent girls to gro;wup in. Most of the entries in Amalia's journal were wrjtteoprobably from 1941 !lOtjl\bQ~tli' ~'~F tke SessRd World War. The journalbegins with an unflattering impression of the strange island they were tospend the rest of their lives in. She says:
It seems to me like a corpse marooned out at sea, the name of which J don'tcare to ask. There are ragged palms and dusty roads full of carabao carts anddogs, and no lights at night. The smell of the sea comes in from evel)Where andsticks to our clothes, and even the water we drink tastes like the sea, so salty andwith a queer mint color. The people are obseqUious and polite, but they speak avulgar kind of Spanish.like the kind spoken in Zamboanga, and very little Eng-lish as they have had no education at all. They have not heard of Hlms or radioor the gramophone, and have no idea what an ice cream noat looks Ilke. Whenwe disembarked at the pier they thronged around the docking ship as though itwere a massive god sent from heaven. They swarmed around the crates beingunloaded. I feared forour po~ssions because they seemed they would tear loosethe crates just to see what exotic, marvelous things we had. We rode to the man-sion in a carromata pulled by a smelly old horse. ~ we passed each tiny hut Ifelt my heart sinking, knowing I had left the city forever.
lsabela is haVing a fit again, and I cannot stand it an)' longer. Today she want~me to accompany her to the ball, and she knows I am not comfortable in thesegatherings. I prefer going to films, where 10 the darkness I canimagillc I am ina strange, perfect world. She knows I will do nothing but sulk In a corner andwish for the night to end, and she will be up al: night, dancing with the mostraucous and ill-mannered men in town, Sht's the one who's been excited allweek about meeting these people, I am content with staying in the house all dayand shutting myself off from the wunds and smells of this horrible island. Imust ask her to stop taking me to her parties. Tonight I will put my foot down.
[ttook me more than an hour to convince Isabela to go home. We stayed at theball for six hours and I was getting very tired. She was up all night dancing. Icannot imagine the embarrassment tomorrow when the convent starts talkingof her indiscretions. I managed to find a corner where I could have some air;the smell of tobacco was stifling. I met a young man who must have felt asuncomfortable about the dance as I did, He seemed forlorn, uneasy with crowds,and I immediately struck a conversation with him. I found him too self-en-grossed, talking of nothing except himself, what he liked and disliked, and itseemed he disliked this ball most of all. Once or twice I caught him looking atthe glass windows at his reflection and preening himself. He seemed about themost vain person I had ever met, but I felt grateful for his bland, undemandingcompany. He seemed strange and sickly pale, but he had very good 100 ks' Ifound out later, when I told [sabela about him, that all the women at the dancehad been wanting to dance with him, His name Is Manuel Suarez, the son of thelady who had invited us to the ball. He had just returned from his studies inManila, and the dance had been arranged to introduce him to the town, I neverknew [was going to be the envy of everyone that night, haVing spent all of twohours with this quiet, retreating, narcissistic soul.
Atchurch we saw Manuel Suarez again, I introduced him to Isabela, lie seemedmore reticent than before, butnol as pale; he said his mol her had sent him tothe seaside to get some sun. He is coming over to the house to bring some bookstonight. lsabela invited him to come.
I suspected she likes him, which is not so surprising, everybody in town seemsto like Manuel, but he is so detached from everything, so aloof. They say therewere unfavorable events during his birth, but people here talk like that. 1 havevery little patience with town gossip, When 1 think' of all the other men here,Manuel seems to me like someone from the heavens, an angel: beautiful and sofar away. Tonight when he comes I shall learn more ahout him.
Isabela dominated the entire conversation, as always. He seemed to en joy hercompany. I felt more and more shut oul. Now he has found someone strongerthan himself. lsabela mirrored his own radiance, and there they were, two sunsoutshining the other. [ remained silent most of.the evening, and Isabel a evergraciously turned to me more than once to ask if anything was the matter. Icould see right through her insincerity. (loathed her superfluous vivacity, and1detested Manuel for giving in too easily to her ploys. 1shall have nothing to dowith this vain, selfish man in the future.
I cannot bear going to church any longer.l know 1can only see Manuel Suarezthere. My beautiful angel, my ray of sunlight. 1 sit in the front pews with mysister, knOWing he is somewhere at the back, his eyes fixed on me, on my back.I can feel his gaze piercing behind me. I can no longer concentrate on any-thing. I sing my psalms loud to shut him out of my mind. I say my prayers withtwice my former devotion, but with each word I utter my prayers mean less andless.
Last night I went to town alone for the first time. Nobody knew who Iwas. Therewere workers there from the plantations, drinking this foul-smelling alcoholthey ferment from the heart of palm. They had women with them, ragged anddirty with loud voices and unpainted fingernails. 1 could hear the sound of apiano somewhere, but I couldn't tell where the music was coming from. Surelythese people cannot own pianos? When I passed by an aUey a man hissed at me.I stopped to look, and from the shadows he called to me.
"Young woman," he said. "Walk with me in the dark.""] can't," ] said. It seemed like a very innocent invitation, but I was
He sllifted out of the darkness and I saw his face: a most frightfulface, pocked and shriveled, dark a~ld grimy, the face of a man long dead. 1screamed ili panic and ran off. I could hear him laughing as ( ran. I didn't look
back. 1ran as fast as 1could, and when I reached home my heart was beating sofast) was afraid everybody in the house could hear.
I saw them walking in the garden today. I was filled with an unbearable pain,They looked so beautiful together, Manuel and Isabela, and there is no doubt Inmy mind that they will be lovers someday. One only has to look at certain peo-ple to know they are destined for one another, and no matter how much onefights the fact everything seems to lead towards the inevitable Iwi II say nothingmore, I cannot bear thinking about how it was when I saw them. She had herhand in his, He seemed seraphic under the sunlight. His hair is like a halo thatenvelo~ everything around him with his glow, his silence, his serenity.
Isabela says she does not Jove nor care for Manuel. This much she grants me.We talk about him often at dinner, and 1feel so much pain for Manuel becauseI know he loves my sister beyond words. She says she is bored with his studious-ness and his solitude and his vanity. But I feel Manuel has changed consider-ably since we first met him. He comes often to visit, his shirt always dusted bythe pollen that falls off butternies' wings. He has become more open, more fa-miliar, and even laughs occasionally. There is something childlike and inno-cent about him when he laughs. Perhaps this h2s something to do with hisinfatuation for my sister. I feel her unkindness for him is undeserved But Iremain silent.
( look out the window often and hear the sea roaring in the distance. I havegrown accustomed to it now, and I fear I'll never hear it again. I cannot see itfrom here but I know it is there, vast and powerful as God. I look out sometimesand imagine the waves calling to me. This is what mariners must fce\ and an-swer - the call of the water to which the now of their blood responds the waythe turtle's young break out of their shells and seek the pounding of the waves.In their pure hearts they know they must go to the water or die. Those of us who'hear the call and have no such passions wither and remain forgotten on land.
I cannot believe the news. Manuel's mother has asked on her son's behalf forIsabela's hand in marria~e and she will come tonight for the proper courtship.Mother and father have asked some sisters from the convent tv stand In forthem. I don'tlhink they want to bother about our lives too much, and I k.10Wthis is be~ause we are women. What great commotion this would cause if Isabelawere a manl Tomorrow, if things go well, Isabel a and Manuel will be engaged.Their names will be posted onlhe church door, and in five months there will bea quiet wedding. Isabela will finally live with Manuel In the Suarezes' villa. Iasked her how she feels about the arrangement and she says she has not been asthrilled in her life. I know now she will do nothing but torment Manuel, seell1gshe does not truly love him. 1can tell by the way she answers me that she feelsshe is being forced into this marriage .•!.Jmowthat DoPa Cpnsue1a spuez oplywants good stock. She does not think like a woman. this DoDa Consuelg She_betrays everythin women h v rea he sees us 0 to ro a-tate a ennel, as machillP!i to give her heirs I have met her only a few times b
and I cannol say I find her endearin~ She is pyerbearin~ wde too full pf her-self ! know Manlle!'s silepce comes from her OI!'i~pQl\lQri~g presence. I knQ;ILthis is all beinK done to Diem h@rilollQ nlll a.n)'9ni eli'@ I ~nst steer clrm of ber .•.I know her kind.
I cannot bear to look at the moon. It seems too distant, too beautiful, toounreachable.
I have not been feeling well, and lsabela suggests I should go back to Manila.There are all sorts of diversions there, bars full of American businessmen andrestaurants with French and English food. They say you cannot cross the streetstoo carefully anymore because the city has so many automobiles. The noise isunbearable, the heat more so. But the pleasures of the city make up for all that.She and Manuel are going there after the wedding. She wants me to go withthem, for my diversion. But I cannot bear the thought of spending the night onthe same boat with them. I shall have to look elsewhere for my health, for myhappiness, for my escape.
All throughout the wedding I stared at the doves. There were several doves roosl·ing in the eaves of the church and they were cooing noisily as the ceremony
went on. I could hear nothing else. I tried to imagine the roar of the sea but ithad left me a long time ago.
Manuel talks to me often, and I am happy to receive him. He is bored With life atthe villa, I know. He is distracted in Manila and unhappy in San Miguel.~tbWnericans are taking over much of the busines.~here and are making moreOloney out of su~ar than the plantations themselve~ He has no friends amongthem, he tells me, but he deals with them everyday. He says there is talk of war~u.:w},in Ellrope.apd in China. These places are not real to me. [live here in=;;;ysmarrworld, hemmed in by the water and by my solitude. Wars have no meaning forme. Man~el thinks they are real enough. His face has grown sadder, less an·gelic. I want so much to reach out and touch that face, but if I do so it willvanish.
Manuel talks often of the Japanese and how they will take control of Asia. Theonly Japanese I know are the merchants who have opened shop here and inManila. They say there are Japanese prostitutes in town, but I have not seen anyof them, nor do I wish to. [ am told they are a very immoral lot, given to vul-garities. Manuel says he wants to do business with the Japanese, but there is talkof war coming into the islands. He says the war in Europe will last longer, andthat many other parts of the world will find themselves at war. Hesays trade hasgone down, everything Is at a standstill. He grows sullen by the day. I growafraid when he talks like that. I have not seen my sister for a long time. I wonderif she also grows afraid when there is talk of war and how it is coming to us theway the waves of the sea crash into shore.
There are reports of raids and blackouts north of Manila. The Japanese havebombed most of the ports. Many American businesses have left. The few whocontrol the industry here have also left. But Manila issafe, and so are we. Wearetoo far away from this business of war, and our lives continue. I see Manueloften, now that he has not much to do. He says Isabela is pregnant, but they arenot sure. She has had spells like these for the past few months She tormentshim with her whims and petulance, but he endures her like a saint lie says.b£...Iscertain the Japanese will drive the Americans out, and then there will he new
yansactions, new masters to pay homage to He has become very cynical, myManuel. I look at him and feel only infinite sadness, my own and his.
IIdream: I am walking by the sea, watching this silver icicle hanging from themoon. 11is deathly cold. I cannot feel my hands. My eyes st\ng from the icywind. Allof a sudden I see giant crows flying everywhere and covering the moonTheir purple win~ flap noisily they shriek and hurt my ears. I cover my earsand run, but there is nowhere to go: only this pervasive darkness and this cloudof Wings. I look up and discover the crows pecking at the moon, tearing its lightto shreds. Finally they vanish, flying off into the distance. I look at the sea a;1dthere is nothing but flecks of torn light everywhere, pulsing like small, strangecreatures or like bits of coral. I gather the few pieces washed up on the shore-they pulse briefly in my hand and fade, turning to stones. I wake up with a great
\weight in my heart. I find it difficult to breathe. All day long I cannot think, I
\ cannot eat, I cannot speak. I feel I am slowly, slowly losing my health.
We are at war now-the island, I mean. The Americans have left the cou ntry tofight the war in Europe. That is what Manuel tells me. He says the Americanshave deserted the cou ntry, as he had long said they would. We expect the Japa·nese to march into the island soon. They have taken much of the country aswell. To prevent bloodshed, we will not put up a fight. We will let them marchin, and we will do business with them because that is what they want. Manuelsays a new era hl~come. He says the Americans have lost this war and will notbe back again. I grow more and more afraid of him when he talks like this. Wehave given up the mansion and 1have moved in with them. There is no mailand the banks are closed. From the money we have saved from the rent we buyrice and coffee at exorbitant prices from carpetbaggers all over town. Isabelawill give birth very soon. Even that makes him panic. He seems lost now, myManuel. But there is nothing [ can do. [ myself call in the dark, and no one~ ~a~
We have no bread, no coffee, no music and no books to read. [ cry each day overmy meals. We eat corn and tubers and weeds that grow in swamps, and innardsof goats. We drink ground corn and Imagine it is coffee. Manuel says we shall
~- ,- ,- 1- 1- I~ I~have to learn to plant other crops In the fields. I am growing weak everyday. TheJapanese kempeitai do not allow American music to be played or books to beread. They have well-bred officers in the camps, but the soldiers we see everydayare Insufferable-at night they-become intoxicated and boisterous I believesoldiers are the same everywhere. Whenever we see them on the streeL~we haveto salute them In the most ignominious manner, boWing to them like captivevassals. They have captured several men suspected of working with the Ameri-cans. We have seen their bodies strewn along the road to church, but we turnour eyes away. We are told these men were tortured and bayoneted. No one daresto claim their bodies. The crows pick out their eyes and tear at their skin. Every-where we look there is nothing but death. But 1 have grown accustomed to it,and am no longer frightened by anything I see.
lsabela has given birth to a girl. We rushed to the villa when we heard she wasin labor. She screamed and wailed all through the ordeal, my poor sister. Shekept cursing at everyone in sight, including Manuel and the midwife. The babycame out hours later, towards noon. It came out shrieking like a ragged whelp,drowning out the rain that began pouring that morning. We washed it andwrapped it In dry clothes. w.,eshall have it baptized ve soon evenforbids it. She can be stubb rn so i e
VI.\.') ~hcrrl/ po10res, so that she may remember that she was born when the island was Ino ~ aU.., . .&Def. But we are blessed by this new presence. Perhaps things will get better.-l .
wait and hope....
Every night there are raids by the kempeitai. Men and women, you ng and old,are carted away to God knows where. But we are safe. Manuel has begun busi-ness with the Japanese, supplying them with the little sugar produced in themills and all sorts of metal scraps. He tells me the SClapSare shipped back toJapan where they are melted down and turned into weapons.J1e says the)apa::-nese will take over all of Asia, but we have nothing to fear. He finds it eas tea WI , e e s me, tter t an e wcan traitors. That is what he
cilIs them He bCgins to speak like the kempeitai Isabela and the baby aredoing fine. The child's grandmother suffers a little cold and there are no medi·cines, but she insists she is fine. I hardly talk to her, but no one docs allymore.
j:ver since Manuel took over the mill she seems to have faded in the darkness of.her lillie room at the villa, prayin~ and Cl'adillK She has beCOII1l' a sllrlveled,meaningless shadow, this Dona Consllelo SIll' slay, in IlI'r 1'00111 all day and
reads verses 0 talk about the a an e vometimes I think she doesn't know what's happening outside her dark room.
One evening I walked past her door and heard her sobbing qUietly. I wasn't sureIf Itwas a sob I heard, but 1 ~ked in and I saw her sitting in the shadows, herchair pulled close to the window and looking out at the town where all thelights had gone, d me once, soon after that ball where I first sawMa ue reatest pleasure wou e to take over the house fr.consuelo. Nowshe seems to lave one t lal. She has reduced Dona Consuela toa relic kept and dusted each day, and her son to something less-what It is Idon't know. Isabela and Manuel often fight in front of me. She scorns him andcalls him a traitor and says he will pay when the Americ;)s return. I myselfbelieve nobody will return. we are all alone on 'this island. Our livescircle aboutus like birds of prey. We see only one another, and become entangled only ineach other's lives.We are kept like prisoners on this island by ellow uards whoneither speak our language nor un erstand our live~ At night I look out thewindow and list"" hll~E :lEIl.Iti'S"lib longer there. There is only this boundlessemptiness, this darkness.
This afternoon I witnessed the operations of the Makapili. After the Japaneseassembled people from the town, the Makapili arrived with woven baskets overtheir heads so that we could'notldentify them. They pointed to anyone at ran-dom. There were women and children howling and calling out to God as thekempeital carted the vlctlms off to camps, We knew they would be tortured andwe would find their mangled bodies the next morning. The Japan~ have de-vised special ways to torture our people. They yank the mouth open and keep Itopen with bamboo slicks. They pour muddy water into It until the victim Isbloated beyond recognition. Then they place a board over his belly and jump onit. The water comes streaming out of everywhere: nostrils, mouth, eyes, ears.Sometimes they use bamboo splinters and insert them under the fingernails,and they make much sport of this by holding the victim's hand up and strum-ming~the bamboo splinters as they would a lute. I have expressed horror overthis to Manuel and Isabela, who seem not in the least perturbed, "We are aliveand that is all that matters," Manuel says to us. I cannot understand how hecan remain unaffected by all this. I have heard that the Makapili are rewardedhandsomely by the kempeitai. Many of them were no more than jobless va-grants before the Japanese arrived, and now they own most of the businesseshere, I am told. We have news that in Manila people sell most of their belong-ings, their clothes and furniture, to carpetbaggers everywhere, and with thesacksful of Japanese paper money they buy their share of rice and corn. We aremore fortunate here: we have land where we grow vegetables and graze ourgoats. But I cannot Imagine how long ~.biswill last.
The officers and their soldiers have become frequent visitors to the villa. Theyrequire us to entertain them and offer our sincerest hospitality. They listen withunmistakable rapture as lsabela and I take turns playing the pianos. Their eyesiquint with delight a1 Bach Brahms Chopin, Schubert They seem to have an~limited capacity for 'lllpreciation and for a few moments thR)'seem humanand not those beasts in uniform we encounter in the streets. The officers areparticularly gallant, and arrive each evening with real coffee and real tea, aswell as rations of rice. We are thankful for these and play music as though itwelled straight from the depths of our hearts. 'ilLespeak enough Nippongo to b':.,able to converse with them now. We have been reQuired 10'ea'illRI' laQgl!a~esince they arrived, and they have been diligent about teachin i Manuelhas become conversant a out a great many things in this language. He tells usthat there will be new signposts and billboards not only in San Mig\jel but inManiIa especially, and that the Japanese signs will replace the American, whichare being torn down, He talks of a new landscape, a new world. When we par-take of the coffee and rice we begin to believe him. Slowly things are changing,he assures us. Isabela scowls in a corner, holdin the bab . 1 look a anuel~ feel only sympathy for his dreams. Wes all have to learn new music ne~week to amuse our guests.
Isabela and Manuel fight everyday. I take the baby when it cries, and from thebalcony I can hear them shouting 1t each other. I wonder sometimes why 1insist on staying with them. Perhaps to be with the baby, nothing more. It wig-gles In my arms and resists my attempts to feed it. So much like its parents, butso unlike any of us.
Adream: I am walking by the sea and suddenly [ see a rainbow extending fromone end of the island to the other. It is iridescent and mesmerizing, and thecolors are so vivid (can almost touch them. And then it fades, the rainbow fadesand In Its place is a long black arch that engulfs the Island ~d when r lookback I see the entire Island ablaze,-e.:;z ku-rVtj of ~~V··~. -:;
•
I heard that in the villages the children are dying of hunger and cholera. Wehave no medicines except what thejapanese army dispenses to us, quinine andether. There is interminable darkness at night. The blackouts have been or·dered after news of American air raids In Manila. There is talk that the Ameri·cans are coming back, that the war In Europe has been won. But we do not feelanything here, except the vast, empty darkness at night and the Inconsolablehowling of the children. I press my hands against my ears at night and wish forthe sounds to vanish, But each night Is darker, the voices grow louder, morerelentless.
Isabela has left. No, she hasn't left th'e island, only the villa. And now she hassent word to me that she has found lodging in town, and she will stay there withthe baby until more permanent. quarters are arranged. Manuel is throwing a fitbut has finally decided to let matters run their course He will allow Isabela herleave but insists that for Dolores' sake she take a nanny with her. For the pastfew days he hasn't shown any trace of remorse: he has immersed himsn1f In
work in the library, although I cannotlmagille what work he might be doingnow. There is talk that the Americans are arriving soon, much sooner than weexpected. They have bombed two cities in japan and many lives were 10St.'~know only the little that comes in on the shortwave, and we are careful not to letthe kempeitai know we are listening. Last night they heard the shortwave newscoming from a house in town. They arrested everybody in sight and shot themaster,~before everyone. 1 cannot imagine how Isabela will survive alone intown with all that trouble coming in. I must go there and see that she's allright. I feel very weak now.] have not been sleeping well. But these are unusualtimes, I \<now, ] am not the only one who has problems.
Today lsabela surprised us all when she annojlllc.ed she had deCided IQ leaye~n\lel But where are you goingl we asked her, and she responded only w~that adamant silence of hers which no one, least of all Manuel, can penetrate.Manuel is inconsolable: he sa s he will not allow Isabel a to d' r '~ ana onsuelo, who dines with us in the ut never sa aword . won er sometimes i eni~t she was still alive. lsabela carried on, and there was an unpleasant ex·change of words. In a rage, she told everyone what she had told me a long timeago: that he had never loved Manuel, that she had been forced into this m •ria e an that she had decided it was time to ive er . No sooner hadshe said that than Manuel hit her on t e ace so hard she stumbledthe t e, an s e ran out of the room cO'in~. I ran after her she is after all my,s,is.ll'c and there is 00 one left to console Air. She cried In my arms and didn't sayanything. It was the first time I saw her that way, so unlike the strong-willed,adamant Isabda I had known all my life. I felt truly sorry for her. Oh, Isabela,if the world had been kinder! I held her in my arms and let her cry. When it wasover she looked at me and thanked me for coming to comfort her. I felt a strongfeeling of guilt because I knew I was not the friend she saw me to be. I had beena traitor all these years: I had wanted her unhappiness because it meant formyself not happiness but something akin to it, the absence of unhappiness.Later that evening, when heads were cooler, we arranged that she and Manuelshould talk. They talked the whole night, and we left them alone so they mayresolve their differences. 1went to bed knOWing in my heart 1 had done all thatI could, [slept but I had so many dreams which I cannot now recall. I onlyremember that I kept waking up at night with this vast emptiness crowding intomy solitude, snuffing out my breath and pounding in my blood. I kept hopingfor daylight so this darkness and emptiness would be over,
Last night we heard the news: the Americans have landed and taken Leyte. Soonthey will be here. The Japanese officers are not talking to anybody now. Every·day there is talk of the Americans coming back. Manuel is going berserk, sayingthere is no chance the Americans will drive the Japanese oul. He knows howmuch ammunition there is in the camps. He walks about the house tellingeveryone to prepare for another war. The servants tell me all this, as I cannotbear to be anywhere near him anymore, Once in a while I sneak out somethings for the baby. [ see Manuel alone in his library, and want so much toconsole him, to let him know I can listen, But not now,
Darkness and sorrow. My hand trembles as Iwrite this, my mind is overcomewith grief. The American planes started dropping bombs this morning, and theentire island was caught by surprise, The Japanese army has retreated towardthe mountains. There is news that they massacred hundreds of civilians alongthe way. The town is in shambles, and there are dead bodies everywhere. ,~cQuldn't find Isabela 2~ull~e baby People from town staggered into the villawith stories of horrifying deaths at the hands of the Japanese. Young men werelined up and bayoneted. Children and babies were flung in the air and caughtwlth bayonets. Many of the women were abused and then shot. There is hardly
anyone left except those who have managed to run to the villa. There was noplace to hide. The bombs fell evel)Where. When we heard about this we wereovercome with anxiety for Isabela and the baby, but no one was more inconsol-able than Manuel. We didn't know where he went. And when the first Americansoldiers arrived, we forgot about him completely. They trooped in cautiously,trudging from the shores where they had landed-how many weeks ago? Weran out Into the streets to watch them coming. They looked so young and sorelieved to find people here still alive. We greeted them with cheers and em-braces and tears and also with apprehension, because they had with them thelast of our friends and relatives from the town. (looked around amidst all thenoise and revelry and saw unfamiliar faces of men, women and children cheer-ing and weeping. Evel)Where the town was in ruins, plumes of black smoke roseout of the rubble. Then I saw Isabela running towards me, the baby wrapped inher anns. She was crying from grief and joy all at once, as everybody was.l feltso relieved to see her and asked if she had seen Manuel. No, she said, but peoplealong the way told her Manuel had left earlier to look for her. And then a mancalled out to us: Come quickly, the church is burning! Wepanicked, ran arounand looked for water. There was none. All the pipes had been bombed weebefore and we could only fetch water from the river. We ran to the church onlto find it had become a giant blaze rising slowly to the sky, its tongues of firlicking the wooden foundations and coiling around the stone structure, whileribbons of black smoke curled out from them and choked everyone. Somebodysaid a man was inside. They tried to break the walls down with pickaxes andpoles, but the fire was too much for them. Manuel! they shouted. 1 ran closerwhen I heard his name. I don't know if it was Manuel that 1saw but [ did seesomeone there, not a person but something else, howling and crying with allthe grief of the world. 1called out his name but he gave out only an ear-splittinghowl. I saw that he held in one hand a torch and a demijohn of gasoline in th~mbe[' be";as setting the pews and the curtains on fire !called out again bytthere was no reply. They pulled me awa from th . [ remember onl theal and the sound of the beams crashin and the entire church cohear sa a crymg in me. And I heard somethin else somme: an inc oate an
urc
lthink of Manuel often but I do not talk about it, as this seems to provoke arush of tears among the residents in the villa. Sometimes I want to go into Doi'iaConsuelo's room to tell her about this, and about my unusual dreams. 1 Imag-
ine her often in the darkness of her room, in that corner no one ever sees. Iknow she grieves deeply for her~on, for the island, for everything we have lost inthe war. Every night I imagine how it must feel to burn, and what thoughtsoccur in the act of self-immolation. Or does one have any thoughts at all? Per-haps there is only this concentration of pain, and it overwhelms all the sensesand blinds one to everything but the sensation of fire peeling one's skin anddraining one's blood. 1 pray for you, Manuel, and weep for you, and hope youhave offered your suffering enough to gain reprieve in heaven I must believethis if I myself am to keep going.
r~ain tonight, and the wind howling from the sea. The water calls me again,~e a forgotten refuge. I listen and let it obliterate all my thoughts.
Isabela got over Manuel's death easily, or at least she made it a point to show usshe has recovered. She is stronger than anyone thinks, my sister, and everydaywe feel more than relieved to find her going back to daily chores. She has de-cided to come back and stay at the villa, and I keep her company most of thetime. She had made friends among the American soldiers patroling the town.Tonight we are haVing dinner with Don Egidio Zabarte, an officer of the peace-keeping corps from Manila, and some of the American officers. I am sure theyknow about Manuel's dealings with the]apanese, but they refrain from talkingabout it. In town I have seen collaborators belng lynched and executed, but wehave been left alone. I know it is because ofDona Consuelo, whose late husbandknew many of the new American governors and military officers. They comehere often with gifts of chocolates and coffee for the old woman, and also forourselves, but she never comes out of her room, !cannot understand her stub-born refusal to accept other people's kindness She wallows in her solitude andgrief. She is no longer among the Hving. We have new lives to build, a new
}own, a new island. We hold on to this tenuous world because we have no oth~
They arrived punctually for dinner, Don Egidio Zabarte and his Wife MariaBernardina. They brought with them a bottle of American whiskey, hut Isabelaand [ didn't want any of that loathsome liquor, Don Zabarte became ratherloquacious and officious as th(' night wore on, Isabela found him partlcul'"lv
offensive, but surprisingly she kept silent, perhaps because she had made goodfriends of some of the American soldiers there. Don zabarte's wife, Dona MariaBemardina, must have found it a relief to talk to some women while the menIndulged in liquor and vulgar conversation. All through the night she seemedconcerned aboultheir two children they had left alone back at their quarters.She seemed most anxious to get this dinner over with for their sake; 1 imagineshe had been dragged here against her will. The elder one, she told me andIsabel a, was only about five but could take care of his younger brother who wastwo. Isabela naturally found her good company as they could talk of childrenall night long. Little Dolores was asleep. She is an energetic child, romping allover the house by day until she has exhausted herself to sleep. [ have grown veryfond of her and lsabela seems jealous of our closeness and seems to resent mypresence sometimes. [ had to excuse myself early at dinner because I wasn'tfeeling too well enough to stay up. Lately I have had dizzy spells and I wake upin the mornings feeling drowsy and heavy, as from prolonged illness. The sol-diers chorused their disappointment and begged me to stay but I insisted onleaving. Don Zabarte himself rose up gallantly when I left, the others went abouttheir drinking, which is probably why [ chose not to remember their names.
The millstlave resumed working and the island is busy again. There is talk thatthe new government will start rebuilding Manila from the rubble. I cannot bearto lOok at pictures oi the city, nor hear stories of how the old places have gone.There is no more talk of my going there now for my health, as Isabela sug-gested, I can nut live in a city that has been destroyed beyond recogn ition. 11would be like living in another, stranger world. Besides, I have given up think-ing of wh at goes on outside the island.
[ have not returned to this journal for some time. J have not be~n feeling well. Ican hardly hold a pen to write, but I force myself to overcome this. I look out thewindow and gaze at the light on the trees. That is aliI can see for now,
Last week I moved into a room at the convent. The sisters have been very gra-cious to take care of me. Already I feel much beller, and my hand doesn't shakeso much anymore. Three times a day I am given meals on a tray which a lillie
nun with a round face cheerfully brings me. We have milk and eggs from thesister's own farm and br.ead which they make, and I am expected to consumeall that they bring me. I am gaining more weight, they say. I look at myself onthe window pane (there are no mirrors here, because the nuns believe that mir-rors attractlhe devil at night) and I see a sickly old woman, but they say I haveimproved greatly. This morning they gave me this surprise: a set of pens and ashade of clean paper to write on, 1shall have many things to say. I :Iln happyhere.
I have not written anything on this journal for months, and I see its blankpages staring at me like a neglected orphan. I have begun a book about ourlives, and it's terribly exhausting even the sisters notice my fatigue. They say Imust not exhaust myself through writing, But I cannot stop. I feel I am drivingaway so many shadows in my mind when I recreate these lives, lJeep askjn~,myself whether what! wrUe..js true COQ!lgb bpI I don't know I iOyent thiOil$tram a source deeper than memory. Howcan that be untrue?
This morning one of the sisters told me she would put me in touch with a brotherof hers who works In Manila. He has a small printing press there and would beinterested in my work. The sisters are very supportive of what I do, even !I J lIt:vt;rshow them my work. They say it is good to keep my mind off many things, butat the same time they advise me not to work too hard. I feel I am back at school,and everyone tells me what! must do and must not do. But the prospect ofgetting my work published! Now I am terribly confused, uncertain of my ownwriting. This evening after vespers I tore out several pages from my work andwill have to write everything all over again, but even now I feel I do not have thestrength to do so. My health has worsened, I am sure of It. At night I coughwithout end, and during afternoons I burn with fever. I write opiy when thefever subsides and I am strong enough again to pick up my pen, But more oftenthan not, I just stare out and watch the grass bend in the wind. There is so muchlife out there, and more and more I feel I am being excluded from it. I seem tobe liVing in a world of shadows and half-remembered truths. Iialf-(oi"l.;ot1enlies.
Isabela visits often with Dolores. Tlwy bring 111(' d:t1angluta and l:ulJ:lrllid pickedfrolll the villa, whlcli the sisters say will be good for me. Dolores brllJ~s me
chocolates given by the Americans, but I insist that she keep them. She is arobust, vivacious child, and I can see In her all the life and vitality that I lack.We spend many hours together, talking or sometimes not talking at all, justlooking out at the convent grounds. The nuns have kept the place well tendedand Isabela still makes substantial contribullons In the name of the late ManuelSuarez, God rest his soul. I think of him occasionally on these long walks, andhow his memory lingers in these grounds, his spirit at rest at last among theshrubs and trees. I do not go to the cemetery anymore (the sisters refuse to takeme there anyway), Ican no longer feel him there. I feel he has gone far enoul\hwhere none of our troubies can reach him. In this altered world 1am at peace,I need nothing else.
Isabela came this morning and she really let fly at me. She told me that one ofthe sisters had shown her my manuscript before having it shipped with othercargo to Manila. Isabel a read through most of the pages and was beyond her-self. She was in my room for two hours, carrying on about how ungrateful I'vebeen to Manuel's family. 1don't know what she's talking about; she herself wasnever exactly a saint to her late husband. 1 tell her everything that's on mymind now, and I don't care what she says to me. My book is the only thingwhere I have set myself free, and 1 will not allow her to stop it from gettlngpublished. Isabela has taken control of my life for a long lime now, and this willhave to end. Iwill not allow her to deny me the only thing I was able to create inmy entire life.
I look at the trees outside the window. 1 have shut everything out. I am aloneand free.
Aletter from Manila arrived this afternoon. Mybook has been published at iast.I am getling copies of it in the next boat, which will arrive in two weeks. Thispiece of news revives me somehow. I have been confined to bed for some weeks,and my health continues to worsen. I cannot write anything beyond this jour-nal now.
Isabela came over to bring me my book. I browse through my copy and cannotimagine I had the strength to write all this. The word.~look so different on thepage. I am a different person now, not the same one who wrote these words somany months ago. That is how Ills, 1think: we leaVe oyrwards on the palle 1I~
ones or markers, and someone else chances u them an looks al them,hopin to find Ir t stran er looking into the pages
clues an m e war rwe that strao~er 10 the futyre. Isabel a looks at me and knows how weak I havebecome. I tell her I regret nothing. She weeps beside me, my poor, unhappysister, and asks me to forgive her. But for what? How sad she has been all theseyears, and how so afraid of everything and nothing. I hold her hand in mine .
. We are so~much alike, lsabela and l. I look out and stare at the green aroundme. I know I have reached this far and will never return. How unfamiliar this
),
landscape is now, so new and so full of light.-JUNRETURNEDTHEJOURNALthe next morning. He was certain now that it was noaccident it had been tucked behind the books. Hecarefully pulled out ManuelSuarez's tomes on agriculture and wedged Amalia's journals back in. Thenhe replaced Manuel's books and was about to peruse through Dona Consuela'sprayer book when Colonel Jose Zabarte walked in. Rain was pouring all overthe island that morning, and all around them was the sound of its steadydrone.
"You show so much interest in our family, Hidalgo," said the colo-nel. "Interest way beyond the call of duty. Why?We are no different from therest of the world. We have our misunderstandings, our reunions, our ownproblems and pleasures. The rain makes us heavy of heart, like you." Heslumped down on an armchair and lit a.cigarette. "My wife dislikes it when Ismoke in this room, She says the smoke does harm to the books. Will youhave one?"
Jun reached for a cigarette. With someone sharing the misdemeanor,the colonel felt more at ease and talked at length about his family.
"I know the First Lady is interested more than the President in hav-ing you complete this book. There is a possibility that we are related, youknow, but that's how it is in this country. Our anceslors were far too few they
the media by the balls. You worked for the media once, didn't you? Do youbelieve everything they say?"
]un had to admit thai' he didn't, and the colonel said, "My brotherand I used to have long arguments about which side to take, whatlo believein, whom to serve. All this talk tires me, especially because I know his part ofthe argument holds no water. The com01unisl.'i have l1othin&to offer,Ilidalgob
~cept visioJJSof a new order, and even that seeIDsconfused. That new order~ have no rice, no food, no houses. nothing for its enlightened people. Youcan't feed people on hope all the time. You have to give them the real thing;..real food and real houses. ~r was a dreamer, sePill, He fled our hometo follow a dream, and I know that little by little, up in his hut in the Montes,that dream IS being corroded by reality. Do you know what they do to ourmen when they capture them? Last week we found the body of one of oursoldiers, a young man, almost just a boy, from the village, a very promisingyoung fellow who wanted to go to Manila some day to study. They strippedhim and tied him to a post and fed him to ants. Do you know what the hantikare, compadre? They're ants as big as centipedes. They swann over you anddevour you little by little, eating first your skin, and then slowly working theirway inside. When they work their way to your ears you can hear them chew-ing away at your t1esh. I ask you, is that how a war is fought'; Nobody wanl~ tolive like that, not even my brother. Least of all my brother. Nobody wants war.I don't want it. But if I have to go to war just to avert it, by God"." He trailedoff, imagining methods of counterwarfare, "My brother," the colonel contin-ued, "was a man of great promise. We all knew he was going to be the leaderof the pack, a journalist of great repute. In col!ege he was always being citedfor thisor that achievement. Hewrote so well he actJally had fans who swoonedover him in the cafeterias. I was known as Antonio Zabarte's brother. I wasn'tvery prominent back then. Not as prominent as I am now, I mean of coursemy girth." He slapped his belly and laughed. "I know you've been readingthe journals, Hidalgo."
Jun's face t1ushed with embarrassment and confusion, He said, "Ijust happened to discover it accidentally, behind the books."
"It was not being hidden," the colonel said. "'I'he family h;l~ noskeletons in the closet, compadre, I myself don't care what is said of ourlives." The colonel heaved himself off the chair and walked to a r,hinese
had to be incestuous. Who knows, you could be a distant cousin of mine,Hidalgo, seeing you have the same determination and drive."
"A great honor for me, sir," ]un said. "But I just believe in a job well
"You don't have to read all of those books then," the colonel said."I can tell you everything you need to know. No need to go through the agonyof reading college papers and novellas. I have read every book on these shelves,Hidalgo. I know you don't believe me. I can be an obnoxious boor some-times. But books give mecomfort which nothing else in this world does. Haveyou read the Ramayana, Hidalgo? The great books tell us that good and evilare inherent in the world, and man in his folly acts out a script too great forhim to understand. Don't bother with the family novellas, compadre. Readthe books that matter while you're here."
"I found them interesting, actually," Jun demurred. "The bookswritten here, I mean. You can imagine the kind of reports we endure inMalacanang."
"The palace," the colonel said musingly. "My wife and I attendedsome of the parties there many years ago. Mywife dislikes going there. Shedislikes Manila, but I tell her it's her ancestors' snobbishness more than any-thing else. They used to :>elievethey weren't part of the country, you know.
• Federalistas was whanhey called themselves. They tried to establish a repub-lic at the height of the Philippine-American War. But you know that."
"I didn't know you.were frequent guests at the palace.""Not lately," the colonel said. "Dolores says she refuses to be identi-
fied with the First Lady. But my wife and I do not share the same views aboutmany things. She goes around tewn doing charity work for the nuns, and Ilet her do so. If the communists take over they will at least spare her for hercharity. But the bastards will never get this island,"
"Some of the news wires picture this island as some kind off1ashpoint," said Jun.
"The foreign wires have Filipino correspondents here who talk andthink like communist~. We've got our eye on them, be sure of that. Most ofthem knew my brother personally, which is why they get all these statementsfrom his command. It's simple as that, Hidalgo. It's a question of who holds
128 Empire of Memory
apothecal)' of red teak, He pulled out one of the many tiny drawers and pluckeda leather bag from it and walked to a 'He emptle lle ag on the table, l!§ contents looked like dried mushroomsfound in Chinese stores flesh and indiscernible '.iliser he realized, to his horror, that these were seyerI'd human ears
"Does it frighten you, Hidalgo? I am so disappointed," The colonelpicked one up, one which looked freshly cut and had dark edges of driedblood around it" e fi htthe war the wa we have to " he said. "I will win iteven if 1 have to fill this room wit their ears. Everybody believes I am doingthe right thing, compadre, and I know it I believe sometimes I am on aspecial mission, a holy mission, and 1feel no compunction about the wa Ic uct m wor ,My rot er feels t e 5ame wa about is. And tha Hidis the root of all w~'..
He kept holding the severed ears up to the light "There is only oneperson who doesn't approve of my work. Our mother, Dona Zabarte. Yes,you'veheard about her. You must meet her, compadre. Iknow you dislike me, andmany people do, and so if and when you write that book about our rami!xov do ve to be kind, Y "
DONAMARIABERNARDINAL.wARTElived on the crest of a hill along the range of theMonte de Oro surrounded by servants and gardeners and an aviary of a thou-sand tropical birds. To enter her mansion one walked through the windinggardens painstakingly tended by horticulturists, with its bright explosions offrangipani and orchids. Then one passed by the aviary, a vast jungle enclosedby metal nets in which birds of various plumage drifted like bright-robedangels. These were the birds caught by her servants in the mountainsides:duckbills of ebony and yellow,parakeets of shimmering emerald, parrots thatcould talk in the ancient Carolan dialect, bleeding-heart pigeons', ominousblack martines that could repeat anything from human greetings to the sigh-ing of the wind. And then there were the rarest specimen: nameless birds withdiaphanous wings, silver beaks and eyesof lead, or huge and hawk-like yet solight and weightless they glided effortlessly on iridescent wings and landedon the trees without making a single leaf rustle. Throughout the lawns of themansion one could hear all the birds shrieking, calling, whistling and sing-ing in unison, and together their voices created a polyphonic, if somehow
deafening, music. The presence of a stranger a8itated these delicate crea-tures, and their voices rose higher above the trees, more piercing and urgent,so that it was always known inside the mansion if an intruder had trespassedupon the grounds.
jun arrived that morning and was greeted by the calls of distress ofthese birds. Their cries were deafening even to the caretakers, who pressedtheir hands against their ears as they ledjun into the house. A gravel path ledup to a sitting room where a set of rattan chairs was moduled around a glasstable. There were wide doors that gave onto the lawns and let the air in dur-ing the summer, but now they were boarded up to keep the rain out, givingthe room the musty darkness of a monastery. He could hear the birds' callsdwindling to pet61antchatter as he settled himself and waited for Dona Zabarteto arrive.
The room was sparingly decorated, save for a few pots of wild fern.Though meticulously tended, the house showed its age, and the walls, whichhad gallantly withstood violent winds and typhoons, now showed the exhaus-tion of its endurance.
Dona Zabarte hobbled into the room beside a maid, gripping thelatter's forearm. She sat down on a rattan peacock chair, and only after set-tling herself comfortably and dismissing the maid did she acknowledge jun'spresence.
"My son told me you were coming," she said. Her voice was strongand clear, one accustomed to giving orders, jun noted that she must havebeen a big-boned, robust woman: she seemed to occupy the entire chair withher presence. "Do you like San Miguel?" she asked Jun, who immediatelyassented.
"I am working on a book for the president." Jun began, and DonaZabarte waved a hand to s:iy she had been informed of that too.
"Books no longer mean anything to me," she said. "I am too oldfor anything but an afternoon's nap," She looked at Jun with dark,piercingeyes now clouded over by cataracts, Then she asked, "What do you want toknow?"
"Everything I have to," Jun said. "I mean, I just wanted to meet allthe liVing members of the family if Iam going to write about them."
"There are so many you can no longer talk to," she said, "God hastaken care of that."
H[ know," Jun said. "['ve been browsing through the library at thevilla. The Suarezes seem to have written a lot of books. Iwonder if the Zabarteshave anything here, in another library perhaps."
"No," she said. "We have nothing. All the books are at the villa.There's not much use for them here." She lifted a finger, pointing to hereyes,
he Suarezes, they were the ones who felt they had to write down their lives.They felt it desperately. They knew they weren't going to last long, that fam-ily.They were all so impetuous, so destructive, They seemed desperate to de-stroy their lives and blur any memory of themselves forever, But we t.heZabartes," she paused, musing on the name, "we came into their lives to stopthem from destroying themselves. That is why they need us so much, ~~ hy the '!!!yriage of Jose and Dol!lCesendures. "
"I have read some books about the family," Jun said. "But I feel Iknow very little of you, 1 mean the family. I drew up a genealogy based onwhat I've read, which wasn't very extensive. I find it a bit odd that there wasno family tree available in the library at the villa." He handed his sketch toDona Zabarte. She held it in her hand without looking at it. Jun realized sheprobably couldn't read anything on it, but she held on to it, as if the very feelof Jhe paper was something she read through.
"They tell me you worked with Antonio," she said at length,"At the Times, yes, Along time ago. He was one of the editors, and I
was struggling my way up."She shook her head wearily, and thenJun noticed for the first time
a faint smile. She said, "We have to make our choices, one way or another,and m sons have chosen theirs. I chose mine a Ion . foreyou were born. Did Jose tell you a out is father,L
"Not much," Jun said,"Headstrong and arrogant, pompous and difficult. But not with me.
I tamed him, The Zabartes are wild animals, and need to be tamed, I madehim settle here, and on the day of our marriage btbrougb\ alonE a fQrtun~teller, a s from the mountains, to tell me I was goin t on ,'"She smiled again, looking far away. ey were a rowdy pair, our sons, but Icould tell they loved each other, They romped through these gardens and
wrecked the plants, and one day they disappeared altogether, and the serv-ants found them up in' the mountains, living there for days on nuts andber,rie~,Egidio I~ved them both, but he lovedJose more, J made up for that oylavlshmg attentIOn on Antonio. You cannot ignore one child for the other [kept ~elling my h,usband. And when he died it was Antonio who wept the m~stfor him, and we lelt that was enough. Wedo not grieve for our losses here, Weknow our place and our time on this earth, and that is enough,"
The maid came in with a tray of calamansi and reminded DonaZabarte that she had to take her medication, She dismissed her impatientlyand said toJun, "You must forgive me, I am an old, old woman and Icannotstay up too long."
Jun rose'to leave, but she motioned for him to sit down."Did you see the birds there?" she a~ked."Impossible to miss them," Jun said."When Antonio visits he brings me a fewof them, up from the moun-
"He visits you here?" Jun asked her. ,"We are not at war in this place," she said, "The country maY~e
torn to,pieces, but we are a family here, I have told them that over and over, ,There lS no war when they set foot in my house,"
"And he comes here often?" Jun asked.She didn't reply. She looked out at the lawn. From this room they
could see the tops of trees and the huddle of shrubbery, and they could hearthe shrilling of the birds. Jun looked at her, hidden in the half-light of theboarded room. Her magnificent white hair gleamed in the dark, like the haloof saints in cathedrals, and her skin, pasty and pale blue with veins, emitteda powdery fragrance like that of scented candles. In this light she saw little ofthe greenery, little of the world around her, but in her mind she could retraceall the steps around the lawns, the stones that were covered with lichen ar.dmoss, and she could recall the shimmer of wings and the soft breeze. Therewere worlds forever hidden in her eyes, her hands, her bones~ Alone in be8~trA.(Wjlndeot mansion, slICcQllOdedby bright flowers acd Ilnllsual birds, she waited ~ ~fDr the rest of their lives to unfold, just as the gardens around bpr waited for Cotc~tbe SliD and railL
132 Empire of Memory
Holy City Loa
RAIN PELTSthe streets of Akeldama. When he leans his head against the wln-dow his breath clouds the view from Table Number '!Woof the Holy City Zoo.He sees only his own reflection on the window, and he observes, not for thefirst time, that the wisp of hair falling across his forehead cannot hide theinch-long slash of keloid just below his hairline. It has always been a sourceof great embarrassment for him, not because the scar somehow mars hishandsome features but because of the manner he acquired it at the age ofthree. They were Hving in a fifth-floor apartment just outside the base, heand his mother and stepfather. It had a large open window giving onto theavenue below wh€re everyday he could see American sailors drift groggilyfrom the bars with their Filipina girls. They always called out to him or tossedhim candies, some of which he would catch and the rest he would see fought
• over by the grimy children always loitering in the streets. He~~these children but he didn't know !bQYUb.ej2).\!..04~" "Qgroe.and fightlQi_the.S~T}Q.y:g'-li1e~;would taunt him. Q.D~daYt..hedidJhWJbetter: he threw himself off the window, landed on an awning,then rg~diLown (Q mrstr~p~r~w.JIe-~[gn~tianuQ]illE·a1Ilie:~a.ctO::tiy.
FORSEVERALYEARShe was obsessed with the idea of flying. He spent most of histime on the rooftop, watching the ragged sparrows scrimmage for scraps andbuild their nests.
He gawked at the jets thundering from the base, huge pterodactylswith dangerous talons careening from aircraft carriers docked at~·~~ When he grew up he was going to be a pilot. Hewould leave this citywhere children and sparrows fought for scraps and space.
134 Empire o( Memory
"mil. Pll! I \ .pma :1101L. JlIIIII_,,11II1I • 1,11I1a
HIS FAlliER gOL OlOWll up III a JHallt~ e\1 IUUle LUl\UI tit lile Cil Cu 111~ldlll.e~ Wl;1e
never clear: there was a miscalculation'sorr.ewhere, and a bomb or somenewfangled gizmo exploded, ripp.ing a hole through the plane. He and sixother GIs were pummeled out, the shredded litter of thei r bodies scattered allover the YellowSea,
THEY~OVED TO AKELDAMAa year afte~ he WIL~ horn: his mother Miranda BI;ill.<;,I1and hiS stepfather luan who had lound work in the shipyards of the b;L~e.Hismother, out of deference to his stepfather, abandoned the bequeathed sur-name ~lace ,and assu)med the more mundane appellative oLlliiM!l.ndQ...She had meJ.,tJrJ:Q.l:cel:ers0.nrr:elLloydW.allace barely two years before theyresettled he~e, '(v'hentalk was nfe that the Americans were going to set up anaval base In Akeldama. Why would a pilot be working in a naval base? she~~ed him. ,Hereplied that there were big boats out there, big enough to carryCities and airplanes, Hewas very young, with closely cropped hai r the color ofpale.wheat a~d a ~erpetual grin that made him look even younger. He pa-tron.lzed her)ust like he patronized everybody in that simmering town, buthe lIked her the most because she was the prettiest girl along Magsaysay Av-enue. She worked as a salesgirl in a country store, the kind that sold whatevera passing soldier would need: matches and soap, anything. He liked her be-cause sh~ wasn't a prostitute like many of the girls had become. He beggedher on hiS knees to marry her, and the store owner grudgingly let her go.They got married in a civil ceremony at the town hall, with the mayor a~godfather. They took an apartment outo;idethe base and fucked so furiouslythe neighbors banged on the walls and told them to stop their howling.
Juan del Mundo at first r.rlus~4JQJ"~avel ~1lJl1jU.Y11,Smub...WAl~~l~am~.'I:h~tb~ at t,amLher h9met~51lli!lLJ1l~.~~landolj!!:e northern tiRJ2f..lb.g..MWpe1ago, a place you ~eot 10 if you wanted t.cullIl
)!~j,d[QlJ1.t~~ He asked her if she was running away, and shesaid no, that was where she belonged. Heworked as a carpenter, but he couldbe anything if he desperately wanted a job. Y'ami was one of the islands thatlay right on the path of the southwest monsoon and all the houses were duglow into the ground, thick sturdy fortresses reinforced with lime and coveredwith heavy layers of grass roofs. Each year many of the houses needed reopairs. He made good business here, Why would anybody want to live ina
place condemned to annual destruction? he asked her, and she gave her stockreply: This is where I belong,
She was nursing an old wound, but she spoke to no one about it.The young Lloyd Wallace had leElher a month after their ecstatic cohabita-tion, perhaps to fight a war in the name of Democracy. He was always vagueabout his assignments: Can't tell you now, it's top secret. She moved,ollt ofthe apartment after a month of virtual solitary confinement, and the storeowner offered her job back, She refused and packed up to go back to Y'ami.The boat trip took all of ten days, and she kept throwing up along the way.Assoon as she stepped onto the shores of the rocky island that had been as-saulted for centuries by violent waves and relentless typhoons, she thoughtherself purged of his memory and felt clean and immaculate Later she foundout she was pregnant. She never saw Lloyd Wallace again.-
to move back to Y'ami or perhaps seek their less rambunctious fortune else-where, perhaps in Manila.
But where Miranda hadmade up her mind she was as stubborn as
AKEI.DAMAWAS BUILT in the 17th century by Spanish missionaries who needed aport for ships in transit from the Visayas islands to Manila. Its unfortunatename was derived from the fact that, before they could create further trouble,mutineers and thieves were hanged at the pier as soon as the ships came in.The port fell out of use until as late as 1957, when the American governmen tdecided to build a new naval facility in La Paz Bay.Asthe naval base grew inimportance, so the size of the town grew proportionately, and by the 1960s,
'when Sal del Mundo wa.c;less than ten years old, itsmain avenues were chockedwith clubs and bars to entertain passing marines en route to Korea, and laterVietnam.
Young Sal del Mundo thought of it growing like the Magic Rocks heused to buy in ·the PX stores along Magsaysay: little colored nugget5 that,when submerged in a bowl of water, grew stalagmites and became miniaturemulti-colored reefs. When they first moved in, the town was no more than afewdilapidated shanties that doubled as general merchandise stores with backrooms where young Gis brimming with hormones made desperate love tothe brown fragile daughters of carpenters, locksmiths and fishermen, In afewyears jukeboxes started to come in, and small dance halls sprouted whereMarines taught their women how to dance the twist. At firstJuan del Mundodidn't feel completely settled there, and more than once he decided it was best
They met each other during the second month of her pregnancy.Watching her go about her house chores in y'ami, he felt in his bones abristlIng, burning sensation, for which he could find no name apart fromwhat the elders of Y'ami called it: demonyo ng ltbog, the demon of desire.She rebuffed him gently, saying she was through with the ways and whims ofthe world, She spoke to him as though she had been witness to all the world'sdespair,
By th~ third month of her pregnancy, people began to notice thesmall persistent life that had bloomed in her womb. Nobody in the smallisland knew where she had been and what she had done. All they knew wasthat Miranda Blanca was a fine young woman like all women of Y'ami andwould do nothing to put the town to shame, She began to fear being seen intown and talked about. Her only visitor was the persistent Juan del Mundo,who had to be called occasionally to fix the roof. One afternoon he musteredenough courage to say to the young woman: "The father should be goodenough to ask how that child is doing, if you ask me,"
That did it. Miranda Blanca wilted before his eyes and crumpled ona chair, She began to weep with all the grief of the world, and between sobs,she informed this inordinately concerned young man that there was indeed achild in her belly but there was no father, there never had been, and shedidn't know what was happening at all. Whether Juan del Mundo took thisstory of immaculate conception seriously or not we don't know: but he tookher in his arms, cooed placations in her ear and felt at that instant that sweetconfusion of pity and fear and compassion that makes us weak in the kneesand a little out of our senses. Then and there he proposed to marry her, if onlyfor the child,
Later, when news of the new American base wa.c;announced in allthe Manila papers (which reached the island of Y'ami three months late),she told him they should seek work there, preferably as soon as the baby wasborn. There were other reasons for her decision: the town had all this timedoubted that the baby wasJuan's, and the young carpenter found this kind of
talk insulting to his sense of manhood. There were also rUE!}.Q!Sthat he oe~rmade love to his wife and that his tool was the only thing he couldn't fix,..:..
"'e"' ...•.'--.~~-.-._-_._- ,•._.--:.1.---.- __"Theypacked all their belongings when the child was less than a year old andarrived in Akeldarna soon after the rains.
They took an apartment right next to the gate of the base so hecould rush back home after his shift. Everyafternoon mother and child wouldlook out the small window at the jets flying home from war games wherethey bomb~d open fields of cogon grass and strafed occasional strays fromthe mountairl villages. Juan would catch mother and son framed there onhis way from work. They would wave Vigorously at him, and sometimes allhe could see were their hands napping out from the window. He was alwaysafraid of coming home one afternoon to find them gone, and this fear kepthim distracted for the rest of his life. Somehow he knew that she kept hopingone day, out of the blue, the young Lloyd Wallace would step out of thosegates and claim his son. They never talked about this. There were nights hejust stared at her as she lay peacefully beside him and the child, her smi.lesmall and beatific, and he wondered what new shadows she encountered 10
her dreams. Aheavy, unbearable sadness overcame him when he re~lized noJ,man, not even him, would_eve~~~:~ close to the sourc:~ ~~:~l~ \iJ ~ tlUTER, WHEN HE BECAME a megahit in Ma~11].;t)~Ld~1~2]'Ould tell a persist-ent reporteCihat the ~. greatesf.@fluences C?! his :a..reerw~~_!!!~.2lS~2fAmerica and the television programsaired fro~ Far EasternNe.twork..Qf'La·pazN~iLaaie.lTkemosrol'TheTeenairS~fhiS age he learned the vicari-~'~~lifu of the pseudO-American from television, becoming conversant in itand repeating i·tsfamiliar phrases to the passing GIs. Even the local stationshad good shows. gy~rLm.t~rrlQ9i].Q1.~~~~.LL~~~.:nedc~~~_e~.~~~_~.~~.~~jL_oY~rftQm.primetimeJ:Yjl1 Ml!l}jJa ..,.flash Gordoowas one. Qfhis f~v9tite~,.and he would admit to an uncan~y fascination f.9r,!he EIl1~X9rMJIJ,g·Thecartoons would follow: Betty Boop sashayiniwith her squeaking repertoire,a~d the Loony nmes announcing Uh-bedee uh-bedee that's all folks! Thenmore saviors of the universe: Captain America zooming out to make the worldsafe for democracy, followed by the brooding, virescent Hulk. In the eveningshe waited for I Love Lucy, the Three Stooges and-the high point of thenight-Batman. Later,Channel 7 beamed in The Monkees, all fun and gags
138 Empire of Memory
and veryshallow musIc, and the unstoppably gaudy TomJones, whose m4siche hated. In the dead of night, he listened to the elegiac violins of GabrielFaure and the lamentations of·Rachmaninoff and the prancing etudes ofErik Salie. During the day, when his parenL~were out, he would PLltWagneror Bartok on the turntable and turn the volume LIploud until the nei~hborsscreamed through the walls. . \
The records were the only things left by his father, the absent Lloyd \Wallace. There were several of them tucked away in his mother's tartan suit-case, including two records by Frank Sinatra and some recordings of Broad-way musicals. All alone in the apartment, poring guiltily over these artifactsof a discarded. relationship, he felt like an intruder or a burglar, dispa~sion-ately skimming through someone else's memories.
One day he discovered, underneath his mother's finest clothes, theyoung LloydWallace's letters bundled up tightly with a string. Hesifted throughthe letters furtively, his heart pounding. For several years he suspected LloydWallace as just some blurry figment of his mother's imagination. Now,as hedeciphered the scrawny, puerile penmanship, Lloyd Wallace seemed lllUl\;
unreal, more a fragment of a memory Sal was not privy to. The young, care-less words, once passionate and burning with raw desire, now smoulderedfaintly and quietly like embers.
His mother never found out his intrusion. Later, when the PearlBuck Foundation established a center in Akeldama to give aid to FilipinoAmericans, she gave him one of the letters to present to the foundation direc-tors as proof of his progenitor. She gave him the least revealing one, a letterthat contained no more than news of the training and sundry talk of theweather.
"This letter," she said, "will be your passport out of here." Sheadamantly refused to accompany him, even if he had begged her the nightbefore. All the mothers there would be bar dancers who had gamboled withtheir GIs and were seeking payment for their love, she told him. She stapledthe letter right across the middle, giving it a metal navel. Brushed and scrubbedclean, he tucked it in his pocket and sauntered away to the foundation, sevenblocks from their apartment. When he reached the small bungalow that hadbeen converted into an office, he was surprised to find about three dozellmadonnas and children already there. Hewaited in line, clutching the leiter
like a bloom picked along the road. By the time his number was called fivehours later, the letter seemed to have wilted in his hand. The director, aschoolmarmish matron with huge plastic spectacles and haIr wound looselyin a bun, perfunctorily studied the letter and then looked up at young Sal topick out telltale signs that should dispel doubts about his origin. Althoughthe young boy had fine dark hair that fell over his eyes of an unusual lightcolor (somewhere between chestnut and ash) and his skin was of a lightbrown shade, burned to a tan along the ar'11s by constant forays into thestreets of Akeldama, his nose was prominently strong and chiseled, And inthis country where origins are decided by the shape of one's nose, young Salpassed the ocular inspection with little trouble:
The director handed back the letter and a sheaf of yellow cardboardforms. "Salvador Blanca Wallace del Mundo," she addressed-him, "you willhave to decide what your name really is," He retreated to a bench beside otherchildren fidgeting with their gaudily made-up mothers. He filled in his name,address, mother's name and age. Scribbling over the forms he felt he wasfinally touching base with that force that had always beckoned deep in hisblood and was coming now to transfigure him. Nowhis own life would beginat last.
.THE FOUNDATION gave him the address o~ost~~arents=-kind so~.l.~_~~lived in Hicksville USA~~d sent him ~!l!Q!l~blt~t.£~ance ~Q~Jo .£~Y~rscnoorfees-ii1aiiFew'meals. Periodically, he received letters from them withposicirO]r~~f~~(~e~~y·l~s~.wa.~_t~~tilei'rdTSiijie~cao~:_~ivri te. Th.ey ~k~dabQl.Il.s~bQgJ£l:ndilJjQJJUheihil.ipp..i~"aa.d.~ll~w.as_.,flII rigl:it.Ib~gQed their letters with papaand MamaX~ ft ~oliey~fthe foundation's PhiliP&_~~I~!)ch not to divul~ue.JdeOlJlY of Amen"'C:~n~Q'nQ~'(()rtb~pJ~!~~QD.Jb.alJnJh.e.·p.asl..JI\~aWp.tcl.illili!r~~(or, most probably, theirpar~nL~) exhorte0g!fL~!.l}lo.~~~.~.~~~~~~_elr"_[g~tet.p.ar~Jlts.Wr:en the !'ound'iltion d'iscovered this they cried foul and de-cided to course all donations, monetary or otherwise, through a. board ofadvisers, Now the parents complained that the advisers themselves were di-verting portions of donations for their own use, and pointed to lavish apart-ments in the outskirts of Akeldama as proof of malversation. Part of the may-or's line wa\ "Some Flips can he trusted with anything except huge sums of
money." That should have been insultihg to the general psyche, but manyirate parents in Akeldama nodded Amen and cheered everypersonnel changein the foundation.'
When he got his first gig at the HolyCityZoo the auditions managerasked him what his name was, and he thought he should go by somethingpeople would remember, so he gave the name~ They liked it: short andcryptic, with perhaps a touch of the sinister and the unknown. He was giventhree hundred pesos a month and the use of a rundown cabin in an alley notfar from the club. For the first time in his life he felt free. Initially he playedsolo like many of the singers Pat Chiu had plucked from Akeldama's dingybars. Later, seyeraJ of them grouped together to form a band, which Sal in-sisted should be called The Art Dodgers. It wa~a loose, expedient group, withmusicians coming and leaving as soon as better offers came fro~Cl~.M~~R,Qdeo or..lliwln. In a city of mostly fair-to-middling talents,Sal X, the band's mainsta and the new kid in town stood Q1!l: peoJ2ltiilliijJ~~~!gIJ1.Q~.!0'JR£~1~,~.!.?m~t?~,.~.~,~~~,~.~~.S2);11trQJJ).Mauilit~Quld.plr.atevth~Jo~,~,~bSYa,~~rt.l,~elda,~~~:.f.~t,~hLL! ,,~!l~jyJb2Lh.tlll'!Qt.saLsLg(LA.~omrti~l,~t!P.~JIa.ti.ogJb.~lin.t,h~,~Y~.Q,t,()f,fl,.M.aoilacQlltl:acuhesLnger,Schoold,sjgILUQPaU.ls~ageF ..•··,,~
"Like a real Chinese manager, eh Pat?" Sal often told him, "What,you want to keep me here like the girls?"
One.•cl.the.¥women he befriended in the Zoo was callgg,M'!&.Qlh-§b,QstJ9I~1&dasal. APRare~t!JJ.heU!~.9.Wn't ha~e.me.~euceJoJnrese.e.l.lel.fl:!tllr~YQ£at!9Jl:.?h~,Y!'*5,.Q.IQ~JJhao...UleJe~tQJ,tDe\l/ofT1~!1)ngre.~U.uned.to the experiences of the world, andthereforesadder. HerlongbI~ck hair
. flowed 'liKe cascages,downher shoulderS,'She would always watch from acorner as Salperformed his set, sitting quietly with her customers or,)n a....cQutel1lpJati¥e-mooo.,-&ij}pingher.cocktaiLalone.Then she would run out ofthe club and through the bustling avenue to talk to him before he sulkedback to his cabin, She always wondered what his place looked like and w~he never seemed to want to leave it. Finally, one evening, a~he sat in a roombackstage packing his guitar, she did ask him about his self-imposed soli-tude, and he answered that he did that because the only way to make himselfa legend wa~ to be a~scarce a~possible.
She bent dowrl and said, "I would like to be the {irot QnetQ.kiSHo.el.egend." -- ---- , __._._ -"..... --
He accepted the kiss gladly, as though he had expected it all his life.In the evening he lay awake, the ghost of her mouth stiDburning on his lips,For several nights he felt restless, his songs didn't come out right, and thecrowd didn't listen when he sang. When Magda went to his cabin one eveningto ask him what had happened, he said, "Your kiss has stolen my songs."
"No," she said. "You'vegiven them away.NowIwill give them back."She kissed him full on the mouth and slowlyundressed him. Helet her warmthassault him and turn his restlessness into a languid melancholia. In the fu-ture he would always feel this sadness in the warmth of every woman hewould go to bed with, ~Q_eY~!rY~~~~~ent.h[~~.QJJJenjYQ!llgJe.e.U.YE.~SeQL.~th,~~gh. tb~iEui.ghlg[ furiou.sI9V,~hIl.9)~n~J!TIQrig~.i~~b~.ir~g~1"Yhich theyS~Hi~§e.9r~~IU~~]l:l.arge9j~(lI()\;Isl y,<iDcl~Ql9b'!Y.~llnIock.ed..by the slightest rernernbr<im:goChis. namg· Many of them kept his portraitand locks of his hair in neckpieces that they wore even to bed with their cus- .
. tomers, and there were several fights when the women refused to take themj~ ~
But of all these women he would remember Magda most vividly,because in that kiss and on this night all his sorrow was unravelled. Nowshe\Vaskissing his hands, his wrists, the crook of his arms. Aroused by the seem-ing helplessness of this sad, captive youth, she held him down with the tenderforcefulness of a more knowledgeable lover.And he yielded to her completely,as one yields to the rocking of waves. He imagined her as the ocean, with itsstrange, salty odors and purifying waters. Everywhere she touched him werea thousand new sensations, and the more she touched him the more insatia-ble he became, pleading with whispers, cries and imprecations. She respondedby growing more aggressive, more jealously passionate, and she bit andscratched and dug her nails into his back, creating tiny roses and lunettes ofblood. In the evenings when he was alone he stood naked before a mirror andstared at the relics of their passionate evenings, those tiny wounds that leftdark patches all over his smooth skin. Once, when she was too occupied atthe club and he had not made love to her for days, he picked up an oldjackknife and pushed the blade slowly into the shield-like muscle of his chest.Hewatched with fascination as his blood seeped slowly out of the skin, nerv-
ously streaking down th~ ridges of his abdomen. (Y1dhe_said lO_hims.elLlb.iLJs it then, the body must forev~J be assau lIedbdQ.Y~_itnd.blood.
A FE\\( YEARS LATER he met Meg Thrn~, She went into the club and caused aminor commotlon when she started taking photographs of the place andalso of Sal and the other performers. Bouncers sorang to attention, hoveredaround her and gruffly suggested that she should cut it out. But they did thiSwith much restraint because not only was Megall American but she also hadfine blond hair and skin so pale even the GIs in the club stopped and staredwhen she came in. In this citywhere the unofficial caste system placed Ameri-cans at the top of the heap and anybody else a rung or two lower, she seemedto have had her social position clearly mapped out for her. Amore aggressivereminder not to take pictures was met with an equatly confident reply: "I'llonly take a minute. I'll keep out of the way," She had another formidablepassport: ~ap ofh:r ~~~..:r.~.P3~~~~b~~~9prgJTlir1entl.~di§DlayedanlD that said she wasfrOmfl1ebase network FEN.Guards checked and rechecked~ . _, ,,-,",_ ,,__,',_ ,"" ,,__ .. _. _ < .• _', ...,..... "" '''-.'' ... _.,'_<_,_ ,', "._'.'" ',_"'0'" >c,.e:=;:i-"""'''''''' -'~'~-",""'''''
and finally ventured to ask for further credentials while bouncers rushed tofind Pat Chiu, He toddled towards her, bouncers in tow,saying, "No photo-graph please, we want no trouble here."
She turned to him and stuffed her camera into her bag and said,"I'm not going to give you any trouble. Who is that onstage?"
"Verygood, ha? But no photos please."He offered her beer and chips courtesy of the house: Pat Chiu was
one of those who believed one must always be solicitous with the press. Butshe declined, saying she was just a.Jraineeat thehasen.el)'tork. She sai~"proballi~lhe.mllillllf.Qr~Jil]1e. Allshe needed was to geta story going, and then she'd be gone. Whatshe didD1teJlhilT1.\V~..1l:U!Lh~r!ife dependeclPH thestOl)'r h~cause. iLWouldspell whether she could get-a fobat the network or not. "I'll talk to that singer there, and any other bands youhave here," she told Pat. "Maybe I can work out a story about local bands."
Pat clasped his hands together and said, "Yes, yes, good to havebands interviewed. But not Sa\. He need big sleep tonight for big day tomor-row."
"What big day?""Corne back and you see. (;00<1 photo lolllOrrow"
S&-\l{asS!Q&!ng ~Qme!hiogJheGls always requested. Meg tried tQrecall much later if it was a song by the DOQr~. It certainly was not one of hisown, she noted sadly, because nobody wanted too much original materialhere, no maller how good they were. People who came here wanted to rockand roll, but most of all they wanted to be reminded of home. It was the·I.'reason why many of these young Marines got blind drunk in the bars: be-cau~e the beer was good and the women more so, and also because this swarmof decrepit huts, sad neons and cranky jukeboxes had to be unreal and asdistant as war. ---
numb, as though they had ceased to become part of his body. He uncurled hisfist and felt the cold point of the nails touch his palms. Ashadow fell acrosshis face as the men lifted the mallets, When they brought them down on thenailheads, a bullet of pain came shooting from his hands down to some deepand unknown center of his body, From that depth he felt a howl rise and findits way to his blood, gushing in stream~ out of his hancl~,There was a n;L~hoflightning, and then he was stirred out of the dream, hearing only the muffledthunder of his heart. He sat up in bed and rubbed his fists into his eyes, Helooked at his hands-they were pale, sweating and trembling. He felt he wasnever going to last through the night.
BACKSTAGE,SA!.WAS STIJDYINGhis face in the dressing room mirror when Pat Chiuwalked in with his pay envelope. Day-off tomorrow, all the putas with theirAmerican boyfriends would be going down to Patty's Holiday Resort or theSea Breeze Hotel for vacation. "Good play tonight," encouraged Pat as usual.
Sal didn't hear him. Hewas studying his eyes, leaning with his faceclose to the mirror. "I look like a fucking zombie, Pat," Sal said.
"That what you be tomorrow anyway," Pat said. ':-\"Veah," Sal said. "You're right." That afternoon he had gone to th~
carpenter who made the c'rossesfor Good Friday. Old Mang Isko was a friend\of his father's. Tired, gaunt and grey, he not only made furniture that could Iout·fleur de lis the gallineras of Betis, Pampanga, but reproductions as wellof ;antos that seemed more weathered than the original antiques found inthe vestibules of Hocos. Once a year, a month before Holy Week, he madecrosses for the dozen or so men and women who had themselves crucified in IAkeldama for half an hour on Good Friday. This was no sacrifice on behalf of!the world and its foibles, Sal knew that. Each person wanted expiation for Isome private, haunting excess that had congealed in their minds into a nag- 'I;
ging guilt, and had been keeping them awake at nights and nauseous by day,Tomorrow for the first time, h~ said to himself as he stared at his face, he was tgoing to be one of them, .-J
INTIlEMORNINGhe had forgotten the dream. He walked to the small portholethat served as his window and gazed out at the empty street. The day wa~muggy, and the signs over the shops looked pale and faded. He took a longshower, the cool water pelting his body and invigorating him. Then he driedhimself briskly and stood before the mirror and wrapped a loincloth about 'him, He dressed slowly, putting on a clean shirt and loose cotton slacks. Hefelt he was doing this for the very last time. This thought gave his slightestaction a special significance: the way a button felt in his fingers, for instance,or the way he combed his hair seemed like the profoundest of experiences forwhich man in his perpetual search for meaning had found no explanation.He walked out into the street to the club, now deserted except for a couple ofjanitors who were mopping up for the Happy Hour crowd. He had bread anda Coke at the counter. Old Mang Isko had instructed him not to take toomuch for the day; less sturdy constitutions had been known to throw up dur-ing crucifixion, causing great embarrassment and distress during the rites,Then he walked the length of Magsaysay Avenue to the carpenter's shop andfound Mang Isko sitting beside a stack of five crosses.
Mang Isko looked up as the young man walked in, The old manthought he was seeing some angelic apparition. He held up a hand againstthe light and peered at Sa!.
"U's just me, Lola," Sal said.The old man struggled to get up ancl pointed at the finished crosses,
"I am old'man now," he said, "My work is done, L;L'ilone W;L'ifor yOlJ,"
~.. DO. tile
. \.1", \ UY'l"!' (}. , ' ,J "
VI""'- v- \.J'~'r\ u~Id LN ~oire of M§!tnQry 145
THATEVENINGhe woke up in a sweat. He had been dreaming of himself nakedon the cross laid down on thE}ground, Hecould feel the rough wood grate hisback and the heat sear his skill. His throat parched and his eyes squinted atthe glaring sun directl) above him, When he stretched out his arms they felt
"Get some rest, Lola," Sal said. He walked to the stack and ran ahand against the wood. "They're good crosses, Lola," he said.
"~U?~ ;lfEa)dT' ~h~ old Il)~\!]asked him. It wasthe first time hehad ever asked that of anyone he made crosses for. In the past Holy Week\ therepcntanL~ merely had their arms and legs bound to the cross, but Sal was thefirst one to propose that he should actually be nailed to it. Enactment was notenough; true sacrifice demanded true blood.
"~'SaLsaid. He wondered if the wood would feel the same laterthat afternoon. He rubbed the back of his hand against it. A splinter caughtin his skin and he yanked his hand back. He pulled the splinter out andwatched as a trickle of blood oozed from his hand. "I can't feel anything, oldman," he said.
He looked out. There were people marching off to church, holdingtheir hands against their eyes to block the sunlight. In the distance he couldhear the wailing of the pasyon by ancient and inexhaustible women whosevoices would follow hirl as he carried his cross to the plaza and flagellatedhimself with ten other repentants. The voices would snake around him as thewhip lacerated his naked back and turned it raw and streaked with blood. Hewould hear the same voices as they stripped him to his loincloth and laidhim on the cross, the same voices that would pound and reverberate in hisears as he spread his arms out. Those were the same voices he would strain tohear in order to shut out the pain as the nails were hammered into his hands,and what he would hear last when his vision failed him and he turned blindin the heat, ~~~l~K!i~~~ob~~~~ to oblivion like Chr~~~~a.:s.~~.gJrom t~~world.. ~,---,,-~, - ..
HE WOKEUP the next morning in hjsown room, on his own bed. He came toslowly, blond light rearranging his focus on things and the sound of lightfootsteps echoing in his ears. There was somebody else in the room. He st:ug-gled to prop himself up on his elbow. He saw a young woman, pale as I1ght,surveying the posters and notes scribbled on his walls.
"Am I dead?" he asked her."I hope not," she said."I saw you yesterday," he said."At the club?"
"On the cross, when they pulled me down," he said, but when hetried to recall that moment everything seemed to slip away and he saw noth-ing but a rushing blur.
_ "You like Rilke'a lot," she observed, turning towanb the notes (-1Il I~ waIT. Then she walked to his side and looked at his han(b. "Are you alii
right?" she asked him. .-J'J ').1 o~ ~ or His hands felt numb. He looked at them and noticed the fine gauze
'~~t~~bandages wound tightly around them, That would have been the handiworklic,~ of the Akeldama nurses who attended to the flagellanl5 and Kristos every Holy,'('Nf. 1 Week. On .~1l~bJlan.dJUia(kJQ~~ ..h'!4 sPf.e.~(LQ..~l()n lb.e..g.ame. He lifted his~J) hands to his face, and stared at them. "I've never felt better in my life," he\.l said.
BACKAT TIlE BASE, in the solitude of her darkroom, Meg developed the picturesshe had taken of the crucifixion. She did that often: developing and printingseveral rolls of film at one go until she was exhausted and reeled from thefumes of stop bath and fixer. In some way it was a ritual of her own, some-thing to cleanse herself of the small worlds she immersed herself in wheneversht: went out to shoot pictures. The darkness obliterated those worlds, and shecould do this instantly just by turning off the light. Then the red glow of thebulb over her head transformed them, made them lose thei l' shades and colors.The chemicals worked in their quiet, toxic wav to coalesce them in~sU..ul~.&~St~ reap.e.~aI.~<llLttD.~h~s_2L~~!'!1.~D:'LtlS.~b~,ShO?,k,~b~, Eboto p~p~Lin.th ~'p,all'Sf1e liked best the moment when the images began to appear. After tak-ing pictures of an unforgettable landscape or the unsettling beauty of a face,she travelled back to the laboratory as fast as she could. She had been told"\that some Mangyan tribes in the island of Mindoro believed, like many primi- !live tribes all over the world, that the soul was stolen by cameras, and thp~, !:shirked from these evil contraptions with more fear than they had for ChOl
jJ
era. In a way it was true: these were their souls she had in her possession, anall she had to do now to conjure them was to shake them in a pan under a rebulb, as if she were merely waking them from their captive sleep.
SHE WENT IJACKto the club after a week to bring the pictures. There W;l~ anotherband playing thall1ight. Sal W;l~ in on{' corner or 11)(' bar talklllg to SOIIH' or
h Sht' could see that his bandages had been removed, and whe~t e women.· I I dark scabs on hisshe handed him the photographs shc notice( t1cre were
palms. . I "W II ·tay for a drink'l""TI\l'Y look VCI)' good, Meg," he s;ut . I YOl~S " , . : k"I haVl' to go back to the b;L'ieto pack," she said. 1 m flYing bac
home tomorrow morning." " 'h ts of the crowd on'He looked at the photographs. Ihere were so.
Good Friday, their dark faces grimacing in the heat, ~n1 ~?rtr~lfts a~~~~:~~ \from the club, their faces tired and sad, and dose-ups a lmse,
details of his room. '" h k d h r "when I do it again?""Will you be here next year, ease e ,"Depends," she said."On what?" d '?""On wher~ I'll be next year." Then she asked, "Why. do ~ou 0 It."1 don 't lillQw,".hesald •.:'Butl'lI keep dOing it until 1 bndmy fa~
~-,~.~ ..._."_.,,..,
ther." h 'dShe looked at him quizzically. "1 hope you find him," s e sal .
"Very soo~~ laughed. She said goodbye, then slid off the stool and walked
out. Sb,~ lefLtbepict~E~~~~!hhhlu1· I afte she had gone. Magda sat ~-~,He remained slttmg t ere ong r, , '1" h "d
.'. entl laced a hand over his. "Deliver us Irom eVl, s e sal ,sl~~tm an: g H: didn't look up. The photographs were lying, face down, •sml mg at 1m. ed for a long time at his young face, and deep I~~Si~: h~~~~:e~'o~~~~:l ~~~ething gather to a ~owL The mo~~:~ :~~ :~~~ Ithe more she felt it intensifying. She letr o~hlS han~~~lds:~e on the ~each !last time she felt like this was wh.~ S~:o~~~e ~:~:~ Magsayay Avenue. She !long ago before she kn~w anythl g . it zealousl like a talisman.!kept it for a lo.ng time In he~ ?OCk~t, gua~~~n;nd discoverId she had lost the j
One day she sllpped.her han. ~nto ~.r poc1t was only as if something, some Istone. To her surpnse, she Ie t ndot I;gi h and now she would be walkingisense of security, had been carve ou 0 er, 'defiantly with a hole where her heart had been..· .....•
148 Empire of Memory
"()y SAl, when you gonna play for u;,?!' That was a group of girls alreadymade up for the day, getting ready to go to the clubs. In their bright flasi1yclothes they looked like tropical nowers blown in by an ill wind. "Oy Sal, play(or us for free, we can't afford your gtxldam gigsl"
"There's a place here [ wanl you to set·," Sal told IIH'. "My folk.~moved here a long lillie ago. They never wan ted to 11 lOveou t."
We were in one of Akeldama's villages, and it felt ;l~if thl' wholeworld had shrunk out of proportion. Barong-barong huddled together likeaged folk borrOWing each other's heat. The muddy earth stuck to our shoeslike a bad memory. Veins of filthy water came out of the earth, around whichchickens and dogs lapped and gamboled. Smoke curled out of the windows,giving out a smell of rotten flesh. Children surrounded us, tugging at ourshirts and calling out Sat's name. There, too, he was well known: peoplecame out of their huts, waved at him and shoved before our faces portraits forhim to autograph. "Ls~!LrnnJQr)]}aY9r here~ ha? Bu t therear.e. Qtb.e~:vay§ofg~tting..ricll.:' ". "'-- --"~_. "
We walked past more huts propped up from cardboard and tin andall brown and grey as if the world had lost all its color. We finally reached ourdestination, a hut slightly larger and cleaner than the rest, its boards coatedwith fresh paint. "Oy, si Sail" The neighbors spilled out of their warrens andcrowded about us. The door of the hut opened and we beheld the small,shrunken face of no other than Sal's mother, Miranda. She seemed smallerthan I imagined her to be in the course ofSal's fractured narrative about hisyouth. But in her face I still saw traces of her once striking beauty, her youth-ful charm softened to an incomprehensible serenity. Streaks of silver hairlined her head; her hands, when she held them up to welcome her son, werebrown and leathery like hide. i
We walked in. The place was small and dark. There was no furni)ture except for a table and a cot, where Sal's stepfather,)uan, lay with a maga-.zine in his hand. He had to be in bed most of the day since an industrial.accident at the base two years ago weakened his spine. But when he saw us he!struggled to sit up and his face broke into a broad smile.:
We were served scalding hot coffee and, appropriately enough, panAmericana. We talked, sweeping the flies from our mugs. I wondered why. .Sal's parenL~ insisted on living here when they could \wll IllOVe !Jut to till'
lOwn center, but [ was too polite to ask. Even~~ Sal ~tJIl~J.obave read.~y tho~g_~~_~n_d.~~tu_~~.e_~r~9~,;il~~~I§'!~I~k.J:~.~ak~l~201 of mls~Lprandn.s onstage !<]!_~heAme.rtc~~ .._
. --,.. -There was embarrassed laughter all around, and then Juan said,"It's not bad to entertain the Americans, Many of them have become ourfriends. But friends sometimes forget you."
Sal said, "Dad feels the base hasn't paid him enough for the acci-dent." There was a lot of pooh-poohing from Sal's parents, and Sal contin-ued, "It's true. Bastards don't care if you get your balls cut ofr."
"They've given all the help they could," Miranda told me."They've given shit," Sal said. "That's why Fm working my ass off
at the club. ['m not all bad, di ba?""We tell Sal he should do something else," said Miranda. And to
Sal: "You can't play in clubs all your life."Sallaughed, then turned to me and my camera, "The club's not
bad. Pat Chiu's not bad. Iran get an apartment for my folks near the Zoo butthey don't want to move out of this dive."
"We own this house," Miranda said. "We don't want to give it up.""One of these days, Mom," Sal told her, "I'll get you a place and
you can sell this piece of, uh, real estate.""It is always good to hope," Juan told him.
• "That's right," said Sa!. "It's good to do that. Just wait a bit ardyou'll see." And to my camera: "What do you say, eh AlBoy? [s Sal ~onna ~the hell out of this duWll or Vih~tr.6paD~an!J:t
..- r-\)~ ~~ . ""Oy PATCHIULI,my Pater Noster, what have we got cookIng today? Sal and Istepped into the dance harroTthe Holy CityZoo. That early in the afternoon itlooked like the 1Wilight Zone: the chairs were all up on the tables, the fluores-cent lamps were on, casting a greenish tint on the whole place and on thefaces of cleaners mopping up. Pat Chiu was sitting inside a booth, his fingersdancing over the beads of an abacus. Everything was quiet except for thewooden click of the beads and the slapping of the mops against the floors.Outside the Zoo, Akeldama was dead to the world, All the girls were deep inthe alpha cycle of their well-earned sleep, oblivious to last night's loves. Thesouvenir shops displayed their wares, their hawkers ~Uoeing at young M~
~es .al~~~LuE a~4~l<!DIUU.troll. Policemen chatted idly in their pre-cincts, waiting for the day's action to begin. They yawned and talked of la~tnight's brawls and compared the amount of bribes they managed to collect.Street children played in the mud like stray dogs. The smell of grease andketchup clouded over the burger stalls. The somnolence was shattered occa-sionally by jets streaking from target practlce, trailing plumes of slipstreamacross the sky.
"You play good tonight," Pat Chiu told Sal from the porthole of thecashier's box.
"Hey," Sal snapped back, "I play good every night. I don't even geta fucking day off,here."
"Because Sal and Art Dodger very good.""Thanks, Patria Adorada, I'm overwhelmed.""You don't call me those names, I don't like it.""As you please.""You play good tonight, because judges come to get you."Sa1walked up to the porthole, "W3:.i1aminllte.~h~tjudges? Com-
ing t9£.elLDeJorwhat?;,: ...-""-------- .' "EQI-S~Q~~~!:::.~.i,tb9lJ!).22!5Ln~lli2~~2~"th~~£~.c.~.s,.Ee1.~b!.\.l.~lum~ia telegram thrqugh the porthole:.I',Valk,eg oyer.toS~:L<I,ndre..adover.bis shouk.~aer: ..
Pat Chiu Manager Holy City Zoo Dear Sir We are pleased toinform you that the search committee for the First Philippine PopularMusic Festival will be dropping by your club tonight to select your localrepresentative to the natz'onal competitions to be held in confunction withthe First NaOOnalYi£i1:.21theArts sponsored by the First l.flifl.~!!~.1t/.l;~ldP.~_~ - __ ~~_. __ ~.._....,]~,~,#_.....,__ :c:ll!IY-l"""'''''''-_':''_>;-~''-"
{L,}:1al.{i,Q,S Stop Plg{?S~.nQ(jjj!e1/,S ..ClJ"£QQl2"J!§J2QJ~ib.k (J,S._p,er..JJii1JUf/,,,aIJ.cL,
numq~g[pqrt(sipqrl!?ltqg .~~.will ~~c~z~::rlu..KE£qEf!!f!!i2Il.StoP."What do you mean p'fiy""g"-oootonlght?"Sal burst out. "The com-
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peti tiQQ"s,i.lJ,sJ.!!.f~')Y.b9~\L~.~~w~YLi)rgS9J,LCI.azye.DLWhatZ';, "Not crazy," Pat Chiu said, this time looking up at us (and noticingmy presence for the first time, he gave a perfunctory lift of the brows), "Mes-sage got me today only, Passed around all clubs ill Akeldama, But messagegot here today only. Allother clubs my enemies, they want to kill me, They allplay good but Sal plays gaoder than everybody."
Sal handed him back the telegram. "I get it," he said. "I'll be yourpambato, eh Pat Chiuli? You want me lO whip them like they've never beenwhipped before."
"Bongo," Pat said."It's bingo, old man. Jesus, you live all your life in Akeldama and
you can't even pick up the language." _-,-"I live ten years in Akeldama," Pat corrected him. "Many Year~[
li~e in Manila, but Idon't like it. Sorry, ha, Mister Al. I don't like Manila. Very .dirty and people allioko. But you young boys, you speak like GI. That is good.You go to States they think you California boys.""
But Sal wasn't listening. Already he had opened his guitar case andtuned the strings. He plugged the guitar to the amp onstage and struck adeafening chord that jolted the sweepers out of their inertia. The whole placevibrated.
"Let them come here tonight," Sal boomed into the mike. "We'llshow them what it's like in the ZlJo, eh Pat Chiuli, you Old Spice. We'll showthem Manila buggers how to have a goodtime." He struck another chord,and the mirrored walls shivered with surprise. I could almost hear the ~rk-en calliQl Here he comes! Th~!r~~of ~~<!a[1!L1JJJill.2.2!~~~uE t~edead!~ .~RGEANTCASTORSAw: wanted to spit out the coffee. That was his third orderand still the waiters couldn't get it right: very strong coffee with just a tea-spoon of milk and very little sugar. Putang ina. If this girl can't make coffeeshe might as well work in a bar and get fucked till her eyeballs roll out.Sergeant Sapak stared at her as she Wiggled out of the kitchen: no, the legsaren't right, the waist too big, the arms too small. She wouldn't look gooddancing in a cage without her clothes on. This girl is going to rot with badcoffee. He took another sip and gagged. That afternoon he was in the moodto kill for coffee or anything that came his way. His troop had been stationedat the borders of the town, armed to the teeth with rattan clubs, steel shields,tear gas and Armalites. It looked like it was going to be real war, and becauseSergeant Sapak couldn't get decent coffee at what's this gooddamn joint'sname? Fin's Roadside Carindera-a l~:s..name~because...---. ---~putang ina if he could get decent anything anywhere he's raring to bash
some heads in. The afternoon seemed to hQld much promise for thaU1le:marchers~ad assemb.led s~n.~~..noon at a point towards Akeldama, a ragta~~~ngr~.s.~~i~!1.E.c~~rUCK (fo'mey:catl'rn~c-,rtTse:(mei11ed]!~~~an<1l"~'~!.~.~he_:B.~~glydre~~o~~mani~ p~~kedTroml~e farms of San Miguel ;mdjtheuniversitiesotManilaa .-.. ; rliere were ahout fifty of them by noon ,an ergant Sapak calculated that he needed just seventy I!len to dispersethem with the requisite violence. By three o'clock the rally had bloated to @
hundred protesters and as Sergeant Sapak chocked over bad coffee, there wer~already about a hundred and fifty. 8e~orters from Ow r;;o~m~.pa~r::swere~illi.~j~~~~.t the crowd, waiting for action. He would haveto tell th~roc."We.b.~v~,£~~njn,sIfll~1f.§']()JEf.:it~cttm!@\nmfOrfwm;--maxl~~~ toler::~rce." Y!iJgOg ih.~·03J(imun:J~£h.~ .•Jl,wgpuwede1ang,lfpeop.l~spm~ h~(ftfortJQubJe"we,giy~themJf9J.!b le.~ 'Miss Gademil, "hecalled ou L "Pu tan~:in,ang kape to,)D2tg2rn~ payfor,it."
THEGIRl.'i at the Holy City Zoo themselves had put up a cartolina sign sayin:g'Manila Q.j: By~t!.u~Beside it were photographs of ladies with the most ef1l-dowed bosoms, and already some wit had scribbled a message underneatIhthe pho tos: "Mal.akLan.g.aml~h.mabax:ap;;"~,,.GQ..gel:em.~aWl!"
The afternoon auditions had been schedu led so that a winnercou I.dbe picked just before the night's revelry b~gan. Several clubs had alrea<lyshowed the best of their performers: .I2l:..nn~E,~!1~pJrQffil~J3~Q..m~,Jing )ing,ytpLfrom the Manhattan and Freddie La:vin. frQwJ:iQ.LIl;<tl('J:!¥.
'sundo~~~thii~~iei,:IlPst~N1~DD:~:M1h~~ie(~h'ichiorne,,~~&.;aid:'"0was tne onT'yreas?n they wanted to hold a~ditions in every club in.thefirst ...~I~ce), werejeenamblinglnto frQty:CitYZOo:. ',. . - , -
The lights were up and the drinks cold. The girls, primed for Ihp
day, still fresh and smiling, lined the bar like newly blossomed roses. Thejudges, ~all and deformed bureaucrats from the Ministry of Tourism andthe Minlslry ~fC\}Jty'~an9.Qot-g~1IJ.yJLEin2~ ~x~cuJiveSfrom IoZal distribro-to~o!§0r:W~(\4,CQh.tmQ[~h.§~1t1.~q,th~~~ly~§into (ron'[ro;:;; sea~:-;file lig'mtsrnnlmed Pat Chi .. t. w· . ..,,-.",:~'- _.... ", II '
_,._._ •.:...._.,,,.).I. •..P6\Sl y.and ..~ynd~r .the ~~~ hgbts, announced, We atHoly City Zoo not go around in circl~. We know the best we got and tonight 'wNegiye you the best." He was applauded for th is eloquence and he slinked bac:k-~;,!.b,~,s~r~.a.inS?Eened. .
IBAGSAKANG BASE MILITAR!!!US BASES OUT!!!YANKEEGO HOME!!!MARCOS TUTA NG KANO!!!
SOMEBODYFROMTHECROWDthrew a rock anhe police rank. The rock hit a shieldand a metallic thud ~huddered through the nervous silence, Sergeant Sapak'~men pushed the bamcade back, Some student'i hurled more rocks, They pelttdthe shields like a hailstorm, and shout,; from the demonstrators drowned the,sound of their dull patter.
And then the barricade toppled over, The crowd pushed its way p,l'it~e police ranks, swelling like a wave towards the town, There W;L'iall explo-SIOn, then a column of fire nashed behind the ranks, The policemen swungto action. Clubs hit heads, arms, legs: a dull whack, a body rell. The crowdsurged even more boldly. The demarcations were blurred now: a free-for-allensued, the p~lice swung their clubs frantically, and the demonstrators re-taliated with stones and incendiary bombs, Sergeant Sapak yelled the orderto quash the demonstration, "Todasin ninyo!" Immediately, Armalites ex-ploded and the crowd scattered helter-skelter,
SERGEANTSAPAKWATCHEDthe crowd with some consternation. Somehastards were_pushing ihe'oarrrIcade closer tathe police ranks' a~d the goddamn thinglooked like it was moving foreward on it') own. Look at these punks and poo'res'.,in red bandanas, afraid to show their faces. Apack of cowards, mga bwakanginang duwag, mga walang bayag, Maybe rich pricks from lhe universities,where they eat in clean cafeterias and learn about politics and economics.Now they come here thinking they can change the world. Putang ina, they ,want to know the real world they'll learn it here. I'm going to give it to themright where it countc;-on the head. i
, The barricade inched forward a bit more. The banners unfurled J
above the crowd, hastily painted slogans from the'Federation of This and the JAlliance ofThat. Sergeant Sapak scanned their blood-red denouncements: j--
The troops got nervous. _One of ~~~,f!.1~rrp.2i§g~Lao.ArmaliteaLthe 'approaching crowd,and$ergeantSapaTInstantly signalled fO~,restr~in,L !h~~
·'ea.meras caught his hand raised in mid-air. He blink~d under th~ lights. Thesky darkened. From the edge of the road the lights of Akeldarna popped upone by one like multicolored plankton,
SALX CAMEONSTAGEwearing black, his guitar slung by his side, He approaChe~~the mike and crooned a soft ballad-no hard hitting feet stomping rock androlling tonight, for the benefit of these old fogies w~o couldn't .stand ant .thing new, Pat Chiu knew what to give them and had Instructed hIm about It. ,
Sal's voice sailed over the crowd like the soft blanket of darkness \.falling over the town and the roads and the sad young fac~s waking up to th.e •night. His voice stopped the cars on the road, made the bIrds fly out of thelr Iroosts and deepened the distance of the stars as they faltered over the Monte ,de Oro. It spilled out of the Zoo and filtered into the cacophony of the other \clubs. Everything stopped to listen: the girls cried and longed for home.-;
WHENTHESONGwas over there was a moment of stunned silence, Then thewhole Zoo burst into applause, Even the judges were moved, and their hands,still clutching their evaluation sheets, clapped in unison with the rest of theaudience. Jb~~Q~MarjIles.starl~d.\Q.JrLckkjnL'!D.d !b~y.bQJJered,','tley~al, you going to be a star or what!"
THEBODIESFELLheavily along the road, The police troops pursued the rest ofthe demonstrators, The nigh t deepened to tar and the bodies became almostinvisible. Banners left along the road flapped and whipped in the wind likesails of abandoned flagships,
WE THANKALLOFYOUfor coming over tonight and we thank especially all themanagers of the clubs in Akeldama for graciously participating in the searchfor the regional finalists for the First Manila Pop Music Festival. Thanks alsoto the office of Mayor ?peedy Gonzaga and the kindness of Councilors SoForth and So On, and especialiy to all the beautiful ladies who have madeourstay here most enjoyable. Now we are all hopeful your official candidatewilt make a good impression in Manila and we are certain this is only thebeginning of his successful career, And so we call on Sal X to receive hisaward and we wish him good luck and Godspeed,
Sal walked up the stage, his shirt soaked with perspiration. Manypeople had come in by then, catching just the last riff of his son~ and thatrJlonwnL The applause W~l~raucuoUS and deafening. One of the girls ran totlw stage and handed him a specially designed trophy they had ~ade ~hem-selves: a champagne bottle twined with rope and Howers. Sal hOisted It overhiS head. Then he raised the other hand as a sign of benediction. The sca.rs
on his hand were visible under the lights. Theyg!i.stened like .s~ig~~~~ ..'rherapture on his face waS enigmatic, angelic and demonic at the same time.the Krista had bolted out of the Zoo.
!HE E~Q.f,E,~.9J.SAN.MJGU.~LS;lY thaUh(;circuilous road leading south lo thefishing village of Carmen is guarded by rnaligno that inhabit every gnarledbalite and mound of earth and all uncataIogued fauna. Accident'\, if theyhave to happen, happen here: lightning strikes twice and cars skid and dropinto ravines or i~to the turbulent Visayan Sea. The road itself is caI led 6llukang.MtlDQk,~D2LQDltP$~~~JSS,.~~.~~s_~~~e.rn~l~ .the..l<J].ot!.~(~ntr,!ils..9Lchi.~k~JLbut al~Q.peC<lus~eI9e,~ hay~ oJten diYil1ecitbi:pre~~D..c.e.JLthel1lalign_oJ1Y·reading messages in the.collY.QLuliQns_oi.~bl~ken ~ntraUs. On the afternoonthat Colonel Jose Zabarte was dispatched there, five of these psychic elderswere hunched over the dirt road, divining the cause of a recent mishap throughthe intestines of a newly slaughtered fowL The colonel's jeep rumbled to astop beside them.
'~Maayol" the cglonelgreeted them in the native tongue. They It:-
sponded with a nonchalant nod and went about their business.A soldier dressed in fatigues walked to him, saluted and delivered
the report: "We have brought the bodies to the camp, sJr,Vjje will to',Vthe. truckby day's end.';
Colonel Zabarte stepped down from the jeep and walked to the sideof the road. From this point they could see it winding southward to the sea,rising steeply over the crags of the island. The truck had fallen into a ravineand looked like a box of crushed metal and ripped canvas. The wind wasblowing in from the south. "Bad time forfishing,.'.:the.colonel said.
They turned back and walked to the elders. The soldier pointed to acrag above the road. "They were shot from there,sir. They hit the wheels. Thetruck skidded into the ravine."
"Any survivors?" the colonel ;l~ked.
WHENII\RRIVEDat Villa del Fuego after my trip to Akeldama the mansion seemedemptier and more desolate. The colonel had been gone three days, Jun hadagreed to wait for me and was once again the special guest of Dolores, who itsee'med had enlightened him further on the plausibility (or lack of it) of ourresearch.
"Imelda Marcos," she was saying, "is loco, out of her mind. The 'Suarezes cannot possibly be related to her family, Leyte is three light yearsaway from San Miguel."
We nodded wearily in assent. LeyIe was actually just an island's hopacross, but to get there one had to risk unpredictable currents, sudden tsu-nami and sharks, all of which seemed to corroborate the fact that natureitself precluded commerce between the two islands,
"She builds cathedrals and ma~sions oul of lhe sand dunes of her 'il, ,island," Dolores continued, "Siemprc, gcntlcmen, a pathetic allempllo cre-
1
'
ate personal mOnUIl1enl~.~)J I being, COlllO se JI(e,sulJVI,:J~IVl'I" ,She certainly W,L\ but we weren't going to It'll, d' oilly slll~'d cooper-
ate a little more. There were rUlllors of 11iagnil'il'l'IIIIII;lIlsiolls bl'illg l'recledin the other island, and Ma'am had been illvitillg very illlportani people toinaugurals and sentimental homecoillings, Max l'lala's report.~ carried allthe details, but )un and I had becn too busy working 01] the bot>k to \)(' in-vited. The cathedral had been conslructed oul of filigrel' silver and W;L~de-~oted tO'the Santo Nftio, an ivory image of whom W;L~caged in a gl,L)s globeto keep off the h\lnds of devotees. The mansion was a sprawling compl'exreplete with state-of-the-artajrconditioning, dire.ct dial teJepI101]~s,an0grassthat was green all throughout the year.
"You must think, sir, that [ am one of those who want to overthrowthe regime." In fact according to our files in Malacafiang Dolores Zabartehad been haVing fancy dinners with people who were not looked upon withfavor by the government, but as the colonel's wife she had every right to do so.Wives of friends who had been dispossessed of their azucareras, mothers anddaughters whose businesses had been handed over to Marcos' friends-theselanguid ladies of the old rich unburdened their frustratiuns on her, who hadremained steadfastly skeptical of favors despite her husband's good standingwith the palace.
"The colonel," she continued, "says I should run for councilor some-day. I have enough money and sympathy to get the votes of the poor." Shelaughed, never having taken the colonel's statemenl~ seriously, She had spr.ntmost of her time managing the mill 's accounl~, something she detested buthad to do: increasing ambushes by the NPA demanded that the colonel leavethe affairs of the villa to his wife.
"You will pardon me, gentlemen," she laId us, "if I cannot attendto you. It is not that I hold you responsible for a project [do not approve of, orthat I choose to be inhospi table, There is just loo much work to he donehere." We told herwe underslood, and we weill back to our ro011lSto drl'ss fordinner, l1ut Wl~ wOllld Ilot see her agailllllltillllllcl1l:llt'I'lhallliglll.
"None, sir. They must have gone down the cliff to finish them off.Many of our men had their heads hlown off."
"Any witnesses?""None, sir." They looked at the elders poking althe entrails with a
slick. "The papos came here laiC this afternoon but they say they saw noth-ing,"
After a time the elders finished their ritual and began towalksouth-ward back to Carmen. They wore tattered rags and walked barefoot, luggingragged baskets filled with roots and bark, Colonel Zabarte caught up withthem and said, "Tell me what you saw."
One of the elders, a shriveled man with silver hair, spoke up, "Laisla cherchedu_go.," he rasped.
The soldier walked to them and asked, "What is it, sir?""O~ll1n island pidgin," Colonel Zabarte said, walking back to his
jeep. "Damn place reeks. oLpolyglots." And to the inquisitive soldier: "Th~island isaski~gfor bl.?od.S9 J~X9t.lL.gJal1dfat.hers,," He heaved himself ontotheleep'anci'torrthe driver tv take him back to the barracks just outsideCarmen. '~Wlgr:' the colonel called back. "I want the village closed off. IwanLaU food sourcesblQCked .. [.want answers,' God damn it. Shoo.tauyooe,who tries to get away. Ely God,the island wtll have blood if it wants H."
THECHILDRENCRIEDand the dogs howled, and for a moment it seemed as ifdeath itself had entered the convent. The rnenhobbled toward the gate. Intheshad.awsJh..~~is!m.~ould discern about t~+orroillOl'~They rangthe bell only once, and then left their load at the gate. They could have beenworkers at the mills or fishermen asking for help. '!Wonovices went out, fol-lowed by the dogs who snarled and flung themselves against the iron rail-ings. The novices peered at the bundle lying outside the convent walls andpoked it with a stick. Underneath the rags was a ~eavily bandaged ~an. Hewas only half conscious; he turned his head weanly toward the novices andfor a moment there was a wan smile of relief on his face. He pulled some-thing from his shirt pocket: a crumpled sheet of paper smudged wi~ha name,The novices carrle.d-th@man ina~d ~ted the letter to the Sisters, wh.2..im~ cal~n.m.wIlQm it had g~-:a~areSSOO:. . ,
And-so Dolores Zabarte gave her regrets, saying she could not JOIO
us for dinner. The convent's un~p~~~~as one Q[the soldiers ea~lier reporte~ missi!1.gi.n.+!h!lmb.usl:ukm~Bi1ukaJ.l~ ManokApparently, mernbersofthe rebel squad who had ambushed them broughthim there themselves, and the letter was meant to explain why.
"Curioser and curioser," Jun said over roast pork and mashed pota-toes and a carafe of wine. There were only the two of us at dinner, which was
•served in the enormous dining hall of the villa with its long mahogany table.lilt seems we'll be getting more than our just share of the Zabartes. I for onecan't believe everything she's told us about the family."
"You mean the book wasn't lying?" I asked him."Not lying all over the place," he said. "We still have to explain t~e
libelous Amalia's sudden death in the convent. Would you say tuberculosIswas incurable in the late 1950s?"
"She was murdered!" I jumped to conclusion. "Maybe the sistersdidit."l
"We'll have to go over the book again. You take the copy here, and \I'll keep the one Susan found for us. We're not going to tell anyone we have 'jthe last remaining copies with us." .
"What do we need both copies for?"
"Insidious intent," Jun said. "When wewrite the book wedon't wantall the bright boys of the universities finding us out. Wecan invent facts andnobody will have references to contest us."
"You can't do that," \ said."No," he said. "\ can't. Too much integrity and all that. What about
Zabarte?The old man, \ mean.""\ don't think there's much information about him. Amalia
Romaldes was only after Manuel Suarez, ifwe'll believe the diary you found.""Unrequited love. Nowthat's a good theme. But we'll play that down
and rewrite her book for her. Then we'll add a few flattering passages hereand there. S~e would actual1y marry one Romualdez, thereby connectingMa'am to the 'family. Let's see, maybe a first cousin of the First Ladywill do.Somebody Romualdez. How does the name Jaime strike you? Think of it,Diaz. We'll continue Amalia's delusion for her and actually make it part ofhistory. Jaime Romualdez carries her off to a blissful marriage until a tragicand lingering illness strikes her down. But what happens to the fictitiouswidower?"
"Follows her to the grave, soon after. Today his sou1 haunts therooms of Villa del Fuego. The pianolas perform Moonlight Sonata at his bid-ding,"
"Sounds too tropical to be gothic. Would he be an innkeeper?""Agentleman farmer would be more in keeping," \ said, "May~ea
poet, but a very minor one.""That should put your old talents to good use.""Ouch. Now tell me: what happens to Elias Camacho after Joaquin
Suarez dies?""Goes on being her lover, the horny toad. Dolores says he remained
a friend tillthe veryend.} kriow:T1egOesorr~Q] ;.ITIe ,gYQS.YL"~1!l~20~erp'"thD'oung widow take care of tb!.child 1I:\anueI;Does the plot thicken?" "-,
"LikeiiiiS gravi'fSaid. "You've gone over the family certificatesthis evening, haven't yOU! ~~~~~D~;Las they say it here. What have yougot?"
160 Empire of Memory
"gIA~~.a.I]l~.£h9...marJig,d ,!.g.Y.I2~~~owena.""Come off it." "_M",,_
ness he calculated the location of the jug, and when he found it he was sur-prised to find it empty. And because he needed badly to slake his thirst, heresigned himself to going down. to the kitchen for his drink of water.
He found his lighter, lit the candelabra and inched his way downthe stairs. He hobbled down to the halls and found his way to the kitchen.There was half a glass of milk on the table, the debris of a meal, a fewcrum-pled sheet~ of paper and a letter partly torn open. He sat down and scannedthe letter: perhaps one of the servants had been writing home that evening.He wondered where the servants slept at night: perhaps in a separate bunga-low somewhere, He walked to the cupboard to look for a glass and then to therefrigerator by the sink. . -:1
He felt a hand grasp hiSshoulder. He froze an instant, then tried to;wheel around. Too late: a force too strong for him knocked him down. He hitthis head on the sink and fell face down on the kitchen 11001'. The candelabralclattered on the noor, snuffing the light out. In the darkness he felt his armltwisted behind him and his head grappled in an arm lock. He struggled talbreak free, kicking his legs frantically. He knocked a chair down, and someJthing else: he heard glass crashing on the tiles anJ then, from upstairs, thelsound of feet hurrying out of the rooms, The weight over him suddenly lifted. 1He could barely see his attacker scrambling (\ut through the back door, Helstruggled up, dizzy from the fall. He looked out of the kitchen door but could il,.see nothing. 1
Atthis point Dolores came into the kitchen, and I followed. She was tholding a gas lamp that suffiCiently il,luminated the kitchen, and set it downj' ••on the table. She surveyed the mess in the room and exclaimed, "Que lastima,que lastima!"
]un turned to her and said, "I'm very sorry. I must have knocked a Ifew thingsabout." Theglass of milk had crashed in his struggle, and now a 1\"
small white pool had gathered under the table. 1. .She didn't hea~ him. She wenl about tidying the table, apparently \
lookmg ror something, 1hen she turned to Jun and ,l~ked, "Did you see who 1it was?" I
\\.~----
"Marri age papers, birth certillcates, death certitlcates, deedS or sale.They're all there. Who in the world would go by just the name of Rowena ina marriage certificate?"
"There must be some record of their children after that.""None," said Jun. "This is a dead end. Wedon't even know if Elias
Camacho actually existed.""But there's the portrait, and the marriage certificate.""Only one place he'd run to," ]u~ .'laiR."Where's that?" r--1? ~\~ . ,"The island of Sombrio. Or whatever Sombno was, Somewhere In
Central Visayas. No sen;looking for that now. We'll have to strike him offthe story anyway, considering our moral standards."
"What did Dona Zabarte tell you about Don Egidio?" -'~'l"Nothing much. Died of a stroke in 197I-the certificates would!
have shown you. Abanal, unceremonious demise. Buried in the town cem- !etery with pomp and circumstance. We know also that Dolores' mother died I.
in a sailing accident, somewhere towards Mar de las Almas. Dona Bernardina Isays the Suarezes were a family with a very short lease on earth. Avery reliJgious woman. Abit odd."
"Let's goover the family tree again.""Flight leaves ?t five," Jun reminded me. "You can't work on a book
all your life. Or maybe you can. I'm turning in. We've got about five hours ofsleep, then it's back to the daily grind. Do you love this job or what? I'll takethe book with me to help me sleep. I'll holler to wake you up. Now go."
AsHERECOUNTEDlATER,Junhad troubled dreams that night, possibly as a resultof heavy servings of pork fat and gravy,The south winds howled like panthersinto his room, ripping apart the curtains of old lace and sending the silvercandelabras crashing to the floor. Why did he think of panthers? There wereno panthers in San Miguel, nor anywhere in the archipelago. The mosquitonetting suffocated him, and he was sweating heavily. He got up, Moonlightslinked faintly into the room, dappling objects and furniture. He was thirsty,He remembered that the maids filled the jug on the antique dresser withwater every night. He groped for it carefully, because he knew if he knocked itdown he would never be able to face our hostess in the morning, In the dark-
"No: it was too dark," ]un said. "But from the way he pinned medown I would say he was about a hundred and sixty pounds, maybe more. Isthere anything missing? Anything stolen?"
"Yes," she said, "~ome papers. 1ney were Hele Ull HIt: tdUll:. J
"We shall have to tell the local police tomorrow," Jun suggested. i"No," she said. "They are not so important." ." I"But where are the dogs? Don't you let them loose at night? \She looked around distractedly. "No," she said, "The dogs are kep\
in the kennel when we have guests. They can be very ferocious, Mr.Hidalgo."\She walked about, checking the place, "Pero que lastima. You have a bruise ':,on your forehead. What were you doing here?"
"1 was having," Jun said, "a bad dream."
l~{)l UJaCKlIlall, ne saw. 1 nave reason to believe that me manwho tried to strangle me didn't mean to d~ so, but only to find a way out. I ,walked into something I shouldn'Lhave, that's all. 1 have also reason to be- .Ileve the man in question was Antonio Zabarte."
"Holy shit, ]un," I said. "He must have had something to do withthe man brought that evening to the convent. But how did you know?"
"He gripped me in a lock with his left arm," he said. "I had a chanceto see a scar on his forearm. Back at the Times Tony Zabarte used to show ascar he earned-that was the term he used back then-when things gotrowdy during one of those Mendiola rallies."
"But it was too dark to see," 1 said."Also,'\ he said, "nobody at the Times had a left arm grip as strong
as Tony's. He'd take bets for arm wrestling using his left arm, and nobodydared wager after he earned a few hundred pesos. A true leTty,no?"
"Shrewd," 1 said, "But not very conclusive evidence,""The letter in question," he said, "is in my hand~." He produced
the letter whose absence last night had caused our hostess much consterna-tion. He laid it on his table, uncreasing it with the palm of his hand verycarefully as if it were a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls. i
Dolore.~,it began laconically. Thebearer ofthis letter is one of m7\brother's men. He was one of seven in an accident two days ago in Car- \men. There were no survivors exceptArmando Cruz who brings this let-lter. Weare not at war with the San Miguel military and have no excuse Ifor this mishap, except to say that we should both respect our territory. My \brother will never understand, and so! have asked some of our friends ~to take Cruz to the convent and contact you for medical help. From the lconvent you will go back to the villa to meet me. / know Jose will be in J
Carmen. Pedring will keep the gates openfor me. Remain in good health, !Th~ :
I returned the letter to him, folding it tightly. "Dolores?" I asked
THE PlANE SKIDDED i~to Manila Domestic Airport in the bleary heat of earlymorning, Hawkers and taxi drivers swarmed for our attention, and we brushedthem aside and wrenched our bags free from their persistent solicitousness.Wecommandeered a cab and arrived,~~.~ru~_di\ig~~~~chn05:a>~_~,llhg1!L~before ~r d~ began, =~~S\l(P[iS~ ~ur starrwitn ourunan-nQ@~.!~1!2~~~~S~eI1w.PSJb;badh~~irig~r;jromX.aII~an.d.tbfce \!laS a ton of \!Jork tQ bi QQ.Pe
I checked the mail. There was the usual sheaf of junk from variousministries requesting the honor of my presence in thisor that inauguration,plus a few announcements from the Cultural Center on the arrival of so andso and a performance later in the month by such and such. There were sev-eral phone messages for Jun, many of them from ~ax Plat~, inclu?ing oneletter Mad Max finally found the intellectual stamm a to write, askmg us toexplain in so many words why we had practically deserted the office.
Jun set the coffeemaker bubbling, and the aroma ofBatangas barakowhisked m back to our senses, We had not had much sleep, The previousnight's unusual encounter at the villa seemed, well, like a dream, as it didmost of all for Jun. We had cleaned up for Dolores' sake, andJun, exhaust~dafter the ordeal, promised to tell me all about it on the plane. The promisewas left unfulfilled, as we both immediately dozed after take-off. I was now; Itold him, about to collect my due. l~
"Dolores Zaba~te," he ~bHged, "seemed very distressed about the ..disappearance of a certam letter. .
"I knew it," I said. "It wasn't a burglary at all. I smell blackmatl- .and our coffee," I poured and told him to continue.
"Working for the underground," Jun said. "Too simple, Wal~on. [would think she's being used as a contact between the two camps. There'ssome kind of truce being negotiated here, and I wouldn't be surprisen if evpnColonel Zabarte knows about it. A truce in San Miguel can win him more
164 Empire of Memory
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or some houseboy. The convent knows a bit or two abo;t what's going on, as['ve always suspected. What the heck did Tony want to talk to her about?"
"And why see her when we're both there?""Not for the publicity, certainly. I would think he wasn't aware that
there were guests, since Pedring himself might have locked the dogs up forhim. No way for him to know this had been done to protect the guests fromturning into dogfood, She must have tried to contact him from the convent.Failing that, she must have sneaked back without our realizing it. What wasshe wearing when she came into the kitchen?"
"A nightgown." . --"A mackintosh," he said. "Who would wear a mackintosh on a dry ,
evening in San Miguel? Someone who still had her dinner clothes on. You imust have noticed her skirt underneath. She was waiting for him, and then I Ibarged into the scene and ruined the rendezvous. She must be very hap.2Yto ibe rid of us by now." ~
Having said that, ]un picked up the phone on his desk and dialed anumber. From the conversation [ could tell he was talking to one of our re-search consultants in Camp AgUinaldo. "Colonel Lizares? Yes,]un Hidalgohere. I wonder if your office still monitors the postal system and courier serv-ices? No longer, eh? Yes, I would like some men to help me intercept somel~tters being sent about town. Vou know what I mean, compadre. I want theexperts, the best you've got. They're not all in Mindanao, are they? Good,good, How is Thelma and the little boy? Good. Ves, let's meet for coffee thisweek. Sige, pare." He replaced the handset and said to me, "We must do ourwork as efficiently as we can,"
But I wasn't actually listening. I had just then caught the frontpage of the Daily Express and was engrossed in a small item I found there.
"What is it? What news?" ]un asked, and I showed him the paper.Buried in the lower fold, under news of schoolhouse inaugurals
and new decrees, was this headline:
lJUltumg WUUjJS~'J
one worker injured'
. "Ach," said Jun. "Thetve been hiring ignoramuses for engineers 1agam. I warned Plata about that. I hope he's buried in the muck." ~..-!
The Film Palace was being constructed on reclaimed land on Ma-nila Bay,behind an already growing complex of cultural centers, design stu-dios, a1 fresco beauty pageant venues and posh seafood restaurants plannedby the First Lady. Pundits in the mosquito press referred to it as Imelda'sEdifi~ Complex, and Mad Max had our officewracking our brains out tryingto think of a counter plm, with little success. "Ahbasta, just arrest the insolents,that's how you ~lve it," Max would often say. The Film Palace was going tohouse one giant theater and, on every floor, smaller theaters for competitionviewing, and several preview rooms each accommodating fiftypeople for filmsout of com~tition. There was going to be a reception area and several con-ference studios, a basement complex of offices and post-production laborato-ries, as well as a storage room for new technology to be donated by the Ger-man government. Allof these would be built around a sprawling lobby drip-ping with chandeliers and laid out with rugs to sink one's heels in. The areain question, the one that had collapsed a day ago, was part of the theater thatwould be honored, on opening night, by the presence of luminaries fromHong Kong to Hollywood. There was a small photograph in the Express of afew workers in hard hats digging perfunctorily. What was unusual about tne'~'lphotograph was that among the people poking at the rubble was none other !than myoid friend Father Ted Agustin, the very same one who had endured imy company during my days as a volunteer in the flooded plains of Central ILuzon, Hissmall, bearded face was unmistakable: he was scowling under thelsun, one hand holding down a floppy hat. Ikept this Information to myseJdknowing that Jun was in no frame of mind to listen to stories of my work~history, But I knew that anywhere Ted popped up, there was bound to beltrouble. ,~
I called him up at the seminary, little knowing if I could actuallyreach him there. I was lucky.Ted's familiar, droning voice answered the phone,and after expressing genuine surprise at hearing me, he asked what was up
With me, and 1 answerea tnall nau seen ms pnoLUgraj.lllIII lll~ f:.).jJr~ ii.llU
needed to satisfy my curiosity."Go to the construction site today after work," he told me. "You'll
never believe what happened there."I knew I couldn't ask him for details on the phone. I kept myself
busy for the rest of the day, rewriting memos and working out the agency'sschedules for the coming film festival. Finally, just after five, I toldJun Ihadto rush right back to my apartment to catch up on my sleep. He himself wasgoing to see Susan and wou ld no longer want me chaperoning him.
I took a cab to the bay and found Ted waiting for me. He seemed abit older than when I saw him last. I found out that he had not had muchsleep since the accident. The night shift was just coming in and there was alull in the work, but several men were digging up the rubble where the build-ing had caved in.
"You don't believe everything you read in the papers, do you?" heasked me.
r told him everything passed through our office and that r believednothing.
"So," he said, "do you eni2U9..ur '!Y.or~r:NO,ana TIelmew-Tf.-~~t.ith~gJrin~.bgo~j~Jooc.ipay, a_~ir-
condi tioned room. Myself~fQn!rol,I t.()IQ.hi~;.sh2~1~_i':!1.p.~.~~!~.~~~~._llS he.' ..-"'-"- "The foreign wires were here early this morning," he informed me."This thing is not going to be kept secret for long."
This was what happened. The First Lady's festival coordinator, BetsyBraga, had ordered engineers of the Film Palace to rush construction for thesimple reason that the First Lady wanted to open the festival nowhere else.The Cultural Center would never do: the carpeting was not right, the projec-tion room inadequate, the lobby too cramped. And there had to be a magnifi-cent view of the Manila Bay sunset, the better to astonish ie~etters alreadyjaded by the French Riviera.
To rush construction of the Film Palace, engineers defied physicallaws and kept on pouring cement and erecting one floor after another. 1\vodays ago, just before noon, the third floor collapsed. There were several work-ers missing, as well as families who had camped with them in the unfinishedbasement.
"Most likely," he said. "WorkerShave reported hearing screams fromunder the rubble, but they can't seem to locate exactly where. This afternoonBetsy Braga ordered a stop to the rescue operations and had them resumeconstruction. "
"But the survivors?" --"1"They've poured cement all over the rubble," Ted said. "Nobody'lIl
find that out unless they break the entire building apart. r believe there were jabout forty of them down there. Ghastly, yes. Wecould hear screams coming 1out of everywhere when they poured in the cement. It'll be all over the fore.I.·.~.n~Ipress this evening. Madame is in deep shit. Pardon me," .~
"I gU,essI'll be writing some kind of disclaimer tomorrow," I said. Isaw the incredulous look on his face and added, "It's my job, Ted."
"Al," he said. When he called me by name I knew I was in fo;;jsermon. ''I'm not asking you to quit your work and go hungry. It's too muchlof a sacrifice to ask anybody nowadays, But all r ask you is to help us say thd,truth. Youdon't even have to say anything. Youonly have to refuse to come to\their defense." j
~:'-J'"I can call in sick tomorrow, Ted. But]un will write something any- \
way. Ormaybe Max will." '1
"Your friend from the tribes, is it?" he said. He pulled me aside and ;whispered. "We have some data about your office and your superiors, AI.You Imight find them interesting, at least for your own sake." I
"What, Ted, you've been spying on us?" \'"Ye~,"apologetically. "You have some big thinking to do. I'll mail, •.
them to your apartment. Not safe getting them in your office." He startedwalking towards a group of young people, perhaps college students, who had 1.\.:
been waiting for him. j"Ted," I called to him. "What makes you think you can trust me?" jHe smiled and waved a hand. "It's a risk I have to take," he said, !
~,-lTHEFOREIGNWIREShad a field day guessing how many workers died in theIUbble. Betsy Braga issued a statement saying five workers had been injuredbut were promptly treated at the nearest government hospital. The mosquitopress buzzed with rumors, c1aimingtha.t about a hundred ~;:}Ten~~'
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trapped in the basement, many of th~f!l£hHgr.~nQfqUl~.~~<rs}s luck wouldhave it, there was no need for A.S.I.A.to issue a statement: for the duration ofthe First Manila International Film Festival, the President was lifting censor-ship on all media. We received voluminous memos announcing an impend-ing reorganization of the entire public affairs office, and in this limbo gov-ernment careerists back stabbed and prepared themselves for plum roles or-if they had somehow fallen from grace-the pits, Our fortune had been ITlQ.ff\propitious, with Max fully ensconced in Ma'am's projects and A.S,LA.fUII~.endorsed (using memo jargon here) as per all its endeavors.- ..-':'
The next day we issued a statement from the President saying ineffect that from hereon the function of the censors office was not to suppress,delete, obfuscate or simply reject, but "to promote and preserve the growthand development of arts, media and the democratic society."The small pressesbegan circulating missives against the government to test the latest decree.Theaters screened the latest "bold" films_tQ"jampacked~udiences,and Spq-;adTc demonstrationsSPNi)led, likernusM&ms ,?f~l gqHNwstQrrn Forsome time it seemed censorship had bottled up only two things: anger andlibog. Now everything was spouting forth like bad wine. Movie gossip ragspublished full color Jare-alls of bucolic maidens with dreams of superstard~m.Small-circulation magazines dwelled on an assassination up in Kalinga-.Apayao, in a little town called Bugnay, where Macli-ing Dulag, chief of ~heButbut tribe, was gunned down following his opposition to the constructIOnof Chico Dam. The dam, the chief had said, would flood ancestral lands anddisplace tribes in the mountain province. His adamant opposition had madehim a legend among his people, which was all the more reason for the armyto fear him. They shot him in the dead of night. Weeks later, strange whiteflowers with soft, powdery petals like the wings of butterflies sprouted allthe hillside where he died.
Meanwhile, young Ferdinand Marcos Junior wa.~elected vice-gov-ernor of !locos Norte, bailiwick of the Marcos Dynasty. Chubby-faced andbeaming in a light barong, the new vice-governor told adulant members ofthe local presss, "I feel that the people who have helped me cannot be re-fused."
Wekept working to the point of catatonia, preparing press kits andnews releases about the forthcoming festival, to be known from hereon as
MIFF.There were photographs of the First Family sampling the cuisine at anewly opened fishfood restaurant beside the Film Palace, while the ManilaBulletin ran daily spreads of incoming guesl~:Virna Lisi, Priscila Presley,PiaZadora and Amparo Mu~o_z,stiI! thc.d_arling of the~Pino¥ macbu ~jncc ~hewon the M!s~-lJnTveJi-title here many years back. Simultaneously, there wasgoing to be an arts andmusic festival at the Cultural Center: dance troupesfrom South Korea and Indonesia, Bayanihan dancers with their signaturesingkil, brass bands, Igorots straight from the Mountain Province, azarzuefa,the Madrigal Singers, and the Los Angeles Metropolitan Opera Company'sAsian premiere of Madame Butterfly. Somewhere within this month-longfiesta the Manila Pop Music Festival would be launched, and.Sal~, t0e sub-ject of my video, would debut ..before his first audience outs;d~ or;\k~ld~ma:'rhad prepared rough footages of my video and had ehteredit in a c~t~gorycalledExperimental Film and Works in Progres~QY Young Filmr1l_?~~.rs~i\nq.as luck would have it Iwould receive a series of scholarships and technicalsupportfor promfsiIlgfilmand vfa@arUstS.
Betsy Braga managed to have the Film Palace ready for openingnight, more or less. While guests dripping with jewels swished down the car-peted aisles and special emcees announced the presence of Celebrity This andThat, we heard the workers pounding overtime to finish construction of theother screening rooms in the building. There was a distinct odor of freshpaint aH over the place. At the opening rites the President thanked the 1,091foreign journalists present and proclaimed, "Tne cinema will help us under-stand and even bring our world together." Said Mada'TIe Marcos: "The Ma-nila International Film Festival marks a new era in human culture. Let usinaugurate a new era of culture and celebrate the human spirit, the spirit ofcreation." What a celebration that was. Actorsworldwide came, led byToshiroMifune and Peter Ustinov. Werner Herzog gave a lecture and Alan Parkerattended the midnight screening of The Wall. Halfway through the festival]~remy Irons flew in unannounced, accompanied byMeryl Streep. Sir andMa'am themselves went all over the ci~inaugurating services and facilitiesfor the new Philippines. There was the Lung Center in Quezon City and thn
J(jdney Center next door. Singers, dancers and fashion designers went to townand created the Cultural Center's "Kasaysayan ng Lahi," an epic pageantthat lasted well into midnight and prompted comments from the First Lady's
BETSYAND MAxas usual had an even better idea: they announced a series ofspecial screenings of the "adult film genre" at the Folk Arts Theater, to beginwith no less than Nagisa Oshima's In the Realm of the Senses. The serpen-tine queues wound all over the complex despite the midnight schedules, andthe First Lady, grateful that the money started coming in, issued special com-mendations to Betsy and Max for their ingenuity, imaginativeness, etc.Cofradias of little old spinsters and Marriage Encounter Groups and the Catho-lic Women's League raised a hue and cry, but word-of-mouth only increasedcuriosity about Lady Chatterly's forget-me-nots and Kathleen Turner's bodyheat.
All told, the Philippines spent more than six million pesos for thefestival-a wise investment, Mad Max later wrote in a memo for a p~ .statement, considering that "it placed Manila on the world map." The fesLi- .val committee sold a few fllms, the most outstanding sale being three low-
budget movies by local midget Weng Weng, Sample tltle: For Your Heigbt ,Only. .. '
'l~hree days after the a\vards night, after the I;L~1c('kIHity had jeltedhome and the last journalist had filed his report, Bl~15Y 111':q',:1 wa" kilkd whellher car swerved off a mountain road in Tagaytay I
Workers spent the Ilext day hauling the wreckage Be!sy Braga had'planned to vacation in the mountain resort follOWing the success of Ill\' It'sti-val. She and the Minister of Education were taking a night trip there (imag-,ine all the rumors t1ying around town) when the accident happened. Inter-viewed later in a Manila hospital, the minister, who survived the crash, saidthat he wa~ driving a government sedan when they saw a trio of poltergeistsblocking their path towards the resort. The ghosts were ambling stoicallytowards them; the headlighL~ caught their gaunt, vapid stare, bouncing likepinlighL~ from thei I' gla~sy eyes. He swerved, the car skidded and fell oil a cl iff,decapitating Betsy in the crash.
News of unfriendly apparitions began circulating around the newoffices in the basement of the Film Palace. There were reports of bereavedsuspirations emanating from the air vents, toilel~ flushing by themselves,lights nickering and turning off, all of which proved quite disturbing to my-self most of all, since my video had entitled me to the use or laboratory facili-ties and editing machines in the basement. [ imagined the Film Palace hadbeen acting up not because of poltergeisl~ but because of faulty wiring andplumbing. This was hardly any consolation a~ [endured intermittent black-outs in my little cell, watching images of Akeldama in my little screen.
I spent several evenings there, trying to perfect my video afterpapercha~ing all day in Malacanang. One evening was particularly annoy-ing: the Iighl~ kept t1uctuating, the sound drawled at the wrOi1g speed, andthe distended images on my screen blinked in and out, like a bad dream.slouched back inmy seat and cu rsed the Palace aml the nethe rworld of faul tywiring.
Then! heard something: a long, drawling murmur coming fromthe main staiIway. No, it seemed more like a muftled chorus, the sound ofmany voices uttering a breathlike prayer. My hair stood on end, I rushed outof the cubicle. There wa~ no one else in the b;mnent. The lighL~were n icker-ing and hissing, I followed the VOices,which seemed to be COining from the
visitors (duly quoted by the press) such as, "There is nothing of its kind in thewhole world," "'-,
We shuttled from Malacaii.ang to Roxas Boulevard in the thick offestivities, from Palace to Palace as it were, until one morning we received arather disturbing memo: it seems the festival was not earning anything, nota single centavo, and we were supposed to think of a solution to that.
"Puii.etang Max 'yan," Jun exploded. "When things go wrong hepasses the buck to us, like the true wimp that he is. What do we do now, Ali ~Baba?" -"~
Well, I told him, I had been plying the theal~rs in the Palace and \noticed that nobody really cared a hoot about La Travtata (there were three ;of us in the theater during its morning run). But people were lining up andpaying loads of cash just to see the bomba skinflicks at the Folk Arts Theater.Truly, I said, a B-moviecrowd.
"How many movies of this kind does the festival have?"Dozens, I told him, having perused the inventory myself."Okay then," he said. "We'll give Betsy and Max the revenue they're
looking for. This office hereby recommends to the festival committee that,since there is no censorship in the country and we are all living in the spirit ofdemocratic dialogue, we're going to give the Pinoys what they want."
main lobby up the stairway. I edged closer and closer. The voices now grewmore distinct. They seemed to be reciting an incantation in a strange, unfa-miliar dialect, but as I inched closer to the stairway 1recognized some wordsas distinctly Ilocano. I climbed the stairs. From below I could see flickeringlights bouncing off the walls: not lights like those found in the Palace, but
\ the jittery, sunset hues of torches. I reached the top of the stairs and peered'; into the lobby.l In the center were severallgorot elders dressed in their tribal fin-J ery-G-strings and feathered headgear. Some of them were beating on a
I.· gong and dancing around a stolid beast: in the flickering torchlight I dis-
, cemed it was a carabao. There were also a few chickens bound and lying atj its feet, and several earthenware jugs of the kind usually found in the Moun-
tain Province. I realized tMt. L~.a~j~~j1Ilessinga canan, Qr.a tribal eXQrcism.Government bureaucrats were gathered around; I could recognize the facesof a few minister.;, mayors and assemblymen, and also, to my surprise, Max
\ himself, holding a candle and watching the ritual intently. And beside him,\ in jeans and a t-shirt, was the President's daughter, Imee., The elders swayed to an intocating rhythm as the gongs clanged
and echoed through the dark hall. When the rhythm peaked to a thunderouscrescendo, one of the elders threw his arms out. Everything fell silent. I couldhear only the distresstd clucking of the chickens and the crackling of thetorches. A tribesman pulled a chicken up. It gave out a nervous cackle andtried to flutter out of his grip. He slit the chicken's throat and broke its neckand drained the blood into a jar. Then the elders approached the carabao.The leader leaned against its ear, apparently whispering something. The beastswayed and shuffled on its feet. Then the elder moved a few feet away, andinstantly every member of the tribe started lashing at the animal with bolos,knives and spears. I could hear the sound of the implements as they borethrough the thick hide. Blood spurted out everywhere. Then they startedslashing at its throat, sending thick folds of flesh and fat oozing out of itswounds. The beast buckled down and slumped on the marble floor. It expiredquietly, plunging its horned head into a pool of its own blood. The tribesl1]~.ngave out a piercing, blood-curdling cry. The rhythms started again, and th~tribesman hopped around the animals, splashing the blood with their bafeet.The lights began to flicker more strongly. Awind blew in and threw ope
i •! one of the entrance doors. The chandeliers swayed, sending long shadows alllover the hall. The observers inched closer to one another in fear, There was aL:0b somewhere. And then, when everything subsided, all the IighL~wenl on,
ANNOUNCEMENTSabout the forthcoming Pop Festivalwere broadCtl~tevery hourover radio, with free tickets being given away to lucky listeners. Ten daysbefore the competition, the secretariat, headed by veteran broadcast journal-ist and Express columnist Teodoro Valencia, announced the roster of judges.Among them: top executives from the major recording companies representedin the Philippines, such as Warner Brothers and Sony, the director of theCultural Center, the ministers of education, communications and culture,and wives of governors and generals.
The evening of the competition was muggy, with premonitions of abrutal, unrelenting summer. Crowds packed the Folk Arts Theater where abreeze blew in from the bay as a sort of reprieve. The seats were uncomfort-able and the atmosphere carnival-like: there were vendors plying the aisles,selling popsicles and Coke. [squeezed myself backstage where I encountered,in one of the dressing rooms, Sal X tuning his gUitar.
"Hoy,Al," he said, raising a hand in greeting. "You got your cam-era ready?" I certainly did, and whatever happened was going to be commit-ted to Hi-8.
"Can I have a copy made, so I can send it to Meg?" he asked. "Youknow, that journalist chick I told you about." I said I would have a copyready in a few days. I asked him how Meg was.
"Pretty good," he said. "Coming back to !.sia, but she doesn't knowwhere just yet. She's been sending a lot of tapes."
I asked him if he were nervous."Hey," he said. "If [ lose it's not gonna be the first time [ get cruci-
fied." He held up both hands in front of me. The scars of his wounds wereclearly visible like a birthmark. It wa.~obvious he was confident as hell; hehad spent all his life for moments of glory, rehearsing them as though theycould come any minute. His eyes glistened with the anticipation of that mo-ment. It would seem like afail accompli when hours later the judges an-nounced, to the rousing applause of a newfound audience, that he had wonthe competition by unanimous decision. ,J
Brothers at War i system of rewards and punishments in c~rtain communities around a village
\' called Mayi. We noted down detai.1sof torture and punishment and we~~:,l
them into our now burgeoning volume. Jun had the idea of recommending\ it to the military, which was looking for more innovative ways to eXlract in-'\ formation from captured rebels.
" But even he by now was beginning to flnd the task too ponderous.
('~~:~;'~~~11~~~~~~~~~i~~~~~~r:~~~~~~~~:;:~~;;~~~~~;/~ao:necessary, There were scandalous outbursts at the MiIkyWay which were not
\•.. resolved, as was their custom, by the eventual osculating and moteling, Susan\ walked out andJun refused to placate her "out of amor propio." For the next\ few d~ys he pored over the documents on hand, and I refrained from com-! mentmg on the valuable help Susan's team had been giving us for fear that, the mere mention of her name might spark another outburst of temporaryidementia in my colleague.L ~£.~,~use hil1lselfhe had secretly c?mpiled e~trapolations on our
more serious ~e~~~rGIL11ta([SO (Q-say'"Tog~merwHo'tne voiume for tEe Presi~aent he also scribbled a shadow volume of fictitious histories which he was
'now Beginning to take more interest in, Among the items included innispersonal volume were salacious excerpts from Amalia Suarez Romaldes' ro-man a cle}; as well as fragments he picked up1rom Susan's research. He
'became obsessed with the later (and obscure) life of our enamou red bandido,Elias Camacho, and was increasingly frustrated that no material about himwas actually available. Once he considered spending the next few monthscombing the islands around San Miguel just to discover where the blastedisland of Sombrio really was, Failing that, he produced a pastiche ofidiosyncracies culled from various texts, ranging from the manner of cir-cumcision among native Tagalogs, to all the available ejaculations, to saintsreal and not. But the bulk of it was his--he invented much of the materialfor the sole p~oseof'K~epinlhissaf1ity:rriashorf tilne 1 too would be his~ccomplice:Twould suggestlittledetaifs toembellishhis book of anti-history(as he sometimes called it). We did it as a sort of game, an inter-office diver-sion that was necessary in the face of the work-load in Malacaiiang.
Jun's black humor and my detachment and our collective cynicismkept us going, Or perhaps we were just thicker-skinned than the next guy,
"A PEOPLE PERENNIALLY at war with itself: how does that sound? Is war the markof a civilized race? I would think so. The empires were created out of theblood of many, Civil wars are important. They are the mark of a nation find-ing itself. That's it. Let's put that in."
That was Jun, who had worked rabidly on our book since our ex-tended vacation in San Miguel. Memos were coming down from the Presi-
, dent saying that he wanted the book out in less than a year. The suddenurgency was unusual (uncharacteristic, I should say, of a government thatintended to stay for a long time). Wefound out soon enough that Ma'amherself wanted to rush a few thingsafier a n~~ round bf'vtsits to:MatacaLtanp,.:by the witch Dayang. The name sounded familiar, and I remembered thatthis was the same Dayang of Siquijor Ih,\cl occasion tocon\!erse with manymoons back, in that dingy cafe in Quiapo. There was talk in the halls of thePalace that she had become a regular visitor. I would have wanted to see heragain, but I doubted if she would remember me. In any case, her presenc~",was felt strongly in our little office, Jun's eccentric behavior, which had be-come more pronounced in the past few weeks, could be due to the fact thatwork had prevented him from seeing Susan for weeks, and that he had con-cluded that the book would not be completed in so short a time. Madamewould have our heads.
"Justice," Jun was now saying, "is a prerequisite of a civilizea race,There can be no human society without a few crimes punished and a fewheretics burned in public, Make that number two." We had gone deep intothe writing of the first volume, and to do so we delved into material un-earthed by the Historicallnstitute on pre-Spanish Philippines, According todocuments retrieved by the institute, a certain Lu Ho, a merchant trader ply-ing the Formosa-I1ocos route sometime in the late 1200s, had noted down a
1. War. Since the proto-Malays established villages and kingdoms aroundthe archipelago, many battles had been fought for territory, power and com-merce. One of the most famous and longest battles was waged by thlU1llt~n,:w~Qfjgl!Lfl,g&nst Rlj~Q,§gJj~!],eY!QL~,in~mjrLU26,.For decades the sul-tanate wreaked terror all over the straits from Mindanao to Ludong, pillag-ing villages, raping women and stealing children so that they may be taughtto dive for pearls. When the sultanate was passed on to the youngest heir, AJ.~hahidJ the new leader set his sight on the,prosperous kingdombY~b~g~I!.~ ..of AIinam, ruled bythe a&ing Solism~ya. Ilwas well known in the sultanatethat Solismaya's army had dWindfedto a'few inexperienced archers, many ofhis finest warriors having expired after the violent eruption of the volcano ofBonbon.
AIShahid set sail on the crest of the southwestern winds, bringingwith him a fleet of twenty-three balangay laden with provisions and ammu-nition, along with a separate cargo of astronomers, chroniclers and musi-cians. Ilwas said that miles away, the terrified residents of AIinam could hearthe eerie music of the fleet as they swooped into the waters of the bay.
They reached the delta in the lull between storms, ransacked thevillage with little resistance, and assassinated the rajah in his chambers andthrew his body into the shark-infested straits. They captured his young daugh-t~r, M~yi.a.nd brought her with them together with sixteen hundred slaves, acargo of poultry and talking bird~, and a Oeet of ancienl boats that they tiedand towed behind their balangay.
i'''~, They kept the young Mayi in the tower of a minaret until she was ofage to be accepted into the sultan's harem. Their first night wa~ uneventful,the sultan having stumbled straight to slumber from drunken revelry. In themorning he woke up looking into the face of the most beautiful maiden hehad ever seen.,Overcome by this vision, the sultan offered to marry the younggirl, and gifted her with monumenL~, minareL~ and palaces of ruby, quartzand gold. She remained unhappy and refused his love, When finally the sul-tan asked her what he could possibly offer her, she replied that she could notoffer herself to him until her father had a resting place in the water where thesultan's warriors had thrown his body. AJ Shahid immediately dispatched ateam of architects and foremen to construct a :nosque on the Ooor of thewaters where the late Solismaya had been disposed, It took seven years andmany lives to finish the submarine mosque, and on the day it wa~ finishedthe sultan brought Mayi to the site. From the tottering boat where they stoodthey could see the brilliant domes of the mosque shimmering underwater,sending ca~cades of brilliant hues among the coral. Mayl then declared thatshe would plunge to the seafloor to ask her father's permission to marry thesultan, and if the sultan truly loved her he would accompany her down to thedepths so that he may take her up again, Advisers to the sultan tried to dis-courage him from taking this foolish step. But the sultan would not be dis-suaded. They jumped together, sinking deeper and deeper into the formida-ble blue and unknown darkness, and were never seen again, There was moum-ing in both kingdoms for three years, and it is said that it was in mourning
these two kingdoms found their peace.For centuries this event was celebrated as a symbol of the union of .
the two territories. However, during the first decades of the new Srn~;<hcolonizers, the friars, eager to divide the kingdoms so that they may admin-ister their affairs with less resistance, circulated the idea that among the sul-tan's subjects the event symbolized eternal love, but among the subjects of
really kapaimuks, as his generation used to say. There were times when noneof these things mattered and the prime motive was just to keep one's sanityintact, which was no small feat ill a country that hadngve"dorJonW!i~of its history, showed proof it was passably sane,-" ]U1l's'questionable volume did little to dispel this general mood ofinsanity. "What do you think, eh AIi Baba? We do a little thievery here andthere and throw up a pastiche of historical half-truths',By di&~ing up ha!f-truths do we arrive at the whole truth and nothing but. Qrdo we get b.alla,~.~f~D'?"..!~.,Q9ttJi~.Q.elliJ~~.ri9s1!i4iiili...iliings,that,arenat,Ni01~~9r onl y half-~i!Y~~? Q~J§Jh~tjgQJ~.~qQ..m~.~~J2!lQ~.rl!b,b"lellie,tejlm¥Ji£t.,.and you can add to it if you like. The lesson, 0 pal~in, iSI10'YtQQetlnha,PQY~y~t pol!~~~Yil.U.counts wetheFilipin()pe()ples~ouldh~verank~(I~19se tCL.'the'ar;clent venerables! thus disputing the"falslficatlonsQf the conas a.ndcabrones who came here to fuck the lad.r.qnes. Los hi,i,o,sde catoli~a,sl kOS
. - ',. " . ','.. . .. .
pu.~~ta?t"
Alinam this was no les.~than a shrewd plot to dispose of the war-mongeringsultan and thus diminish his hold on the kingdom. Today the vestiges ofthese kingdoms continue to be at war, but for otherreasons.
3. Language. Padre Pedro Chirino in his Relacion de las Islas Filipinas(Rome, 1604) said of the Philippine Tagalog language: lf~D.<i.i!l~bitL~-~uage qualities of the fourgrearest languazes of the world-Hebn:w, Greek,Latin, and Spanish. It has the [Tlysticismand difficulties of the lIebrew; thedi.stinctive terms of the Greek not only in the common but also in the propernames; the fullness and elegance of Latin; and the civility and courtesy ofSpanish." Indian traders and Moslem warriors left a syllabary of seventeensymbols for three vowels and fourteen consonants, the use of which could beexpanded with the addition of diacritical marks, They wrote vertically fromtop to bottom and left to right, carving on the barks of trees, on ieaves and ontubes of bamboo, with the use of pointed implements and the sap of trees forink. They con\posed poems, riddles, dirges, lullabies, songs for war and alsofor marriage, and,cOlJl2IgLs~0.ge~h\!Il1e(,\QJ}Iy,b.y!heblinQ,Often they recitedtheir verses with dances and plays, and they developed instruments fromgourds, reeds, shell and metalwork that could produce marvelous sounds:from the sheen of stars falling to the plucking of the wind, from the roar ofthe ocean to the silent grief of unrequited love. All these were burned an~destroyed when the first Spanish colonizers acquired the islands and sup- :planted the native cui ture with Hi,pan ic Catholicism. Today when the naUve;watch a star fall or listen to the ocean or to a maiden's grief, they hear thistmusic that is forgotten but throbs quietly and persistently like blood in the \veins. .......J
2. Justice. In the 13th century, when the growing empire of Sri Vijaya wascausing much turmoil in the states of Banjannasin, Brunei and Borneo, tendatus sailed north with their families from Borneo to escape oppression fromthe tyrannical ruler, Sultan Makatunaw. Among these was the benevolentSumakay, who, upon reaching the island of Panay, was able to buy the islandfor a gold hat and a gold necklace. The ten tribes prospered and reigned inpeace, and extended their territories, presumably by using the same pioy,northward to what is now Bicol and Laguna.
A century later, a descendant of Sumakay issued a system of laws forhis subjects whose unbounded prosperity had made them rambunctious andunruly. It soon became apparent that the new ruler was not as benign as hisforbears. The laws stipulated that anyone who killed his fellowman, stole orhurt the aged should be drowned with stones in boiling water. Debts were tobe paid punctually; failure to do so merite<i one hundred lashes, and if thedebt was large, the offender was beaten to death. It was forbidden to havewomen who were very young, or be given to excessive lust: offenders wereLaceratedwith thorns. Many were put to death for cutting down trees of ven-erable appearance, for shooting arrows at night, for entering the houses oftlle headmen without permission, and for hunting sharks, crocodiles andwhite monkeys. Possession of ill-tempered dogs was punishable by slavery.Men were not to treat ~eirwives.cl}l~lly.if they caught them in the act of~dul!~ry;".t?_~~~tJ?~!ifu!.~wn~~o-frOcoo~others werebeaten continuously for two days for singing at night, for killing an eagle-like bird called manaul, and for mocking the dead. Any man who killed ablack cat when the moon was full would be exposed for a day to ants. lillyman who broke idols of wood and clay would have his fingers cu t off. Every- '~one had to submit himself to these laws, and if by strength or cunning they lescaped punishment, they would be tied and burned until their souls gave.u.p Itheir bodies and confessed to their crimes. . .....J
4. Religion. The chronicler Antonio Pigafetta on the idols he encounteredin the island of Sugbu: "These idols are of wood, hollow or concave, withoutthe parts behind, the arms are open and the legs apart, with the legs turnedupward. The face is rather large with four enormous teeth similar to thefangs of a wild boar; all are covered with paint." Other records noted idolsmade of silver, gold, ivory, stone, and bone. There were images of gods forplanting, for fishing, for voyages, for rainbows, for fire, for the netherworld,for hell, for love and for death. Bathala was the creator of man and the lowerdeities, called anitos, who were all subject to him. The supreme god was oftenrepresented by a golden oriole, similar, according toJose Rizal, to the eagle ofJupiter, the peacock ofJuno, the dove of Venus.There were rituals in the wor-ship of the sun and moon, as well as curses invoking the name of netherworld
creatures. Worship was a private affair and performed in houses. There were•..•......•.:,-"..".;..., ....,.:.,.
n~ temples in the islands nor priests, save for catalon~ (pythonesses) and'Qabaytahes (hOly mM'); 'a.nv~nassorcerers and herbalists who could con-coctdeadly poisons fromthe saliva of the gecko: They buried their dead be-slde 'their own houses and kep't the bones in coffins and the skulls for venera-tion. Their funerals were simple and were often animated by relatives of thedeceased going berserk. After grieving for the dead, they indulged in a..D!ne:.~t of eating and drinking called pasiam.: It was believed that the soultook nine days to depart from the physical world, and that during this periodof feasting the deceased visited the house, which was why they also left fool,and d:ink at the steps for t~e revenant. But at .thesame. time t~eywere care~to spnnkle salt around their houses, because Itwas believed that the deceased Iwould be possessed of a hunger so insatiable that it would also attempt to \....suck the blood out of any unwary soul, and that only a circle of salt couldprevent it from doing so. The Spanish friar~ later forb~de them t~ indulge in '.this heathen ritual, and to .appeas.e the fralles the nalives of the Islands p~e-. !..tended they were merely praying during these nine days. This was how thesomber, austere ritual of prayer came to replace the joyous celebration ofpassing from one life to another.
ance on," reported Antonio Morga in S~cesos de las Islas Filipinas (1609),"the youth has intercourse with the woman, and he is only able to take it outmuch later after the act, both thereby indulging in a protracted frenzied de-light, notwithstanding the spilling of considerable blood and suffering otherinjuries."
'5. An early start. In the first century before Christ, QiQdQn.lL~j£lJ1!§ re-vealed news of islands in the far seas, whose existence was told to him by aGreeksaHQr l1amedJarnPoul,The sailor had recorded details of the islands,.their inhabitants, their literature and systems of navigation. Ptolemy alsonoted three islands called Sindae in Latin, inhabited by ~Iyvxm·,Theseislands were later deciphered as Celebes,Gilolo ~D~Amb~Qi.na.Ptolemy alsowrote about the islandofm O~U SXLPORO,which turned out to be Borneo,and of the islands caUed SxYPOlTBBXL,whfch were Mindanao, Leyte andCebu and of RXBRLODXLJwhichwas the site of Manila., '-"~""~'
7. Asense of history and destiny. The natives p;linted thelrbQ.di~wilhtgttoos, which was why they were caJ.l.e.9JLinlqc!Qg,·, It is said that entire familyhistor'ieSwerewri'tten o-n'fne-skinof each individual, and the part on whichthe history wa~ written indicated its importance in the destiny of a man orwoman, It was believed that parents passed on to their children not only their "memories but the initial messages of their tattoos a-rwell, and these co;' ibined as a new story on the child's own skin. In the course of time the youth Jadded stories of his own. There were times when young men lost their limbs Ito boars or crocodiles in the course of hunting, Such beasts who devoured or!ripped their limbs were believed to acquire fragments of the memories of \their victims and soon lusted for more. They became ferocious in their search I1.
for human memory, and began to attack villages where they would search lout the most tattooed residents, ~~
When they died the natives believed these designs would be the onlythings that would remain of themselves, and would continue to shimmerafter death. By these designs they were identified by angels who would waitfor them on fragilebo~ts ofic,e,so that they may cross the lake of the otherworld and enfer'ffie KIngdom-Grail memory, The first men from the Westwhoencountered tb~se natives wer.epqle and d~vol(oraIlY bodily design, Thenatives took pity on thern, because before then it had never seemed possibletfiat any f1!an could exist in thiSworld without any memory, ilnd thereforewlthno future Lolook forward to, and no boat with which to traverse the'"great lake,
6. An instinct for pleasure. Asidefrom orgies devoted to the gods of thesun and the moon, many wayswere devised for encouraging intimacy. Amongthese was the ~gra.,.¥~ungmenmade incisionsclose to the head of theirpenises and attached a snakellke head of me tar or iVOrY- ''WIth this contriv-._._ ..~~".", ..," ~- ,"..,~.~.. '.-.'
FATIlER TEDUNFOLDED the paper before me and pointed to a story bu ried in pageseven. "There," he said, "is where I'm going, You'll know where to find me,"There wa~ a picture of some barrio, all dunes and brush, and in the fore-ground was a group of people with sunken, staring eyes, About a month agoa massive drought had hit the plains of Abra, turning il~villages into billow-
mg whirlwinds of dust and debris. Emaciated families burrowed into evacu-ation centers organized by local churches, scrounging for food and shelter asthe winds unpacked the eirth ,lnd buried huts and beasts of burden. "It's onedisaster after another, isn't it?" Ted said. We were in a carinderia in Quiapowhere the waitresses were fat and greasy like the victuals. "It's the land that'ssick," Ted continued. "Dying of some communicable disease, something ve-nereal perhaps." He chuckled, as he always did at his own jokes. Children,their faces streaked with soot and grime, were pressing their faces against theglass window beside us, pointing at the coffeecups before us and holding uptheir palms with a studied persistence. We ignored them and sipped our cof-fee, and they tapped their fingers on the glass. A waitress waved an arm tomotion them away, and they scampered about, some of them crowding againstthe next window. We went back to our conversation in relative peace, and Tedsaid, "Your office has been doing a lot of work, I see."
"Don't I know it," I said. "These festivals kept us awake for weeks.I'm glad it's all over till next year."
"Another one?""Miff two," I said. "Next year we're getting the Cannes people to
come over, or so Mad Max tells us. You'll read all about it in the papers in afew weeks. Or maybe you won't. Do the papers ever reach Abra?"
"Sometimes," he said. "It's the food we want to get there. Man doesn'tlive by news alone."
"You said you had something important to tell me," I reminded
He sipped his coffee and smiled. He settled the cup on the table andscratched his beard-which was what he did whenever he wanted to avoidan issue. "I just wanted to see how you were, AI. We haven't seen you a lotsince you started working fulltime."
"Come off it, Ted," I said. "Tell me what's wrong."He heaved a sigh, long and prodigious, and leaned forward on his
elbows. "I had a very interesting visit at the seminary last week," he said."The military came to pick me up. They took me to Camp Crame and we hada little chat."
"What did they want?""Oh, nothing and a lot of things. You know how these interroga-
184 Empire of Memory
tions go. They wind about and get nowhere. Circumlocution is an importantmilitary tactic, I think. They wanted to know about my work at the seminary,the students who helped me, the places we've been to. They actually told methey wanted to help, if we needed any." He chuckled again. "After a few hoursI deduced it all boiled down to one thing: they wanted to know how 1came byall those facts about the Film Palace. All those names of workers l:uried there.I told them it was simple. All 1 did was look at the workers' manifest andpayroll and find out who was missing."
"And?""And they let me go after that. They thallked me for being coopera-
tive and so forth. They even brought me to the bus stop. So, there you are."But when Ted talked like that I knew he was holding something
back. He looked up from his coffee and said, "Your office has been doing a lotof milagro, if you want to know."
"What milagro?"He paused a while and looked around. "j've got names of agencies
that have been getting a lot of money from everywhere-from allover theworld. I can't understand all of it myself. But my staff has been doing a lot oflegwork and here's what we got. A lot of money pouring in, and your office isone of the recipient,>."
"I could h,we told you that," I said. "Ma'am makes sure we getenough funds for all our projects. I know they probably get it from depart-ment funds or something. I know that."
"They don't all go to your projects, AI," Ted said. "1 don't knowwhere they go but they go somewhere else. Out of the country, maybe. We'vegot names the President and Ma'am have been using for their account,>."
"Ted," 1 said. "I don't know why you're telling me all this What doyou want me to do?"
"Nothing," he said. "I'm going of! to Abra tomorrow, and I justwant you to keep the list for a while. Just for safekeeping."
"Why me, Ted? Why don't you give it to one of the earnest youngmen in your organization?"
Ted laughed. "Don't think I haven't done that. You're not the onlyone I'm entrusting this to, you know." He stared out the window. The chil-dren were now badgering an elderly passerby, tugging at her skirt ,,~,j
clamoring for loose change. Ted said, "I might need your help, in a littlewhile."
"What bnd of help?""Well," he said. "You've made quite a few friends in the palace:-r
know you've been doing a lot of good work. This visit at the seminary both-ered me a bit, and I think if anything happens at all I can ask them to callyou up, and you can, well, help. Call a few friends, that sort of thing."
"What will happen, Ted?""I don't know," he said. "But you know me. Sigurista. Will you help
laughed again, then hopped on the jeep. I took my own route home, andreached my apartment withered and drained after an hour of heavy traffic.
MyPRESUMPTION that we could take it easy soon after the film festival proved lobe wishful thinking. The next morning, as soon ;L~I got to work, there W'L~amemo waiting for me to the effect that I had been assigned lo cover Oil video ,most if not all palace activities. I was to deposit all my tapes at the end of theday at the palace library and I was also to dress more appropriately: lIO sportshirts and jeans, only shirts and decent slacks. Icomplained to Jun, addingthat he should bail me out this time on the pretext of working on our book.But I went anyway.
There were brunches with Blue Ladies, ribbon cutting ceremonies,concerts and premieres and fashion shows at the glitzy Philippine Plaza whereManila's 400 trooped in tafetta and satin, flashing thousand-peso tickets. Iwas driven to these ceremonies in a chauffeured limousine, one of several inthe First Lady's convoy, between armed bodyguards dressed in barong Tagalogwho called me Sir. Westopped traffic, wailing like a matter of life and deaththrough the streets of Manila that had been lined with ipil-ipil trees and tallwooden planks to hide the squalor behind them. Westepped into hotels andreception chambers in full regalia, while paparazzi from the governmentpress blinded us with flashbulbs and guest relations officers bowed and of-
fered ete.r.n.a..I o.bse.quio..u.s.ne.ssto .M.a'am. H.ere.w..e...re..the..B.utte. t..in ...s...s.o..c..i..a...1. tw...ms,.-.-. J...._~~~_e_~n.dDina, two.~~,~~~~~~1l9~~redJii;m1.JYLtb,Jl~._ •and agitafea'tFie SKinny PR girls with their petulant complaints and love .
...-._,.- .._'-"~-----'.~1'ives'.'rterewere the Wive'fbfGenerarTI1is;i'fiaIKaLiiilx trgll~~_h.QJ.:'!!nt~J9- .~'6f~J~,illltiful~ by.thYJce~rkhand a.lWQstas pow.er!ul. Herewere IMadame Wong, owner of the biggest department store in town and perennial icompanion during Ma'am's New Yorksorties, and M1;. Edit~ fuenco, dri£- jping,$ilh.pearl~,~QQ .Q.I~m2n9:s-,2~ngLQ.Lthe.1ixe,so.LNQ1bo\jgruj C:<X:,Qiluti.
,{iim~!],Florida flores, president of the biggest bank in the country and mis- itressof Marcos' Chief of Staff, theirfaces bright eyed and gleaming and streaked [with make-up and puffed by champagne. Mycamera buzzed and committed \them to memory, and dutifully at the end of each reception I dumped the ';tapes like toxic waste at the palace, the librarian accepting them with per- \functory gratitude.
"Of course, Ted. But you've got to be careful, you know.""Yes,yes. Now give me a piece of paper."I picked out a printout I had folded in my pocket and handed it to
him. He uncreased it on the table and read the paper. "Hallmarks of a civi-lized race?" he asked. "What on earth are you doing at the agency?"
"Nothing," I said. "This fellow I work with has been going nutslately. Work overload and all that. That's something we cooked up this morn-ing to keep sane. All for fun."
He read through the paper and chuckled. "Ancient syllabary, yes.Thorough research. Rather wild imagination. Do Isound like a critic? Youknow of course that doubts have been cast about the authenticity of the an-cient laws?"
I said we did."I was up in Mindoro lately, and I found out that the Mangyan
tribes still use a syllabary similar to ancient Tagalog. Maybe you'd like to gothere sometime."
Iknew Ted was well-read in pre-Hispanic culture as well, and couldgive us some new information unavailable at the Historical Institute.
"I'll call you up when Iget back," he said after scribbling a fewnotes on the back of the paper. He folded the paper and handed it to me. Itucked it in my pocket and paid the bill. We walked out in the searing heat,the wind slapping our faces like an insolent sentinel. Wewalked to the jeepneystop without talking, and when we reached it Ted held out his hand andshook my hand. "Don't work too hard, AI," he said. "It's not like you." He
Much later, however, Iwas also tasked to record the First Lady's at"tivities in the palace: promenades in the garden ,with attendants holding her rparasol aloft, followed by a few Blue Ladies; dinner with the children who .practiced their newly acquired English accents before my microphone; 'Mad-ame walking around the halls, ~urveying the Lunas and Amorsolos. Quiteoften she talked to herself, or straight to the camera; not to me, but to themachine whirring inside my Sony.She talked of how good life was, and howmuch she wanted to dJ for the Filipinos, and how the universe had chosenthe country as its central point of convergence -- or whatever, Ididn't listenanymore. I had become, in a short time, like an automaton that could beswitched on and off, unbothered by whatever it was Iwas asked to tape.
Except for one incident. One afternoon, Dayang the witch returnedto the palace, bringing with her samples of herbs and oils from Siquijor. Shejust arrived by boat that morning, and she smelled of brine as she waddledinto the palace as though the waves were still rocking in her bones. [ wasimmediately dispatched to accompany her to Ma'am, I took position a fewfeetbeside them. The First Ladyand Dayang sat before a mahogany coffeetableembedded with astrological symbols that had been commissioned from carv-ers from Paete. There were niceties, Ma'am asking ahout the trip and corn-miser<1tingabout rough waves past the Visayas Sea, and Dayang dutifullyhanding the herbs and oils, specifying elaborate instructions on the applica-tion thereof. We then delved into the matter at hand.
'li.atJ,.ie.eL::...said. Ma' aJIl, ~D2,eth ill.KJd.@$.kLal.j9lU~.o..o t
Dayang swept to a trance and concentrated. After two minutes (mycamera had a time meter) she opened her eyes and said, "De~th and. unh~-p-~~~~~:~?Jl~~.:ei t~ li~en ..~9...t.~ei~n~~voi£~~..~~her.~I~9.~:.:]illDOtjQ.ryou.,"
"What is goingto happen?" Ma':J.ill<1Skedher."~an, church,priclge," said Dayang. "Pareho ng datL" Weuntan-
gled her cryptogram to mean that wnatshe had to say waSwhat she had saida long time ago: a r:n~ani~~~!~~,~~~o~~~t~,~rEi~~t.~.ch~r.~h '>Yas..l2!DgJ~crUinble;acrowd wouTcfCrossa bridge,Then the ho~se of Marcos wouki fall>·'Itsenta'dliil dov.rnmy spine-not the thought of the housef;lli~g and thisidyllic world breaking apart, but of the same visions recurring, as though by
special request they had acquired a certain' persisteFlce.Then Dayang addedsomething else, "There is trouble, b~~not here. [sang islangmalayo. Deathand sadness, but n~ryou~ t:lay"presiaei1"fengoaoagsak; j)crO h'il"l.4LkaY\L';'·
We thanked her for her efforts, and Ma'am loaded her with CiL~hand gifts. I was sent to deposit the tape at the Iibrary, but along the way Idetoured to the office and showed the footage toJun.
"Voodoo," he said, "doesn't thrill me. What does Payang do for aliving, (l,ide from telling fortunes?"
Irealized [ hadn't asked her, "Probably raises goal)," [said. "How'sthe book?"
"Thick as congee," he said. "Susan's sent more material, fresh fromresearchers they've sent to Madrid. Now why didn't they send us there our-selves? Madrid, boy. Dipping churros until your tummy ached, We've kissedand made up, Susan and I. Want to go to the MilkyWaywith us? We'll teareach other apart for your sake,"
"No," [ said. "Got to get some sleep, Maybe a movie to beat thetraffic." Ibrowsed through the afternoon tabloids on his desk to scan themovies schedule, but Iwas dumbstruck by one of the headlines. "Jesus, Jun,have you seen this?"
"Yellowpress," he said. "1 never read them." He pulled the paperfrom me. There was a photograph of a scruffy man looking away from the'camera, The story said that the top NPAleader in San Miguel, one FranciscoSantos, had been captured by forces led by Colonel Jose Zabarte off the townof Carmen. The victorious colonel was himself photographed beside the cap-tive leader, his gruff countenance now broken by a triumphant smirk. Thereport said that several others had been captured with Santos, and that themilitary was well in pursuit of the ragtag squads dispersed by its raids,
"Colonel Zabarte's doing very well," Jun said. "[ always knew hewas top calibre." He read the story through and said, "Listen to this, Diaz.'Rebel documents captured by Colonel Zabarte's battalion reveal that theCommunist Southern Command has been planning a general meeting torevamp its leadersh~.Mll.Uarijnl~lli&en~.e"r~.RQlt§}JlXth'!t\l(Ub..!b~.5,~p~l!.rs.of Santos,t~.~Ya.c,.~uJ]\Y0lllclpgfil)eQbyS<1ntos'cQnfjd,!-fjte"formerne:-vspa:
'peYeaitor andRropag~flqistAntonjQZ~p(lr\e,' "~"''' __ ~'_"~_'"_.~ ,. _,,;:,. _,. C"._
THREESOLDIERSwere trying to see who could put out a bonfire by shooting at itfrom forty meters away. The shots rang out all over the village and bouncedback as a distant rumble from the mountain ranges. Each time they fired thesoldiers scattered the bonfire, sending small explosions of sparks and embers.Aportion of a wattle fence running along the length of the foothills had beentom down by goats that were now ruminating along the slope. The soldiersfired in their direction. The goats trotted farther up, and when they were toofar up the soldiers shot at the bonfire again, scattering its debris of ash andburned twigs.
Colonel Jose Zabarte watched them from the window of the bar-racks. Fucking bored idiots, he said to himself. They pick village idiots tofight the war and it doesn't malterwho they kill or who among these ignora-muses gets killed, as long as the people who matter stay "on top of things."But these idiots are the army's most useful assets: ignorant killing machines.Watching them empty their ammunition into the fire, he felt the unbearableheat of the afternoon weigh down on him. He scanned the spartan roomaround him: a t~ble of some hardwood, polished to a deep burn; a shelf of afewbooks, including three Bibles, one in the native Carolan; a portrait of thePresident, young and smiling, in a pristine barong; and a service with severalbottles of his whiskey. He emptied his glass and unfolded the note he had justreceived that morning. Hewas doing this for the fifth time this afternoon. Allday he had wanted to be alone in this room, to reword and rephrase andrepeat the message in his mind. The thick crisp vellum crinkled as he un·folded it. The seal of the Office of the President was embossed on the letter-head, subscripted with embossed letters in black ink. There was a watermarkhe had not noticed in the morning when the courier first handed him thenote. He held it up to the light to examine it He read his name in the head-ing, but since he was not used to seeing his name printed out, it seemed hewas reading somebody else's notice:
Col. Jose Zabarte,Southern Command,San Miguel
Colonel ZabarteI, Ferdinand E. Marcos, President 01 till' Hl'puhllc 01 till'
Philippines and Commander· in·Ch ief of thl' Arllled Forces of thePhilippine\ extend my deep appreciation and commendation forthe invaluable work your unit has done to maintain our democracyand the integrity of the republic, in spite of the odds faced in yourunfortunate region. I extend to you the appreciation and gratitudenot only of my family but of the entire Filipino nation
Now, I hereby decree:Whereas, as Commander-in-Chief I am empowered by
the constitution to administer the affairs of the nation and of itsmilitary forces, ~o thepo~.!..52f ..B!.i~J.~Lyel1~ra.L....and_~_q~~tX2~J.l£~ns!<aLt~~~o.~eIS§I.el1)9t1j~~L~amp.AgJJinaJd9,'li1jlliIa. we.recoml11end this prqlTI0tion withprid~ <inti respecLJ'<Lyour work andyour continuing allegiance to the cause of truth, lib·ertyanddemocracy.Signed this xaayo('x 1983, Manila, Philip·pines.
The colonel folded the note and slipped it in a drawer. He stood upslowly, holding his back straight. He glanced out and saw the three sc1
.1;n",
still shooting at the bonfire. He walked out towards them, his boots crunch-ing the gravel underfoot. The soldiers saw him approach and stopped firing.He looked at the fence that needed mending and said, "Prepare the jeeps.We're leaving in an hour."
The men scrambled towards the barracks. Leftalone there, the colo-nel scanned the landscape: the slope of Monte de Oro seemed less scorchedby the sun here, greener and thick with vegetation. In the distance he couldhear greenbill parrol~ screeching. The peaks of the range were smudged by amass of fine cloud that blurred all demarcation between mist and mountain.In the distance there was nothing but a sheet of grey.This wa~ the land peo-ple would kill and die for: a flat expanse of grey. By nightfall he would beback at Villa del Fuego, where the wind was more benevolent and the drinkscold and untainted by amoebae. Let them crush the skulls of this forsakenland, by God. I do my duty and I do it well. Next month I shall be brigadier,
and then I shall move higher up, consort with princes and leave the killingand the greyness to other men.
He walked back to the barracks. Afew meters away the soldiers hadbeen guarding the huts of the village of Carmen, a gaggle of peasants andtheir fami ties and livestock. They had cordoned off the vii!age after the attackat Bitukang Manak. Three residents tried to escape to forage for roots andtubers in the mountains, and the soldiers shot them on sight, as they hadbeen instructed to do. There was not much food left, and now even his menwere getting restless.
Asoldier had heen waiting for him in his room, "The jeep is ready,sir." The colonel picked the letter from his desk drawer and tucked it in hispocket. Then he drew out another note, written on crumpled paper withoutan envelope, and tucked it also in his pocket. He turned to the soldier andasked, "Has he said anything?"
"We have everything we need, sir," the soldier replied. "He doesn'tseem to know much,"
"Let's go," the colonel said, They walked out of the room and pro-ceeded to a smaller hut where several soldiers were gathered around a youngman slumped on a wooden chair. The young man was naked, his arms tiedwith, rope to the back of the chair. His thin body bore bruises that had turnedblack on his dark skin, There were deep cuts along his arms, blackened nowwhere the blood had dried. His matted hair, long and oily, fell over his face,He hung his head low and seemed to be asleep. His face had been disfiguredwith bruises. His lower lip hung out, torn and bleeding. There were black,round wounds on his skin where cigarettes had been stubbed oUl, and histesticles had been burned and smashed to pulp, leaving a stain of blood on~~[ -
The colonel looked at this sorry specimen and said, "Can he talk?'"One of the soldiers pulled the man's head back. The young man lef
out a moan, but kept his eyes closed. "Anak ng puta," the soldier said.jThe colonel walked out of the hut and stood by the door. One of the
soldiers followed him, waiting for instructions. He looked at the soldier andsaid, "That's enough of your games." The soldier understood and went backto the hut. The.colonel climbed into his jeep. Asthe driver turned the ignitionhe remembered the other note in his pocket. He flshed it out and read it. He
could hardly read through .the faint, typewritten text, but he recognized thescribbled signature at the bottom of the page, This was what the note said:
We have been drawn to a war not of our own cholel' Wl', 11ll' p('opleof San Miguel, prepare to answer the call for war with the hllie thaI we own andwith only our faith In the Ideals of the movemenl (Jur people arc bcin~ abusedby the amlcd lackeys of landlords, and we have no choice but to defend our-righl~ and our homes. Our leaders may have been captured but we have pre-pared for this conlingencyWe arc not preFared 10 be defeated We do not acceptdefeat We accept only victory for the people and the counlrv We shall smite theenemy to the last man, People of San Miguel, we will carry the \Var to its rightful
end.
The note had been signed by Antonio Zabarle. It W,L,>found by thesoldiers scattered along the slopes where the goats had been grazin~a time they trlecj)Q :vr.E;:ndtaD.~w.a!1£J1Qn.lw1Jl.,iliumm~,I].£lJLWhQ.haQ~.Qsap.t::r~~_.:Vl!.b".~~~~E~~~1!~DSlsS2j~D.t21~.S,.~n\Q~"b.tm~~lLwQ\lI~.peflown to Man il~,.thereto ~e photograph~ciby thepr~~saDCLcl~lajJWclinc~[11j).Thtsl110vement will be broken, said the colonel to himself, even if [ myselfwill have to break it with my own hands. They drove towards the mountainroad, passing by its pattern of crushed rock, lime, lichen and crag. He couldhear the wind howl behind them. There was a shot, and he turned instinc-tively to the hut he had just left. Alilhis was behind him now: lowly barracks,goats, damp hUL,>of straw and wood.
THEPAPERS with pictures of Colonel Jose Zabarte and the captured NPAleaderwere distributed by stewardesses of Flight OM 112 enroute to Tokyo, The storywas somewhere below the fold, superceded by photographs and commentar-ies dripping with sympathy for victims of the drought, which by then hadspread to the towns of !locos and Central Luzon. Pictures of burnt landscapes,shriveled trees and gaunt, hungry faces leaped out of the page. Atthe bottomcorner was a small item announcing the engagement of tile president's daugh-ter, Irene. Festivities were to be arranged, but only as soon as the governmenthad alleviated the plight of the drought victims, as it had vowed to do, Therewas a minor story of opposition demonstrators gathering at Plaza Miranda
and clamoring for the return of former Senator Ninoy Aquino, then scholar-in-exile in Massachusetts. _.
Sal X folded the paper and studied the sorry-lookIng snack on hiS'lap. "Fucking airline doesn't know how to make a sandwich," he said, and lturning to Pat Chiu, who was munching beside him: "Why did you have to :pick this plane, Pat? SaVing for a rainy day again?" I
"You must learn money," Pat Chiu said. "Young people don't know Ianything." .•,-J
"That's why you're my manager, Pat," saidSal. He leaned back andclosed his eyes. If I didn't know anything we'd still be playing for pennies atthe Zoo, that's what we'd be doing. If I didn't know anything those hordeswouldn't be running after us all over Manila, Ever Loyal Ever Fucking City,and we wouldn't have to hire this team of bodyguards from some surveil-lance agency, this pack of stevedores they train for two weeks and give guns toshoot people with. Movie scribes and reporters have been burning the lines,asking if they can shoot pictures of my ass. Last month a gaggle of colegiala'\came up to my hotel room and asked if I could fuck them, and they wouldn'tstop till my dic'k gat raw. Doped-up punks in Manila come up to me withjackknives and bare their chests and ask me to slash them, just so they canshow the scars to friends. And I'm not smart enough for this coolie. We'vebeen making money faster than the national treasury a'\ far as I know.~mte~~__~hil!haclbeen doing a good job himself. Twice he man-aged to book Sal as a front act for Eric Clapton and foi"Chuck Berry.
Clapton had been scheduled to perform for one night at the AranetaColiseum, and Manila's jeprox scrambled all over the city trying to get tick-ets. Sal X went onstage and played three numbers-and was booed out byhallucinaUng dopeheads who wanted nothing between them and God. Con-cert organizers had anticipated this, and had wisely set up a wire fence be-tween the stage and the audience. The irate Sal stalked out of the stage, tell-
~"'''''''""''_'''''''"'·1:~'i.'_M'i47;;''''·:'~~-"",r:,,·_,-·,,''5.:~/''~''':~:""~<'~~!,-""""',,",,>,~,~,,,~
!,~~~at_~~i.ul.."~e.rn~Yb~.qo9.LP~tI.'~!L~,h~ILt~19","When Clapton went onstage and saw the corexed crowds trying to
break the fence down, he rushed out of the stage and refused to play. "Friggin'maniacs out there," he told SaI, who was watching in the wings. "I thinkthey're going to tear me apart."
"Tell them you're not going to pl-ayunUlthey simmer down,~' Sal \suggested. The concert emcee did just that, and Clapton played finally, with \much trepidation.· .
Chuck Berrywa~a different m~e altogether. Hewould Iwar 110lhillg I'of front acts, not to mention press interviews, radio lours, or TV prol1lotions. 'At the Champagne Room of the Manila Hotel, cantankerous from the heal Iand jetlag, Chuck Berry said to Sal, "Nobody plays before me. BUI you play Jreal good, boy." ;
Sal remembered those words and repeated them to himself over aiiCf'"'over. Fucking Flips don't know anything. No wonder they get screwed by therest of the world. His mind went on and on, interrupted occasionally by airpockets that sent his thoughts swooping to a lull...Ithl;.had,l0.0ked at the
.>i~sidepages{)f the paper onhisJap, he would have found a story written. by..<inobviously inl'atuatedreporter, saying .thattlirage in Manila then wereSal XandJohnnyMidnigbt ..Jhe story came a week after Sal's music-theslower, more introspective ballads-were aired to close the Johnny MidnightHou! over DZDouble B Radio. Before that the Johnny Midnight Hour was nomore than a crackpot radio discard set up to fill dead air. Johnny MidnightWtlS a sleazeball of a deejay, a radio has-been who had botched up everyprogram he deejayed for. None of the Top 40 gung-ho executives of the localdistributors wanted him to play their all-American music.jqbnnyJheeOld
,~Sle~~.~@§.tb~.~~,L91M~&.~g~lU:U.!,§1~L~Jbe'i.':Y~.r~S2D£~JJlgd,JJefaded 0ut. for a while, and news went around that he Wtnt up to the mountains of
Banahaw and secluded himself there for seven months. When he came backhe was spouting protestations of faith and the like, but no one paid muchattention to him, at least not in Manila where everybody has seen almosteverything. He spent the next few months guesting on midnight televisionshows, expounding on the grace and the truth and the whatnot of Christianliving. Later on he bought radio time at the cheapest hour, which wa<;mH.l"
night, and read pa~sages from the KingJames Bible and also a few words ofhis own.
About a month after Johnny Midnight's comeback, Pat Chiu hadthis idea of sending him copies of Sal's new single. He was surprised, dayslater, to receive a call from Johnny Midnight, saying the Good Lord had infact asked him to play Sal's music on the air for the benefit of the unre-
ACNOAMISIOTAM IPOCSO CAMADHAPHAP ROCOB SAIO leosLEPUS NAPRAPADONAlJEHOVAELOlM SABAOTH
of Man, the infirm became.well, the insane bec~',me lucid, the unloved founddivine supplication, "
Now there was talk in Manila that all this pig Latin gobbledygookwas pattly rendered efficacious by no less than the music of the young musi-cal sensation Sal X, Mystics and crackpol~ came to the conclusion that therhythms employed by the young star were on the same wavelength ,L'itk]lerna! BreaLh.of Shiva .. Record sales shot up ~ky high, and Sal X, erstwhileKristo oj' Akeldama, w~-l!.9w K!is.lQ..2l!1~.t.r.QManjlli.~~I!~rJ.lll.lJakcllbi1eOf the,BigC'!LrojJQ." ..wrote critic Cabaneirothe Loco, Pictures of the naked
Tbfn~cl~thed, glisteni?lg s-~r~;TI;ci'~~'th;~roSs-ci~~'i~ted wi th the esla mpil@:of the Mother of Perpetual Help around the stalls and kiosks of Quiapo, Thefortune tellers invoked his name, and the noontime television extravaganzasheld Q,~nG~,,~9ml2.~Utt9D,~On.lhJ]>11Lqg"Cwe.
All that happened less than a month ago, but it seemed to Sal, nowsinking deeper into sleep, that between then and now a thousand years hadpassed. A new contract had been prepared for his next five albums, andnational rights were being negotiated everywhere, Sal moved to a four-bed-room apartment in Quezon City, just a stone's throwaway from New Manila'sancient houses, and bought himself a two-door Lancer where he installedBang und Olufsen speakers. Not long after, Pat Chiu received an urgent cablefrom a festival organizer in Tokyo, saying they were requesting the honor ofthe presence of Manila's number one sensation to grace the Asian Song Fes-tival at the Budokan. Although the invitation came on such short notice, Saland Pat Chiu packed up guitar and suitcase and took the first plane out. Andas flight DM 112 skidded down the runway, jolting Sa] from his sleep, PatChiu turned to him with his lizard-like smile and said, "You big starWelcome to Japan,"
deemed and the damned, and also for a small fee, They gave their Gonsent,and watched with astonishment as the program began to attract more andmore listeners: all the lonely housewives in Manila waiting for their hus-bands to stagger home from philandering in the massage parlors of Maalikayaand the striptease joints of Ermita; all the domestic servants winding downfrom the day's work, fiXing meals for senorito and senorita and putting thelittle brats to sleep; all the stevedores and drivers of trucks and taxis andjeepneys and tricycles and caritons; all the beggars and fortune tellers andrugby-sniffing children of the Quiapo underpass; and all the co!egialas, lostin the fantasy of their lOVeSand lusting for sex. Everybody listened - thehobos of Rizal Park and the First Lady in her Palace chamber, and all be-cause Johnny Midnight could do one thing no other man on earth could do:he could heal. He could heal anything, from lost love to a broken clavicle,from diarrhea to hepatitis, from malaria to insanity, Even the syphilliticmaidens of Mabini and Del Pilar tuned in, rubbing the speakers onto theirlush pubis to stop the unwanted secretions that came with their profeSSion,Take a glass of water, turn the radio on, and pray with Johnny:
Drink of the cup and be cleansed of the tribulations of the world, 0 My Peo-ple. TlltcYAlY.e.s.,QL1he.M~Jr9J1~ni,l,'!~f.I~,~9I~-~nl~hirJed and p,umpf.dall night, deliveri~gsogn~to-beholy water, and tbe anlenl)~ ()fthe.M~nil~EleCtriC company buzzed with anticipation as the radios hummed wi.th a,r~verent hush, They called it "tgOing," ,@J1<!formore than two years it was theon ly panacea avai lable to Eeopl~~bg .he,9 Jml,~Jl1()r,~.tg expeqt from ,'!nY:.thing.lf c;odcotildn'rsavet~e world,Johnny Midnight would, In his booth atnigh( round-faced, mestfzong-hilawjohnny-Midnlgh-t praised the Lord andcallen on all good listeners to drink of the fountain of blessedness, and 10 andbehold, across the entire Metro Manila area, across the length and breadth ofthe National Capital Region, throughout the alleys and esquinitas of the City
I 'SJl!!IMA~'£N,' ,f.~T~~2:..\itN,S&~~£2kQllLt11l,q§.JJ".~~'It was difficult to determine whether the small, round-facedJapa-
nese director was merely inquiring or was in the throes of hysteria. In hisneatly pressed business suit he seemed more like a banker than a concertpromoter, and he spoke with a restrained drone even a<; stagehands d,L'ihed toand fro like hullet trains, The show would hegin in an hom);al X or theHirippine, heing the new kid in town, would open the concert, to be followed
by more familiar names from Tokyo and the United States. Pat Chiu fidgetedand looked around the dressing room. Sal's Stratocaster was there, and hisclothes that hanged beside a full length mirror framed with incandescentlights. There were several cans of Coke and Kirin and an unopened pack ofMarlboros, socks and boots, underwear and some pills, but there was no Sal.Only a note lying on a table: pater noster, going out for a walk/looks likeworld warii b?te.. "He go for more Kirin," Pat Chi~said, and thedirectQ(~ Lacehroketo a smile, hiismaLl eyes getting smaller. "HeJikeJapanesebiru, 4)JO ne?"
Pat scrounged around the room for clues to Sal's whereabouts; find-ing none, he dashed out of the stage door into the tree-lined avenue behindthe Budokan. People were starting to queue for the concert; the lines slinkeddown the length of the theater, causing a minor traffic jam. He looked aroundhelplessly; Pat was no good in unfamiliar cities, and he knew that if he tookso much as a step away from the theater he would never find his way back;.-.,\
This was, of course, something Sal knew all along, and he was cer- ~tain Pater Noster wouldn't find him whether he went to the nearest vending 1:
machine or to Hiroshima. At that moment Sal was sitting on the steps over.jlooking a temple garden, just a few blocks from the theater. Summer blazedi I;!
across the sky in shimmering salmon. There was a ceremony going on. a .\.Shinto wedding; the officiating priest was in white ceremonial robes, and ..every now and then he would walk over to a drum and beat on it. The brideand groom, on the other hand, were dressed in simple street clothes; they Ilooked as if they had just decided to tie the knot and had walked straight int?Jthe ceremony after an afternoon stroll. ,-
"Pretty austere ritual, eh?" Sal said to the only other person watch-ing the ceremony, a young French photographer he had befriended only fiveminutes ago. The photographer, who knew little EngHsh and understood Sal'squaint accent much less. nodded politely and continued taking pictures.
Sal wanted to spend a great deal of time alone in Tokyo. Nobodyknew him here. The screaming groupies who hounded him in Manila werenot here. He was anonymous in Tokyo, and somehow he liked that, it gavehim repose. He had been waking up in the middle of the night for the pasttwo night since they arrived, and he would sneak out of the hotel room injeans and a coat. He could hear Pat Chiu snoring in the room next to his. The
ml'lll'il• !Hli'lli IiM '11111"'1111 rDlillill1ll! lalllllil. 1(f(IIIII18 III IIl/Ili. [1111/111.
city at night slowed down a bit, but didn't seem to pause for sleep. There weremore secretive, nocturnal goings-on in the small alleys where he wandered.Young sarariman were staggering home, drunk and murmuring to oneanother. For the first time in his life he felt alone. Somehow he felt relieved ofthe screaming adulation and the unaba~hed fanaticism and sexuality of IllSyoung fans. Everybody was trying to get at each other's throat to he numberone. You nUlllberone, Pat Chiu always reminded hilll, and he had sab slleeL'Ito prove it. But sometimes in the sullen interludes at night he knew he had tog~t ~way and l~otcome back. Let tl~ep.osters of Sal X fade from the walls,~t .•.hiS Image vanIsh from the estampltas of the pIOUS,let radio stop playing hissongs, as they would eventually. He knew that. He wasn't as gago as every-~~. ~
What he didn't want to tell anybody was this: he was afraid of losing/,the comforts he had. He lay awake at nighL'Iwondering how long this lif\lwould last. There were superstars back home in Akeldama who had don~their time, playing to packed audiences at the New Moon concerts in Manila;.They had had their share of groupies and blaZing headlines and drugs, and!.when the limes changed and turned to disco they went back to the dingy!clubs ofAkeldama, playing Rhinestone Cowboys to howling Gis, shootinglcrack and fucking discards from the c1ubs.·J
The tenuousness of his success had astrange effecton him. ~eJurneOinwardand went backJotbe books that had given him comfort as a younger
, man. When he opened the books, the texts leaped outllke a reprimand,Jie.alsobega[1tore,l9~~MhisIsctipt~res ~g?iril§9mething he had 90n~only 9,)areei1'agerMse~rchin~for l11ea~irigamidst th~ neon dazzle of the clubs. Desireis tile cause of suffering: Iknow,I know. .,, Coming home at night after spending hours in the studios record-ing his new album, he switched on the TVOeltof habit and caught the latenight evangelists. He found himself staring at the ones who looked straightinto his eyes. He snickered at their predictions of impending apocalypse, butwhen they closed their eyes and prayed for the happiness of all who tuned in,he felt swayed by the seeming intensity and the seeming sincerity of theirappeals. Hecalled up the station one evenin~, his hand tremhling ;L~he dialedthe number, and when he heard the voice on I.heother end he froze and then
put the receiver down. One morning he told Pat Chiu:'''I want my music tosave the world."
Pat Chiu almost gagged. "You save the world, yes, but you saveyourself first," he said. "God help those who do."
"I was the Kristo (J Akeldama, Pat," he said. "People there lookedto me for comfort."
"People look becaLise they like your body. Verymalibog, that town."''I'm serious, Pater Noster. Imagine someone who takes on all the
tribulations of the coun:ry, and sacrifices himself for all the sins of the world.That's what I've been doing all along. Or at least until very recently."
"You no like your good luck, you throw it away. Young people allalike. Not grateful for good luck. Botansbiao. "
"Just a thought, Pater Noster."In the temple now, watching this most ordinary of ceremonies, try-
ing to leap through the language barrier with this fellow tourist, he remem-bered those long and difficult nights alone in Manila. What did he want? Itwas difficul t to say, but stari ng at the temple grounds he suddenly knew whatIt was: Peace. Or something like it. Plucked out of his own environment,floating in this distended world, drunk and woozy on his fifth beer and sec-ond joint, he felt estranged from the ritual circus of Manila. If Sal X could bethe biggest thing in the recording world today he wOllldn't have to suck up toanybody anymore. Let Pal do it. Astrange animal wanL~to tear itself out ofme and let itself loose. I can feel its claws ripping my insides, I can feel itbursting out of me.
But now the ceremony was over. Sallooked at his watch. He got upand said to his companion, "Guess I'll have to do some work now, twenty-three skidoo and all that, if you know what I mean. Perhaps not. A tout aI'heure, monsieur." And having recognized the last words, the photographerbroke into a smile, replied with astring of mellifluous salutations, and watchedas Sal staggered away.
as if the entire auditorium had been wired·to a thousand voll'>~..:,t"llil~~place shook andJumbled,anq.lhe youn.g.Japan~se .mck~r.s,al\ in pr~lty
..••••~ .. ,.:.,.,:,,':U~'·;"''''.'~l''-:"'-:'-·'''' :,.'.,.'-.,.',',.': •... ~.. "
Haraju'Ku olltt'itsand fresh Hanae Mori smiles, jl1illped to their f('('1al1d'slammedamhfunked i~to the·aisles. This w;L~"theIllOIl1ellllw\\wd 1'111' tillS.brief cbarged momel,l wh'eil-lie"kn~; he had lhe crowd ill his hands. Th('words poured out of his lungs and cr;L~hedinlo the cavel'l1lJlIShalls of th~theater:
SHE'S SINGING WITHOUT MOVINGHE[{ LIPSISHE'S SINGING OF THE APOCALYPS:~IANDAVOICEIS RINGING IN HEH HEADISAYINGTHIS AIN'T THE WORLDWE USEDTO KNOWIIF WE BLOWIT UP IT'LL GOIAWAY!!!
ATTI1E 8UDOKAN: walking on stage, all he could seewas a spot light beamed athim. He peered into the crowd and yelled into the mike: "Is there anybodyout there?" Polite applause. There was only one tbing to do, he thought: hejumped into the opening riffs of his new song-and immediately it seemed
And then, right in the middle of the song, just when he let the gui-tar drown out his voice, he heard a long collective scream tear through thedepths of the theater. Pandemonium in the land of the chrysanthemum!12.desu ne, Sal:~Ji~61J"g,g,~1~ll!.~rQW.d.sW<l.rmed-b.ackstage.aft~L_,thepert~aru;~>-among.lhem.the.hQm~.§.i£.~L~.e!9oted Pinoys he had. he~~~~JJJbe..do~dmaU:oJdgI1[i~e,~~ncraarlcers ari([PIQsli,tute~!.aiithelapayu~i$~q9ungjngf()rY~Djn the land' Qfz.en.'{I1~ill.iidlw:JrdQf hismfr~~~l.o~ss_~g,Ll.esin ,tb~J()hnI}YMj9Qigh,tH.?u.r.,Sol11~?ftl1~mactually had
. relatives who had been cured of ailments, from athlete's foot to brain tumors., .... , Back in his hotel hekicked offhisboo~and tore offhis jacket and
padded around the hotel lobby in stockinged feet, laughing to himself as theshocked guesl~ and hotel personnel stared in disbelief. It had always seemedto him that fame granted him license to do anything he wanted and to bewhat he wanted to be. He had the waiter deliver sake and then beer, thenpassed drinks all around to whoever was loitering at the lobby. Rumpled anddisheveled in a divan, long hair spilling over his shoulders, tb~JS,rj~1L9(Jq~~~inth ~q~rgen. of.Q~~~y~he.rY.g~,clqr,~.9c.thill.&I,t"91L~~..~::';",~~"th:,ha.~~e...YJ].§JJ.kQS~#11Jg§J/'ka?Very politely said, he kepI dispensll1g the phrase,and the diligent waiters felt compelled to return the reverence. They smiled
among themselves In corners, not understanding a word as he muttered,Thank you and thanks also to your truly hypocritical society, Amen, amen.
So Sal X, in his first week in Tokyo, attracted media coverage andcensure, and for some time there were small items about his antics spread inscreaming kanji all over the shimbuns: Sal guttered somewhere, Sal pickinga fight with big Caucasian in Shinjuku bar, Sal visiting the striptease circuit,
.,C' Sal striping naked onstage, Sal simulating masturbation before a crowd offorty thousand, Sal spreading his arms apart and opening his handS to revealhis brilliant, holy wounds.
~~~~¥yi~h:~i~~.~~~:~~;~~e~.i;~~j;~i;j~~~~~~·out, and here was Pat Chiu wagging a tiny finger at him, saying I told youstay cool but you no listen, Sal walked around the city, trying to lose himselfin it and to walk away from his own imagined distress, But people walked upto him or huddled on the trains, obviously talking about him. He saw thempointing at him in convenience stores as they would to a packet of nori, Heheard them shuffling about, tiptoeing to get a view of him, as he waited forhis train. He heard his name blasted over the sound system of the Seibu com-plex, over the tracks of the shinkansen, in the sloping peaks of distant andsnow-burdened Fuji.
Then there were other voices,'lre't'(Jtjrd'fi'>le1fWhatth~y;ere, or where they came from: bovine
voices, slow unctuous voices, the howling of strange winds and the whisper-ing of water, sylphs' voices, devils' voices. They kept him awake at night, hishead pounding with their cacophonous messages. He darted for cover in thealleys, upsetting saba carts and pushing past the drunks staggering homefrom Ikebukuro. He dashed into the avenues with his head in his hands,silently screaming as the neon signs and video walls swooned and engulfedhim. He sat up in bed, hitting his head with his fists while Pat Chiu snored inthe other room. Finally, one morning he was able to find shelter in a templesomewhere. He couldn': remember where it was or how far he had walkeci,the noises stopped as soon as he entered the grounds, He slumped beside anold well. All he could hear was the sound of water trickHng down a bambootube in a nearby trough. There was nobody else around, He slouched downon the gravel path and restE'dhis head against the well. He felt such absolute
vca(;~ LlJallLt U1Ull llltar lilt ~UUllU VI jUUl.'>Ltp~ajJ~lUal:Jllllg, 1\ ~llallVW ltll
over him, He looked up and saw a familiadorm,"Hello, Sal," the figure said. He peered at it and realized it was Meg"'~ .•.,.••.•' "',' '.>-.,' , • , - •
Thrner."How are you, Meg?" he said, struggling to get upS,heheld out her hand to help him. "I've been following you around
the city, Sa!. Great concert." She braced him as he staggered to walk away."You really screwed yourself up this time, Sal."
"I know," he said. "You taking me back to the hotel, or wha(?"She walked beside him, holding his arm, There were voices still
murmuring around him, but when he looked there was nothing else: onlyMeg walking beside him with the faintest smile on her lips, Her hair wasbright as sunlight. He stopped suddenly and stared at her,
"Wlli!,t?"M~gasked,"Nothing.,::,~,~QJct~"A,hglQ,.", H~~ol)ched her hair, and for a mo-
" ... , .... _... -"' ...._-. -.' ",,- "--"'"""-', ..,-,-: .."~ ..... '... ",,,,,,.-~:.,..._'~',•..,-""'"'',",-;~''''' -','-
rnent itfelt,[ikcat(;higgs,~plighUnhis,band.
HESUD UNDER the covers and watched Meg take the armchair across him, "I'mnot sick, you know. What are you tucking me in bed for?"
"Get some rest," Meg said. "That's all you need." He sank deeperinto sleep, into the undertow of half-dreams and half-truths, and when heawoke, hours later, she was still there by his side,
She had corne to Tokyo on an assignment that had already takenher around Asia's major cities and also its backstreets: she had taken photo-graphs of the route to Mandalay, the brothels of Bangkok, the monkey dancesof Bali, and the skyscrapers of Singapore. When she talked to him about workshe seemed like a walking travelogue, pointing out strange towns and strangercustoms. "That's where Iwant to .B.~,:'l~U9_~J2er. "No more at' these ass-
_kj~lD~.n!!ShYfQnc~[15. [ w.~nt tQ..dQj9Jrl~,~~lD.g.£~~,~dlIT~0]r~"~·"·~--·"~'-·'-""We can go to the North Pole," said Meg."~~~fro~.~~.~.~!~~~g.!~! tol.9.~~.r!.~:.~~.:v.~~l:.~.~~n~:0.g_?;"
ADdthen ,be \yondeJ~,dwbal hf.WP~Q~.d\VheDYO\Jjto® rigOr on tne North.. P~j~"Did you spin around like a top? Did the sky whirl arour,d yo.u?
He began to feel better in the next few days. There were meetingswith executives of]apanese recording companies, and Meg went around the
iSlalllL'i LU JJ[lJ~IlIlt::J <1:l~Il:>lllJJelJl. nt llJC\.! lV ",eep IICI UUL Vl 11l~ 11llHu rillll'-
she was away; A & R managers raved about his music but he heard only adull babble and a string of lallations.
He gave himself completely to this overpowering weightlessness ofspirit, and each day he woke up buoyant and distressed that she had notcalled. Eve!)'thing he did seemed like a rehearsal for things they would dotogether: sharing a bowl of soba, with passers-by recognizing him and star-ing impolitely; walking down temple parks with their gingko trees and an-cient serenity; dunking a beer in a cafe, amidst the bruise-grey smoke ofgrilled octopi and eel. H:J.fea-FednQlbilJ2,_nQw,.'lSjlIDWti~£Lb ..ll.i~:ld;No voices could penetrate the space occupied by her memo!)' and her name,which he repeated ccntmually and reverently like a mantra, She would prob-ably laugh at him and tea.'ie him if she found out about this. But it kept himquiet, and safe, Lying in his wooden bathtub at night, soaking inwater so hotit could scald the skin, he soaped his arms and chest and imagined her lipstracing the path of his strokes, burning his skin with soft, furtive kisses, Whenhe passed by a gallery in Shinjuko or an abandoned bench in a garden, hewould imagine himself there with her, indulging in forbidden pleasures un-seen by the passing world and which he replayed over and over like a videoloop. And when she finally arrived, her work done and her time now com-pletely free for him, they locked themselves in his room as if they had bothIiyed and relived the same thing in their minds all these days that they wereapart. They tore at each other's clothes and assaulted each other with longand jealous kisses, and they made love with the bedlamp on so that theycould keep watch on each other's smallest gestures, so that not one move-ment nor one c!)' could escape the distance between them,
They flew back together to Manila, and he invited Meg to stay withhim, "No guarantee I'm going to stay forever," she told him jocosely. Sheloved him like crazy, and he knew it. But her ability not to care, to turn againsthim at a moment's notice and put him on edge somehow made each minuteof their relationship unpredictable and new, That was how he wanted it. Norun-of-the-mill day-by-day blissful saccharine relationship, but somethingto keep them on their toes and keep their guard up. This, he realized, was therecurring eleme~t in his relationships: he was used not to expect people toremain. Back in the club in Akeldama people walked in and out, admiring
HUH uuu r)hl1lUl6 ~lUJI 1,.11••..LJW~t u..liU 1) ••.•.1•....6V'l~ dll.,:.1J.••...,'l.l Ud], JIL. IPL. ••..l UJ tiP •.•
hour, from song to song, just like the ptItas who lived from one dick to thenext. He liked it that way. In those days he always went back to his cabinalone, except when he felt horny and took lip one of the girls' offers andscrewed till daybreak. But often he wanted only to he alone, Ill' preferred thedistance of the stage, the godlike feeling of heing llIanipulator and ohserver,watching the crowd as he mechanized them into frenzy. The l110rehe f('lt thatcontrol and the more he knew he cOllld hold people in his gra.~p, the emptierthe vacuum he felt inside him become, It grew a5 hig ,L~his soul.
But how everything changed with Meg. She knew everything andforgave him everything, He made love to her furiously, thinking each nightwould be the last. Tomorrow she would be gone. The world would be grey andfull of rain,
A month after arriving in Manila and eluding reporters and maga-zine editors and TV commentators and his fans, Sa! X called a press confer-ence at the plush Champagne Room of the Manila Hotel. There, after amerienda of buko and bibingka and chxolate eh, ~nageLPatChiu announce that the Kristo of Akeldama was going to mar!)' his America.n~gJ\!m~r:...._ ..,
WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT that the pa?ers wO'Jld treat it in an entirely unex-pected way? Butch Kopas, ent~I.t211nJIl~nt~0Iumnisl of the Daily Express1insinuated thatThe~you-ng3mm~meIytalent~d-SaIXw2s merely t!)'ing tog~~a-fast t[cket to the States,rn(lrria~e being the first step to a green card ~nr1
greener pastures. And Guido Halahera, columnist for PsstMagazine, won·dered if Sa.1 truly wanted to tie the knot or to camouflage darker sexual ten-dencies.".</)' ".
For some weeks we read about Sal's unfortunate tussles with thelocal media and he"a;d~bo'~lit'inIndayBadid~y's early evening talk shows.These were the only news the censorship office allowed for debate, and theentertainment industry revelled in it with relentless gusto: there were scan-dals and chismis enough to take people's minds off other, less sensationalconcerns, The drought in north Luzon, for instance, had spread far and wide,and there was talk that a food shortage was not long coming, Elders in thearea had been sacrificing chickens, the last of their livestock, to appease the
gods. Cyclones of dust swirled over the huts. Trees shriveled to slumps, "(lVersdried up and coughed out the bones of milkfish, crab shells and prehistoricstones.
There was news from barren Abra that the local military units hadapprehended a group of suspected communist front members conductingintelligence work among the villages, The names of the studenL~and workershad been withheld by the military camp for security reasons. Tactical interro-gation was under way, and the suspects were to be brought to Manila campsin the next few days. Thestory~Jso said that some membersofthegrQup .escaped the raid and were now believed to be in hiding, Among the nameslisted was Father .Ted,
I must confess that Ted had been farthest from my mind since we~~~_"'~-"'_'-'''''''''="'"-'''''-''''''''''._-'''''''"?''<''->-''''-''--''_c"'_' "' ""'~'d.J -_c'·'C-·.,~_,'··__·.,-e'."·'"··. .'."··_·_,.,."....".,.".-'-, .... ,
last met. There was much w..Q.rkJQ ..do..a.t-tha~p,alaee.~..MaQ.a-mQ!~SQ4.roo-s.~n.d--ri1YSU-ca-T-co-n-fe-'rei)cesweregettingfreq,uent and hectic. Work on the book con-tinued, now that~,tA.hagxe ..~eiX~~f[esbJ.undsJ[Qm~£aunda"
J~qn~,jun was up to his ears in documents and turgid academic prose thatneeded to be rehashed, and the Historical Institute continued to dredge newmaterial for us.
When news of Ted's disappearance came, I remembered the piece ofpaper he had scribbled on, I looked around for it through the mound ofpaperwork on my desk. 1 emptied my desk files and flipped through booksand finally found it tucked under a sheaf of manuscripL~, I unfolded thepaper and looked at the notes:
AT3:1fJ' m}1l/-Tr
720·70S33·D819·73143·D632·SS323·C842.77373·C
I recognized the ancientTagalogscript, and remembered that whenwe last met I had mentioned to him jun's desperate extrapolations on ourbook. Ted must have presumed he could use the script as some kind of code,seeing how well acquainted we had become with it. I took out our syllabaryguide and came up with these puzzling names and figures:
206 Empire of Memory
," VENUSPLATACUENCa
819-73143-0632-55353-C
. 842-77373-C
."".J ,Cuenco was of course the coconut czar (as the papers call~ him)and Plata could be our insufferable Mad Max. 1 coutdn'llell what Mlllllka.~
',;.~", ., . .and VemiSwere, and the numbers beside them seemed even more cryptic.lirially, baflled by these arcana, I interrupted Jun from his work and showedhim the names,
"Given by your activist friend, eh?" he asked, and for a minute Idoubted whether it was a good idea to show him the text. "A little learning,"he trailed off, but looked at me and added, "but I'm sure the Jesuits knowwhat they're dealing with. If you scramble the letters a bit you might comeup with other, name~.Palate, fQrinstance, and not Plata. Yes,this is definitelyCuenco, no doubts aboutthe diacritical marks, This one could be Benosa orVenosa, and Malakas could actually be Maragasa or something. Doesn't makesense."
"And what about the numbers?""Probably another kind of code, Does Father Ted dabble in numer-
ology? Or they could be phone numbers. Or dates, or access codes to files.Why would your friend leave you something as inscrutable as that, and notgive you a clue how to decode it?"
"He said I wasn't the only one he had given it to.""There you are," he said, "You have to look for the others, just as
they are looking for you, and when you put two and two together you'll knowwhat this blasted code is all about. Meanwhile, we have work to do. Shall wego to the Milky Way for a beer?"
"Christ, no. Not the Milky Way. I want to get out of this kitchen fora while."
"Good," he said. "So do I. And I thought Iwas the only one whowas going loco. Let's go to a real bar in Makati. I'll call up Susan and tell herto meet us there, Tell the secretaries we're going out for research. Wehave togo pronto to beat the rush hour traffic. Any excuse to get out of this dump,hal"
We took his car down the south highway. The drive was smooth andeasy, and we reached Makati in thirty minutes. We g(abbed a comer table atthe Stars and Bars and basked in the attention of the miniskirted waitresses.The place wa~ crawling with Makati powerbrokers and governors and colo-nels. There wer.eundercover guards in ochre barongs leering from every cor·ner, their pistols bulging in their hips. We ordered vodka tonic and calamaresand waited for Susan, watching the sunlight fade over the lawns. We wereinto our second vodka tonic when she walked in, breathlessly cursing traffic,pollution and Manila. She tapped Jun on the shoulder and, sitting down,announced, "I need a beer quick."
"She has to catch up," Jun told me. "Women always do.""You're unbearable," she told him."But she loVE'sme anyway," said Jun."You're bothur.bearable,"she said. "Ho\Y,$lJJ1~!j,,~i¥.\1Hk:'"~~ar'Yf)~m~~~""Don'tleihim'hearyou," Susan said. "I saw him coming in after
"The papers say he's missing," I said. "I thought that might.g!~:~~__~i - ,._,. .. ~;:...,.•.,...,---,...•.~ ••_.•._~....••••_••.__ ••_~
aclue.""Give me a couple of days:'; she s.aid. She tuckid ll~'lpaper i~)l:li~"
purse and we ordered another round. From the far end of ll~ roolUwc couWhear Mad Max's boisterous proclamations. There W;L<i a group of business-'menand journalists crowding about him, hanging on to his w()r~s,
"I'm sure he's all right," Susan said. '"Who?" I asked. '."Ted," she said. \Jun said, "AI's friends are never all right." J"Shut up," Susan said. And to me: "I'll call you after the weekend." ,
As it turned out, I wouldn't hear fromher for days, -,",,' '
"That's it," Jun said. "We're moving to another bar."But it was too late now. Mad Max was waddling towards us with his
off-duty scowl. "The government doesn't pay you to drink in bars like) do,"he howled into our ~ars. "Who's minding the store?"
Jun sputtered as he thought of an alibi. Susan came to the rescueand said, "I told them to meet me here. I have this load of materials that Ireally have to turn over to you." She opened her briefcase and handed over toJun a sheaf of transcripts. Max grabbed one of them and studied the pageperfunctorily. "Good work, MissTala," he said absently. Then he returned thepapers and walked away. "Don't let these hooligans fool you," he said. "They'reonly after one thing, and it's not your brains."
") rest my case," said Jun."How do you put up with him?" Susan asked.':tie ~on '1," said lu~'''\(Ie'rewaitin& rorarev?lut19D"~Q.~~S~Q.~"
shoot him. AI; ~how h~r theiD~.5sagi ..'~ . '.' -.- - - -I wasn't sure jf thi~~as a good idea, but I showed Susan Ted's code
anyway. She studied it for a few moments and said, "If it's important I cantake it with me and work it out."
IIIf'W- II~I'- 11""·" nIl'''' lfifli"'" lillli"ll 1111"1::1 II[II:IIU PI':/'Il 111\1:11>11 {IiIl11ili 1,11,11 1111'111 IIIIIIIIJ lilllill IHr,ll Iilliluj
----------~--'--'---'-::-:.: .. -=.-=.. ~.. ...,J- ( VU' VUJ'-'- ""'" 1V"'-'PI"'-P"""""'O "" ",'- ",-u"'''h '" "''-IJ'',·''''~I''., )"""1>"L daughter, Irene. .
WHENI REACHEDthe office the next week I saw Jun at the corridor talking to aman in military uniform. The man had his back to me, andJun interruptedwhat seemed to me a rather animated conversation when he saw me. "Youremember my colleague, the video whiz kid, of course, "Jun said. Our visitorturned to face me and gripped my hand in a firm handshake. 11 was6ri~a·.<lleLGe~etaIJosQZa8afte.,A stern smile was as much recognition he allowedfor me, although I knew he was more than glad to see another familiar facein the palace. General Zabart~b~"4.~ecentlY~~~.8jve}lJQ£lytt!leJ.h,9J1QL,,,of ~jngf!,1Si~.&,E!J;st,ka~~@<;:~!'FI'iff1fRe'wa&giULQ.gJ;ll,U4s,elf ac~u~~m~9 ~itbJh e.IaryrifllbtQ~J qYQ1!langgffjc.~, r~t~tiQJlililRtjn.!b,epalace, He went to Manila with great reluctance, he toldus, because it meantlea.yW& SehloQ II].,~is San Mig,ymiii9IOOlilli:mTin~~!i'J~i0.w..~yi~.~,gf,tb.~"Yis,aYa!LSg!tlllJ,t41lSQ..tb~.Cill1l.p.an¥,oLh.is ...wife.,Mani~'.llaS-Cer-tainlyJ:!otterthan San Miguel, and twiGe as Q1JJDig.JI1J 94Q, Junre,l11i~.QedhiITl, Ernest,HeITling\VayexPressed the same cOITlplaintlleon~rrivil1giI1Jh~CilY'" ~~afes1rng.a·t~·ro~[~D9~al.wri te~!. t~~ ~~tb9r,·~b9h~~.·i~it.~e~th~E~.gt,~~~.~.e~~~ C~vil\Va~~~.~~~t~~gJ>.ublished For Whom tbe Bell Tolls, asked,"~owCiln you wrjt~19.this_~e~th~r?"
"I am in good company when I complain then," General Zabartesaid. And added: ~'l1o\V!indeed, do you write?"
"Wilhg,re,gpain,'~,sajdJlin:"An1i1orsaken all writing and is doeu-~e[ll~Q~gILR~~~e a~tivi~es." .'. .... •
"In that case we snail have to keep an eye on you," Gef)eral Zabartesaid, and I met his feeble attempt at humor with an insincere laugh.
We begged leave, wishing the general extreme happiness and goodluck in his new work. We went back to our work, considerably impressed bythe general's good fortune. That same morning we received an urgent memo:
. The venue was going to be the MarCl'~ hOllletown of Sarr:ll, way upnorth in the deserts of 1I0cos. Masons went to work overtillle paving Sarral'sstreets with old brick, and carpenter.; h,l~lily huilt racadl's of carYl'd wood tocover up the town's dilapidated shanties. The chul'ch Wil~ n~constl'lIeted andrepainted, and iL~ancient belfry scruhbed am! furnished with a new bell.Insjde, mahogany panels were put up and a fresco was painted on the ceilingby one of Manila's most favored painters. Uiant chandelier QL:ap~s;qconut shell was hung and, then ,~o.r.~..gg.w.D.Y{h~l}Jhen,aQb_~rg~~~qJr~l';:PJotested, Shena,! ii'~pliiCedinsteadby. a,chlindelier Gf fr~~h chrysan the-IllHJlls00wn in {rOIJlGbiOll"llaster sculptures of seraphim lined the streetleading to the church, and ivory images of the Santo Nino were installed inthe altar. Full-grown trees were transplanted from Manila and planted alongthe streets, giving newfound shade to its artificial houses. A new hotelJ:o(t1!2EE-QdIa•.was CQDstructed.Qxeuand dunes, re?lete..wltb five-star se.rYic.eAIld.eno~Kh,mnbl~J1ce.,~9,.a.ttta.clmQYie~shoolsJ~ooG. T.\le.Eitsl~r,~~tg S~::Y~£lD&lr2..11~~~LL~!JLlltQ1tQ,~a!~,\L~Y'y~~j.l!J!llLi!~reJll•.
PierreCa~djn and 1000aldesigner J~Sfllaz<j.!".UnabktQJiR~iqg,\:\'hich oneJQ ...•.p~ocUl·e· 10fc Irene...sbe.boughtalUou.r.
The government papers ran periodic updates on what social butter-fly ~l~Jl.:r~mblQibilled in her society column as The Wedding of the Cen-tury. There were photographs of the church under renovation and the First
~-
,L?4y~rsonally inspecting the reconstruction, ~~~_~~_!~!9.pe.J~~i~a~jerGen-,era! lQ~AiB~.ro/,[~li!!~9 n~~~There were reports ihalwltnthe general now in such a poweifuT posTif6n~' it was just a matter of timebefore the insurgency in the south led by his rebellious brother would seekamnesty.
Our researchers and secretaries clipped the reports and handed thenews cuttings dutifully first thing each morning, and [plodded through themwith the diligence of a bill collector. This arrangement somehow made memiss much of the other news, since after the secretaries had mangled thepapers I had little inclination to peruse them. And if I ever wanted to read thepapers ll.iW5 Dol¥ he£auseJ.~anted to see what was happeninR to the rest ofthe world. It was on one such oWiSToii1!liTropened one man gt'ect'i5.meof ...
.. ._.~'__'... _" __ ._~' "'~'_"' __ ~ " __ '''''' __.~'-''~_'~''''' ~' .',..••.•.'J"""""'''''~''''' ._,.__ .->"~.".,. "_'"
WHATHAPPENEDback in Abra? There were only sketchy reports from the militarycommand there, and when we called up the military intelligence office fordetails, we were given the same answer: ~t~Ici~tio....a.llas.~~,was killed while esc?- .i!1ltffi,rU,~.[mHlll~JrLilli£l~~ectjQQ., The report said
ed had long been under surveillance and that he had been suspected ofrecruiting villagers for the NPA. He was said to have led two attacks on mili-tary outposts in Abra, the first a year ago when a brigand of rebels raided thelocal armory and stole off v.ith a dozen M-16s, and the second only late lastmonth when the NPA ambushed and killed seven troopers.
I never cared much about Ted's stupendously tiresome discussionson ideology, but he remained a friend of mine, no matter how much timehad elapsed since I last kibitzed in the inundated parishes of Central Luzon.
On the day of his funeral, I went to the seminary in Quezon Citywhere I heard his body had lain in state after being transported from Abra.The grim-faced, suspicious faces of the dispossessed, Ted's constituency,scowled at me and leered as I walked to the coffin to pay my respects. Therewere wreaths and pots of flowers choking an entire wall, and a portrait ofTedas a young college student propped up on the glass pane of the coffin. I re-membered no prayer, no appeals for hope or salvation, things I gave up along time ago, and now I felt empty, drained out, because there was nothingfor Ted I wanted to ask for. Eternal peace was a farce, eternal life was a myth.I could hear him say: erebe ka kasi.
According to the mourners' own reports, he was abducted out of themission house and badly tortured by the local command before he was killed.What for? My questions were met with suspicious evasions or outright dis-missal, except for details of Ted's torture, which they must have felt obliged torecount. As I watched his coffin being lowered into the ground at La LamaCemetery, I felt terribly sorry for Ted who was going to his last resting placewith no family except for an uncle and a sobbing aunt. But then I realizedthat everyone in this IT.otley congregation, every disparate life and anony-mous face, must have been family to him and kept him strong enough tofight whatever it wa.~ he had to fight. We threw nowers after the coffin, and
when the diggers started shoveling the earth back, several men and womenraised their fists without making a sound. I looked at their SHllbu med faces:quiet, stolid and resolute faces. And I was surprised to realize that every Olll' ofthem looked so young.
IT WOULD BE Brigadier General Jose Zaharte's unfortunate l:l.'ik to :lI1llll\lIH'('.
days laler, that he himself would personally investigate the spate of disap-pearances and killings of church workers and student leaders. We helpedhim prepare the text of his statement, adding that this was being done spe-cifically to show that the palace itself condemned the killings and was readyto help those who helped the poor. There was a photograph of the generalsigning the order to investigate, after that he flew directly to Abta where hewas photographed inspecting the barracks of the military detachment there.
For days I couldn't concentrate on work, which meant the bookJunand I had been assigned, millennia ago, to fabricate.
"AI Boy, stop being so serious and join us for a beer." That was ]unrattling me out of my ennui. [ looked up to find him and Susan looking atme from the door of our room. I had not seen Susan for some time, not sincewe last went to Makati.
"Don't worry about me," I said.Susan walked to my desk and said, "] think I've got something on
that message you gave me," she said. "They look like bank account num-bers, but I'm not sure. ['II hand it over a.~soon as I come up with something.Maybe it can help the investigation." I thanked her and reassured them I wasall right, and to prove it I offered to buy a round of drinks.
We hopped into Jun's car and careened towards the Milky Way. Therewas the usual gaggle of bureaucrats, palace reporters and assorted office work-ers. Happy hour had just begun and the TV was tuned to an entertainmentextravaganza hosted' by Kuya Germs. There were pretty boys and nubile girlssashaying in a pathetic dance number. They were just winding up their dancewhen we finally got a table only a few paces from the TV set. ~lhen au I' beer.came there was a series of guest performance.s~ '!rg-~Jlya Germs announced'tna-One' nexrnlg1Jb~t ~q.urd be a 'new ~~(;ngto be performed by the famousinternational star, Sal X.' ..
"There's your enfant terrible," Susan said, nudging my elbow, Satwas nattily dressed in a coat and lie, impeccably proper to impress theprimetime television audience, Wecould hear a lot of shrieking and scream-ing from the studio audience, and the camera panned twice to show hordesof fans unfurling streamers with Sal's name written on it, surrounded bycrayon-smudged hearts. After the performance Kuya Germs indulged in theusual idiotic interview with the guest ("0, kaflan ka ba magmu-motJies?")and Sal hedged and clowned about a bit. And then he did something unex-pected, He remarked, "This music regulation business is killing the work ofreal artists. I lhink the time has come to set art free, to let artists create whatthey want." . """1
::~~~~:~~~~~~~;~::~I~:~~tl1;~~it~~~~dandwhattnfperform know nothing about music," Sal was saying to the embarrassed hOst./
"Well, radio's pretty dumb," said Susan. "I think the guis got,point." ~
"All this music regulation business is nothing but a disguised censorship, a blatant hypocrisy," Sal was saying,
Jun kissed Susan wetly on the check, and she feigned mild disgust."Mahal," he said, "nobody makes a point nowadays. The man's in deep shit."
JUST~ WEHAD PREDICTED,39.:qQ~QY~I~nsi.~~ ~b.at(manQf1bIh!:2~g~~~~(~.:,>l~tJ99.g,lJr~~1,l.JUOO:1.1~1:~>~1e!~P~~H. What we didn't expect wastha.t he would react so soon. The next day we received a memo to be dis-patched to all radio stations in the country, saying in effect that Sal's musicwas to be banned from radio until such time as the government decided oth-eIWise. There was nothing we could do. Pat Chiu called me one afternoon,reminding me of the hospitality I had enjoyed while I was shooting my videoin Akeldama, and asking me to intercede on behalf of his protege. I apolo-gized profusely, and suggested that he pay a visit to Valencia and make amends.But soon after that call we received a confidential memo stating in fact thatthe recordings of Sal X were to be suspended indefinitely,
All the stations were caught unawares, and for several days therewere several minutes of dead air hanging over the city as deejays scrambledfor replacements. TV shows who used his songs for spiels suddenly went si-
lent, and announcers relayed the news sans b~lckgr()und ll1usic. Ill'partllll'nlstores felt the epidemic of silence: no more Sal X Lookal ike Contl'SIs, noI1lOI'l'Sal X records bla~ting from the recorlKhars. Posten.•of Sal X Wl'n' lol'll dOWII,and some didn't even have to be torn down I)(~catlsl'his face IlH'rt'l}'f:ltl<otl,just ac; images fade in the rain, leavin~ a ~apillg holl' wht'n' IllS 11IXllrlllliSlocks had been. The eslampilas vanishl'd 1'1'0111thl' stalls of Witches and for·tune tellers in Quiapo. The minus-one tapes vanished, and Sing-along hal'Ssadly turned customers away, Everywhere the silence pervadeJ the city.
And people asked, Where is Sal? Where is the Krista of Akeldama-Manila-Tokyo-and-soon-the-U-S-of-A? Up in the balcony of his spacioushouse, overlooking the lights of the city, holding his head in his hands toshut out the voices that had come back,
"You're only imagining them, Sal," Meg called from the bedroomwhere she wa~ preparing a folio of photographs for her next assignment."You're just upseL"
No, he wasn't upset. He wac;delirious. He had always wanted to takea break, to get away from it all, and now this was his chance, granted by forcemajeure. Now he could slink back to private life and compose his art, notthose trashy four-minute jingles Pat Chiu had been making millions of dol-lars from.
"It'll blow over in a few months," Meg consoled him. "( know thiscountry better than you do. Ningas cogan, right?"
Ningas something else, because right now he could feel somethingburning inside him, burning in his blood. And if he looked close enough hewould find nothing there, only the burnt-out cinders of a life long gone,
"I'm going off in a couple of days," Megsaid. "Will you be all right?"Yeshe will. Yeshe will. Leave him alone with us and we'll take good
care of good old Sal. He looked up and asked her where she was going andshe said something he couldn't hear.
"I said," he repeated, "where the fuck are you going?" He hobbledin and turned the TV on, There was Kuya Germs again introducing a newbatch of eager youngsters, their well-scrubbed faces innocent and puerile onthe screen. Th~ he hear(K'!Y.a._9~~rr~..i~!~2cl~s.~~12.~.!l&I.sp.ik~"~.~?J~~~!.gui-t~r-Iugging lad inieather jeans as -thelateststaroL!b.e.J~~.9.r.dil~gindustry:
".'~" ,_ ••••..•••. "~ ,__ .•. "_,,, _,', _n·· ••. -" ', •. ' •..•• _•. , ' .' •
~ and gentlemen, the ~~!~~~l!!L!<LrnmY.QYJ1J,he.Messl~~.~Masa. _. --,_.-.... Meg had just finished filing her photos when she heard somethi~g .~
crash. She ran out of the bedroom and found no one in the sitting room. The ;'TVscreen had been smashed with a highball glass. She looked around. "Sal?" .she called out Then she noticed the curtains leading to the balcony billow-ing in the breeze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she sprinted out. There shefound Sal leaning against the rail. He was crying. He gripped her close tohim, so close she felt her breath knocked out of her. "I don't want to gomad," he whispered.
"Little chance for that," she said. "You're too crazy enough as it is,"He looked at her and smiled wanly."Why don't you (eme with me, Sal?" Meg whispered in his ear.
"You've got to get away for a'while, just let things go,"He looked straight into her eyes, and for a moment she saw some-
thing she had not seen before. his rage boiling over."I'm not " he told her. "I'm staying right here,"
UNFORnJNATELY, the backlash from Sal's tiff with the broadcast bureau wouldnot spare me: my video, long quarantined in the stockrooms of the FilmCenter, would be excluded from a competition that would take its winners toan international screening in Berlin. Dejected, I cursed Sa! X for his unwar-ranted honesty. I went to the haunted center to review my work. There he was,once the brightest nova on the horizon, declaring his faith in individual free-dom: "I elieve in complete and ab~lute fr~:d~,'~ r~I]1a~~'i!~~Q~d!:::!!rt,£~~~~_.~t~~fl}.~L~:."! ~g~>!bi~,ts..~_IJJ1tb".ft.nQn:~~~OJ.illle-neve in. it anyway. Every p~rson s~ouldb.~fre,tir.QPl~QcialJeligtous.Jacial", .ofseimllle6t'i51ralnts.'E,very pers'()llsh(;"VIdR~ .freefrom hunger; slwuklbefree to live in hope, because life must always be marked by. hOlle.EY~!,¥p~t .son should be free notto believe in God ors~ligign,buts~ouI9als?bef~eglQ,., .believe when he. feels he needs to. I·dOD'tPeUe.YJ~ill,an~i61ri~~~~~pi.sproe •ovel\V~~el!lliQKfQrc~.thatcontro,ls t~emo~~~~~t~fl}2,~~~ ..~~j~~~ndIwant to be free to be alone with that forceyth!;I1.\:.Y~L~~nt..~Dsfiould be free to love any man or wonianY:'hQJ.9Y~~Jhe.mj.DJ~J.~!!l~Lam.uQ~."
ItilFllln I '1111'111 • II!I 'I InlJl II ''. .., ·n. In,. II,... II,... 11,.,_~ral(l 01oemg lOvell uy a Illall VI' a WVllliU I. 111l:1l: I:>II\JUllll~ 1111I1l: 1111j}\}II.UII
ar1Clnmle elasi ye in tit is life than t!lis freedom, ,,_. -yg,Mcnne dIsencfiaiTIedYQulhof Miii1ralook his words and lUfI1l>O
them into gospel truth, and distributed photocopies of his staternenL~in thebars and cafes of Ermita, the university campuses, the cafeleri,L~,the streetrallies, Kul~n8,!!£l~(J~J4.118J'ittJl?(I{)C!!! :~I.Sat~}!Ii~llw lcepncydrivers ana il"euniversi hac~J~£.p.Q£.~2.0 ..Hl/j.lJlV~.~lJ~.prl,l)ULIJI~~and.~ a~ an go-go- ancel's and the lonely matrolls. The Cult of lheDamriedJh'e'Cnu'rdl ol1litDrrn?:s ..~-emtt:jlr(t'mml\1'e·rrrlr-rr?t(·l"'·~ .,,®.NoO, "t ••••••• \_~I ~~"t ~••• I ••••• ..M•••_~_ .._~ Y..~Q.s"._~~'_"'"
Unknown to the rest of the city, the Disenfranchised Kristo of Ma-nila roamed incognito all around the alleys, evading the voices and people'ssuspicious stares. He was last seen at the Hobbit House dunking his nth beer.The hobbits knew him and pranced about him. asking him if the news weretrue, and he kept sin in an i a,~~IUQ,.e.&~i~1~l",..e,~" U~~~~~""~9,,~!1.,~,n~~4~:*,,,~.JL1¥J£~·Theywent on and on, Sal turnmg and twirling as they crapped their tiny hands, Hetried an awkward jete and fell flat on his face, The hobbit~ roared with laugh-ter, and several customers at the bar gathered around him and joined in..~~,Ber 0n~Lage, one c~0~l;Y-Ol~tj.lr.Qm.1zJiQ;~ms~bf,{.?LfL~..GqMgWiql'*s~qgp~d"hi~,c,~t~rw~lillK,~~~id~';!l;f:LCf..l1ij,,n..~,lJ1lJJ!!JLEfl.!~'fJj'!!.:J.rTJ,~r~~l~~~ub,a~'
Sal struggled to get up and groggily faced the stage. "Mistah, youcan't tell a song from a rart." Andthen he hobbled to the microphone, yankedit off its stand, and started cursing everyone in the room. Pandemoni umbroke loose: the putas sought shelter behind the bar, the hobbits skitteredaway, the drunk customers hurled thei I' chairs at the two l'i~ures ()nsta~e andthen started throwing punches at each other. The bouncers caught and grippedSal by the anns as the other customers and the offended croakster look turnshitting him. Said the croakster. "J'yebeenWqUJng,J9Jot11i?,119Ilg,tiI1lehpretty boy," and. he. s~nt a..pl.luch, tbat,b wK.e.Sal'£'I1,OSC,.Th.e,btQQ(.l..>pJ'ill~ed.al,1 oyer S aJ's.~hi~~~!}g,WQell~!1~th~r!~\J.n,~~JJ1U)jm"btJgLtbJ~jQ"2jQ~,~,gpjlJg,out. They kept hittin gh im,Yn,liL,l~l]~",~}l~lt~,as IittleIi fe left in him,and he wflteu rrclT1e-a~n;~clthe bou ncers. One of 111e-;;;t;"i;~~;;-w;~ke~"t(;'c,"'"
'him with a crown of ba~bed wi;e and s;;a,~heditoI1to his h~ad. Wl~enthe ..
~.~ Dist~LP'~!ice ~rl~~~,they fOllns!lb~bloodied, barb-c'OI'~iQi••~~_...,iogan tfi~.noor 9f theSJ.ageli.ke.,the.ra~d timQiAS of an angel.
Tlie tabloids had a field day after that. Bannid Nil, ~4iUJ.Pal Washed Up Singer Sea/enia Death. Heading the newspapers that morn"ing, I found out thatSaf'fiadbeen'conft'I;;d by his manager in one of the besthospitals in Manila. There were rumors of his confinement in the basementof the Makati Med, where drug dependents and the terminally insane wererehabilitated, but Pat Chiu issued a statement later denying the allegations.
There was also a report, buried in the lower fold of the afternoondailies, saying that the southern command of the NPAhad offered to negoti-ate for a ceasefire. The report also said that the communist southern com-mand was asking for amnesty, and it was sending its new leader, Anton~'Zabarte, to negotiate peace. Afew days later the palace responded that it hadassigned h is brother, Brigadier General Jose Zabarte, to forge a treaty on the •President's behalf. "
THEOLD WOMAN extended a withered hand to us as the car screeched to a stop.We had just arrived from the new international airport at the junction lead-ing towards Sarrat. Vendors and street urchins clamored around the car, seil-ing us souvenirs and inedible delicacies. The old woman's face was burned toleathe] by the sun, and her hair, long and gleaming with streaks of silver,flew about her as the wind blew in from the dunes. She stuck her hand intoBrigadier GeneralJose Zabarte's window and stared at him with rheumy eyes,nOdding her head and opening her mouth without saying anything. "I donot need to pay my way to heaven," the general told her. The car sped away,leaving a trail of dust that obliterated her from view.
We had flown in with the guests late that afternoon. There wasenough time to rest until next morning's ceremonies, barring uncontrolla-ble urges to get ourselves blind drunk at what promised to be a gotpe degula/: Governor Bongbong Marcos' dinner that night at the newly constructedPeople'S Hall, which had been built by Don Luis Araneta, father of the groom,as a gift to the people of Sarrat. Wewere all billeted at the posh Fort lIocandia,another monstrosity of Imelda's favorite architects, while the First Familystayed at the new Guest House across the Santa Monica church.
The Hometown of the Hour had been preparln~ 101 IllI' WI'ddll\\~ ofthe Century for two months. The old Edralin residence wh(ll't~1111' 1'1I""dl'l\\
W,l~born had been spruced up and converted into the Marcos MlI~ltlllll,dl'.playing mementoes and medals for bravery and valor. Here he W:L~ 110\ III~I
l\I!ro hut also popular homeboy, and was fondly referred to by residel1L~;L'
simply "Andy," or more respectfully "Apo Presidente." Most of the powerfulpcoplc frolll Manila were children of Sarra\: The Armed Forces Chief FabianVer,the Minister for Natural Hl'so\ll'ces, till' Customs Commissioner, the Chair-man of the Philippine Coconut Autllilrlly, lhl' 'J(HlrislTllJnder.;ecretary, am-bassadors and generals, judges and loul'llalists III till' huoK IVl' \Vl'I'l' \l,TI\illg
for the President,)un included this one fact about the people of Sarra! theirforebears were skilled mariners and craftsmen, and had perfected the art ofmaking fayag, or sailcloth, which caught the winds that brought them tothe ports of Macau, Canton and Shanghai where they traded garllc and pep-pers for porcelain and jade. They sailed home with their boats laden withtreasure and filled the crannies of their parched land with relics from Mingtombs.
The church of Santa Monica, where the President's daughter wasgoing to be married, faced the dried-up Padsan river which once bore thedreaded canoes of Chinese and Moslem pirates out to attack the nourishinggalleon trade. Construction of the chu rch was begun in 1724 by the austereAugustinians, using firebricks, lime, molasses and the juice of the sablot tree.It would take them fifty-five years to build the church and a bell tower with abig clock that struck the time every thirty minutes, They named the churchSan Miguel, after the archangel, then later after the Virgin Mary, and finally,considering the need to honor their patron's mother, they christened it afterSaint Monica. Several earthquakes destroyed the dome of the church and theclock, but the tower remained and provided a good vantage point from whichthe residents looked out for incoming marauders.
No such trepidation attended our arrival. '!\vo months ago, the FirstLady and the American ambassador surveyed the church interior and de-cided that a major renovation was in order. Teams of engineers, architects,planners and a thousand workers were tasked to complete the monumentalreconstruction. Landscape artists were nown in to rehabilitate the wiltinggardens. Now sound experts busily tested acoustics and horticulturisL~ de-
bated the uprooting of hundred-year-old banyan trees that had once sproutedfrom cracks on the church floor. And the white walls proved to be offensive tothe young bride, and had been painted over with ivory.
After dinner and several magnums of Dom Perignon, we waddledback to our quarters. Fort Ilocandia welcomed us like a squatting squaw, andwe gave in to the temptation of loitering at the bar, where more drinks wereon the house. General Zabarte joined us later.
"Preparations have been flawless," observed Jun and I seconded,and we toasted to the flawlessness.
"One thing you must know," the general said. "Ma'am likes loy-alty, but she likes professional dedication more. I cim see why you are sofavored."
, We thanked him for the compliment, andJun asked him about hisfuture assignment as tru,:e negotiator.
"Good as done," he replied."It's always inspiring to see two brothers reconciling," remarked
"Because my mother says I will·t~avel far. Even before [ learn torecite the entire rosary," she said.
"And how far have you gone?""Only the sorrowfl.!lmysteries."The general placed his hand around her small·boned wrist and said.
"Do you believe everything you are toldt""No," she said. "But I believe this one.""Go to my room and wait there," the general said,The girl said nothing."Do you know who I am?""Yes," she replied. She walked away and slowly climbed the stairs.
She held on to the banister as she climbed, as though she had only just learnedto walk.
The general slapped his thighs and downed his drink, Then he strug-gled up and told us, "I leave her younger sisters "
~..;;.J1::,> , ,.. - ,-.- .. -
"Mybrother, sir," said the general, "makes it more difficult. But notso difficult as to be impossible."
"How so?"T~~.dtheqlleslio~~fl,~~~
plays game.sJ~:..he.s~i~:'IBig is?~es,to..m1!k§bl?Jii~.moremeaningful. Wars toease his guiIt.,Hewas nevercomrort~ble~~()~t\h~ famij'i'~:~~~!E~;-"--"'-
There was no reason to pursue logic when the general had had hisdrink, and we let it go at that and ordered another round. The general waseyeing the waitresses-young tanned maidens with the harsh, slant-eyedsolemnity inherited from their grandmothers. He set his eyes on one of them,a waif with skin as smooth as chocolate. He signalled to one of his men bypointing his chin at the girl, and immediately one soldier approached thegirl and said something in her ear. She seemed confused, recalcitrant, andthen she followed the soldier to our table and introduced herself. Her namewas L~j~;,;She seemed no more than fifteen. She had small, slanted eyesand thick straight hair the color of tar. On the lapel of her dress was a medal-lion of Saint Christopher.
"Why do you wear that?" the general asked her.
A GREEN CARPET was rolled out from the altar to th:: grounds of the churchwhere patches of bermuda grass has been laid. The church itself was chokedwith chrysanthemums, dendrobiums and carnations. The bougainvlliae re-fused to bloom, and in their place paper tlowers were stuck in the vines. Theyoung bride's horse-drawn caruaje left the guest house at five in the morn-ing. The street leading to the church had been strewn with rose petals whosedeathly fragrance permeated the cobblestoned alleys. There were trell ises andbuntings all throughout the town, some with real !lowers !lown in from thehillside gardens of Baguio, others with crepe paper strung together by Sarrat'sschoolchildren for the past two weeks. The bells of the ancient lOwerbegan topeal, sending swifl'; and marlines lurching out of their perches like a squall.
Members of the Presidential Security Guards were lined up in frontof the church, dressed in their gala white, Guests wearing seventeenth·cen-tury barong and frocks shufned to their pews, !lapping bright woven fansagainst their noses. The entire church had been airconditioned for this event,but even now the seeming volume of silk and sequins must have burdenedthe airconditioning which hummed diligently as the priest called the faithfulto prayer. The First Lady, wearing a pink terno, was accompanied by thegroom's father, who hobbled in wearing a gobernadorciilo's hat and cane.
Matron of Honor Imee was in a pink Maria Clara with obligatory alampayand white flowers in her upswept hair. And then, when the bride and thePresident stepped in, the orchestra burst into Vivaldi'sConcerto forThroTrum-pets. '!Woblonde lasses who had been sent over by Renato Balestra were dW·gently holding up the bride's train. She walked lightly along the aisle, as ifshe were floating on a cloud of lace, her hand resting lightly on the crook ofthe President's arm. The President himself cut a striking figure, and his usualair of authority was now softened by an obvious happiness that shone throughhis meticulously powdered face. There was talk at the palace before we leftthat the President had not been well, but there was no trace of that now. Howproud they looked, father and daughter, so self-assured and confident of theworld now paying obeisance at their feet. They walked up to the altar, theyoung bride's train trailing behind them with its dunes of lace and silk.
There were photographers and video crews documenting the entireceremony, and they jostled for space as the Mass began. I had been relieved ofmy usual duties for this particular event, thanks to political maneuvering bythe program directors of Channel 4, the government station.
Back at the People's Center, the guests gorged on the feast caterershad prepared all night: suman, ensaymada with butter melting sensuouslyover grated cheese, goat cheese souffle, longganiza croquets, fresh mangoand.mugs of rich, tRick chocolate. The President proposed a toast: "I wishyou both as many children as possible, irrespective of family planning." Look-ing tearfully at Irene, he continued, "I could hardly believe this was the samelittle girl who had romped around the palace years ago. Now I feel older, butMrs. Marcos says she feels younger. For a while, I think, she felt the weddingwas her own." Laughter all around, and more cheers. They all wished thenew couple well and a safe trip to Hong Kong, where they would be honey-mooning after another reception the next evening at Malacaiiang.
Suddenly there was a commotion coming from the kitchen. Wait-ers and sous chefs went dashing in and out, distractedly carting utensils andplatters of food. There was a loud clatter and then the sound of plates crash-Ing. I walked into the kitchen to see what the ruckus was all about. There wasa group of walters encircling someone, then backing off and laughing amongthemselves. I looked over their shoulders and saw the object of the commo-tion. It was the old woman we had seen earlier at the junction. I recognized
her small, fierce eyes and her insistent gaze: She mll.~thave recognized mc,too. She stopped her croaky imprecations at the waiters and put down thekitchen knife she had been holding IIp to them. 1 ~L~keJone of the waiterswhat had happened.
"Apo stole some bread," he said slIcclnctly.The old woman turned to face me. She hallded the kllirc back lu 11K'
and [ handed it to the waiter. The old hag clutched the bag (II' bread 111herhand and said something [ couldn't understand. Il W;L~the l1ativc dialect,guttural and difficult, and I asked the waiter what she said.
"S~~,8,;r.Dl~t~;~, ",h.e"~o,I9,~~"~he~~y~ thg grQlm0~iII.b.re~~k~s~,~ll~~.;~~r.l2[l~+2b,\;~~~iS_¥2~~ij~X~JQ,,~~d.".
~ .. -me old woman kept repeatrng her warnrng, wavrng the bag of breadat me. Disarmed, she was gruflly led out of the kitchen and locked out.
"Youdon't have to be afraid of her," the walter told me. "She placesa curse on everybody, that crazy woman."
I looked out the window and watched her hobbling away. She heldher head down, as though she were tracing back her steps, or looking forsomething she had lost long ago,
SHEWOKE up early that morning, as she always did, with a vague, distendedfeeling of emptiness: the shell of an ancient loneliness, the reason for whichshe had never thought much about, and had forgotten long ago, Her boneswere aching. She looked out at the hoary sky: grey a~August, silver a~bullets.She reached out instinctively for the piece of bread she had left beside her cot.It was still there. Ever since the wedding about a month ago, caretakers of thePeople's Center had been throwing leftover bread everyday, and it seemedthere was so much bread to throw they couldn't find enough places for them.
.Even the waiters who had been left behind, the same ones who tried to driveher away on many occasions, now seemed relieved to see her scrape theirtrash. Lifewasn't bad.
She got up heavily. She was still wearing the tattered rags she hadbeen wearing for a week, and a dusty odor clung to her skin and hair. Shewalked out of the hut, squatted on the earth floor and relieved herself, SWat-
ting the flies away.Then, with the bread and a tin mug, she walked downhillto the river where she would have her meal in peace.
She was dismayed to find that a herd of carabaos had already ar-rived there b~fore her. They had been tied to a post by the rlverbank and werenow wallowing in the exact spot where every morning she scooped her water.She waddled closer and hissed at them, tossing up her hands to frighten themaway. Tben, seeing she had no choice, she walked upriver and dunked themug in. The water felt like ice. She squatted by the bank, ruminating like thebeasts beside her, and looked at the sky.Already the light was filtering out ofclouds, sending filaments of tungsten across the grey expanse.
And then she noticed something unusual. The carabaos began tug-ging at their ropes, restlessly trying to heave themselves out of the water. Theirglistening bodies collided and sent water splashing 'all around them.
She struggled lip. She ran back, past her hut and out into the dunes,dropping her mug and her bread along the way. She ran as fast as her with-ered legs could take her, and she did not stop running until she could see thesteeple of the church in the distance, In a few minutes she would be in thetown plaza, She hollered in her ancient, rustyvoice,but by the time she reachedthe plaza the ground was shaking underneath her. It threw her off balance,and she landed on the brick walks on her belly. She splayed out her arms, asthough she could stop the earth from trembling. Underneath her, from aplace deeper than her memory, she could hear something rumbling, cours-ing-through the entire town. Dogs whined and sought shelter, birds shriekedover her head. She clapped her hands against her ears and howled.
People were dashing out of their houses, raising arms and callingout: "ApoDios!Apo Dios!" The walls of stone houses, untouched by man ornature for the last two centuries, crashed into the streets in an explosion ofthunder and dust. The dunes blew open and farmers and carabaos slippedinto the gaping crevices. Trees sank into the earth. Bridges crashed into cas-cading waters, and their twisted frames drifted out to sea.
The earthquake·in Sarrat lasted only twenty seconds but broughtwith it forty-two aftershocks in the next four months, sending already weak-ened buildings and houses crashing down. Six towns in !locos were devas-tated. Sixteen people were killed during the first shock, crushed by stones orswallowed by the earth, Ahundred others were injured and eleven buildingswere leveled flat. Tidal waves wiped out the towns along the coast. The dried-up Padsan River cracked open to reveal the skeletons of prehistoric fish I crus-
I ."taceans and the skulls of Moslem warriors. Streel'i swelled and coughed oulILunderground stones as huge as dinosau rs' eggs,- The new airport's runway cracked open and W;L'iilllp:L~sal>ll'.Whenrescue teams arrived they were aghast to see the town llattened to ruhhle,reduced to nothing. The chun:h of SainI Monica was ripped apart, il~ lower.9.hoppedoff c1~?:nIy and the rubble ga.th.er~q.!9jl.dtJ~~ymv,wW ..bclow.Inside,the church beams crashed onlo'tlle-altar and the pews, lopping off lhe headsof saints and the wings of seraphim. The 5.11:l1Y.S.ta.~y~J~(tg~ndin&~a;;J~atofSaint Michael the Archangel.hovhobad.9nceguided the.church centuriesago a~airlsttheIl1ara~ding Moslems,.Nowheadl.ess, il'i a~_qefianHyJ1Qt~ _"..
"ingits'sword ar~~..~~~ ..j~,2YiEg~l!fele,.s.§.~nMQrlQ[n,jutoodOt~L~Pl0?t t~erUbbie:stre~ked \vith j ighl ijJJelingtbfQt!gh_theA~_s}Icr_e~~ .In,_~he:Y.i!l!.L_
. People huddled inside the church, wide-eyed and frightened by continuousaftershocks, They kept scribbling prayers against the pews, scratching outtheir shrift of penance and sUIl calling out silently to the only one whosevoice they wanted to hear, God Help Us, they wrote on the ews. When therescue teams brought food from tee ross and the nunneries in Manila,nobody inside the church moved, Nobody made a sound.
ANDAll THROUGHOUT the devastated towns of !locos the wretched and the blessedlistened over their radios as a message from the First Ladywas aired twice inthe mornings and twice in the afternoons: Weturn our backs on the ca-lamt'tz'esthat befall us because we know these trials do not last, but ournatt'on and our people will. Weare a blessed race, blessed by theforces ofpower tbat pt'erce the skies and shower their blessings on these islands, thesame power tbat created the great cilJilizations of Allanlis, of (ll/cientGreeceand Rome, of the empires and the holy churches. Let us look up tothispower and receive it, because in it lies our strength. Therewilt be nopoor, no sick and no dying among us, Wehave been ble..\~\'ed.Wehavebeen chosen.
. She summonedD~yanglheWitch to the palace again, nowjb1\lJlJ.least 9Q~,~[b~,i~r~~~BOD,~'h~ifun~:rn!r~J7~ll¥;:(eTi@oohe[;hmlIlg£lOthe First Lady.There was nothing Madame cou Id do in the face of prognosti-cation, which was the only' time she felt help,lessagfiinst tbeworId, But she,;as convinced there was something she could do to turn back its unfolding,
She and Dayang lit black candles all over the alace ho in to ward off thei~pe~.~ J!_Lll.len~~.!..!_~E1!fl.Jb~Y sprinkled salt all over the lawns, _,throu&hQ..ut\~e__~Q!_~i_~2~,~ndaround the presidential bedroom, and ordered
. lh~ gardenersJQ hJJlU~.cl:~~_-~rgarrrcaU.oveTilfiTialTs,.G£waPCeij and _..~~rologers were consulted, a~ ~~~£~,~~~~~~~~,~:".tI!Q~.iill_over strategJe placesWIiereevirmightseep through. Finally, convinced shehad armed herself against ilie onshiughi onb~6m~n.;.~.h.(disXT1l§~§JIK~~ti'Wdw~.~uldneveFsee· hef-~Lft. .-
In the footages I took of Madame for the palace library, she talkedof the resilience of the regime ("like the bamboo"), the strength of her char-acter and the fortress that was the palace: no evil could undermine the goodshe had built around her. She talked of her dreams. Once, in the middle ofthe night, she dreamt she was walking on water, carried aloft by cherubim.The water felt like glass under her feel and she felt radiant, exuding a lightmore benevolent than the suns. In another dream she was rising up a moun-tain path, her feet not touching the ground at all, and when she raised herarms she saw, at the top of the mountain, the pale, gaunt face ofJesus Christ.In another dream she was having dinner with the Pope. "Imelda," the Popesaid, as though he were talking to a little girl, "do not abandon your people.Youare their only hope." And she held his hands and wept copious tears intothem, and they turned to diamonds that fell as light as rain on the floor.
Four days after the earthquake she decided to pump half of Ma-nila's funds to rebuild the north and fulfill the message of the dream. By thistime there were other concerns in the palace: rumors were rife that the oppo-sition leader, former Senator Ninoy Aquino, was planning to come home fromexile in Boston, possibly under a nom de guerre. Security police manned theairport day and night, scanning luggage and double checking passports. ~Lli~.ln,~_~,.!!leZ~h~g~,sn!fl~~~~~~L,~,n~tionaLc:l~-i~e dispatched more relief to the north and more guaras totlle airport,and in the evenings, alone in the palace halls, she sang plaintive ballads toherself while the palace guards waited anXiously in the shadows for the songto end.
lwo ~J.al.eJ!the senator, dressed In a \Vhitesuit, arrived o~ aplane frorn1fu~&~ong a~d~-;"~shot p-ornThrankf~omthe back6n '(ne t~E~~ac.S~~art11fi'enewsfrom her aide General Jose Zabarte and from_her chief of
Purloined Letters He laughed and walked to her and kissed her on the nape, whichshe pretended to avoid. He walked out of the house and, upon reaching thedoorway, promised to take home some food for the night. She wouldn '[ wanlthe usual pancit, he thought. Thank G(xl it w,t~going to be over in two Illonths;then there would be only the baby to think aboul: new problt'llls. Ill'Wwor·ries.
He took a jeep to Rizal Park. The trip would have taken no Illorethan thirty minutes but today it took him more than an hour to get therebecause so many people had already converged at tl',epark earl ier that morn-ing. Others had given up trying to catch the jeeps and were just walking.Almost everyone, he noticed, was wearing yellow, and he heaved a sigh ofrelief: he wouldn't look like a clown in this crowd. By noon there were thou-sands in the park, waiting restlessly for the funeral C0rtege to pass by. Radioreports hissed that thousands had joined the march from the church, and thecortege wa~ moving painfully southward and would reach the park only byabout three in the afternoon. Tonio Paredes ate the sandwich he had pre-pared for himself and munched ruefully, surveying the crowd around him.Nobody he knew was there: friends from the office were afraid to be seen ;n
the crowd for fear that they might lose their jobs.By two in the afternoon people began pressing towards the avenue
where the cortege would pass. From where he stood Tanio could see only thetops of people's heads, yellow visors and yellow balloons. He knew he had tomove to a more strategic location. He pulled out of the crowd until he foundhimself a few feet from the avenue. By the time he reached the curb he couldsee the open truck bearing Ninoy Aquino's bier in the distance. [t wa'>crawl-ing its way towards them, burdened with flowers and several sympathizers,one of whom was standing in front of the bier and waving the Philippineflag. The sky had grown dark. There were rumbllngs in the distance, andwhen he looked up he saw veins of silver lightning streaking across the sky.
Tonia set his eyes on a tree just behind the curb. He squeezed him-self through the crowd and when he finally worked his way to the tree the hierhad maneuvered its way towards the block ..Jje bl!ccjedly climbed the tree,surprising himsel!,with.!l!.s own d~ft~~LJ.k~3~t~"~,s~l!·,i~10.~.C.9.rrifQrt.' •••cMle craM of a branch sticking.out over the.avenue. From there he could
r-""-~'-'-~-"""-""- ....• '. ',",... .·,,,c.,.....' •.•....•·.. _.•.·,.:,.... , ,>.•~'"
~~oke up early that morning. He put the kettle on the stove andwent to the sari-sari next door to buy freshly baked pan de sal, and when hegot back the water in the kettle was steaming and he made coffee. His wifecame out of the bedroom a few minutes later, and watching him dunk hispan de sal in the coffee, she said, "Y9~ eat mQ~ tb.a1tibat. Rady~~~y~3E§.!b_~_~~IS!l.'!Yill.laill.lU~~'
He smiled at her and told her to sit with him. This was the first timeshe had spoken to him since their argument last night, which ended not withany resolution but by default: both of them, exhausted from their circuitousargument, fell into uncomfortable sleep. Now she was ready to pick up wherethey left. "What are you wearing that shirt for?" she asked him. "Para kanggago."
• Ii~had 0~eIl8w, ilI-fittrng t"5AiF~ Re bought at the Sant9 ••QQ.l@1~~,lL\!leek~~·it had the ridiculollS]ydiSlor!ed f~Ni!!~quino s,U~Sr~~[}~d.QU-it..
~~se yellow warriors are making good money out of you," shesaid. Last night she had tried to convince him that it was improper, to say theleast, for him to go out marching with the late senators' supporters ..~~_wgX1tmLhi1 ~.~yu~.totheJ?~l!lQllo..QL~.!lgirJ~~L,,\l1Jhg~-wiys.J1Was not wise;'s'hes'aid,to fight against the government that~~~}~v·"lD&.bim~g.rK"' O' ••••••••••••••••••••••• -....,~ •• ", ••• -.-.~ •••• ~.~ •• _ •••
"I'm not fighting the government," he told her again to reassureher. "I lust feel I want to march."
"'111esepeople aren't going to feed us when they take over," shesaid. "You want your family to starve, go ahead." She waddled off to poursome juice for herself, lifting herself heavily from her chair: she was sevenmonths pregnant. She looked back at him and said, "It's a stupid shirt. Toobright. Baka tamaan ka ng kidlat."
228 Empire of Memory'
probably even peer intq~~£~~gljgY~J:l!htr~chi1dte~ttied,LO,talLOW"U..llJlf' '~"scramHing upon ea~hother to climb upthe tree.. By this time the bier was moving down the avenue. It began to rain:the heavy downpour caught everybodybysurprise, drenching mechanics and
. matronas, theso~yaland the bakya, sympathizer and kibitzer, even Marcos'security police who huddled in their vans and watched the marchers driftpast. Up on the tree, Tonio Paredes strained to catch a glimpse of the bierpassing by, and he held tightly onto the branch, The sky had darkened to thecolor of a bruise, and thunder rumbled just above his head, When the biercrawled away he kept looking at it. Now he could stagger home with every-bod; else and tell his wife he had the best view in. the park. The rain waspouring relentlessly. Everynow and then the park would light up with a l1ashof lightning, revealing pale yellow crowds scampering for safety.
He loo~~~~'!..e_"tthe n:~s~ve greyness th~t had stolen aH color frQJJlthe day. Several ~ople caITedto him to come down, but he didn't hear them,because ofthe c.ra.'ih Qfheavy rain. Lightnins·streakeddo\!ID.tQ.wardstheparK.!Ie started tQ clarn!>er£lO\VP but something caught his.eye:ahtight.t1ash ..tilats~ITIed to be headingstraighttowards him and.stunn.edhim.Then,Qllim-fllllse, he let goof the branch,hQP-ing he..would..{all·faster-thantl1€ Iig·nt could.catch hIm. Something hit him: a sharp jab Ilear the MaFt. He Jelt.a,s...j.fbis,entire body had been changed.toJight.. A surge of electricHyflul through his'xeins, his nerves,his blood: ~ob.UrI1ing.Ra.i(ll~l~harg~.tbalAis1QQ~~JQ.bLrn.~U!D~.QlQrt..~ng~llJi.f~~
That was the only story the government press published the dayafter Ninoy Aquino's funeral. There was no reportof the frighteningly mas-sive crowd that turned out along Espana; the weeping women who pouredout of the boarding houses of Sampaloc; the hostesses and bar dancers whowept and waved their yellow underwear from their rabbit hutches in Morayta;the shamans and fortune tellers who crossed themselves and threw talismansand estampitas at the crowd in Quiapo; the street children who clamberedup the cars of the Makati socialites, calling out Ninoy's name and beggingfor food; the flash floods that dredged the esteros of silt, rats, lilies and chil-dren's shoes; the banks of the Pasig RiveroverflOWingand swelling and turn-
,m!f1I'11 11(~I]I,ll. 11111111.lULl. larh',i." 1111,,/:. I(ILII_
~"'O ._••...............···· ~·····b~ ~ - ~, , ~'- .._ --'-..- " "J ••
feet and slush and rain. There was no time for mourning in a ki~~do~ 'th~;was going to live forever.
THEPALACE LIBRARIAN wa~a priggish old maid with horn· rimrneo spectacles andan acerbic disposition, "Youare to stop takJng footagc.'iof the rallies in Makati,"she told me one morning with her usual nasal whine,
"Why?" 1 asked her."It disturbs Madame."1 had been shooting the rallies where businessmen and students
and the cause-oriented groups had been marching through the streets ofMakatl to protest the assassination of Ninoy Aquino. The mosquito press had~IIbut blamed the assassination on the First Lady,and she kept us busy writ-Ing news releases to divert attention from their accusations: there were exhib-its to hold and trade agreements to sign and so forth. The yellow armiesreally poured ilthick: human rights lawyers kapit-bisig with' socialites andparading under a cascade of confetti shredded from the yellow pages. With ajaundiced eye, I recorded some of their marches as they wended their waythrough highrise Ayala.There were some embarrassing moments for the citygovernment: when MakatiMayor UrOiQoTorqspoke beforeanass~mbleqcro~9 o!M.¥~os~_':!E£2Tl~~_Ln,}hecenter of the business districtoffi~em:"~.RI~l~~~Jr0!J1tI1~~e~tieth floor of a bank bu'ifa-in-g-s~ni-h~;ili;;do;n right?n the mayor's head a bag rut! of urine. All those footages weJe goingto. beconsigned to the palace li~rary.
"What wiHyou do withthem?" IaskedMis~Hornt~im,".Erase them," shesaid. .. .. .Istomped back to our office fuming with rage. Along the way medics
from the Heart and Kidney Centers were hauling dialysis machines for thePresident. Allweek long the palace had been rife with rumors that the Presi-dent had been taken ill. The mosquito ~ress, picking up .lea~~frOm1?aI~ce~?l.~s!.h~~glinedth.~Pr~~~~!rraraayasfcrpl'l'S~'~WfrenoC~~~1~ 1~(ttQ';
•. i§S.\Ae~a ..de.nlal. '" ""'-~ ,~="_.••~,~,,,~~~..,,,,?,,..,. ••• ~·,w_=,~~·~·_,~---
But there was no time to complain now. When I reached the corri-dor leading to the office I heard Max's voice booming Ollt. and! decidedperhaps J should turn back and spend hard time al the library. Gut it was too
lale, they saw me coming in, andJun called me to join them. He had beenconferring with Max, and I knew at times like these Jun wanted moral sup-port.
Max's face crunched to a scowl when he saw me. "Diaz, purieta, Ididn't hire the two of you to bum around. Where the fucking hell is the Presi-dent's book?"
"There's a slight problem," Jun intercepted. "We can't seem to re-lale the First Lady to the Zabartes. Otherwise the volume's going well."
"I don't give a fuck about the First Lady's whatchamacallit, she'sprobably forgotten all about it an)Way. Give me the goddamn book, dammit."
Jun hoisted three inches of typescript on the table. "This is it," he
Max skimmed through the text. It was obvious he didn't really w;t'\to read what we had produced. [t must have been a slow day at the Film !Center. "No, this is all wlOng. No, give me more pre-Spanish material. Get \me documents from the Chinese trade." On and on, mindlessly leafing J...1t
.'•.•
through our masterpiece. Then he asked, "What's the problem with Mad-ame's request? Are the Zabartes being uncooperative?"
"Not at all," said Jun. "General Zabarte and his wife have beenmore than willing to share their family history. There's this book that's gOing/ ••.·to put.ourcredibility into question."
Jun took out our copy of Amalia Suarez Romaldes' novella and \~~~ded it to Max. Max flipped the pages over and asked, "What's wrong :it~
"Spelling, for one," said Jun."What the fuck do we work here for?" Max said. "Just say she's a
cousin thrice removed or something, or they spell it that way in what the fuckthat island's name is, Or write an entirely new book about how names arechanged over there. That's it: tell them the spelling had to be changed duringthe war. The Romaldeses were anti-Japanese guerrillas and they had to gounderground and the rest of the family had to assume the new name. Thatwould look even better in the book."
"No, we've already done that for the President," Jun said. "We don'twant to be redundant."
"Redundant is whai you'll be if you Gon't SOIVl:that prohll'111," Maxsaid. "You think up something. That's what we pay you !\OWl'Illl11'lllfUllllsfor."
"Well, it's not really going to he Illllch of a pl'uhIcIJl," JUII s:lId
"The Historical Institute believes this is the Oldy cupy Il'flullhl' IliJIIK'
"Idiots," said Max. "How the fuck do they know lhalr""They've got a receipt of the sales of the book." JUIl sail!. "NoIHXly
wanted it.""I'm not surprised," Max said, nipping the pages. "Give them a
new language and those carios think they're geniuses at It." He went on leaf-ing through the pages slowly, as though he were studying the quality of iL)
paper, the binding, the ink, Then he held up the book with one hand, fishedout a lighter from his pocket, and set the book on fire. The pages curled as theflame devoured them, sending a ribbon of smoke from Max's hand. Maxdropped the book into a metal waste basket and we watched it burn to cin-ders. He looked triumphantly at us and lit a cigar for himself.
"No hay problema," he said. "If there's a problem, eliminate thesource of the problem. The Zen masters say that, or didn't you know?"
He walked out of the room, and called out from the corridor, "Iwant that book pronto."
Jun stooped over the waste basket and poked around at what hadbeen left of the book. There were flecks of burnt-out pages on which we coulddiscern some text, but generally the book had turned to smouldering ash."Badquality," Junsaid. "They used really terrible paper back then."
>--i'AftYOltgoTngtorern;Tm;bout'11ieotf1er'copY?';'TiSkedjun. ""Much later," ]un said. "When I'm ready to strike." He looked at
me and expiained, ~~~x)scertainly goingto &etcreditforthis book. W,e'llhave our names in some acknowledgement somewhere after the index, insix-point Times Roman. Or maybe not at all." He poked around the W,L'ite'basket, reading bits of text. Then he said, "We'll let the geniuses in the uni~versities findthis one out."
"If they do, Max will pass the buck as always," [ reminded him."You find a way out of that," Jun mimicked Max. "That's what I
hired you for. Go for the jugular, Al Boy."
I SUPPOSE I shouldn't have taken jun's advice seriously. For the next few daysthe mosquito press began releasing stories based on skimpy data about diver-sions of funds in government. There were reports of concessions to business-men favored by the regime and passionate exposes of mal versations and laun-dering, and Max got even madder trying to whip up clever replies to be issuedto the government press. Naturally, this keptjun and myself busy. Economictechnocrats were periodically consulted to refute allegations by the opposi-tion press, which]un called the yellow press in one memorandum-a termlater picked up by the Express and theJournal and played up in their rebut-tals.
By this time we had outlined how we would insert Madame's ficti-tious relatives into an emended Volume Three of our presidential opus. Thetitle, "The Promised Land," was to be retained. There would be chapters aboutthe bravery of the islands' guerrillas during the Second World War: theRomaldeses would be the first to link up operations with the Americans inBataan. The, young guerrilla fighter]aime ROrnaldes hirnselfWQuldhede"scended f~()ma distinguished line of QQctors.,lawyers andedl!Cato~IDaI1¥.ofihem 'Sp~nis~ .and C~~:!~.~~~lq~,.~b2,~e!:.!p~~~~~~.~L~,9,X;IJ~r~~i!ll.the corrupt Spanrsn regim: ~t the turn oft~~ntnetee,nthcertury. Th~yo1!!l$Romaldes would hold out in the caves of Monte de Oro, occasionally swoop~·i~g<io\VnonJapanesec~rnPs to givef0odtothep~opl~.a~d~??st tpeir rt}o-rale~ile'wou'ld(fci-ffiKdesp1l.ethreats from Ihekemp~itai totQ{t\lJ'~hl~fam~ily; indeed many members of his faJl1l1ywould I?t~r change,1Qgjt!laro~lQ,Romualdez to escape s~rlltinyby the kempeitaLWhen the war ended andMacArthur's forces liberated the island, the young Romaldes, now JaimeR,omuaJdez,,~would..reie~LaJLI1(),n2~,~SC,?~2,~d.,bi.~.,~.~~,1,~~ra~!~0::~,"sayinghe had done everyth}ng for love,of countrya,~9w.a,nt~~n?t~I~~,!~"recompense. He would meet the young, lonely Ama[ia Suarez, fat! In rove, et
_s~t~ra.Weworked on the book feverishly,Jun and I. perhaps because it was
the only thing that lifted us from the drudgery of press statements and deni-als. Needless to say we were expected to sift through the petulancies of theyellow press everyday, and there were periodic notices from the National In-telligence and Surveillance Agency,calling our attention to this or that itemwritten by so and so. The NISA(as it was called) kept dossiers of writers un-
sympathetic to the regime and issued regular LIlJelateson their stories, alld wefollowed up the effort by issuing counterstatel11enL~to the govl'f1l1lll'ntprl'ssThe cogs of bureaucracy worked well up to the palace Bill there W;L~ SOIlH'
thing in Carilas, the tabloid issued by the Catholic Church, that would pili
this in doubtThe story in question said that the paper had drawn lip a lisl of
names believed to be fronts for the President, and that funds from variousgovernment sources were being siphoned off to Swissbanks,
"Pufieta!" Max boomed over the phone. "Write a statement pronto!Get those sissies from the economic departments and disprove the goddammotherfucking pufieta!"
lie was particularly incensed, Ipresumed, si~Ee his naf1le~pp~a.redon the list. A columnist for Cari/as wrote, "You can't blame Max Plata for•...... ~""< , ......, .. ,stashing all that money.~e needsth~m for shopping."
@'ThelistinclUdedan eclectic line~up, from Sunshine Enterprises,
. I. n.ter-AsiaLtd..,..L...a...I..~.l~IJ?£!::.o.;.,.r.~.,~i?~~~~~:!:vel~~~;:and the more famil-. iar Tongkiko, Cuenco and Plata. I rememoerecI'ffie names from Ted's code
rummagearhrough theGUnes of memos on my desk r finally found itinside the pocket of a coat I kept wrapped on the back of my chair,
That evening, after the staff had gone home, I asked Jun what hethought of the Cari/as story.
"Innocent until proven guilty," he said. "That lawstill stancL'I,doesn't
Not according to Carl/as and not according to some of the palacerank and file, among them writers and artists from our research stafr, whoresigned not en masse but singly and quietly. It seemed we had come to apoint where we were expected to profess our undying loyalty to the Presidentor ship out. Jun and I stayed put. Or rather, Jun stayed put and that ni ght hetold me, "The choice is yours, AI.Things are going to pull apart for sometime, and you can't be fence-sitting al! the time, I sound like a governmentpamphlet, ana? Like one of those things you write in the memos,"
"I learned from you," I reminded him,"So you did." And then, after a pause: "Are you going to work with
That "us" was what bothered me. It sounded to me like some se~organization one found only inJames Bond movies, and perhapsJun's fault ,was that he tended to make it sound that way. [ wanted to get out. I knew I,;would eventually. "I'm staying," [ said. ",_
He palted me on the shoulder, the way he used to do when we wereyoung hooligans joyriding around Manila. [showed him Ted's code again.
'~Susan was rig~t,'~ [.~ed ~ew ab?~t the accounts."Jun_gl;!l1c~d.aub~P.alle.r.~n([~KL~:QJ co~~~enedrcr"ed wasn't
YO\lr?v~ra.~ i(i.iqL.£3_~~i.c!~~t)J.e_~illi.o'l.D.Qminican."".---"----"--~, "~~'!l~.l!,.\sJ:1_e!Y_a.)J.~,~?"~~~~~~.'~X~~.?:Jtold him: "You knew wh~
tbe co<:\ew!!,S"gjQI}'tyou? RutanJ!,Jna.,", -"Come o~, AlBo}~;'he said. "[wanted to see how long it'd take you
to find out. You're the bright one. But you disappointed me on this one."Then more seriously: ''I'm sorry about Ted.These things I don't want to messwith. That's why I'll live a long and happy life. Three kids and a wife. There'spoetry for you. Ted knew what he was getting into. Hewasn't an idiol."
"He would have thanked you for your compassion," Isaid."Look,'Al.Idon't know anything about it and I don't want to know.
We've got work to do and that's it. 1 don't want to know anything more. Justbecause Ifigured it out long before the yellow press did doesn't mean I'm anaccomplice."
"And Max?""Who knows?" he said. "Max could be worth millions, but [ always
thought he wasl1't worth shit. Youshouldn't let him bother you."':Tmwnkiflg ofgeltiftgw(wkwm~-Aer~~! told bim "Ma~bead-""' ..
v£.ttisin~Jie...f;lJ!l.ckingyul3l*'""Still finding your center, ha? Iknow you, AI.You go around look-
ing for some kind of cause, some kind of religion to believe in. And you can'tfind it anywhere so you keep moving around, hoping you stumble into it, likeprospectors stumbling into gold. Advertisingwill kill you."
"I'm sure it Will," [ said. "Suicidal streak.""You can go if you've already made up your mind," he said. "I
know you're bothered by all these resignations going around, but I don'tthink they're doing anybody any good. They look like heroes to their friends
and get a little backslapping in beer gardens, "andthen they wake up the nextday with the horrible realization that they're out of the job."
"Doesn't it bother you at all,Jun?" [ asked him. "Things are fallingapart all over."
'~ciJht£~m~.r ~a.!l.ng~~old,".~1~sai~l. "What, you wilnt to IlIlllpship before we all sink? That's not veiYheroic, Diaz." '. A
....-.... '- '-''''rrs~n'ora'very"(feCentShip''to begTri-;;tK;'; ~aid. "Look at all thesereports coming out. Theft and torture, Jun. We sound like a fucking CostaGavras movie. We sound like fucking Latin America, Don't pretend you'reblind, Jun. We travel all around the country and everytime we get back all [feel is I've been through some wounded landscape."
"Getting back your poetry, ha? Wounded landscape," he rolled thewords on his tongue mockingly. "Wounded," he repeated. "Sounds like some-thing the samizdat can use. So what do you want to do now,Diaz?Goout intothe battlefields and find a remedy for the turgid prose of the underground? Iknow \V~e~.Y~.~L~~!,~~~ding,Diaz. You're ~eading straighttothe claws
..~:~~i~ddiSL).a~i£.~9.U:e,[i~ilii£r~1iQJliLDKt!lsTf~lE®l~~:S~ttfiestree~, S§re therains and the riot police land, come ou t.her9~s of som,erev'Ofution.That n~voiutfon'hippe~sonlyi~the;?mi-nd~, Di~,Ajl th~~rYandgHtfj~'[~, mm)-erlerWtttk''6'Ot'!!&'ra~~:~::;m9}rrgn'Jh~'gQbaCkJ~Jhe_;safety or.ibeir,~~rSondi.tig6~g~eJ1thotJ.~~s.Jhat'sthe,p~s.k.Y9Y'r~,.begQjngJQr,..,Dlaz. Liars and hypocrites. What do you think it'll be like when they)ake,§Yer?What.doy~uthink will happen to_~te~~.!'sionate, vociferous ~~}LViS~):Nobody's after the common good here, everybody looks out for himself. Openyour eyes, Diaz,All thes.~.pr~HY)f:djesmarc~in~down Ayala~lreblind. They'relemll)in~s led to,sea, R::l~folloWlnga piper. Do IOu think they do th.is be-j( ...,<";y;"" .."",,.,,~'l<_ J:.:q.:",".f~ " ...~'Il"~~~_~~;.4~~""""'''''''-'O,i.'''r~,.,:;";,c""-,: ..,,,,,:·.",,-,·,;·.:~_.,...'..,J,li''d.,.,.·..:'.....,.,;_.,~" ...;__....
c~use their hearts. bleed fm IDgpOor? They want us out of the palace, andaaj]JLLm~selLwouW.go andmarcn wUllJ,bi;ffi..lLLbeUevedJor,amomentthey wanted a better lifdor. the co.rnmo.Q.l11~ObRf\vhoeYeritis Jbey prelend to .figbt ..!2£:,,~~LDgi,Ih~ymarch out .therE.v.rit,ht,~~ir P<iSsiO,Q(j.te_crie~,.il1.the .. _n~,QJ.tbe,BQQL~D9tbesickand thel~une, ~~Ctbereare no noble cau~es.You c~D,io.~he~4iDg,ho~rii~th.th~r~XQL\b,~,Ql;~YJI.il~lt.YQU,M~~th;f.1gWnen this government falls, another faction wi!! take its place, and tha,l'sallY2H'IJ~ygrget.They won't care for your poor. They won't CaJeflRQYlyour,Qoblecau,ses a!).d..Y2~JrcountrySIde skirmishes. Their children will be toting
'""c~:it~~,~· '''--. ··...,....-_~~.~ •.,~•.·.1,.;'''','..".\.,c,.\ ••,
· uns and running over innocenL~with their BMWs.The 'II be dancing ra~In s l! I e y , ~ q, .\{OT]1ui1g~!JD..t1e1r lO~es, Not ing,willchange, Ther~\yi1lge no salvation. And where would'"yOl7be','5Taz1'Smr
.ili§~l}~iJl~lWlU.~ldiQC;u;~." ... ~ ....•... ... ... ~".,•.
He wa.~n't gOing to wait for me to respond, He threw some papersinto his briefcase and said, "I'm not going to stop you, Diaz. I'mnot as cal-lous as you think, Or maybe Iam. Iwant things to change, too, but I can't seeany sense or hope in what those yellow armies pretend to fight for.JJ~~~thillgj~lsgL~_r~Y9Iution is that it make sense." He snapped the briefcase
"'shut and headed for'the-door.-;'Stayand([I11'sfi'ihe book with me, and thenyou can go anywhere you want. I'll arrange for your separation pay. Whoknows, I might even join you.~B,,~.~9on'tfight for someth.i~lX£~.~2."Y,!l9l!l:_ing about, Diaz. That's all I ask."·-···-~···=··='=·'·_._ ••.~;"'.~,.""',_.',."., .•,•._;.,.«•.••_."'•..,."'_."'.""',_.c.'~.~.--,., •.~_... ~._ .•..."",-.. ...__
GENERAL JOSE l.\BARTE stepped out of the army plane into the muggy afternoonin San Miguel. A soldier who had come to meet him gave a snappy salutedespite the heat. The general pitied him, and there was a sad air of heavinessas he acknowledged the salute. The heat in San Miguel always made him feeldrained, emptied of everything he lived for, He wanted a drink badly. A localphotographer was shooting his profile, From the corner of his eye he couldsee the lens being pointed at him, and his face grew sterner. Hecould alwaysdo that: sense some moving object, and with no more than peripheral visionplot its every action, its every move, With this sixth sense he had once escapedgetting shot by a communist assassin: he saw the sniper lurking in the bushes,and quick as a flash he threw himself to the ground and narrowly escapedthe bullet. Some say he managed to shoot the sniper in the eye.The story wasstill being told in the barracks in San Miguel and in Manila. Now he couldfeel nothing moving around him, the world was at a standstill. That wasgood. Life-or his life here on this island-was a series of storms and lullsbefore the storm. Hisgreatest feat was haVing mastered the regularity of thesemisfortunes. I am the saddest man on earth, he told himself, because I know~~lfy~,ana:·~~· "~-.- ...-._._--, -
The general walked to the jeep that had been waiting for him androde on the front seat. Nobody spoke to him, not even the driver, who had oncertain occasions mustered enough audacity to strike a conversation with
him The heal, oppressive and stifling especially after the rains, sapped every-one of even the most basic urge to communicate. The general liked it hetterthis way. There would be a lot of talking to do when he got to the meetingpoint. Hewould take twenty men, not fiveas he had earlier agreed to do. Whowere they to complain? The obvious victor would be he, and he had everyright to take along as many men as he wantr.d, Let them tremble before histroops, His brother's command was not negotiating any truce: he himself,Gentral Zabarte, was accepting their surr2nder. Better an ignominious peacethan a glorious war, He would make short shrift of it so he could go back tothe villa and sit with a cold drink in the crook orhis favorite chair, his wife'svoice IihinS in the gardens below, talking to the servants about plants and themost inconsequential of things. She would be there, He would ride into thevilla on the jeep, flushed with the terms of truce. She would run up the pathto greet him, her fingers green with the sap of trees.
The driver revved the jeep and turned to him, "We go now, sir?"He looked distractedly at him and said, "Are the men ready?""Yes,sir."He looked out towards the Monte de Oro. The sun was burning like
cinders over the lush green. Tomorrow he would meet his brother for the firsttime in ten years. He straightened his back up and said, "Let's go."
His profile, stern, frozen to a determined gaze towards the moun-tain, appeared in a photograph on the front page of the Express. It appearednot on the morning of his arrival, not on the afternoon when he embarkedon the route southward towards the winding road called Bitukang Manak,not in the late afternoon when they reached the fork towards the camp, butth~edaxsaf~erth.~.t l\yiH&ht\Vhe,n.hist~oop.oftwentysoldierswas~fl1bysh~q,£Y:~J)rig~2~0(r,~~~'.iml2.~,~~~??=dunder thefirst jeep, sengingits occu-pants, a driver and threesoldiers, hurtlfng over the cliffs. A burst of gunfire'followed; seven more men died. 1\\10were wounded severelancLth~ otbeE,mere . pw ent eyranoutofamln~nition, Therew'L~nQr.~12Q£l..Q.!1.tneconUi fionorlTiese-su,·rvl~orS.-~c?nvoY7roni'~.=.cca·~R:I~;I~~.(JQ\jlliLon(y' ~reY~1I~,:!!1tn:~mtrjI.£~~~L,t!la.,£9~?Y,!:~>!q_b~ri.€i_Hj§,JI,llgto-gra~.J~•.~crefiie~ story, that photograph taken onthemorning,of his.~[iival.w. en t ese.tho~ifi~camet9J1Tm:~iarTngTu0Eghl.h~dkni,tl~~h(s.
,prO)\/$J() .a fr9Y,1n;.\Vhatwass~pposed to be a reluctant smile seemed like}"
soarl. In the djstaoce one could see the ranges surrounding him, and it looked"a.s~L~~ape had been caught .L~ching stealthily to embrace him.
your lips. Hum softly to keep mosquitoes away. Sleep in corners to make roomfor the nuno: they will reward you for your hospitality. By the third night hewas wracked by sleeplessness over the fate of his wife and their grand~on.When the soldiers opened the door of his cell they found him crouched in acorner, mumbling the rosary and weeping.
"Get up," one of the soldiers said. With the light on the other side ofthe door he could see only their silhouettes. He got up slowly,still mumblinghis prayers.
An officer walked in. The old man could tel: he was an officer be-cause the others made room for him and stood deferenLially aside.
"What's his name?" the officer asked his men.One of the soldiers barked at the old man: "Your name.""~9dQrlcoSaD Juan.::..hesaid. "I amnQltiEf~Qe~j9~Q..g,LJ i~~.lk•."But we know you are," the officer said. He stepped closer, and the
light fell on his face. The old man recognized him as one of General Zabarte'smen, a young officer newly assigned from Manila. Hi~name was.1!~I"l1enanL,CQJ2n,eLR.e,!t•.~.Teodorico Sanjuan felt somewhat relieved to find a youngman interrogating him: the young, his father always told him, can be easilypersuaded, because their minds are still searching for truth. He appealed tothe officer, "I tell the truth."
The young officer smiled, and this made him look even younger,No, the old man thought, this was not a man, but a young boy. How terribleto send someone so young to war. The old man smiled back, showing a row ofrotten teeth blackened by years of chewing betel nUL~,How he wished he couldhave some betel nuL)now. The young officer turned to his men and grinned-asort of sinister grin he had seen young boys do after they did some mischiefThen he faced the old man again, and in an instant he kicked the bowl ofgruel. It new off and hit the wall, staining it with glutinous streaks of rice."No more lies, lola, " he said.
"I tell no lies," the old man said."The NPAvisit you. Why?""Nobody visitme. Mywife and I all alone. Allmy children shot and
.•;..'. _. ,_ "";i1.-:.,:•.,...,~.,;;~.",;\<••""•.,.;"""';:;"">:"''''''~·"·'·''l ..~,-''''''''':-';'''1",,",~l"''··' ,-," ..' ">~'!''''""-"
dead."If'.- .
THESOLDIERSFOUND the old man cowering behind a wooden table. In the shad-ows they could see only his small, white head. They pulled him out and in-stantly they heard his wife cry: "Huwag po/" She had been hiding behindhim. Her cries woke up a small boy sleeping on a cot. The boy sat up andbegan to howl, and she ran to him and covered his mouth and smotheredhim in an embrace. Asoldier beamed his flashlight at them and asked herwho the boy was. ''Apo ko, "she said. The soldier grinlled at her and said, "Wedon't want him." They dragged the old man ourand when she heard the jeepstarting she ran out. All she saw was the jeep riding away into the light thatwas breaking over the mountain trails. Acold wind blew in from the sea, andthe Monte de Oro, dark ~ a sleeping hunchback, loomed before her. She hadnever seen the other sidp.or the mountain in her life. Her husband had alwayswarned her not to cross the army checkpoints. She walked back to the hutand found the boy struggling out of the cot. She sat down beside him andstared at the window where that framed rectangle of sky was slowly appear-ing. She kept staring at it until the light flooded the room,
The soldiers brought the old man to the barracks at Carmen. Forthree days and three nights they kept him in a cell that had only a small slitfor a window, through which he would imagine the passing of the day bywatching the thin streak of light creeping upwards on the wall like a fabu-lously illuminated insect. Each morning, someone would slip in his mealthrough a slat under the door-some muddy gruel and a glass of murkywater. He could hear voices and footsteps from the other side of the door, butafter two days of darkness these sounds seemed to merge with one anotheruntil they became no more than faint echoes, the kind one heard in a dream.He began to be afraid after the first night. He had heard gruesome storiesabout life in the barracks, but these were told by farmhands over severalciemy'uanas of lambanog, and the pure, distilled juices of the coconut al-ways muddled men's minds and made them prone to exaggeration. His fa-ther had taught him that, and his father's father. Now he tried to recall otherthings they told him, to dispel his own fear, Don't fall asleep under the lightof the moon. Pray the rosary in the dark until you fall asleep with prayers on
table with something on II, draped OWl'wllli'a dirty ~lll't't 111\hllil \11I1~1'lllend. He knew at once what it W;l~ Ilis 1I1sld('s1111'111'dill 111III' w.lllll'd 11111111out.The officer lit a cigarette and when he exhaled the smoke formed a
haze around him. "~hQ'-'yi~iL~~OUand your wife? Your children?":'No." The old man waS-i~emb[ing. H1s'eyes-l)ec-;unerheumy with
':Go ahead," the officer callt·d III hllil "'011111,1' dl)(li '( ;11 IlIlIk ill
your friend."
:Lo[Q. ',:Jh~Q.fn£~L?i!id. :~2X'~_~~,~~I~}?~.~~l'..!!!)~JllliliL[)aVll1d __night ~,ese~ this woman come t?seg, you. W~know,~ho.~h.~is.;,.~~J.u~t_~_a~Jl.to makes.L1re.DQ you understand.oJd man?,"
Teodorico San Juan nodded his head weakly. He said, "She is notmy children."
"We know thaI, puta," the officer barked. "We know she goes toyour place to meet someone. We know she has letters. We know who she is,puneta. "
The old man looked imploringly at him. Hesaid, "I know nothing.Only her name."
"You know who she works for, toto," the officer said. "She didn'ttell us, but we know you will."
The old man said nothing. The officer took another puff of his ciga-rette and said, "Will you help us, tolo? Your wife must be worried about younow. ,Youshould go home, toto. Or do you want us to bring her here, too?"
At the mention of his wife, the old man broke down and fell on his 'knees. It was as if some secret mechanism had been triggered, and now hewas willing to give them anything, to say anything just to go home. "Yes," hesaid. "I know who it is."
The officer smiled, dropped the cigarette on the cement floor andstubbed it out with his boot. Hesaid, "The woman '5 here with us, that courierof yours. Let's go see her."
They pulled the old man to his feet and pushed him out of the cell.The fluorescent light in the other room blinded him, and when his eyes grewaccustomed to the light he noticed a wooden table and benches, but apartfrom that the room looked bare. They pushed him into another room, dankand windowless. There was a putrid smell that filled the room and suffocatedhim. The soldiers stayed outside the door, laughing. He walked in tentativelyand looked around. It was very dark. In the middle of the room was a long
001.01<1'5 aUAHTE had been walling all J1I1Jr1l1llgfor l.allta. (Jill' of lht' millishad gone to the convent to fetch the child, ;l~W;l~tlwir custom each weekendnow. The child would spend the night at the villa and would be brought backto the convent before Sunday noon. When the weather was fine they woulddrive down to the water to gather shells. The trips to the viUa had been doingthe child's health a lot of good, and the num were all too glad to depositLalita in the villa's care more often.
The sound of a vehicle rumbling up the driveway alerted the maids.One of them dashed past Dolores and said, "I answer the door Ma' am." DoloresZabarte followed her down the steps. She could hear the sound of the doorbeing opened and the shuffle of feet coming in. When she reached the foyershe was surprised to find Lieutenant Colonel Rex Asis there.
"There is news of my husband?" she asked him."I'm very sorry," the officer said. ''We do not come with good news."She led him into the sitting room while four of his men waited on
chairs in the foyer. The young officer sat stiffly, declining offers of a colddrink, but finally accepting a glass of water.
"Tell me what brings you here," she said.lilt's very awkward, Ma'am," the officer began. "We have arrested
an old farmer who we believe is working for the NPA,We believe he has beenserving as conduit for the NPA."
"Conduit?" Dolores asked him, "What do you mean?""He takes messages, important messages, and passes them on to a
courier. We have found details about our troop movements, subversive docu-ments, a list of loggers and haciendas paying taxes to the communisL<;,"
"We all pay taxes to the communists," she said. "Surely you know
"The courier was one of your servants, Ma'am," the officer said."I'm very sorry."
'l..qjg.JlQt isslleJb.e ..Qcde~Ma'am,...!t ~~m~ from Manila, I don'twant tQdo.~,~~ _ - -'--- -.--- --",----.~.. '.'.
She handed the paper back to the officer and said. "The defenseministry there will do anything to discredit my husband and my family. Dothey think we hold parley with communists for their entertainment? Wedon'tthink as they do, sir. We don't manipulate events for our own ends,"
The officer got up and walked to his men. They spread out over themansion, two of them walking up to the bedrooms. Outside the house, sev-eral other men had already begun searching the grounds and servants' quar-ters. Then the officer walked back into the sitting room and sat before her.They sat there for some time, not speaking, She could hear the soldiers' foot-steps coming in and out of the rooms, The officer presently said, "I haveinstructed them to be very careful, and not to break anything."
She thanked him. Then a servant shuffled in and announced thatthe car with the child Lalita had arrived. Dolores stood up and said to theservant, "Prepare another place for Colonel Asis,He will stay for lunch." Theofficer protested, saying he and his men had prepared meals for themselvesat barracks. "You will join us, sir," she insisted. "The maids will prepare foodfor your men as well. My husband would insist that you join us,"
She walked out and opened the door herself, and immediately thechild sprang up to her arms, and she lifted her in a tight embrace. '-'J.'.
"You are heavier every week," she said to the child. "That is good." I
Lalita was almost five years now, and Dolores was still surprised at how fas~she had grown. It was as if all the ailments she had suffered as a child haqbeen dispelled by her stay at the orphanage. The nuns themselves considereqher the liVing proof of the efficacy of prayer and miracles_
They had arrived late, the driver explained to her, because Lalitahad been kept by the nuns for a misdemeanor.
"What did you do now?" she asked the child."Nothing!" Lalita exclaimed. "Piling kept pulling my hair, and it
was his fault. And he writes 011 my books and tears my drawings.""And what did you do?" Dolores asked her."Nothing," she said, "J threw my books at him and hit him in the
eye. He was crying all day."
"We never found out her name," the officer said. "She tried to es-cape when we intercepted her, She had arms and ammunition with her, Shewas wounded in the encounter, but she never said her name, Allshe said wa~she came from the villa, Maybe one of your servants can come to the camp toidentify her. [ know this is very shocking, Ma'am. Right in your own home.We believe now the NPA ha~' agents all over the haciendas, and the docu-ments we captured from this woman will lead us to them, We are on top ofthe situation, Ma'am." The last statement wa~ a standard line among thearmy and she knew it well. She had heard her husband utter it countlesstimes before, It meant ar.ything: we have solved the problem or we don'tknow what is going on but we're doing our best to figure it out.
"Bueno," she SJid. "I will ask some of the servants to accompanyyou. They will identify this agent for you."
The officer said, "I'm sorry to say that is not our purpose in coming
"What is it, then?""The old man we arrested says this agent brings letters.""You have told me that, sir.""He says she brings letters from the villa. From Villa del Fuego.
From you, Ma'am."She laughed quietly, holding a hand to her throat. "My good man,"
she said. "You don't think [ send letters to the NPA?""To Antonio Zabarte, Ma'am. Your brother-in-law. That's what the
old man said.""He lies, sir," she said, "It is true we have tried to communicate
with Tony. Not just me, but his mother a~ well. We are a family here, sir. Wedo not ever forget that. But we have never been successful. We hardly knowwhere Tony is."
"('m very sorry, Ma'am," The officer took out a piece of paper fromhis shirt pocket and unfolded it slowly. He handed it to Dolores and said,"This is a search and seizure order, Ma'am."
She looked at him in surprise. "You are going to search my villa,sir? [ am the wife of your direct superior."
"Monday morning you're going to say sorry to him," Dolores said."[ did," she said. "I'm very sorry. That's why they let me go, I was
very hungry."Dolores laughed. "And we're having lunch soon, Come and meet
Colonel Asis."She brought the child in and the officer stood up. Lalita looked at
him and asked, "15 Papa with you?" Everyone at the barracks knew the childcalled General Zabarte by that name, They had often accompanied the gen-eral and his wife to the orphanage. The officer was a bit flustered and wasabout to reply, but Dolores said, "We have not talked about his whereabouts."
He nodded, and said to the child, "Your Papa's working.""Why aren't you working?" Lalita asked him. -'"The officer laughed and then replied, "Because I wanted to see you," 'lThe little girl found the answer satisfactory and turned her atten-i
tion once again to Dolores. "Are we going to the beach tomorrow?" .~"If it doesn't rain, my love," Dolores said. !"I want to go out on the boat," Lalita said. ~"And where will you go?" ~"To heaven." \Dolores laughed again. "How will you get to heaven in a boat?" t,
"Noah went to heaven in a boat," she said, \"No dear. He landed back on earth." \"Maybe he lost his way," she said. ~"Maybe he did," Dolores said, "I'd never thought of that. Yes,am ada, ~
we take the boat if the weather is fine. Now go and wash up for lunch:" ~She handed the child over to a maid and they ran off to the kItchen.
She sat down again and said to the officer, "She delights everyone in thehouse. She makes everyone here come alive."
The officer smiled. "My wife is giving birth soon," he said."My congratulations," Dolores said. "You are well blessed."It was at this moment that one of the soldiers walked in. He bent
down to say something in the officer's ear, and they both asked to be excused.Finally the officer walked back in and said, "My men say they have foundsome letters, Ma'am. I'm very sorry, but 1have to ask you to accompany usback to barracks."
~
_.- ."Are you arresting me, sir?" she asked incredulously
, The officer paused for a m(jmenl, unable lo answer ill'r 'I'lIl'll ill'said, "['m afraid [ am, Ma'am,"
Two DAYS l.ATER she was Oown in to Manila, FI'L~hbulbsblinded her :L'ishl' ar·riven at the airport. She parlayed queries from airport reporters with laconicreplies that seemed to carry the sadness of afternoons in her native island.She was driven to Camp Bicutan and brought to an airconditioned room inthe new wing where showcase detainees, as they were called, were beinggroomed for the benefit of the foreign press. Bythe second day she developedan allergy from the dusty, smog-choked air of Manila and the airconditioningand the odor of fresh paint that pervaded the new detention cenler. Theybrought in a box of antihistamines and had on': of her servanls attend to herevery morning.
No charges were filed, and after two weeks a confused and apolo-getic defense ministry issued a statement saying Dolores Zabarte was bein;kept in the camp because of reports "of attempts by the NPAon her life." Forwhat? For the purloined letters the military south command had discoveredat the villa, letters which could undermine the entire structure of theNo attempts were made to divulge the contents of the letters to the media,this stoked the fires of rumors even more: she had sold her husband to theReds; she didn't want 10 pay taxes and risk the kangaroo courts, and offeredhim the way Igorots offered carabaos to the gods; she would inherit his villaand azucareras. She remained silent in the thick of it all, refusing to speak towire reporters who managed to sneak into the camp. She kept to herself,reading poetry and the Bible. With her books and her box of pills she seemedto ossify into an artifact, a forgotten gem or mineral, distanced from theworld and oblivious to its concerns. And then one afternoon she received anote from the camp's commander. She was to be released from the camp andplaced under house arrest. She had no house of her own in Manila; all herlife she had adamantly refused to es'tablish her domicile in the city that sheand her ancestors had found vulgar, inhospitable, and even sometimes re-pulsive. Nothing would correct that impression now,
"I will stay here," she told the commander. "[ have nowhere else lO,-'
The commander, whose face had been toughened by weather andwar and now had the look of perpetual sadness, told her, "~~~!!eral's_~?~~rhas offered her own house."
They transferred her to the old Zabarte mansion in New Manila,that tree-lined district where the hou;~~ were protected bYwiTfs"sohigli"tIleTlooked Iike'battlemen'~: 'Thema;:;~;;;~io0d6enm(raoatle'I)i'6f"gnarTecr6aTITe'trees'~Th~-;dobe'Wanshad been further reinforced by wrought-iron spikes inthe 1960s to keep prowlers away, The mansion had been useful early in thegeneral's career for entertaining army officers, diplomats, businessmen andeven the President himself who had expressed effusive admiration for thegarden and its ancient fountain spouting ancient water into a pond filledwith lotuses and singing frvgs, The garden had since been overgrown withwild weed, its flora left to flourish untended, growing haphazardly into wo-ven tangles of bougainvillat, hibiscus, poison ivy. The cherub hovering overthe pond had been encrusted with achalk-like inwissation and relieved itselfmuddily into the stagnant pool. The balconies overlooking the garden hadtaken on a patina of lichen and mildew, and the Persian tiles had faded to adull rose.
The army staff car brought her there on an afternoon of fine mistyrain. She entered the mansion as though she were entering the threshold of adream-the inverse of a dream. The windows had been boarded up, the di-vans and table shrouded in dust and webs, which made them seem as if theyhad been quietly molting. She could hear her footsteps echoing in the emptyhalls. Along the stairway leading to the upper floors were portraits of theZabartes, sepia cameos in rococo frames, and as she passed them she noticedthat thei r eyes seemed vacan t and distan t, en igmatic and sad. When she wal kedup the steps the boards creaked under her feet, damp and pliant. She wentout to the balcony and stood there, holding her Bible and her box of antihis-tamines. She surveyed the disheveled enclosure, the small overgrown junglethat ended with a row of spikes and a wall so high it obliterated the rest of thecity. The rain veiled her view with a mist of silk. ~9m~,she toldh~rseIU?,~be en~ world... ~~"-"'~",,.~o.c~
GENERAL EfREN VALDEZ, chief of the National Intelligence and SurveillanceAgency, was on the other line and he was furious, "Why da hell Max Plata \want to release dose captured letters ees beyond me, He tell me eat's to defuse I
daw da anger op da demonstretors in Ayala, He tell me eat's to steal attention 'prom di present situation. He tell me eat ees not my decision. Well by golly eatees. I tell him we cannot release da letters because dey contain vilalimpormation about the location op da NPA south command, I tell him weare studying da documents in question because we may get rebel positionsprom da letters. Max Plata does not listen to me. He want da letters released tomedia, but I think not. I think it is presently inappropriate to release demo .~But Max Plata does not listen."
The words spewed out of the receiver like magma, and for a fewmoments ]un held it away from him, looking to me imploringly for help."Yes, General,'" he finally intoned, "We understand your posilion. I myselfbelieve yours is the wiser decision. That may cost me my job you know. Thatcan cost our agency its existence, come to think of it. We'll go over the lettersand decide if we'll issue them to the press."
"No, I decide eat now," the general insisted. "I say eat ees not propertime, Max doesn't listen. Your boss is making pasikat again to da Apo, I'mnot blind. He links he can control eben da milital)', by golly. Now what doeshe do with your copy op da latters? Sell dem to poreign press?"
"Da letters ah they are here with me sir," said Jun. "Nobody's seenthem, sir, Not even me, as a matter of fact. They're safe with me,"
"You are personally responsible, ha?" General Valdez finally pleaded."What ees your name? Boone? Edalgo? I write it down. And then I ask for areport by da end op da week. Yes yes, tenk you, I hang up now."
We had received a package of photocopies from NISA upon JUIl's \request; he had, af~r all, alerted them about the possibil; ty of letters be; ng ,exchanged through Villa del Fuego after our trip there. --1
"What are you going to do with them?" I asked him."Nothing," he said. "NISA's going to take it from here. We've dOlle
our job. Let's see what we've got."He undid the package that had just been delivered that afternoon.
There were photocopies of the letters neatly stapled in an envelope. The hand,writing was frantic, sometimes illegible, but occasionally too with a certain
flair of penmanship. All of the letters contained in that file had been sent toDolores Zabarte from her husband's brother, Antonio, The weblike shadowson the photocopies showed that many of them had traveled through severalhands, and the letters reached their destination bearing the stains and wrin-kles of their difficult journey, The dates, interestingly, spanned only a fewyears earlier, possibly because at that time, when news was rife that AntonioZaharte was being considered for the leadership, and when he could no longermake frequent and surreptitious visits to the villa or his mother's residence inthe island, they saw less and less of him, and could tell if he was alive onlywhen they received his letters. Here they are in chronological order,
I am writing this leller knowing it may never reachyou, and so I can sayanything I want, Or it may reach you ajier some time, and what I haveto say wilt no longer maller. I write this with a sense of desolation butalso of hope, that it may fall into your hands eventually. I cannot tlJinktoo welt here, so much activity is buzzing around at camp, In a fewminutes I must hand this note to our courier, who will trek many daysand nights down the ranges, and in a town I am not allowed to know hewilt deposit this letter in the care of friends, and from then on / don'tknow what happens, I leavefate in the hands of thesepeople, mostly, Thatis what I came up herefOr, after all,
For several days we have been trekking the ranges, lookingfora place to set up camp. From a distance th~jungles seem impenetrable,as though the trees and vines had sprouted next to the other, and hadimpacted into one lusb, solid mass, But as we draw nearer they open up,as though compelled by instinct to welcome us, Wesurvive on wild fruitsand roots, Once the men tried to chase a young boar, but to no avail. Onthe third day of our journey /fell into a fever, and I became too weak towalk, I thought it was malaria, but after one night of chills and spasmsthefever subsided, thanks to some herbs thepeople had found for me. Wereached this valley after almost a week and now we are building huts
and a place in which to hold meetings, 'lbday /ji1elStJ'()II<~el;eIIell ijm}'hand shakes as I write this, I know an army squad has bel'li selll aft!:rme, I have heard newsfrom a toum wejJa.I:I'edbYforjJl'Ol'il'iolis /JIIII!J(;\'l'people have sworn toprotect me, jusl as I halJeSUIOrJItojJroleet them, f)onot worry about me, I am withIriemil', and I am sale fl!('(IseleI/mot/wI'I am well and I am safe, and I shall tl)! 10 I{'rite10 ):'ou a.I' olien as I call,
When the rains subside and the weather allows a liltle sun, we go oul 10 abrook near our makeshift village tofetch drinking water and to bathe,The water comes from the lakes at thepeak of the Monte, which no manhas ever seen, That is what they tell us here, Welive our lives simply: whenthe,sun is out, we bask in its warmth and gatber what we may, when therams come we huddle in our huts and talk of the sun, '
How can I begin to tell you of tbe lif~ we've discovered here? Weforage the forest for food, we hunt for wild chicken and young boar.When we know the sotdiers are anywhere near the ranges, we do notbuild fires or make any noise, and the boars and chicken run free, im-pervious to our presence, When the moon isfull we walk around, dazed~ the milky light that dapples every particle in theforests, and we silentlyStng songs to one another.
There is a tale told by elders in the villages, They say that wh~the moon is full, its light scares away the spirits of the forest and they'sC¢lmperout of its light and into crevices and caves, M)y are they afraidof moonlight? Because when moonlight touches their skins, they turn tomusic: I mean they disintegrate complete~y and become nothing butsound That is why the elders say these creatures are afraid of music,because it reminds them of/heir death, and the more beautiful the mu-sic, the keener their premonition of death, 71)atis why we walk aroundtheforests singing when the moon isfull, and our songs are even louder
1, without the moon, because then we know the night.creatures are out and~y their mischievous tricks. .
But lately we have decided to keep silent. W7:Jenthe moon isgonewe do not light our fires and there is total darkness around us. Wetaketurns standing guard at night, listening for the footfat! not of night screatures, but of the soldiers sent ailer us. Tbnight the moon is waxingand I write this under itsfeeble light. Everything issilent. Every now andthen Ifeel something I recognize asfear, and I hum a tune over and overin 11JY head to dispel it. My world has grown this simple, Dolores! I liveand sleep according to the whims of the earth and the moon and the sun.Tbmorrow all things wt'll be new again. I will not be the same man whowrote these words.
f wishyou happiness and peace this Christmas. Wedo not celebrate Christ-mas here. But many of us silently wish each other well. People I amworking with come from the universities in Manila. Theyhave joined usout of idealism and despair. Thesetwin sentiments follow us. But ffeel ithypocritical to completely ignore the rituals of our past. I am told I shouldundergo further education to understand why.
W7:JenI think of everyone, !feel something between derision andsadness. / remember myoId schoolfriends who turned up their noses atanything outside our circle, as though not to belong were a criminaloffense. How ignorant, how misinformed they seem to me now! / think ofthem also with sadness: how tenuous that world of ours was.' Everythingwe believed in and loved and lived for was just an illusion,' a dream. Iwill not bother you with rhetoric because you will refuse to understand.W1Jenthey told me about my impending education, f felt f was about tobe turned inside out-all my past beliefs and emotions disputed anddispelled. But'this is what / came herefor, and, / lookforward to it.
They talk of an offensive come Christmas !Jay, but we are [101-
ing down that proposal. I wish you.happiness, uJ!)(meverthis letterfindl'you.
Weare deeper in the mountain now since the army command foundout about our camp. Wehave crossed two ravines for which we spenldays building a rope bridge. Our supplies have dwindled, but wefindberries and wild game.
Westopped by a town for replenishments. Wewere told the armycommand has been assigned toJose. Nobody in these villages knows he ismy brother, exceptfor a few of our men there. I am happyfor him, ellenas I often questiun his choices. Thisbodes wellfor both our mission, but Iknow even kinshIp does not change thepurpose of the revolution.
I think often of you and the music in the vitia. But I cannotthink of going back now.
What a surprise to receive a letterfrom youlI'm glad all is well with you and thefamily. I wake up some-
times in the dead of night and think / am back in San Miguel, in myparents' house, wakened by the noise a/macaws in the aViary. But atonce I realize where I am. / know my place in the UJorldand / must abideby my chosen role. This causes great pain to thefamily, but this is'theonly way.
I am happy to hear about Lalita, Take good care of her-shewill be your blessing. I wish you both bealth and 10lleand happiness, Ilong for the day when we can meet final~y in thepeace we alt hopefor,
Much has happened in a year/ I know it 3' not easy for you to send anyreply. But the mountain teachesme many things, among them patience,
Fieldpractice, education, meals and chores take up our time,Once a week we undergo "confession" before the comrades, and alt sortsof bickering erupt. One man S fealousies over meal portions becomesanother man S accusations of secret desiresfor his wife. Talks drag onuntil a kind ofpeace is agreed upon. But each man sleeps uneasily witbresentment in his beart.
The movement is being deregulated into arcbipelagic com-mands, Leaders will be cbosenfrom our own ranks to lead the soutb.Tbis early the bickerings intensify, tbe confessions become moreadversarial. ~
• Afeltow herefrom Manila became a friend to me-evening .~,\:we.would d~cuss subjeds we used to debate about at tbe university. !.os ....0;\"month he was accused of being a deeppenetration agent, He was put ontrial and sentenced to death. I was not part of the trial-on(y senia:Jmembers are allowed there,"
I don't know what happened to him after that. They say he wasbrought deep into theforest, shot and buried tbere. Many other agentshave met the same fate. In this revolution, we are told to keep our eyeonly on the salvation of thepeople. Anything that disrupts our goal mustbe eliminated. The thought that we shalt soon reach that goal comfortsme.
Three of our men staggered back wounded this morninj!, aJier em (')/-counter. 71Jeywerepart of a group we had sent down to (I /OUII/ Jin' jlro-
visions, Someonefrom town must have informed the military commandof theirpresence. Soldiers arrived before noon and rained hulle/s Oil/behut they were staying in. Theowner of the house bimsetj was kilted, elnold man we had trusted for food and news since wefirst moved camp.Twomembers of thegroup died in thefight, and theother threecut througfil.the backwoods to the camp, Theyarrived, half-naked and cut by branz-,bles, after a day s trek back. Doyou know bow the military discovers our>jpresence in town? By looking at the clotheshanging in front of the huts.!Thesethree men have been carelessand must now undergo rigid educa-:tion. Ifeel we are not being too careful. / myseij'am not being careful,sending these letters ojJ But /leel obliged to inform you that / am stillhere, I am still alive, I have dreams in my head that reji/se to giuerefuse to come true. But here I am, I'm going on.
• The survivors of that encounter brought home no provisions,but a pamphlet being circulated in the towns. Thepampblels are cattingfor negotiations and a truce, Theyare callingJ)r three days of sale pas-sagefor both sides, Thestatement was signed by lese. I am not surprisedhe is now a general. Ever since f can remember; lose had set a timetablefor himself,' and f know hefollows it to the letter. He will ploU!throughanytbing tbat stands in his way. Now we are discussing thepossibility ofa truce here, often with much passion. I'm being called topreside. and Imust quickly end here.
Forgive me: I did not intend to demean my brother s achievements, butwe disagree strongly on so many things. Thecommand has chosen me tohead the truce panel. Threeof my best men witt be with me and Jose mustlim# his escorts to only three soldiers.
I don't like to speak to him, but I want to see you and the littlegirl. Three days of truce wilt mean those days with thefamily, and withyou. Negotiation! It is like asking the wind not to blow westward, or thegrass not to bow. I have stopped believing in truces. Ifeel no guilt aboutthis war, and no remorse, We know the path we have chosen and weabtde by it,
But if this metJns I am free for three days to seeyou and vis# thefamily, then I say there u,t'llbe a truce.
A terrible thing has happened. Theymoved into our territory. One of theirjeeps touched off a land mine and exploded, and soldiersfrom the otherjeeps fired upon our men, My men had no choice but tofire back, Onlyfive of my men fought their twenty or more. Joses soldiers kept firingevery which way. At dusk my men came down to attack and finish oJ!allsurvivors, My men found all of them wounded and half-conscious, ex-ceptfor one man: Jose, He was tending to the wounded, and merelylooked up when au} men approached him. Lucki(y the leader of the teamrecognized him at once, he says for a moment he thought he saw me inuniform.
They brought him to camp that evening, alone. I have not seenhim yet, but tomorrow, when he comes to, I will talk to him for thefirsttime in-how many years has it been? Ten? !/he wakes up this evening
I WI'llnot talk to him. I cannot understallt/ 1/)1.1' s/ubbo/'JI, Idiotic:1mIt·headedness of his, sending his men .ahead a/the truce. NothillR he doeswill win tbis war, and he knows it. 71Jatis why heji'p,htsthe war helter·skelter, tasbing out like a man drowning Cltsea, Bul we hatle reached Ihispoint and we cannot turn back now, He hasforced Ibe momenl, nolI. Iknow one of us wilt have to die. Thereare no survivors in Ihis war, On/vthe victors survive, Jose and I know thai,
FORSEVERALDAYS Antonio Zabarte decided against seeing his brother. His menbrought the general food and water every day, since he was not allowed to goout of his hut at any time. Once he tried to get out. He stepped out of the hut,looked out at the clear sky, and walked out. A guard pointed his rifle at himand said, "General Zabarte, if you take one more step Iwill have to shootyou."
Thegeneral stopped to study the guard-a young boy, plucked fromone of the villages his soldiers had raided years ago-and without saying aword he turned around and went back to hiS hut. There was much debate atnight about how they we were to conduct the general's capture, Some of thecomrades believed they should hold him for ransom or exchange him for theleaders the army command had captured earlier. Others wanted no compro-mises and to execute him.
The trials discussed the general's crimes: murder, for the ambushesand encounters that killed countless peasants; theft, for land, livestock andproduce scorched or stolen by the military; sexual offense, for soldiers whoraped women in the villages; treason, for waging war against the movement.The list went on and on. There seemed very little hope for the general. Hisexecution had to be decided soon. Finally, the comrades decided that for crimesas heinous as he had committed, he must be subjected to the worst executionpossible, and this unfortunate task must fall in Antonio Zabarte's hands.
THEMORNINGBROKEover the ranges with the atmosphere of a deep, pervasivesolitude. Antonio Zabarte walked out to a trough and doused himself with icywater, and then boiled black coffee and drank it from a tin mug, which burnedhis hand, Crows were swooping into the pale, milky light. He went back to hishut and ~ook an old Bible that had been given to him by a priest in one of the
parishes down the mountain, and which he had kept hidden under his cot inorder not to offend the comrades.
He hardly recognized his brother when he went to see him, finally,in his hut. The general had been woken up earlier that morning, but thetroubled dreams that kept him awake all night showed in the puffiness of hisface. He had dressed himself in the uniform he had been wearing during hiscapture. When Antonio came in he stood up and held out his hand.
"[t's good to see you, Tony," he said.Antonio took his hand and said, "It's good to see you, General."Antonio gave him the Bible. The general held it in his hand without
opening it and said, "It has never been of much use to me, but I thank you."Then he asked, "Which one will put the bullet through my heart?"
"I am," Antonio said.The general said, "We had better be going then." He breathed deeply
as they stepped into the parsimonious sunlight. They headed towards thewoods. They hardly spoke to one another along the way.
When they reached the clearing the general stopped and turned toAntonio. "This is where you kill those civilians," he said.
"Not civilians but traitors," Antonio said.The general looked around at the overhanging vines burdened with
poisonous blossoms, the giant enclosures of trees whose branches shut outall the light, and the birds shrieking madly-above them. "They've really turnedyour head upside down, haven't they?" he said. "Or is it you who does theturning now?"
"We all do our duty," Antonio told him. "[ do mine.""Duty, yes," the general said. "My stay in your quarters made me
ponder on that subject, too. Duty. God and country. Both illusions. Both opi-ates."
"We have never agreed on anything, Jose," Antonio told him."Of course. Should I dig my own grave now, or is it your duty to dig
it for me? I forget.""Must you mock even your own death?" Antonio asked him. "You've
been a fool all your life. Now you can only die gloriously, that is all that's leftof you."
"A fool, my brother? Die gloriollsly? Where do tIH'S(' words WIlW
from? I've Ijved according to what I kl\t)w W;L~ the truth. That is dUly, th(' dUlyyou so fondly talk about. [ have never veered off course, J have always 1'01·lowed what [ believed in. And where were you, brotlm? Pulled this way andthat, enticed by all the pa~sionate causes so deal' to the heart of the 1lI0vement. When will you ever think for yourself, Tony? Even this decisioll is !lO[
your own. Your people had to push you to execute me. Go on, kill me now.Follow the will of your people. We'll see which one's the greater fool."
"I don't want to kill you," Antonio told him."And miss your greatcontribulion to the revolution? Will you falter
in that, too? Open your eyes, Tony. You won't be remembered for your saint-liness in the pogroms of the future. You will be derided and spat upon foryour treason and your weakness."
"You want me to kill you," Antonio said. "You will be the hero, justas you've always wanted to be. By God, you willstop at nothing,Jose."
"And neither will you," the general said. "We're cut from the samecloth, you and l. Same to the hl~t thread. You cringe at the thought, [ know.There is nothing worse for you than to be reminded of your beginnings Iknow what it is you're after. Tony Not the people's glory, not a new nation fu IIof hope ar.d promise. You want nothing less than the glory of having turnedan entite country inside out. You want to be adored and emulated. Whatcould be more powerful than that? I want it too, Tony. But I play by the rules."
"The rules," Antonio said, "have never existed. You know that. Youkill innocent villagers, women and children."
"Professional spies," the general said. "Couriers, amazons, merce-naries. Don't delude yourself. These women and children of yours have fedmy soldiers to ants and alligators. They've torn off their balls and pluckedout their eyes. They've slit open their guts and left them screaming, clutchi ngtheir entrails in their hands. These soldiers of mine are young boys, Tony.Young men full of promise. Bright studenl'l brimming with ideas and hope.Your little revolution keeps them from these hopes and drives them into littlevillages where they become fodder for your killing machines. And we, theheroes of the war, are left to tally the score. And that means nothing to you.Only the glory of the revolution." He spat on the ground. "Let me dig mygrave," he said. "I will not keep you from your glory."
He knelt down, digging the earth furiously with his hands. Antonioheld his M-16 up and pointed it to the sky and fired a round of shots. Theshots startled the general, who looked at Antonio, terrified, Antonio broughtthe rifle down, pointed it at him and said, "I won't make you a hero in yourown war."
"You let me go, but I'll come back and track you down," the gen-eraJ said.
"We would have moved on somewhere else.""The island is small, Tony. I'll find you and decimate your little
brigand of pirates.""Then we'll wait for you," Antonio said.The general seemed lost for a moment and sat on a tree stump, "All
your life you've waited for this, haven't you?" he said. "Youhave always wantedto prove yourself better than me. Here it is, Here is the moment. Your noblegesture, Are you enjoying it, brother?"
"No," Antonio said. "All my life I've watched you take everything.I've watched your every victory. Excellence was your birthright. I followedbehind, admiring you, envious of you. Allmy life I wanted only to be like you.But here, in this mountain, with these people, I know finally what I want.And I won't let you destroy it."
• "Then why are you letting me .go?"Antonio laughed. "First you must find your way out of the woods,"
he said. "Before the first night you'd probably be torn apart by wild boar,What can be more ignominious than that?"
The general started to walk away, then turned around. "We havefought this war long enough," he said. "Let there be peace at least betweenus."
Antonio walked to him and handed him a pistol. "There can bepeace only among equals," he told him,
The general tucked the pistol in his holster and walked away. Cloudsgathered in the sky.Thunder rumbled distantly. Antonio turned back towardthe camp. All throughout that day the hours seemed like an interminabletwilight, and everything was darkening around him, as though night, decep-tive and furtive, had suddenly come back with its troubled dreams.
GENERAL JOSE ZulARTE found himself in a barrio that had 110l1allle :lIId 110people, except for a solitary old man who.saw him grimy ilild exhausted afll'rhis two days' struggle out of the woods, The old man W:L~sillll1j.\hy an ahilndoned shack that had once been a sari-sari store. There was all old Coca Colasign hanging over him, its hinges creaking in thr wind, iL~paint chipped offto reveal patches of tin.
"Apo," the general called to him. "Where iseverybody in this town?"The old man chuckled, revealing a row of blood-colored teeth, "They
look for couples and animals, senor," hE said, "My wife said I was animal,and I send her to her grave." He crossed himself and chuckled again, holdingout a canister of betel nuts to the general. The old man pointed towards thepeak of ihe ranges. "Follow the river, walk five days and fjve nights. You findthem there." .
The general sat beside him and exhaled loudly. "No, I've doneenough walking. Do vehicles still pass this road, old man?"
"Yes," the old man replied, He looked at the general from head tofoot and back. "You find the gems?"
"Gems? There was nothing in that forest to treasure, [ can tell youthat," the general said. "What is this talk of gems?"
"People from barrio go up the mountain, follow t~e river to lookfor gems," the old man said, "Stone like glass, egg of bird with voice likewater, Also gold. Many die to get gems."
"There is no gold up there, I can tell you that," the general laughed,"They can dig all their lives, but they'll find nothing there."
"Not dig, senor," the old man said. "Stones and gems corne from
"There is no ark, Apo," the general said. "The good book doesn'ttell us the entire truth. You've been waiting in vain,"
"My grandfather tell me a ship, from Espana, sail here many yearsago when the island was not, and it was all sea. And the mountain rise andbecome and take the ship up with it"
"A galleon, sir? Sailing from Spain, caught in the path of a moun-tain rising from the sea. I've not heard that story before, You've made it allup, Apo."
The old man chuckled and spat on the ground, "You follow river,"he told the general. "You go look for stones and eggs,"
The general looked at the mountain looming behind them, It hadalmost seemed impossible for him, two nights ago, to find his way out of itstangle of darkness. In his exhaustion he seemed to hear the squalling of wildbirds as if they were human voices, angry and desperate, The leaves seemedto turn away from him, jealously hiding directions, and the sun struggledout of the web of mist and rain only for one morning and was never seenagain. ~d UQ there, in that thicket of jnhQspitabh.: lif~and atWed rebe1s.was>Uhi~ .Qlgold? He lauw~sl tobirI2S!!LJ.~ljU1W,e..dQ\¥JJrjYSl[l1l~a,if Iam "
~~~.§~111!JlL"I1.QJY,J,et it course its way down to me and lay its treas-ures at my feet. He watched the old man pick out a wet leaf from his canister,pop it into his mouth and stare out at the road, smiling contentedly to him-self. Asimple, ignorant people, the general thought to himself. He felt a sud-den pang of longing for his own home: there were things he wanted so des-perately he could kill for them. But now, sitting beside this hallucinatingelder, staring out at the road that seemed to begin and end nowhere, he felthe had come to the end of a journey that had taken him all his lifE to walk,and all he wanted was to retrace his steps and begin where he had left so lor:gago•.
There was a rumbling in the distance. The sky was darkening againand the rains would pour soon. The old man sat stolidly, unmindful of thecoming storm. The general looked down the road. And then he saw some-thing: the shadow of a mammoth lumbering towards them, some awkward,monstrous animal. It was a dilapidated jeep struggling up the path, churn-ing heavily through the brick-colored mud. The general stood up and wavedhis arms to stop it. The jeep sputtered to a stop and accommodated him amongthe farmers who had come from fields in another town with~baskets of rootsand wicker cages full of clucking chickens. He squeezed himself in and saidnothing, nodding only at those who edged away to make room for him. Whenthe jeep chugged on he looked back, but the old man was looking at themountain again, and his lips kept moving, repeating to himself the samestories he had told himself over and over in his forgotten world.
. . The general reached camp that Sal11eafternoon, They wired Manilaof hiS mIraculous escape that evening, and by the ncxlllloflllnK Ill' W:L\ Oil
the plane back to the city. ., He.arrived at the airport amidst a crowd of reporlcrs, photographcrs
and emissaries ,from t~e Ministry of National Defense. He refused to give anystatement and ImmedIately sought refuge In a wailing sedan, He lookcu ou[the window of the car at the passing streets, his face marked by an incalcula-ble sadness. They drove to New Manila into the old Zabarte mansion, Theg~neral walk~d up the stairway to the balcony. Dolores had been wailing forhIm ~Il morn mg. She stood there without speaking a word. Her bags, packedthe mght before as soon as she heard news of his return and her release werein one corner of the balcony. Asoldier picked them up and brought lh~m tothe sedan. For several minutes they just stood there and said nothing, It seemedas if an interminable abyss had been carted out between them and now itwas impossible to take the first leap, that first bridge of words, b~cause to doso was t~ break the si.lence that kept all their fears and hopes from surfaCingand starIng at them In the face, like impossible ghouls found only in a for-est's tangle of darkness,
Free Fall
"OYE, TIlEPASYSTEMis not working, puiieta, I told those peasants to doublecheck the danin thing but what do I get?Just a lot of static. Puneta, if thisgovernment's going to fall it will fall by the sheer weight of its employees'stupidity, Hay, gaga, don't place that mike there, you want the First Lady tosing behind that acacia? Puneta, does anybody have a brain around here?Hoy, Hidalgo, give the envelopes to that foreman there, the one who lookssmart enough to count money, I can't believe we're paying these imbecilesreal money to do nothing, Nada, puiieta."
Max Plata was bmy overseeing the final touches to the platform infront of Quezon City Hall. Trucks and buses we had earlier dispatched toHoGOs,Isabela and Cagayar. werenow arriving and converging around QuezonMemorial Circle, disgorging families dazed from the twelve-hour trip. Ma-trons from the Ministry of Education distributed sandwiches and coke.
• "Makes you feel like a typhoon relief team, di ba?" Jun remarkedas we handed out wads of money to government employees who came by thebusload. "Fiesta time, folks. Gather round."
Jun deposited the dole-outs to an already overwhelmed researcherand pulled me back to his car. Max Plata left later to check out the camera atChannel Four, which meant wecould skip the rally after all. Atleast that waswhatJun had been suggesting all morning, Somehow he never seemed to beinterested in these elections, and I of course knew why: "Mora mora tangito, AlBoy," he told me, "We're going to win it, hands down. No contest, asMuhammad A1isaid way back in pre-A1iMall Cubao."
Wewaited for the President to arrive before making a fastbreak tothe nearest bar, preferably the Hobbit House, SJ1~.~.~_~~~re,?.l couple of _weeks ago to b~§JQ~making~rcomeba€kirl the Ermita folKfiousecircuit,
~- ..• ••.•~,••<" ••••., .•• ,~.,'~,
and there was muchJRg~ulation about where he'd hold his gig. Reports said .~- - .~
that Teodoro Valencia had finally allowed him a chance to make amends:'Sa! wo"llliijOm me PreSident in camp"dgn sarlies arollna [he archipelag()~-Esmera~a PURinand Ahma9§!ylista, thefunz..~nd Q4£~!l<illltlQ~l.Wla~.,.'
,I wou1dbether~ tQ.Qpenthe,show,SQY.JQ.yJd §2fl~U}.'!.rri~),Sl!A!~£!~.(~U~l~lli.i!lUlo....~.,) who would ~!~aJllUi"lY.o~:.»,jQ,Et~y, There W,L~much discus·
</,,1:.), sion :loOUfWliOShouldcome next~Myra Hernandez, the film and television.-superstar" ~r Sal,X. ~~ra Hernandez won by default: a day b~XQ£~theraI!y~~~Q"uezonMe~W •..S&X wasnowhereto be found. Pat Chiu calledea~ry·il1aT~ornin&~itbJ>.r2r~~i~~~~:~~t' M~lX·PEltayeITediIiunfi'c'TiTWiie:'-"Get Tha:tF~ckingDo eheadto the RaTi orTi'''''''·'-ta"ins(· ",·~~,.·""W_
£_m'"""'4'I1tPresiai~ITr~ed''Y~~ .•~~~··;JoM~~ H~;~ndez hit the Iastnote. Borne aloft a hand-carved chair from 1I0cos,hISfigure tottered abovethe crowd where supporters were waving tricolor paper nags and nashing thevictory sign. The First Lady followed close behind, surrounded by a cordon ofbodyguards. It was difficult to hide the fact that the President was not exactlyin top shape: earlier that morning palace doctors had advised against goingto the rally, but the President was adamant. He wobbled over the crowd withsyringes hidden under his sleeve, and as soon as he reached the platform, astreamer was unfurled before him, declaring in bold red letters:
The triple exclamation marks were Max's addenda, indicative per-haps of his growing hysteria. Max himself told us the afternoon before therally that the President may not be strong enough for today's campaign; inwhich case the First Lady was to go on with It, and we were to edit a speechwritten by Esther Plata, his sister, for her, There were platitudes of love andbeauty and peace and prosperity which Jun deleted and Max put back.
Aswedrove away from Quezon Memorial to Hobbit House, we couldhear the First Lady recite the speech we had polished for her.Jun repeated thelines and wagged his head in time. When we turned towards Manila downQuezon Avenue he said, "You heard the news this morning?"
"What news?""Everybody gets a raise after the elections. Well, not everybody,But
"My heart runneth over," I said,"I knew you'd be overwhelmed." Wedrove on in silence, because at
this point our facetiousness had taken on some degree of acrimony. It wasobvious that as soon as we finished the book we would have to follow ourownfork in the road. The week before, we found out that Jun was going on apublic relations consultancy for an agency owned, ironically enough, by Plata.
"I thought you hated his guts," I told him when he read the memoto me.
"Jungle warriors used to say the only way to strike your enemy is tostalk him. Besides,pay's not bad. I've asked Susan if she wants to quit her jobat the Historical Institute and join me. That job of hers will turn anyone intoan old maid." He paused a while and said, "You can join us if you want to."
"Thanks,Jun," Isincerely replied."You know we're supposed to put the book out in time for his inau-
guration, don't you?""The printer says they're working twenty-five hours a day," Itold
him, "I'm leaving as soon as the book comes out. I'm joining TV.""News?""I don't know yet. Most likely.""Good," he said.
• We drove down Espana through Quiapo. The church looked like agiant heirloom, around which the faithful, the soothsayers and herbalistsswarmed. What a stupefying, persistent city this was, I found myself thinking.So overwhelmingly populous, so deeply dangerous, teeming with hundredswhose greatest skill was to survive. I realized how it was impossible to imag-ine a God, for the simple reason that no one could possibly be strong enoughto know and bear the intricacies of all these lives. Quiapo would stun thehardiest of deities. Driving up the soot-smudged lanes of Quiapo Bridge, overthe amok-riddled alleys of the Moslem market, past the basalt-colored watersof the Pasig and down to the gaudy trinket that was the Metropolitan Theater,I wondered if it was possible for anyone to be possessed of mercy and compas-sion of such magnitude. Manila is a city for doubters.
Wepassed Rizal Park where supporters of CoryAquino were settingup a stage of their own. There were yellow buntings, silk-screened portraits of
Aquino, and ice-drop and bananacue vendors already pushing their carL~tostrategic positions.
"They look like they're expecting a big crowd," [said,"Crowds will come all right," Jun said, "But iI's not going to gel
them anywhere," We looked at the construction (L~we waited for the light toturn green, Someone was testing the PA system, and his voice sputtered acrossthe park like a coughing train, An old man was throwing pieces of bread atthe pigeons which pecked at them and strutted about with the bjL~stuck totheir beaks, The old m.an looked up, Just as the light turned green he saw usstaring at him. Then he did a strange thing: he waved his hands about himand scared the birds away, Aswe sped down the boulevard the pigeons flewpast the windshield like a brief and sudden storm,
THESEAINM\' BONES,Love and the sea howling in my bones. ~J~l,;i..~c~rf:"hissing over the car radio as Me and Pat Chiu rov .lb~oughharreo.w.e.lds _-an VI l.'!&essout of Akeldama, She had flown in from NewYorkto coverthe_",~"''''~"''~--~''-- --••••~- .. _'. _. " .. " --Liiliii--",'~~'~-:'~,"",'0'-~~
elections called ~y~reslaen t Marcos,'Trit, iX§.L~h<g1•.~~~~h~j~gJ,~Q~J;i!JLcl,£aL.C9Iu:~u[~tmIit~JIB~]Q~~Kf~eit~)Q.la.moxoln~lljghtaudhiIeda car at the Akeldamaai rport. EspeciaIlY~2~;~.~£1~ ..l9,,1Jj,Uj.",
~~~~OfialedO~SSang.yr~eQ~~ .... '..e . .~~R>,~~·~~,~,t~r~lQ.be..,~
I1lQQitored,bx~hgJ~atace.Jb~r~ ,\Y,!§J)gYYrenXQ!119_~tht.f111!§i.£llLuuL-"Sal-a~dliiQpje,stilLgl,u~.~bei£,ears to· the _~o9,~L~L~J1QDJQ.)j~J~Q,,!Qjl~,,,.••
,yq_ ....·.~;.f~f.c-·"'·.... ," " .." -, ""-','-;-,'-'. ""'-',""--",,)--
~Q1J~"~,,,,Meg had never seen this part of Akeldama before. Farther down the
town, past the bars and dance halls, the road became gradually stripped ofornament and pretense, and the gaudy colors of the clubs gave way to theparched tones of untended paddies, shanties and cogon grass. There weredark cloud) hovering over the horizon, slashing the sky to pewter and ash,She could hear the sea even from here, It was always like that: in this townone could hear and feel and taste the sea without ever seeing it. Sal's lyricshowled through the speakers, Pat Chiu groped with one hand to tu rn thevolume down. Then he said, "You skipping work to find Sal? Many thingshappen in Manila,"
"I just want to find him and beat some sense into him," she said,but not without a note of desperation in her voice, "Are you sure he's outthere in that jungle?"
"Not jungle," Pat said. "Avillage of what you call? Verypoor souls."A pause, and then he said, "Not sure, Not sure anymore where Sal is. Alway,smgxi.n~arou~dloHke lolling,stone,"
This much she knew from the cards she had received from Sal: hehad gone back to Akeldama and founded a community of pimps, crooks andassorted derelicts plucked from the halls of the red light district and all prop-erly contrite and avowed to a new life of chastity, piousness and grace. Thehell they were, News around Akeldama, when they swooped in from the air-port, was that Sal's latest escapade used this band of ~hieves to prey on theclubs, Not so, the other girls along the strip protested-not thieves but beg-gars scrounging for meals, like Buddhist monks. And still there were otherswho said they walked around dispensing miracles to the sick and the poor. 1:1any case nobody saw Sal, even as everybody invoked his name. They believedhe was Out There, and whatever kalokohan his thieves or beggars did he •certainty found out eventually, and reprimanded them accordingly. Therewere those he had banished from this rumored community, and now theywent around spreadin g lies about Sal X.So the gossip simmered and tongueswagged. Sal would have liked that, thought Meg: talk of the town, eh bab ?
They knew they had reached the community when they saw make-shift signs along the.ro.a.d.::entand=~~on1and another quoted, ..Abandon~~ . ib~roe~ ha n Lb;¥[~CD!.sPice:·Th~re was a cluster of shanties along the road. Meg parked the car,Theypeeked into the huts: there were cots and cooking implements, andembers still smoked on a stone stove. She looked around and found a pipe, achild's shoe and an old cat crouching under the cot and dismembering asardine it had snipped from the stove. Then she heard Pat whinnying out-side: "No, not hurt me, I do no harm!" She rushed out to find him cringingbefore a ragged, unshaven hulk who was brandishing a rusty bolo underPat's nose,
"You are Meg Thrner?" the hulk asked her."Yes," she said.
268 Empire of Memory
The hulk slowly brought the knife down, tllcked it tinder his helland spread out his fat, greasy arms: "Welcorne to Nirvana."
They walked for about another kilometer to a cluster of less di lapi-dated huts, the hulk cutting sharp cogan gr;l~s with his bolo. There wereshanties huddled in a clearing, lean-to's the color of dried weed with rods ofrecycled corrugated steel. As soon as they reached the clearing childrenswarmed about them-ragged, mud-streaked urchins in soot-grey shirl~handed down from several kith and kin. Their raucuous greetings were punc-tuated by the crowing of gamecocks and the barking of mangy mongrels thatwere now skittering beside them and sniffing at their shoes. The day's laun-?ry had been hung out on wires, and they were flapring like buntings hail-109 them. Ametalsmith was pounding away somewher<:.They finally reacheda hut that was no different from the rest except for one thing: it was sur-rounded by a band of guards armed with knives and Armalite rifles. The hulkushered them in, solicitously sweeping his hand toward the door, a smilepuffing his ruddy cheeks.
Meg and Pat inched their way in. The hut had been completely~oar~ed up, and an oppressive, suffocating darkness pervaded its crampedlOtenor: a cot, a wooden table, a few benches, a guitar, books lined againstone wall, knick kna.cks and trinkets brought in by t!1echildren. In a corner,sitting on a stool in a shirt and jeans, sat Sal himself.
"Friends have come at last," he said, his voice edged with a rasp. Hehobbled to Meg and kissed her, To Pat he said, "You'll pardon me if I spareyou the kiss." .
But already Pat had his arm around his shoulder, like anoverconcerned father, "Sal, what happen to you? We look all around."
"Hibernation," Sal said. "Retreat. The mountain rises but remainsbeneath the sky. You know your I Ching, eh Pat Chiuli? The superior manwithdraws although he would rather not."
"Who are these people, Sal?" Pat asked him."Nobody," he said. "Shadows. We're aJl here because we believe in
one thing. The world ends soon, really soon, and we're all going together.""He's delirious," Meg said,
"Always been, love," said Sa!. And to Pat: "Be a good sport, PaterNoster, and leave us kids alone awhile. We haven't hanky-pankied in ages,"
"YOLlcome to Manila with us," Pal insisted. "I say right now. Youhave plenty work. You perform at President's inauguration.jQ,u_h~ve elec-tion."
"( certainly do, so go away," Sal said,"Your last chance, Sal," Pat said. "People not happy with your
games. Your last chance, You not want to stay here.""Maybe I do," Sal said. "Simple folk, simple lives, No intrigues, no
chismis, no dog-eat-dog world here. Of course some of them eat their dogs,but you know that. If you have a heart, take the dogs with you and leave mealone."
Meg pulled back. "This is it, Sa!. You come with us or it's all over.You want to throw your life away, that's fine, But I'm not staying for theshow."
"Gee Meg," Sal said. "I'm beginning to think you really love me.But I can't just up and go, The boys have a plan, and I can't just abandon it.". "What plan?" asked Pat.
Sal took a swig from a bottle of local rum. "Crazy plan," he said,"that just might work. You know what the boys here say,don't you? They saythe whole damn country's going under, and all of us with it. So here's theplan. I go up on stage with .the President, and then I have this, ah, gadgettaped around me, and then I blow the stage up. Myselfwith it. Brilliant plan, .but how do I tape all those batteries around me?" ...........t
"No time for little boys' games," Pat said. "You grow up.""That's the trouble, Pater Noster," said Sa!. "I grew up way before
my time. People have trouble catching up. You know we call this placeNirvana, don't you? These pirates don't even know what Nirvana is. Theythink it's a brand of refrigerator. They think Alan Watts invented the fuckinglight bulb."
"You talk to him," Pat told Meg. "Big star never listen to me."After he walked out Meg sat beside Sa!. "You're not walking out,
too?" Sal asked her.She shook her head. "I've traveled so far to find you," she said. "All
through the ride I kept thinking of things to say to you, and now that I'm
here I don't know what to say.Just shape up, Sal. J love you, I don'[ want [0see you waste away."
"I'm not wasting away," he said, "Great thoughts corne to me her"I'v~ got new songs buzzing in my head. Trouble is I can '[ find goddamn newstrmgs."
Hestoo.dup,an? grabbed his guitar. Afewstrings had been snapped,He plucked a stnng: It VIbrated dully. "I'm so scared, Meg," he said, "Neverbeen so scared in my life."
~he .kis~ed~im Iig~tJy on the Iip~; •••••."1" I dldn t thmk you d come back, he said. "I wanted to die, Meg. I ~
was sItting here one day, I didn't know if it was day or night, and then I j'though~, by God, I didn't want any of that asshole shit in Manila, I just wantedfto be with you. I wanted to sit here and shut out the light and die. No onewould find me. And then I thought, this is it, this must be Nirvana all noth-ingness an~ letting go and all that. But Nirvana sure felt like hell." Heplucked~nother string: a rusty twang, "People here say I'm a prophet," he said,Prophets have no friends. They don't have anybody, You get maudlin tha
way, living here on your own." He touched her face. "I thought you'd gonaway for good. Couldn't blame you. I've been a real asshole."
"That you've been, my love," she said, "Shut up and kiss me." Theykissed. '!he world isn~~~aid. "It goes on forever."
Heslung the guitar over his shoulderand said, "Let's"go,Meg.Thesepeople can do without me for a while," They walked out. The derelicl~ of thecommunity who had been milling around the hut swarmed about them asthey stepped out. They followed him as he walked down the clearinp, to sayg?odb.ye. Th~~ crept out of their houses, women and children who tugged athIS shirt, wailIng and begging him to stay.
"He'll be all right," Meg assured Fat. "He'll get through the cam-paign, and then we'll go off somewhere,"
"Yes,you go off," Pat said,Sal was waving to the residents. They followed him up to the car,
and he opened the door and turned to them and raised his arms, "[ shallreturn," he said, He turned to Pat and said, "I mean that, Mistah, Just goingto do my duty to God and country, and then I'm coming back."
"We talk about that later," Pat said, absently, Getting Sal out of thihallucinatory community was easy, he thought. But on the plane backManila, with Sal asleep on Meg's shoulder, all Pat could think of was how tget Sal out of the campaign. He'll probably make a mess of it and blow hientire career. Give him time to rest. The boy's gone out of his mind, Just slyears ago he was his brightest star in the clubs, a world so far away frothem as they flew back to Manila, Now the star had collapsed, and entiworlds burned with it.--
"SIRENA!SIRENA!"Wading by the shore, Lalita looked like a pale apparitionrising from the water, Dolores Zabarte was sitting under a parasol a few me-ters back and watched the child paddling toward her. "I saw one just now,"Lalita told her.
"You saw what, hija?" Dolores asked,"Sirena." Lalita wrung the water from her long, black hair. ]9r
~!es~~~~!~.~ sire~~E~utwben tbe mQon is full. She says they take themOQnlight, ifttfle~r,A..Y~id'l..andJlrjJl.£jJJ2~9ls.JJllilt::l.tb.u~~:"
"And where did SQrTeresa hear that?""She saw one herselfl" Lalita crunched a clump Qfsand with the
toes of her fQot. "You dQn't believe me," She sulked for a while, and ~hen sheIQok~ up at Dolores, bright-eyed. "If I find one, can we take her hQme?"
DolQres laughed, "Yes," she said, "If she wants."That was enough for Lalita. She ran back happily to the water, splash-
ing about and wading to her knees.This was the best time of the year to spend on the beach: summer,
already drawing near, would be too brutal, too overwhelming. But the firsttwo months of the year were the only tolerable season in the country. Other-wise all DQIQresCQuld think about, if she could think at all under the heat,was tQ get away, leave everything behind, leave the islands tQ shrivel underthe sun and then-gQing to the Qther extreme-to drown in a succession QftyphQQns. But here they were. February turned the sky intQ rippling hues Qfsilver and faience; the light, filtered thrQugh a waft of clQud, rubbed the sharp-ness off rocks and the shore and gave everything the softness Qfa still life. Onthe beach everything was at a standstill: Qnly the water, nudging against theshore, refused adamantly this stillness, but it pulled tQshQre with a grudging
reverence, its waves swelling tentaliv~ly, dangl'rollsly, bllt With a qllll'llI<!l'deserved by the landscape, ..
. A serv~nt from the vllla arrived, Dolores cOlild hl'ar the jeepneycoughing labQflously through the gravel path to the shore, From the cornerQf her eye she watched as the servant, dressed in impeccable whi Ie like anapparition, approached her. She sat still, watching Lalita wade in the water,
"Senora," the servant said. "Senor Jose says you will be back fordinner, to dine with visitors."
The message momentarily disQriented her, "Visitors?" she asked him."From Maynila," the servant said. "Senora he perdido. ""No, Luis," she said. "I didn't forget.""I will stay and take Lalita back to the convent," the servant said.
"SenQra will take the jeep back tQvilla.""It's all right, Luis," she said, "YQUgo back and tell the general I
will be there for dinner. Tell them to fetch us after sundown, I will take Lalitaback tQthe CQnventmyself. I want to stay here for a while," The sunset will befreakishly beautiful, she wanted to tell him, but these were things one laidnobody, least of all the help. I will stay here and watch it turn the landscapeinto a maddening fugue of colors, and it will confuse the senses and I will sayI'm glad I stayed, I'm glad I'm here.
"Senor Jose will be angry at me," Luis said,"Let me take care of that," she said. "Now go."She listened as the jeep rumbled into the distance. Then there was
nothing else again but the stillness and the water's muffled roar. She won-dered who would be at the villa for dinner tonight. For some time now shehad been remiss about everything at the villa, she couldn't remember whereshe placed things, what day it was. Since she and the general returned fromManila it seemed as if they had returned to an entirely different world, aworld they had left and which had rearr;lnged itself, if Qnly to confuse them.All-her tenuous bonds with the place had CQme loose; everything that onceheld a special memory, some fragment with which she could measure theirlife together, gave up its significance, became nQ more than an artifact of apast life. That waswhat it was: because all things were past now. Not that shehad given up anything: she had begun to take life up anew. Everything seemedto have carved in her a vacuum into which she equid now pour new memory,
new beginnings; and she carried that emptiness with her with a defiance anda loneliness that became renewed everyday.
She stood up and started picking up towels, sand buckets, toys.Thenshe plucked the parasol from the sand and folded it. She could see Lalitaambling farther out the shore, towards the direction of the mountains, wh ichnow cast their ominous shadows over the beach. She smiled to herself. Watch-ing Lalita wading, walking farther away, she realized how adventurous thechild had become, independent a<;a wild bird, That was good. Lalita wa<;theonly constant in her life, and yet not quite: the child was growing up fasterthan they had imagined many years ago, when she was a sickly waif whoseemed to wilt and grow paler with the heat and the rain, Now she was grow-ing so fast Dolores couldn't believe she was the same child she saw last week,yesterday, only moments ago, She would take her to a school in Manilawhenshe was older, or perhaps together they could fly out of the 'country: out of itsincessant confusion and relentless disorder, She had argued with the generalmore than once about that: the general had become more and more awarethat she was retreating into this new world of hers, in which she alone andLalita were allowed. Here there was no place for him; he was a shadow,unremembered, unheeded. They spoke less and less. When they saw eachother, during the times when the general was at the villa, they acknowledgedeach ~ther's presence with a perfunctoriness that was the only thing demandedof themselves. Otherwise they lived as if they were completely absolved ofeach other, living in different times, different zones. More than once shethought of leaving forever. She would pack a few things while he was away:just enough to fit in a suitcase. Once she almost did it, and she reached as faras the gate of the villa, commanding the astounded driver to fetch one of thecars, Then she realized she had nowhere to go, and that her life had reacheda cul-de-sac. She went back to her room and unpacked her things slowly, andshe spent the rest of that afternoon listening to the dry wind mumbling like alost pilgrim over the fields,
Now she listened as the wind of her loneliness rose over the beachand answered the water's roar, The undertow would be stronger at this time,and she craned her neck to see where Lalita had wandered. She heard an-other roar, deeper, darker, and then a wave crashed, spewing a crest of foam.She walked out to shore. The darkness was deepening, and she could hardly
see the edge where Lalita had been wading~ The waves \Vl'I'l~IlI'l'aklllg ollllil'shore ~ow, Perhaps tomorrow there would be a storl11.Sill' pel'I'l'c!Illlo llil'~arkenlJl? shoreh~e and s~w nothing, Anll thell she fell sometliing, somemdete:mlnate,gram of paniC, an inchoate fear, Sill' walked f,L'ileralol1g theshorehne,.callmg Lalita's name. There W,L'ino answer, She walked into thewater, feelmg the undertow tugging at her ankles and dragging her in, Shestrugg!ed back to the shoreline and traced her steps along it, calling out to~hechild ..She could hear the sound of the jeep pulling into the beach, SeeingIts headhghts !lash at her, she called to Luis who was approaching her, andthe servant, sensin~ the panic in her call, rushed to the shore, Together theyscoured the beach, first towards the looming mountains, and then back again.Then they walked back the same way, shouting Lalita's name, The wavesswelled and pounded violently on the shore, like the fins of a beached levia-than. They kept calling out the child's name until their voices were hoarse.They scanned the edge of the shore up to the point where it ended in a rockycrag at the foot of t~e mountain, They looked out at the sea for any sign, anycall forhelp, and still there was no sign of the child. Finally, when everythingwas dark and they could see the pinpoints of fishermen's lights far out at seaLuis told her, "Senora, Icall for help." She did not hear him. She looked ou;at the sea, at its violent, possessive waves, and she kept looking even as thejeep rumbled away,
THEYNEVER fOUND the body of the child, Rescue boats from the Coa..~tGuard andragged tugboats from the Marines scoured the waters olf the coast, and diversprobed as deep as eight fathoms. Lalita's body was nowhere to be found, Twodays after the last boat had given up, the nuns at the convent, accompaniedby some of the children, went down to the beach for final rites, Later in theafternoon, just as the sun was setting and the nuns finished reciting the lastof the Glorious Mysteries, a ragged troop of elders from the villages trundledtoward the congregation, bearing offerings of rice, sugarcane, and lightedcandles, whose flames they protected from the wind by placing the candles incups carved from coconut shells. Their procession of lights nickered down to~e beach, accompanied by the sound of footbells. One of the general's sol-dIers halted them, standing with his M-16 before the first in the line,
"We come," said the elder leading the procession, "to send off thedead." There was nothing the soldier could do. They passed him quietly, aboutthirty old men and women stooped and ragged and cupping their candles intheir hands. They searched out Dolores Zabarte. She was standing beside thegeneral, her head hidden under a veil of black lace. The leader of the proces-sion broke off and approached them. He bowed his head slightly, saying some-thing neither of them could understand, and then he handed the candle toDolores. The others then walked to the shoreline, and there, one by one theyset the lighted shelis to sea. The candles floated out quietly, like slowly dimin-ishing stars. .
"What are they doing?" the general overheard one of the sistersasking, and he said, "~U~JD'LI)JU2.~P:~~~~:.souls of the drowned. •Tbs: vjolenU¥ de2~"
Dolores cringed beside him. She didn't like that term; she had al-ways thought to herself that perhaps the child disappeared quietly, as mer-maids sink into the sea: gracefully, without a struggle. That gave her com-fort, even if she knew it could be untrue. Butshe clung to it, and anything, anunkind word,.could dislodge her from this comfortable assurance. Now shefelt it again, listening to the general annotate the ritual. She herself felt shewassinking slowly, fading out like the lights at sea. The elders were recitingsomething even she could not understand: there were phrases in the ancientCarolan dialect, and she could pick out some word.L,'mir," the sea; "abaya,"leaving;".I'I10rta,.~:j!~jgh~~§.e~~~~~!J]2.tiQn···_><····_···One'·of the elders, a surprisingly robust and agile woman, walkedknee-deep into the water, and looking about her as in a daze, she sudd~nlylunged an arm into the water, pulled it back instantly, .and revealed a shIm-mering eel squirmingin her grasp. She waddled out oj the water, her raggedskirt clinging to her legs, and with one deft hand she held out a knife, thrustit into the head of the eel and slashed it lengthwise in two. Blood spurted Inall directions as she threw the two halves of the eel onto the sand. The eldershuddled around it, watching the parts thrash and squarm, creating a bloodycalligraphy on the sand. When finally the parts lay still the elder who had ledthe procession looked straight at the general and said something that resem-bled a call for help, a prayer.
"What is it?" the sister asked him.
The general said, "They have :L~kl!~llhl'Sl'a whll Il wlillakl' III'XI,and they a~k for mercy and forgiveness.lhallhe Ill'X!victim may hI' forf'lvl'lI "
"And who is the next?" the sister ;L~ked. 'The elder lifted one hand, palm lurned dowll, allli fan'd lhl' 1'lIlin'
congregation. Then he turned around 10 face h Iscompanions, who were drolling an incantation. And then he faced the waler, bowed his Iwad, tUI'IIl'daround and walked ~way, back to the road leading 10 the mountain, Quietlythe others followed him. They spoke not one word. The only sound that couldb~ heard w~ the so~nd of their footbells tinkling, vanishing into the howlingWind. The slster again asked General Zabarte, with some trace of panic in hervoice, "Who is next?"
nexl." The general said, '!.l1Ja£r~id'~~~!,",~~,=.~~.:~~~::~.the~~:.~d will go•.••.....•..~
"What?" •.•.,"''''.
<II may have misunderstood," the general said. "They say the seawill take the entire island next. But surely you don't believe these elders, sis-ler? They get their miracles from the entrails of chicken and the blood of eels.You at the convent have direct lines to God,"
"God does not warn us about calamities," the sis~er said. "He onlytells us to be stron g,"
"No, sister," the general said. "He warns us 2.bout nothing. That isthe greatest mystery in life."
That evening, as he waited for Dolores to come to dinner, he re-membered this conversation and felt he wanted to amend it: he would havesaid, "God warns us about nothing, and that is the saddest thing about ourlife." Or, "God warns us and we refuse to listen." But he didn't believe in Godor refused to believe. He believed in some great force from which man him~~elf borrowed or stole some greatness, just as Prometheus did with light; butIt was no more than that. It was a vast, blind, unemotional strength thatbonded planets or kept galaxies apart, not some benevolent figure that keptwatch over calamity, prayer, sin. But what made him think of it at alJl Sincehis capture at the mountains, since his frantic trek out of the forest, he hadbegun to doubt everything he so emphatically believed in: at some point, onenight among the heaving of huge trees and the suspirations of unknownfauna, he must have felt the world was too complex for his rehearsed beliefs.
Who will be taken next? There were no answers, The water takes whom.'Ttlwants. God does not warn us about calamities, Our lives go on as best tt:tican.
He became impatient waiting for Dolores .tocome down. Hepouredhimself a glass of brandy, and then another, lost in thought. Then he movedto the study, taking his drink with him, and slumped into his favorite butaka,hoisting his leg up as he had done so many other evenings before. The windblew in like a summons. [t brought the sea back with it, and memories theyhad given up to the sea, long ago when it was difficult to give up so manythings. Howeasy it is to let go of things now. Or,he would have said, it isn't soeasy to let go but we accept the pain with less resistance now. Pain? He hadnot thought of that word, had not used it for as long as he could remember. Itwasn't something that came to mind even during those muggy, stink-fillednights when he watched his men pierce the bodies of young farmers withsticks and pins, like pincushions, He was too good for pain. He felt nothingwhen he heard of Lalita's disappearance.~~~~~,n2~~.P~~~thing, the way one feels when one loses the page in a book ~!S reading, ~. _aiorefgi)'rotrt'tep1ino-nerspOCKet 16T~~~~~~~.I~~_~~,~Llives '.beTore~-~-"'-'-'".','"~"""'---"';-""'''--''--'-----''--..',-..' ..., ,'- - - -,._,'.00
-~-_.-. He fell asleep on the chair, rocking quietly with his hand still cra-dling his glass. When he woke up the next morning, he found the glass stillin his hand with not one drop spilled, and discovered, too, when he went uplater to change his clothes, that £2lo~b.ad g,on~
THEUNIFORMEDMAID brought in a pot of Ceylon tea and a vial of honey. Shepoured the tea into two cups and then slinked away quietly, leaving the potand vial on the table.
"Drink," Dona Maria Bernardina Zabarte told Dolores. "Oldpeopleare forbidden their pleasures. I can only drink honey." She reached for hercup, the sweet liquid quavering in her grasp. They were in the sitting room,but the wide doors that were kept open in the summer were.bolted now tokeep out the January draft that made the old woman's bones ache, Doloresrealized that for the past fewyears that she had been dropping by to visit, thedoors were never opened. Years ago, when Dona Zabarte was stronger, theywould sit here in this room to watch the flowers in bloom. Now the flowers
278 Empire of Memory
and the cacophony of birds from the aViary"oppressedth{.~old WOlllal\, "I ~.done with this world," she said. "Everything in it disagrees with I11l', I ;:;~~Idone." She peered at Dolores through' the musty shadows and said, "'I'lwl'\' is \something troubling you," ~'
"I have come to say goodbye," Dolores said."I am not leaving that SOOI\," the old woman chuckled, She pUl her
cup down arid said, "I share your grief about the little girl. I understand yourgrIef. But to say goodbye," she trailed off, lopking for words.
"Ih.e.mLlt.:-?'e§._~~erythingI lived for," Dolores said. "But J lost her~19Jlg·time.ago.,:.: .. - . .,.--.-------- -- --,
The old woman looked at her for a long time. "II was a painfuldecision," she finally said. "It was a ridiculous decision."
"] know you wanted to stop it," Dolores said. "Jose would have lis-tened to you."
"No," the old woman said. "He listens to nobody. His father madesur:.h~.~Q!l[I2Qt9!~:M.IbISffU_?t?_~,§sisters wastfie right thIng to do, r---th~t. time, I may think d~fer~OJh;"IlO'\V,We 'tile. iig.·ed"h'ave-ih~iiEP~e .. 'We are'aIlowea'l£l!!i~ our minds~"';""""-~"-'''--- '. :Q.:--
-'~~"-jlamaloved hi~"iiather," Dolores said.":!Eat he was," the old woman said. "I know Jose, He must have
~~the child himself. auOtFiero~-----,·_",-_,'-snemotionea to Dofores to picK up'something under the rattan
~able.lt w~.a box from China, brocaded with silk cloth of an intricate print,Its once brIlIJant colors now faded to somber hues of lichen and rose, Doloreshanded it to her. Dona Zabarte opened the box and pulled out a sheaf ofphotographs, She handed one to Dolores, It was a sepia photograph of Villadel Fuego, taken in 1926, the date haVing been scribbled with a fine hand inink, In front of the gate was a couple whom Dolores recognized as her par-ents, young and brazenly beautiful in white Sunday clothes.
"When we first came to the island," Dona Zabarte said, "we droveour automobile past the gate of the villa, Don Egidio and!. Abeautiful place,set off like a jewel at the foot of the mountain. And Isaw this couple, yourparents, two beautiful creatures walking behind the gates, so graceful, sowhite. I turned to Egidio and said, this island will be the best place on earth.Just look at those young people,"
"All the stories I've heard said they were so unhappy after all,"Dolores asked, "Mama never talked about anything, and neither did the sis-ters who took care of me."
"I do not know about other people's unhappiness," Dona Zabartesaid. "But I know your mother and your aunt were happy to meet us, becausethere was no one else from Manila. They were so full of life, your family. Theyalways had guests at the villa, and we were there often."
She talked about life at the villa, picking out from the China boxpictures with frayed edges, scalloped-edged portraits processed in Germanstudios along Calle Escolta in Manila, notes and cards kept for unknownreasons. Dolores realized, as she took them one by one and examined them,that the old woman was relinquishing the fragments of allthe,!!1J!.rn<m:.thathad been left her. Now, a:i~ilie'reTgooTifitseCrermemorres"ii1e photographsheld, they rekindled small events that had been blurred by distance and time,Or perhaps the photographs brought back nothing at all, too little and toolate, and she passed them on to Dolores with the weight of loss. Here wasDolores' father, the beatific Manuel Suarez: wearing a summer suit of whitetrousers and a white coat; sitting on a chair beside the windows looking west-ward at the villa, he looked as beautiful and haunted as a tormented angel.In another picture he was walking down the beach with his young WIfe,da~k-haired Isabel, a lovely,magnificent woman. Here was the unfortunate Amalta,in one of the rare times she allowed herself to be photographed: sad anddistant, like portraits of stars of the silent movies, ., ,
"Jose tells me Malacanang might publish excerpts of Tla Amah a sbook," Dolores said. "Researchers from the palace have been visiting thevilla."
"I am certain," the old woman said, "they will discover it is notyour Tia Amalia's. The book was published by somebody else. You and [ knowthat." She picked out a few more photographs: Manuel, in 'Striped swimsuitalong the beach, and Isabel holding aloft a huge parasol. "Detractors of myhusband made that book," she continued, almost with finality. "There weremany of them. Don Egidio made a lotof enemies, and he knew it. ~ometim~she delighted in naming them over dinner, one by one. He was a fl~ry, am~l-tious man excited by the presence of adversaries. He told me that In MantIahe accom~lished two things: he got me to marry him, and he made friends
with the Americans who gave him power over San Miguel. I W,L~ horrified althe thought of leaving Manila and coming to the island, but I believed every-thing he said. He had such glorious, impossible dreams, But yes, many peo-ple despised him. That is the sad thing about us: we despise those who aremore successful than we are, Old friends from Manila called him a coward, atraitor, any new word they learned in English. And all these accusations wenton for decad~s. Do you remember the demonstrations against him in Ma-nila? No, you were too busy being young then, There were also small picketshere at the town plaza, and slogans hurled and effigies burned. It pained meto watch these things happen. They called him a lapdog of the Americans,but this was so untrue! Nobody remembers how he protested, after we settledhere, about the bars across the mountain. He built this quiet place for hischildren against the raucousness of Akeldama, Ay,how he despised that name.When the soldiers came to visit, he gave them long, passionate ~ermons aboutthat seedy, sinful place. He told them what the name meant in the Bible. Butthe soldiers were young and were not Catholics, We had a good relationshipwith them, the Americans. They sustained us through the Years,Without the~\YQh!!.9 be no Villa del Fuego, All this ,;vould be nothing bu,tjU~~YUilllj2land. There would be_no San Miguel. We would not b~__IWr~." Then, remembering her earlier statement, she said, "The book waswritten when we announced Jose's marriage to you. Egidio's enemies knewthis marriage would make us the most powerful family in San Miguel. Per-haps all over the country." She laughed quietly and with difficulty: her storyhad exhausted her. "So much effort to bring one family down, So much ef-fort to deprive these ghosts their peace."
"What happened to them after alP" Dolores said, "All those lives [know little about, were they real after all!"
The old woman smiled at her, "There is so little of people's lives wecan hope to know," she said. She picked out other photographs, a stack ofweathered portraits of Consuelo and Joaquin Suarez, of the old plantation,even of the brooding Eliac;Camacho: Dolores looked at the unfamiliar, dis-tant faces, the eyes so full of passion once, but now calcified to a distant,unremembered mystery. The photographs were all in her hands now. Thebox, lying on the lap of the old woman, wac;empty. Dolores looked at thebottom of the pile and found photographs of herself and the brothers: how
young they all seemed then, their eyes sparkling with hope and vision andenchantment for the world.
"I blOW," the old woman said, "how they both loved you. [ do notknow how we come to be blessed by other people's love. I am an old, oldthing. I know some things cannot be explained." She put the box down onthe table and said. "Now help me get up. I want to see the aviary."
The maid saw them pushing the doors open; she ran up to themand protested that the garden would be too cold for Dona Zabarte, but the oldwoman wearily dismissed her. "I am entitled to a little foolishness now, pocDios."
They walked hand in hand down the path to the aviary. All aroundthem was the polyphonic squalling of the birds and the wind whistling fromthe mountain. They walked as though they had reached the beginning andthe end of the wodd. The morning sun, filtered through the leaves, dappledthe path with flecks of pale light.
THEPRESIDENThad just finished writing his inaugural speech and was relax-ing for the weekend in Malacanang Palace when the Armed Forces Chief ofStaff, Fabian Ver,entered his study with some disturbing news. His son, Colo-nel Irwin Ver, chief of the Presidential Security Command, and the presi-de~t's son, Bongbong, had discovered a plan to assassinate the President andthe First Lady. The two young men had followed' the general to the study togive the full report and wanted to know the President's response.
The President felt a pang of weariness and pain shoot through hiskidneys, and for a moment he refused to listen to the report. He had wanted along, restful vacation after the inaugural, far from the tediousness of elec-toral politics and sloganeering. He felt like an old, old man.
"What are the plims?" he asked the young colonel."They will attack Malacanang and stage a coup d'etat led by young
officers, Sir," replied the colonel.After the coup, military personnel would run an interim govern-
ment, with full support of battalions from as far as Mindanao."Does the First Lady know about this?" the President asked."Yes,sir." The Presidential Security Group had captured one of the
conspirators, said the colonel, who confessed the plot to them. The First La-
282 Empire of Memory
dy's aide, GeneralJose Zabarte, had thought it proper lo infol'lll the First Ladyof the confession.
The President reclined in his seat and closed his eyes. These cow-ards can't even stage a revolt right, he thought. They want to run a countrywith guts not brains. "Who are involved?" he asked.
The colonel enumerated some names, many of them belonging tovarious classes of the milit.ary academy. The President opened his eyes andlooked at his own son. Deep in his bones he felt his sadness ebbing, and hisbreath and life seemed to ebb with it. Later that evening he could sti IIsense it,like a sour taste in the mouth, as he faced the cameras set up at the palace.
"[ have decided to appear on television to explain the present situ-atien. All the commanders have now organized their troops to liquidate andeliminate this force that has plotted to assassinate the President and the FirstLady. [ call upon these soldiers to stop this stupidity and surrender so that wemay negotiate exactly what should be done with them and their men. I havenothing but sadness for those who participated in the conspiracy. We have nointention of hurting these people. They should realize that we are in com-plete control of the situation."
[ HADBEENKNOCKINGon jun's door for about five minutes before he bothered toanswer. I was aghast to see him. Athree-day-old stubble cast a shadow undprhis chin; his hair was unkempt and rumpled; there were dark circles underhis bloodshot eyes, the result of successive hangovers. "Well, Ali Baba," heslurred. "Have the thieves come to take us?"
"What happened to you, man?" I asked him. "The office has beenlooking all over town for you. Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"Pulled the plug," he said. "Damn thing kept on ringing. I felt Iwas in a pinball machine."
"The whole city's gone crazy," [ said."I know." He had been watching television all day. Rebellroops had
taken Channel 4, cutting off the President's speech in mid-sentence. Now thewhole town wanted to give a triumphant speech over the liberated televisionstation. Quick on the draw, members of the parliament queued up to de-nounce the Marcos regime. Then there were song numbers rendered by ear-nest folk singers and pop balladeers as well as passionate denouncernenL~ of
the American bases, the garbage villages of Smokey Mountain. and theWestinghouse-built nuclear plant in Bataan. Then there were tapes ofMamboMagsaysay and Onward Christt'an Soldiers, and-every hour Freddie Aguilarwhined his extrapolated version of Bayan Ko. The leader of the United Te~ch-ers Front, a sallow-faced matron, gave a fiery speech about the true revolu-tion and was shooed out of the screen.--
I followedJun as he hobbled back in. I had never been to his apart-ment before. Up on the fourteenth floor. beyond the din of traffic below. hehad been living a life which I realized had been completely unknown to meuntil then. There were empty cans of San Miguel beer spewed about the floor;three-month old issues of&quz're and New Yorker (some of which I had justreturned); soiled clothing ~verywhere. One wall was lined with bookshelvesbursting with obscure titles. Wedged among the books was a stereo system,and beside that was a stack of discs and tapes. His bed was underneath a pil.eof soiled clothes, and beside that, partly hidden by more clothes, was a..c.om-~L:':'~~.b.~~~' His apartment wasn't too spacious but ilgave onto a refreshing view of the city's ancient roofs of wood and rust nowsmudged into the twilight. Were it not for this view the whole place wouldhave looked like a cave.
"Take the rest of the week off, Diaz," he dismissed me. "l think acoup'is a good enough excuse."
"Max has been making me write statements to foreign media Iigcrazy," I said. "He wants you." .-J
"Tell him I'm gone," he said. "Tell him I'm in Hong Kong.""The mice," I said, "have been jumping ship.""Jump shit," he said. "I don't give a damn about this revolt. ~t's the
second inning, Diaz. Same game, new team. You should play more sports,AI." He slumped on the chair in front of the computer and picked the clothesoff the monitor. Hepressed a key and a galactic battle resumed on the screen:little green bombs missing their target. "Susan's gone, pare, " he said.
"Gone where?" _.~\"Gone as in kaput, splitsville, kalas. Das all folks." He led a blink- ~
ing bomb to a cone-shaped target, which exploded into a corona of tiny lights Ion the screen. "She's been going to those yellow rallies, you know? All those #,
demos at Luneta where they pray and sing for our freedom. Freedom my :L~S.
Sorry. She said she wasn't seeing me again until I walked out of the job." ."Susan said that? I always thought she wa.m't very political." .••."Political shit," he said. "She's being fashionable, like the res! of
the city. Nobody wants to wear red, while and blue.""You think it's not going to be temporary? Yourmisunderstanding,
I mean." I was really being very tactful: I remembered the Tagalog saying,Bt'ruin na ang lasz'ng, huwag tang ang bagong gisz'ng. Jun looked like hewas both. .-:
"It's going to be temporary all right," he said. "Let me wallow inmy misery. I'll be back next week." He turned around and looked at me,"Trust me, Diaz. All this will blow over by then." There was a suspiratingwhistle from the screen, and he turned around in time to watch his last mis-sile disintegrate. "Pulang ina/"
"Okay," I said "Call me if you feel like going out for a drink. Notthat you need one." I picked up an issue of Esquire on the way out.
Suddenly he bolted up and caught me just as r wa.)steppin g out thedoor. "Diaz, the book!"
"What book?""The one we've been working on, idiot. Where are the proofs?""In the palace," I said. "The printer delivered it four days ago.""I have to get it," he said."What for? Nobody's working there now.""It's my project," he said. "I don't want to lose it. You wait right
I didn't know what was on his mind, or if he had any pl'emonilionof what wa.~going to happen that night. He hurriedly put on Jeans and a shirtand we ran down to the basement to get his car. Wezoomed out through thesidestreets, avoiding EDSAwhere people had been massing to surround thecamps.
Weparked the car beside a carinderia and walked the rest of the wayto Malacafiang. Students were holding up crowns of thorns made from piecesof barbed wire snipped from the barricades of Mendiola. There were severalAPCs in the plaza, manned by young Marines. People were everywhere, pop-ping out ofwindows and filling up the pedestrian overpass of Magsaysay Boul-
DEBRISFROM TIlE INAUGURATIONthat morning still littered the palace gardens. Allweek long gardeners had been uprooting carrots, lettuce and bitter melonwhich the First Lady had ordered planted for her Backyard VegetableGardenProject. Now there were torn buntings, streamers, paper cups and paper flagsstrewn about the place. Chocolate wrappers and orange juice tetrapacks floatedlike ragged lilies in the fountain pond. From the balcony of the palace, thegiant face of the President flapped in the wind. Wewalked through the kitchengardens, which had been returfed for the occasion, and took the back route toour office.Just that morning, when I was sent to look forJun, the place seemednormal as any government bureau. Nowthere was absolute mayhem. Palaceservants were packing crystal into crates. Some were stuffing hundreds of silkdresses into boxes, while others carried wicker baskets full of scented soap,bumping into each other and scattering the soap bars all over the halls. Junstopped one of them and asked, "Where are you taking those?"
"I don't know, sir," the servant replied.There was r.loud crash from across the hall: a servant had dropped
one o{ the crys~al statuettes, and now the palace majordomo was scoldinghim in staccato Waray.
"Are the offices open?" Jun asked the basket carrier."They're all open, sir."We rushed down the hall to the ground floor offices. There were
people walking up and down the stairs, people we didn't know and hadn'tseen before. Many of them we~estragglers from that morning's inauguralball, still dressed in the t-shirts emblazoned with the face of Marcos and theword Victory! under his face. Other overstaying guests were wearing theirbarong with Marcos pins still stuck on their collars.
"Q.Wr' Lhear(t~om.~y call my name, and when Ilook~I saw Sal X.11e ..w~attbebo.ttolTl or thiJ..t~~m(1[~[tD~-~. '~;What'tt;h~il~;iQ]~her,e2:'L,~,~m,~,.~.
"Goodqu~~lio~,;,'he said. "I ~~$~~1!ll;stJ~LQ~!l1Jl'rJ1J.d1~dent's imiuguraLTney' caflecrlr§~,mJJ~J~aLIDQ.\&.lJlle.aL1..J:.W.bOO~,,"irntrellt<1t5U'{oaarre'f,rariiadbeen wander!llg~~['9.~JI£L\bg~~9.~~'
~,"~ ...'O;.4",•.,.';j~~i<;'<;~~'~"";"""·'''.'''''·''''·'''''-'''-'·~'"',.,;;;,.<;--,',_.,,,.V'_,,,,.,.¥.,,: C'"c,::>',;:C,
!i~e lTJan~of ,the zeo£le ther~:.1JLafl~rnUQllIU\lLc .w~.l!lljlllll\~~IlUl:J'~,oL u,~eS'ta Ina eYance, and P~:just rn~~9":::0l!~~.(~XP('CIII.lg~1.1.J.~.11Vl'1l.2,lL~~~oJL!~,9J1!~,~ID!~Ti1.~"Tfie Nfl~£illiiJihi:.uc.La:u~Jlli~~pl'l··.V.~~.;~Ts so~ :ifter the in~~L1r!l!~~DleJ~~j~.lhaJ d~IJYL'Cl:daJl.ul~-·~
slOned~p~ ~~o.ut~befate ofthe remd.l?[i.s_;~~.~JheJ~3.a:J.u~.cllccrsfcom ', the crow?,.il'tIT1!.y'~g~.tatil"~gar9_~~:.Qr!.n ~~.~!~g~a.@P.§i.~.~~.:~0'~;g~~1Ir.c1.
but theX~~~!i'!1Hl~~.~owhere to be seen ., •-..". .• - . "What are you hang-fng aro~re for?" I asked Sa!.
"None of the performers have been paid yet, man," he said. "I'mnot staying for the fun. I'm getting my bread and getting out." Performersfor the inaugural ball had been promised a heftysum and plane tickets aroundthe world. Many of them were loitering in the palace, waiting for their due."What are you doing here? Overtime, ha?"
I suddenly realized I had 10stJun in the crowd. I told Sa! I'd see himlater, and then I rushed down to the A.S.l.A.office. Along the way I passed byMax Plata's room and was surprised to find him pounding away at his com-puter.
"Mr. Plata!" I exclaimed.Hedidn't look up, but kepton writing, "Don't bother me now,Diaz,"
he said, puffing on a cigar. "I have to get this to the Herald tonight."I walked in and looked over his shoulder-something I always d1Cl1
to irritate him, Hewas typing a piece entitled "The People's Victoryat EDSA."1"Are you joining the other side now, Max?" I asked him. -His fingers froze in mid-key. He wheeled around to face me. His
cheeks were flushed with whiskey. Heseemed unperturbed by what was hap-pening around him, "Youhaven't learned anything, Diaz," he said. He turnedaround and continued typing.
I went to our office and found Jun rushing out with our mar."script, tied in a thick bundle with hemp string, in his arm.
"I'm taking this to the President," he said. "I want him to take itwith them."
"Take it where, Jun?"He didn't hear me. He rushed straight up to the President's private
chamber, where not many of us were allowed to pass through, There were noguards. He found the First Ladyaccompanying the President out of his room.
evard. Weextricated ourselves from the crowd and finally reached the streetto the palace. There were no guards or soldiers around to stop us.
Servants blocked his way,and he handed the manuscript to them. "The Presi-dent will want to take this," he instructed. "Make sure he takes it."
One of the servants stuffed the manuscript into a bag full of bottles."His medicine," the servant said. "Dey don't forget dis."
Jun thanked him and watched them hobble behind the Presidentdown the hall. Then he walked back down to the office where I had beenwaiting for him.
"Max h~ ~ off to the Herald," I t?~dhirn."I'm not surprfs~<>S·a.1tr.''trniine iopack up, Diaz.""What will we do with this?" I asked him, showing him another
stack of manuscripts on his desk."Leave that here," he said. "That's the version we've been playing
with. Youcan keep it if you like. Write a few ficciones out of it."I thumbed through the manuscript and noticed how neatly typed
all the pages were. The secretaries had been doing a good job, even with ourgames with the manuscript. I flipped a few pages and browsed through thetext. Andthen with aSinkingfeeling I realized what I was reading. "Hidalgo,"I said.'~I~.iS is the o~l'P,~n~~r.lJ2t:~. _£>
He';;a1r<ect over and flipped through the pages. "It can't be," he•.•.••• ·...-_·._. .-c,·.".'",,·.-.:c~".;._.< •."-'-.H"':' ~,,'.:~;,r-,,-.-.'i.~:.:,;~·,__ .:~.•.•.r.'kC·.;;::-L·m_"'J:~~~";"''':H.f'·.;,;;r~~'"'i'A,,,,,,;.-·.lf""·"'~"'.~ - : ......,
'·Qig.X9~~J~.4!Jh~'~~~:"'''1He had not. The truth hit him like an electric shock. He grabbed the
manuscript from my hands and bolted around and ran up back to the rooms.He rushed past the deserted hall and threw open the door where he had seenthe President and the First Lady just a few minutes before. An unmade bedhad been pushed against a wall. There were intravenous bottles hanging overit.The airconditioner hummed a forgotten tune. There were half-packed boxes,clothing and photographs on the floor.There was no one there.I!l~~ .
~
SALX WAS STILLWANDERING about when the order came to vacate the palace.General Jose Zabarte was barking the order and shOWingpeople out of thehalls. The general was in mufti, which was perhaps why nobody recognizedhim and why his orders were mostly being ignored. Sal stepped out to one ofthe courtyards and sat by a bubbling fountain. At least in this space nobody
"And what do you see?" Sal asked him."A beautiful landScape," the general said. "Everybodyexplores it,
senor. Nobody conquers it. There are many expeditions and many lives arelost. People search for gods they can venerate. In their lonely rooms theyadore their images and know there can be no rewards. They look for an anti-dote to their hopelessness. When they reali"e that they are illusions, theirdisappointment turns their love into violence, hostility, vengeance. That iswhat I see. The young are spared this Vision, and are happy." He looked atSa!. "Perhaps we haven Ptlearned anything. What can the young teach us,who have seen it a1l?"
"I don't know," Sal said. "Go on as though everything were done.The storm comes and passes away.Tomorrow all things are new."
The general looked at Sa\. "Do I know you?" he asked. "We havemet before:-
'lam no one," Sa! wid.:'I don1e.~i~t.""Here we are, in the middle of a storm, and we talk about earthly
delights. Let us be strange." The general laughed. "Everything is vanishing,"he said. "The lights have been turned off. The actors have gone home."
They stood up and the general shook Sal's hand. "People will breakinto the palace soon," he said. "Be wise and go away." d
• They parted at the hallway. The entire palace was deserted now.Thegeneral walked down to the gardens at the back and Sal turned towar.d thegates. There was no sound but their footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
July 1999
Promised Land
DAYANGTIlE WITCHreturned to Siquijor three years after the fall of the Marcosgovernment. Money and experience about the world, gained during her ex-tended tenure in Manila, made her more powerful than any other sorcerer intown. She lived with two cousins in a hut tucked in a forest populated bytalking birds and maleficent spirits. In that solitary fortress ofmoss and fernshe kept an apothecary of her powers, lining a shelf with wondrous plaguesand medicines. She concocted potions for love and also for revenge, vials ofopiates that made one see the thoughis of angels and walk on rainbows,perfumes that could stop the waxing of the moon and made men mad andwhich were sealed in alabastrons stolen bypirates long ago from shipwreckedGreeks, and Roman ungentaria filled with sensual liniments. Each morn-ing, just before daybreak, she collected dew and the saliva of SWifts,lizard'seggs and the eyes of parakeets that had been stunned by moonlight. Withthem'she brewed a paste that could cure anything from insomnia to brokenhearts. And in the evenings, alone in her lonely hut, she read passages fromthe cuneiforms of Sumatra, recharging her powers and recreating worldsthat frightened even the gods, =t
Here, one moonless evening, she was stabbed by her two cousins, 1who wanted to attain her magic. They rummaged around for potions, amu-llets, anything that held the secret of her power, and stole off int0 the forest "'~.with miniature replicas of viscera carved from mahogany so, that the sap Ilooked like blood, a knife forged from an unknown alloy which had been .~found in a gaLleonbeached on the island three centuries ago, and more than .~ten thousand pesos in cash, '--'
The entire island of Siquijor turned out to bury Dayang and de-clared a day of mourning. In her coffin they placed!}::.lHQ&~~~~og~~e.r_~Dq.~lenoth of rope so that the murderers would fearthe\L0"Ynj.11]~~~,lose sleep'#;.,~~_,_~""""'.;;O:O"~"',;L''''';'';;~$~/::;,,..,,.n;~-:-'''''_';O;:'_'''''il:~~~'i-'-'_-'-i%,~.'-.;;;.t'_;"""'_~'::;';_.V_\;',-,·"'fM0,:,_·~_·.-t.-,~$.,-,_..ry.",-+.-.~..~_..._"....,.•, -'",;c"_",~""~,-_,,,,,,,,,,,_,. '_'-''''-.-'~'':-''-'.-,~ ..
~ kiH t~~rus~s. After they lowered the coffin into the earth they threw asmg~;e over It, so that the soul of the sorceress may feed on it until theportals of the next kingdom were opened for her. _",,,,,,
1\\'0 weeks later, the murderers, driVEninsane by fear and wakeful-ness, surrendered themselves to the police. They were kept in the town jail, ina cell where no man had ever been incarcerated since it wa'i built a hundredyears ago. For a week thereafter islanders lined up to take a look at the menupon whom they had placed their colll3ctivecurse. The erring cousins hadlost all memory of speech because of their insomnia, and thus lived con-demned in a world of perpetual silence. They stared at sunlight with fear and I"~~k:~~::~E~:~r~:E;~:':~:~~~~;~~:::h~:~t~r~i
r,mE:!J~iib1I).&;d.th~~~~Y$11~.1U,,9riI~iDi!!a:g~~-'''--~-'''-'-/jDONAMARIABERNAROINAUJlARTEdied on a rainy afternoon in her mansion inSan Miguel. Before she died, she asked her servant to draw the windows openso that she could hear the sound of the rain, and she lay in bed with a rosaryof polished wooden beads and recited all of the mysteries before passing away.They clothed her in a gown of Venetian lace which she had worn at her wed-ding, and were surprised to find that the old woman had shrunk to half hersize since. They buried her in a coffin of lead lined with blaGts~.atiJJ..".~,.">i'"
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giant canopy of canvas and attended byhi~edrnSyrners~s.~tshelJ:la.ybe.g~~ed"tOie~E'!I!!!YI¥:c,ra£IJ~~yrrr@':V~ssufi:uscd with the odor QLin.cens.eand burnt sugar. Hawks and cranes, migrating southward from Honshu,roosted'onthecaJ1()py, and they had t9 (ear it down. [n N.ovember,after thera!Ds,tneyfOiind strange new flowers sprouting there, with petals as diapha-nous as rain.
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Brigadier ~eneral Jose Zabarte led a S2l!E.9).t~t4~~~1~~~~~~)1f:.YL~governrnent sooDjrt~r,~i§tea p,Lt5~~p,1~,~jDj.j.Q~aUstsofthg.mj!jlaJ~,aGad-emY:.E9.Li~\:e:~iI~~X?Jb,~,Lb,e.~J22~.t?g~\htMiQ\§tryof Defense, surroundedby sympathetic soldiers and the international press. By the fourth day, thegeneral asked the press to vacate the camp and the soldiers to receiveextremeunction. An hour later they were bombarded by phantom jets called in fromthe American bases in Subic and Akeldama. The camp was blown to rubble.
Notone man survived. But when government troops sorted through the cha;;;'remains, identifying bodies through gold fillings and lockets, they couldn't'find the body of the general anywhere. There were rumors that the general/'managed to escape through a trap door, which was found much later. 1\\'0 i, I I
months after the coup, the general was said to have issued a manifesto frolTh fJ, \'ffJt(v~bt7the jungles of San Miguel where he vowed to carry on the revolt. ..-J ~1 .
llKpigbesLQ%al£.2f the M9ptede.oro ra,nges.,aJ,glc.ano tb.atha~ .been dormant for six .~undred ye~rs,.er~eted !l2~f21,10~flgs~fQme.L.CO\l~b:nI[9~llrl2rumes or pewter-colored asii, that forl11eda belt of cloudargYng~ljegl?be, Viorentearthquak:s'~nd: i~al=~lji~~~1.b~,,)'JU~~~~.,.8L~~~..Mi~ma:l!flmr,m.anslQtlS.0~l}.d;JiJ;.~&i,,&lQg,;.hU~ill1LJ.o.•,t1le..E_Q£~ill}.:JIKra,tnScQro.lJ,&b!.£b,HEm~$Il1~.c.Isli1estha.t ,buried, e~tire. t?~ns. [l!l9sb.iftedthecQurse of the Rio pel Flleg.Q.JnJhg!119Ql.b§Jh}l,tJQllowgg,Jb~ ..}~I;JJ1d~l:s,Jotag,W.ugr§EE~~~~.,f~~2.,,~~;£~q,Lgj.~mg,ll.~u~b~.andth~flQWiD$JEyq cbyrned out thedisl11~Il1~ered~I~\VsoLRtg[QCla,.s;td§,andJh§•.armorecland ca,lcifigd skeletol1s oflTIariners.. 'The most severely daJTIagedst~~~tures were Villa del Fuego, the or-
phanage of Santa Isabel a, and the naval base of La Paz beside Akeldama.The west wall of the villa caved in, breaking cupboards laden with delicatecrystal and china. Half of the roof of the orphanage fell through, and thechildren had to be crammed on cots in the sturdier wing. Dolores Zabartewas last seen organizing relief missions for the orphans. Disillusioned by theslow pace of relief work and red tape, she sold most of the heirlooms at thevilla to reconstruct the orphanage, and was said to have leftthe country soonafter. The villa was later sequestrated by the new government and partitioned,like war spoils, by politicians assigned to restore order in that unhappy is-land.
The American fleet evacuated La paz Naval Basewhen ash and lahar,.9.s.w.e1l ~ an Q.bfQJett!E_~t~~~~~~~setreaty, made it ~nsuitable to stay ~~.Residents of the devastated town of AAelaama demonstrated in the streets toask the Americans to stay.~dle.:wQ~Qm~~ ~be J:eleoll~
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~TO~Z\BA.RTEsurvived the vicissitudes of climate and calamity, but not ofIme, and he surrendered to military forces toward the end of the century, an
old and dying man, AUthroughout the years he held on to his ideal, fightingone government and then the next, guarding his inaccessible jungle witharmories of primitive lmplements, bamboo knives and automatic rifles sto-len in ambushes of government troops. They found him one afternoon notfar from the peak, in a cave where he had taken the last of his men to escapethe smouldering rivers of lava and periodic typhoons and where he had kepta journat of his struggle written in the ancient Carolan. He had no more thantwo dozen men, many of them too young to remember the rool~ of his rebel-lion or the routes of changing streams.lli was OQl.\lLlJoMaLliL •••L@.~,.~.
..&.r.t~.asql]anQ sub¥e~iQ.o....tlJ,LLbe.c.milii~~~M.QQlllh<~a.tive~i!1Qko..»"hL~llhad goneoutofus~:. He.qi~qLnj)rtsgn.!,~LthQuLthe c().mpaI4cY~QLwQJ~9L~
Jillii~J~i~ingJ2iblnQ.~QS~2lf!1..oU~!.?~f12~}~O,?DecS!~tgsl$s£ll~r
PATCHIU'SA1TEMPTSto redeem Filipino pop music were met with modest suc-~s'. u s2E2.~~~iffi~~JosIf§]!lI:@gerrcrocrneKfiS16or-·.N<~J£ama.S"oonafferlnerevo Iuti on , he went back to Akeldaiiia to'reo-periffie""Holy City Zoo. But the increasing attacks on American servicemen by com--.-munist Sparrow units forced him to reconsider the business. When the Ameri-cans pulled out of La Paz Naval Base, he abandoned the club altogether. Hewent back to Manila where he established a stable of young stars for televi-sion and eventually put up a film company specializing in saccharine, in-fantile melodramas. He became very successful in this venture, and onceconsidered the idea of running for senator.
Sal X ..and ~e~1Urnersep~Eatednotlong.~ter,Me~ret~rned toworkin .Ne~·York, w~ere she became a hi01IYsu·cce:~sr~IR6o.tQi[apby'artisl,while Sal went back cohis mfVanacOI11IT1~nityinSan Miguel ~here he stayeddespite'the:~lfSt71tfom'af~earrhglJakeand'r ah~r:.1h ecornm un ityth rivedInr"elativepeace for a few y~£l~' urulLaJaclioorevQlted against bisl:r;lesstanicandoftenabsE~se protestati()Q§ £l.ndb.ro~e}\Xa,~,
This faction set up camp in a b'lrrio next to Akeldama and vowed toexterminate all traces of political dissent in the island: not to anyone's sur-prise it wa~ supported enthusiastically by the new military command. Theybecame known astheWi~a,ga~a C~~~zon de lesus.,~:b~~.n:..~T..~;r.s~~I~~~e.~'wk>b
r ...,.~ Empire of Memory 295\.jJ~v
t~ w:re es~~~i~IlY9,~~p~~9ili.gjfdt:em~b.e.islawiIhe¥.~~n~J!:1,they (Iisl11eITlbe,r,~~!he,iUi~llmS."w0Q2selive~ they;~t~in order,to retain theIr
.P2.~$[..EicD..HIT,1~'"'theYl<l!!~,t,Q~tl~l£Epi:I~jish",~~min·h~[:§rrmrD[aheart -Sb:3:P.~gJil,tt9Q!Dt9Jh,eI~[iDg~rli pS',"A1though there weres.ey~r~atteI11P~,
'todisbandthem, the,cult of the S~gr'!9a Cor~on ,CQntinuedtQ_fl~l'§ls.t.uotililieJ astdays,ol,the.,.cen,tuJy.
S~l-jiQI)',La~j,Qng with h~,C~,"UDf!~Li!119.1!1l~~2tb,~J."his n~~~1!'~2~r§~£t~22~;~ter the, sch.Is~. a112,~~~.Lh~£~.to~rr!l~~Qr~Wj!b'[jttte success, in the .aban(f~ne~-naYarto\Vn.Sal~ven,!\t'~JI1f~t~fl}~d1QM~:nila and attempte~to recorda haunting, dirge~ii~e'sYflWhgr1YJ!§ing_~VLo_gs.',bamboo flutes,game1an, dfum synthesizers,percus:si?n,~~9~s~iEQJang,_~,i!1~,.,.,and five,yoices,The whole pie~e r~r1to forty-fiv~l11inH!is.-J1P_doe.v~_.gplajr:acL"ccoQJ.~al radio. He called it Empire of Men'l0ry. S~etchy ~;E2L1§.~~~t~last see;:;as a"green~cato_ribraer in ffieSiates~reconC1re(f~ith Meg and, thefatheLQf:t~WJ~~~dSi~cih~rtba.'<' ._'" ....,~.~~"~<.~~,~'---_.<._--_. -.«
l~~~J.gt~J:,l;Iewas,ktWWllJQhl!y~neg9tiated tb~ irnP9.r\<ltiODQ[ WQm~DJrQQ1Japan, whom he sold as prostitutes to brothels in Manila and Cebu. Later,be ....married bne of the women of the island, but there was no record if they had'
::anycbjJdr~JlJ.- -"'" .,.It was said thatJun~i~selfst~yed?nth<ltJ~J~Qd,Jwhose name he
refused to divulge) :W2dr~fi~!~9jL,QnJiel~~1~,He continued working onhis discovery for sometime, and more than once threatened to publish a bQ9k
..... tiPF"'Y1&iRK.¥-e '~"""'i~::ii.ilj)ff)~"'*'fli'h~:~M~"!=',"··,J,;.l#~~<~'-·
based on his research... ~~- ':',--"'"''-''''''-';'''.."'-,','":,.-.,..,,,,.-:.-_.,..-,,~._:.,.;.•~"-~:.,->.~;
, Nothing has been said about the book we produced at the palace,except that the President kept it by his deathbed, along with the Bibleand hismemoirs. He may have read it, deep in the fever of his imminent demise; hemay have dreamed of it, stumbling into ghosts and shadows in the furrows ofhis sleep.
JUN HIDALGOnever managed to win back the affections of Susan Tala, whowent on to become an environmental activist fighting to preserve the forestsof Isabela, Cagayan and Palawan. He joined the newly established publicrelations firm of Max Plata after the revolution, but resign~ after less than ayear.The firm became influential in the industry, and so did Max, who con-tinued writing columns for the democratic press, initially dispensing lavishpraise on the Smiling Revolution and eventually attacking the new govern-ment with undisguised venom. Max helped negotiate for the return of ImeldaMarcos and her children, and became the spokesman of the family in theirattempts to regain their wealth in the country·~$~J.~.~9!§1$,,~~Le~ a'!2:.,bassador to the Vatican by the succeeding government, and supsequently<iri~"o~~r~~,~,,~~f.§Ji]iJ2!!I~~m.1TI~n~l~[6![s~~;t, ...f
, Jun was last seen scouring the islets of the Visa asIn s~a,rch..oft~e ti1l"uS?>ry~~[~~_~,9L~2m_pJ:lQ,~D.q"e Q£!gl£1~2Lib!.~steri ous~l~as~"afI1~cho. ;In fiisfast letter, he wrote that he had found a smallisrananeadne perrprrrrr ~oLqj~]~11K9se.<l,~.,15ttJ.£[\ili1j2r9Qijly]Bommw:iTiiiliii£~wits {••.•in the town h_a,.!l,Qlilll.~piqelJlj&,auheJJJ.t~QLili~,,~~nlJl-Q\,,£nd"2Lu~"""i:~~.,- ..••..",,:,,;:.,-~'''-------'-= .. - .,' '.- .,=,~
colonel simply called Elyas. It turfle t '~.'" tIan so~~.".~~~.~~,..t~QL~D)lC.~£I"Q,!!~YJ],~g,_~"E.!£~_~.nd,p.£.~~[~L~::<".Q}~~
I OfTEN WONDER if it were indeed the real manuscript Jun handed to the tleeingPresident. Ilook back and find memory closing like the end credits of a film:too fast and too full of names. I think of what might have happened to thelives we had crammed in our prank of a book. [n his haste to carry off asmany documents outof the palace as possible,jur. inadvertently leftthe manu-script in Malacafiang on the night the Marcoses ned the country. ( stood bythe gates watching as the crowds burst into the palace and threw out of thebalconies a confetti of speeches, music sheet~ and the pages of our abortedbook-all those lives reclaiming their secrecy,
But a'i I began, so shall I end: with a ~tOry,because there is nothingin this world to keep liS going hilt the retelling of our lives, and of those we
• love.-THE PlANE ARRIVES on schedule, much to my sL.rprise, and I crane Illy neckabove the sea of arrivals, wondering if I will ever recognize them. Hawkersand vendors force their grotesque souvenirs upon me, and I turn them awayand receive brusque reprobation in return. Riot police push the croweL"backto a cordoned square. An American dignitary, I forget who, is arriving thisafternoon, and squads of limousines await his arrivaL
lb.en) .s;e her: wraeE.~2i~,a,~L~:on ~E~2~_.~!.Y.~.S£!.~".I}~'~9"~~~}.",and covered With an absurd hat. She is strapped to a wheelchair. one armf....:'.,.;;~\'"'.,.,;...\\"~__,,._""-"'_~""'~~."");lM.;/:Cl''"'-''' ••.''''"''-'''''-'-'';'~·''.-,.c-,,,,,,;·;,,-, '0,>_"';;'"~'.~""'';:;.''''''''_"'''''';.'/'';;' " ·/.c.·,·,·.::;:,'.'-, ••',,··;""""''''':·r);<.-.\,·-"'_'-,.· ...." .., ..•.__ •...• -
dan&l~gx!,htJXb~IJ,h~~~h~lf"Q&il'~""T~ing,RWJ1.ed-~ a ~I!ng,ma~~hthefeatures o~a,~lJ~tly iR2~~11Qln~!~or~s~;,pw'ill~gPl,1m,9cpiM~"Ju~o,i~t~hQY1~1l?
, ·de@.·.~Q~:~}gikE~!iKh~.li~.xmoiz~~Jll~,~1.i\IlQ.tQjlJ;b_JhelJl.JlttQ~"...,4~Ls''!,rt11sopenaDg£(~~~h~§!'fl~inan embr.ac~Jh~l)SD9S~mY b~!fu~9Y,t.
"Uncle AI," he says, inquiringly, looking down at me. He is six feet
I looked at the bundle on the chair. "Is she...?""Dead to the world, as she would say," he says. "She started taking
Valium as soon as we took off and slept through the whole trip. She neverliked long flights,"
I drive the car up the ramp and we unstrap her from the chair andpack her into the back seat. She seems to stir awake an instant, her hat fall-ing off to reveal a fewclumps of silver hair. I put the hat back on and drive.The hours seem endless as we slink past Manila's dilapidated and colorlessstreets. Neon signs light up as we pass by, throwing shrapnels of fluorescentkanji across our path. The Japanese bars throw their doors open, howlingplaintive melodies,
It is dark when we reach the house, a brooding, decaying structuretowering over the neighborhood's wooden houses. Bythis time she is stam-mering incoherently, coming awake from her hemisphere of sleep. Wecarryher fnto the house, one ann each on our shoulders, and as soon as we enterthe door she seems to revivecompletely, stares at me and then at her son, andsays, to no one in particular, to the ghosts of the house, "Nico, say heJlolpUncle_Al£ofISG.:!
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"L~id,MillPJ" t~Ui!£9.;"G229~',?he says, and nods back to sleep, Wetake her to her room-
her old room, stilf done up in the lace trimmings that she loved so much-and turn the lights off as we go, She murmurs something, a plea or a decla-ration of defiance, ''I'm here," she says. She hears the wind wafting into theroom, wann and soothing. "I'm back," she says. So she is. The moon risesand stains her face with quicksilver. Her mouth curves down to a sneer, herbrows are furrowed, her cheeks are pale and veined like ancient marble. Herann drops and a book she has been holding on to since the plane took offdrops to the floor. I pick it up. It is Rilke's T.he, BOQte[",ti~ur~lh~_.,Q~~~.thumbed.. ~anndd.ccururlledJJay it beside l1eran'd close the d.oo..r..And.so, in the
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"SHEINSISTEDon coming," Nico says. "The doctors advised against it, but shesaid she's lost faith in doctors."
"We can go look for faith healers," Itell him."She doesn't believe in them," he says."No, she doesn't. I've forgotten." There is food and tea on the table,
the day's papers and some bottles of beer that remain untouched. Nicodoesn'tdrink.
"She's not in pain," he says. "It's stoppped coming, the pain. It wasterrible a few months back. She's much better now."
"Maybe she'll be all right, after all."He doesn't answer. She won't be."You had to leave school?" [ ask him.''It's the summer break," he says. "I'll have to take my residency
soon. But I might decide to do that later, though. It depends on how thingsturn out."
"Delphi wrote once that when you were a kid she had to force you totake your medicine, and when you got to college she had to do it all overagain."
He laughs. Hehas Delphi'Slaugh: gurgling, infectious. "She couldn'tforce me to do anything. r was horrible. I told her Iwas going to be a doctoras long as I could do anything else I wanted."
"And?""And she let me, I've done some video, Uncle Al.[ hear you do some
of that yourself,""Yes," I say. "I'll bother you with my work later. So you wanted to be
a video artist?""No," he says. "I don't know what I want. Everything and nothing.
I wrote a play once, which wa<;a resounding failure. I jumped off a plane.""You what?""Skydiving. It was very thrilling. And scuba diving. I didn't bring
my diving equipment though. And I like making up all sorL<;of things."
"What things?""Oh, inventions that I create only in my mind. New machines that
can be possible in a few years.""Such as?""Well, hologram computer screens, for example, That can't be too
farfetched, Allyou need is a compact keyboard and your work comes out as ahologram in front of you. Tape recorders that can transcibe-Mom's alwayswanted something like that. And dO-it-yourself laser healing, sort of like anintelligent aspirin,"
"I can see you've got your mother's imagination,"He laughs again. Wedrink our tea. The nurse comes in and I show
her to Delphi's room. There is the sound of a police siren somewhere. Shemakes the sign of the cross. "City getting crazy," she tells me, and goes in.
Nico is reading the papers when I jdln him again. "Mom told me Ishouldn't come with her," he says.
"Why not?""Too many bad news," he says. "She told me it wasn't safe.""Things still get exaggerated," I tell him,"But we've seen footages of street battles, buildings being blown up,
bod!es all over. Is it true that this government isn't going to last long now?""I don't know," I tell him.There is an item he rr.ads in the paper, accompanied by a photo-
graph of a grisly murder, "People get killed for hidden treasure?" he asks me.I look at the story. It's about a renewed search for the treasure of
Yamashita, something we and the generation before us had begun long ago."Yes," I tell him, The tr~asure was supposedly hidden by General Yamashitaof the retreating Japanese army toward the end of the Pacific War. In themiddle of the century President Marcos was said to have found the treasureand to have been the last to know where it was. There have been excavationsin Manila, Leyte,Baguio and Ifugao. "No one ever finds the gold. It's a strangecountry."
The story in particular says that digging has begun in the sanddunes of !locos. Aprivate contractor has been allowed to conduct the diggingfor the government.
"But there are other people digging for gold as well?" Nico asks me,
"Thrill seekers," I tell him. "Fortune hunters. Even archaeologists,But the junta doesn't allow it: That man in the photo found out too late,"
"What else does the junta not allow?" he asks me.I can't begin to tell him. Alot of things. Opinion, for instance. Dis-
sent. Travel. Books. Unprescribed sex. Unmonitored religion. Prayer in groups.Certain languages, Certain forms of music, Certain kinds of food. Correspond-ence of more than 200 words. Complex sentences, Histop;. NemQQI
"And what do people do about that?" he ~ me,"Nothing," I say. "People are tired. They just want a life, no matter
what it is.""I don't understand," he says."You have nothing to fear," I tell him. "You're an American,"
~ IS AWAKE. She sits up in bed and gives me a hug, weakly,"You look terrible," she says."You don't look so bad yourself," I tell her. She pulls the hat farther
down, and the brim almost covers her eyes which remain ,l'i mischievous asthey were when I saw her last. How long ago was it?
"Ages," she says. "What have you been doing?"]2J!in&JhiQ~lJJsE!Jl~ingJb~,.c,m\~L6gLU~,Q~~~And you?""Well, I fucked up my marriage but I've got a son as weird as me.
Isn't he beautiful? He's going to be a doctor and cure me and win the NobelPrize. Then we'll go to Italy. That's where I want to die."
"Why?""Closer to the Vatican, and therefore to God, Not that He'll take me ,
or that I believe all that.""How do you feel?" I ask her,"Terrible," she says. "I can feel something going. [t doesn't hurt.
But I can feel something ebbing. It's not venereal or anything,""( always suspected you were a lousy date, What's wrong with you?""Nothing," she says, "The old machine's gone haywire, That's all.
It happens to everyone, you know, if they wait long enough. Help me get up,"She struggles out of bed, and I hold her as we stagger out of the
"It looks smaller than I remember," she says, looking around thehouse, She looks out a window: an expanse of rust-stained roofs, a jungle ofelectric wires, a piece of sky, fiercely blue. "It's not the same view," she says.No, it isn't. She remembers looking out of that window to an open courtwhere we used to fly paper planes that landed on the neighbor's roofs.
"Where is Nico?" she asks.Out to see the city. I help her back to bed and she falls thankfully
asleep again, exhausted by her very brief reminiscence. I look out the win-dow and try to imagine what she sees, Ayoung boy is walking down the street,holding a red balloon. He sees me looking out and stops to release the bal-loon in his hand, It glides up gently, past the tangle of wires, the jaggedconfiguration of antennae and tin roofs, past the smoke of a passing train,and disappears into the sky,
"Is it a military expedition?" I ask the concierge,"No, sir," she says. "They are taking gn~at risk."I leave her my number and hang up, I don't dare tell Delphi about
this, much less her addled nurse. I call friends, and friends of friends, whoadvise me to wait another day until I get a pass to get through police check·points.
Allday I wait for his call. I sit by the window, waiting for Delphi toawake, watching as the blue patch of sky darkens to a bruise.
"TEU ME WHERE HE IS,"
I avoid her eyes and say something evasive."Don't give me that shit," she says. "I know he's been gone for
NICOlSMISSING. We h~ven'tseen himXgrlbJ~,~~'\,~~Jl~YlweGil:4SeSfieisarraicrUetphr~[(G!!ii~gJJANt~~~wn:,~,U1~~r."'~~"~''"-ISearchih~ough his things to look for clues. There are roadmaps,postcards, discs, letters. But no note nor clue to his whereabouts. I find pho-tographs tucked in a book. Nico and Delphi, when they were both young.Nico in school. Apicture of his father, whom I will never meet. He has hisfather's eyes and his confidence, and also his athletic build. He has all hisfather's features and his mother's soul.
I sit by the table beside his bed, looking at the photographs. Then Inotice a notepad by the phone, There's nothing written on it, but I can see theimpressions left on the topmost page, I turn the lamp on and turn the paperat an angle and discover these marks:
I tell her Nico is up at Antamok with some archaeologists, looking
for gold. -'1"Where the hell is Antamok?" She sits up in bed and sighs. "I told '.him to go away," she says. "I told him not to let me see him grieve. I don't •want any of that. Dying happens too often for us to bother people about it. IYou know that." --'
She asks me to light the lamp beside her bed, I find a match to lightit. Power lines have been down all day. Sirens wail in the distance. I look outher window and see plumes of smoke rising from the eastern horizon, too'distant to alarm us. 1\vilight blazes across the sky.
7123371Antamok
SHE ISSTILLAWAKE when Nico arrives that evening. I begin to scold him, but shecalls from her bedroom and says, "Let me take care of this one, Alfonso."Already she is hobbling out of the room, supporting herself on a cane. Nicorushes to her and we lead her to her seat by the window.
"You've been looking for gold?" she asks him."They didn't find any," he says, "[ didn't think they would, They
say other people beat them to it. I'm sorry I worried you, Wewere held by thepolice."
There are no telephone numbers like that in Manila, so I ask the operator tofind it for me. Sure enough, I get connected to the Dap-AyHotel in Baguio. Iam informed that Nico had been there until yesterday, and that he has goneup to Antamok with an expedition of archaeologists looking for Yamashita'sgold.
"They stopped us along the border of !locos on the way back andheld us for two days. They let me go when I showed them my passport. Theothers are still there. Great place, Uncle AI."
"What did you see?" she asks him."Strange, fascinating villages. Lots of grass huts. White sand and
coconut and palm. People with beautiful faces, faces that have learned a lotof suffering and patience. Wedrank gallons of wine and they sang me songsI couldn't understand. It was beautifuL"
She smiles, nodding her head, running the images in her mind."Yes,So it is," she says. She looks at him and says, "Kiss me, and say good-bye." We help her back to bed and leave the lamp flickering by her side.
I heat some food and boil tea. Nico sits at the table and says, "I'vedecided to stay, Uncle AJ. "
"What?"''I'm staying here for my residency, maybe go back to !locos and
work with the people there."I sit in front of him and have nothing to say."It's nothing noble, Uncle AI," he says. "I like the place, it's all very
new to me, and I can learn a lot of things here about my work. There arevill~ges of extreme povei'ty and extreme joy. I've never seen anything like it."He takes the tea and smiles. "Then I'll go back home and write a book aboutit and be famous. Nothing noble about that." _
"It's a very gaud thing to do," I tell him. Alot of people are esca~Jin& fleeing on fragile "oa~_ This young man wan~ to stay_Goand nnd yodworld, while you are young.
[ sit all night beside Delphi's bed. Nico is sleeping on a cot. Then [remember a package I had prepared for Delphi's return, a box I had left lyingby her bed and :,ad forgotten in the confusion of her arrival and Nico's disap-pearance. I place the box on my lap and open it, and I take out the coat I hadkept and had not looked at all these years: except for the painfully mendedsleeve, it looks almost new.Wewill let Nicowear it, it will be too tight for him,and we will remember and have a good laugh. I fold the coat and place itbeside Delphi'S bed.
[ hear a series of popping sound~ in the distance, the sound of fire-arms and bombs. I look out the window at the sky and see something ex-
plode: a star. It fills the sky with a purple glow, it bursts into a thousandpulsing neutrons, like a dying nova, and they cascade in tiny nickering rain-bows, staining the roofs, the alleys, the cars, and also the faces of people whocome out to look at this strange visitation. The crowd seems unreal as thespreading light ripples over their faces, their arms, their clothes. It is a~ if theentire scene were stage-lit, and so magnificently, that even the actors are as-tonished by the flood of light. In their eyes I see both amazement and fear.And something else, star-like and undying, a sparkle of expectation. They arealways waiting, waiting. They are weary from waiting, and yet when some-thing arrives, something out of the ordinary, they stagger out of their homes,hoping this one, at last, will bring salvation, reprieve, more hope. Mypeople,I am here and I wait with the rest of you. I have no answers. Life is territyingand beautiful.
The Author
ERIC GAMAUNDA was born in Manila where he worked as an editor and journal-ist. A recipient of a fellowship for fiction from the New York Foundation forthe Arts, he has had his work published in a diverse range of publicationsincluding Harper~ Magazine, Columbia, Manoa, International Quar-terly, as well as several anthologies, among them In My Life: Encounterswith the Beatles, Returning a BotiouJed7bngtl..e,Broum River, WhiteOcean,and FlIppin ':FilIpinos on America, which he co-edited. His latest novel, MySad Republic, was recently awarded the Philippine Centennial Prize for Fic-tion. Abook of poems, Zero Gravity, was awarded the New YorklNew Eng-land Selection by AliceJames Books, and was recently published. He teachesat the Asia/Pacific American Studies Program at New York University andwas appointed Visiting Writer at the University of Hawaii in Manoa in 1999.
• He lives in New York City.