nila Times gave them to me.

The First Lady was giving away sacks of rice and

Sod Manilal
tickets last week. This reporter owed me for a tip I gave him years ago. The
one that got him the Press Club award. He wanted the rice, I asked for the
tickets. Hewas one of those Perry Como types."
Imelda Marcos had flown in friends and media to celebrate her
birthday in her native island of Leyte. There was roast suckling pig and a
rondalla playing all day, and she herself obliged requests for a song with a
tearful ballad in the dialect, "Ang Irog Nga Thna," MyMotherland. Tocom-
AT ~ PAST TIiREE in the afternoon ofJuly 5, 1966, a mob hired by President memorate the sentimental reunion, each guest went home with the rice and
Ferdmand Ma~~oschased the Beatles out of Manila International Airport. I tickets.
remember the Jitteryfootage of the scene being replayed over and over on the "Now that's style," Delphi said. Then, upon reflection: "They won't
News:onite on ChannelS, and a grim-looking commentator saying the Fab let Alfonso in."
but Disc.ourteousFour had openly humiliated the First Lady and her children "Of course they would," I protested. [ was just thirteen but I was
by refUSingto pay a courtesy call at Malacafiang Palace. Imelda Marcos her- already as tall as she was back then.
self ~astily issued a statem~llt saying the Beatles were to be treated humanely "That's not the point," Jun said impatiently. ''I'm going to get my-
d~plte the snub, but this was said after the fact-after the Beatles had been self assigned to cover the Beatles and we can talk to them ourselves."
kicked, spat at, cursed, md chased into a waiting jet. "Allthe other reporters will beat you to it," I said. Jun was stringing
. Julian Hidalgo, known by the nickname Jun, took me and my sister for the Manila Times and was convinced ~hatgetting an exclusive interview
Delphi to the Beatles' concert at Rizal Memorial Stadium. Atthat time he was would land him a job as a staff reporter.
courting my sister and was hoping to win me over byplaying the older hrother. "All the other reporters listen to nothmg but Ray Conniff," he said.
They were both twenty, and the ritual~ of this older generation meant noth- "Besides, nobody knows where they're staying. But I do."
Ing to.me beyond a few free passes to the movies, where I had to chaperone Jun's modus operandi wasn't going to be that easy. He managed to
DelphI. But the ~ree of us would witness, not by accident, the Beatles being get stage passes for the three of us, which turned out to be inutile; it was the
?eaten up at th~ a.J1'P0rt,and wewould become, after this experience, bonded official pass, printed and distributed in London, that we had to wanglt ;; ''''
In a way conspirators are mystically united by their stealth. Jun explained to were to get near the Beatles.
me a few things about this incident eighteen years later, when, in the ironic "Go ahead and do your job," Delphi told him icily."We'll seeyou at
twists of fate that coursed through our livesduring the dictatorship, we found the stadium."
?urselves colleagues once again in the censorship office in Malacanang. But "I can still get you the pass," Jun said. "Somehow." He was begin-
In 1966 we were young, brash, and bold with hope, and like the entire coun- ning to realize that concert security would directly affect his personal rela-
try,we seemed on the verge of a privileged destiny. tionships. But not even his religious coverage of preconcert press briefings
Three days before the concert, Jun rushed to our house with three seemed to help. Local promoters announced that the Beatles' only press con-
fr~nt~rowtick~ts.Delphi's eyewidened like 45s. "Where did you get the money ference was going to be held at the War Room of the Philippine Navyhead-
thiS time, ha? she asked, incredulous. quarters, and that the concert was being staged, not by coincidence, on the
"The First Lady gave them to me," Jun said proudly. And, in re- fourth ofJuly as a birthday gift to the Republic Ouly 4th) and the First Lady
sponse to our howls of disbelief, "Well, actually, this reporter from the Ma- Ouly 2nd). Other questions were left unanswered. Had the Beatles secretly
 arrived bysubmarine? "That's confidential." Werethey actually going to stay
at the Palace? "That's confidential." In the end somebody asked if the Beatles
actually existed, and the joke was that that, too, was confidential.
The excitement was further fueled by a series of wire stories the
dailies 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 in
Tokyo, where a reporter asked the group, "What are you going to be when
you grow up?" The reply: "If you grow up yourself you'd know better than to
ask that question,"
Radio stations kept playing Beatles hits (most requested: "Yester-
day" and "Help!"), and DZUW,Rainy Day Radio, preempted everyone and
began playing the new single, "Paperback Writer." The Philippine Security
Corporation created the biggest stir when it insured the Beatles for a million
peso.!:.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 red
alert. The First Lady bought fifteen hundred tickets and distributed them to
volunteer 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 colegiata
threatened to jump off the roof of the Bank of the Philippine Islands building
unless 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!-ppearedin
the 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 the
dailies:
LIVE!THEBESTIN THEWORLD!
THEBEAnESIN MANILA
With Asia's Queen of Songs, Pilita Corales, Carding Cruz
and his Orchestr~ The Wing Duo, The Lemons Three, Dale
Adriatico, The Reycard Du'et, and Eddie Reyes and The
Downbeats!
Early that morning,Jun called us up. "Get dressed, both of you," he
said. "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' '64
Ford 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 of
obviously 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, hJ
red vinyl. "If I get an autograph, we get a refund." '-I
THECATHAY PACIFIC jet swooped in at half past four. The airport was jam-packed
with the biggest crowd I had ever seen in my life: girls in bobbv socks and
leatheretle miniskirts and boys in seersucker shirts, all perspiring and
scrunched against a chain-link fence. This was definitely the wrong place to
be. As the jet taxied in, we tore ourselves away from the crowd and wormed
our way to one of the departure exits, just in time to catch a baggage trolley
rattling 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 cap
she 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 ]un
risked life, limb, and career for her.
The trolley rattled past armored cars, fire trucks, riot squads, and
troops of motorcycle police who were wearing special cowboy hats for this
occasion. 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 and Would you be as popular without your long hair?
cut him off. Three official-looking men dressed in the formal barong Tagalog Wecan always wear wigs.
got off the limousine and rushed up to the plane, and what followed was an How much taxes do you pay?
interminable, bated-breath pause.]un walked up the stairs and saw the offi- Toomuch.
cials argUing with passengers near the plane's exit. Somebody was saying, What attracted you to your wives?
"Is there a war going on?" Sex.
Finally, one official tentatively walked out of the plane. This was 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 some
enough of a presence to excite the increasingly impatient crowd, and imme-
diately a cacophony of screams burst from the viewing deck. The screams criticisms.
grew louder as other officials and soldiers walked out of the plane. By the How will you solve the Vietnam War?
time Brian Epstein groggily stepped out, the screaming had reached Give it back to whoever deserves il.
earsplitting level-no matter that the soldiers surrounded the Beatles from (What'S your latest song?
jet to limousine and we caught glimpses of them only through spaces in the LPhilippine Blues. "
Mr. Lennon, what did you mean by Spaniard in your latest book?
cordon sanitaire: George Harri30n, his hair tousled by the humid wind, his
red blazer flashing like a signal of distress, Ringo Starr in peppermint stripes Have you read it?
and flapping foulard, Paul McCartney, round-eyed and baby-faced, and]ohn No.
Lennon, hiding behind dark glasses. Then read it.
If there should come a time when you have to choose between the Beatles
]un hurried down the stairs and motioned for us to follow him.
"What happened in there?" Delphi asked him. and your family, whom would you choose?
• "I don't know," Jun said. "All I heard was a lot of words your folks Wenever let our families come between us.
wouldn't want you to hear." What is your favorite song?
"What docs that mean?" Delphi asked. "God Save the King. "
"Nothing we can't find out," said]un. But it's the Queen now.
"GodSave the Queen" then.
THE·MAN,LA TiMES ran a story about the press conference at the War Room. Jun hat will you be doing ten years from now?
· W7Jy bother about ten years from now? Wedon't even knoUJif we'll he
fumed 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 be around tomorrow.
~
uncannily prophetic. ONTIlE EVEOFJuly 4, Philippine-American Friendship Day,President Ferdinand
Marcos urged Filipinos to "recall the lasting and valuable friendship between
THE BEATLES!r;:AH! America and the Philippines" and issued a statement saying a revamp of the
ByBobby Tan government bureaucracy was imminent. "Heads Will Roll:" the d~j~ieS
shrilled, their bold prediction thrust audaciously by street chIldren agaInst
When did you last get a haircut?
In 1933. car windows along Highway 54.
 At the Quirino Grandstand the next day, the President sat in the
sweltering heat as troops paraded before him. Three stations covered the
Friendship 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 7imes and many broad-
cast stations and refused to accommodate First Family whims. But Marcos
had the last laugh, On this very afternoon, back at the Palace, rmelda and
the children would be having lunch with the Beatles. All television stations
and papers had been invited for a five-minute photo opportunity-all, that
is, except the Trillo network, Marcos tried to stifle a smirk as he saluted the
troops. Proud and dignified in his white suit, he stood out like some sartorial
titan: 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 Blue
Ladies in Imelda Marcos' retinue. They adorned the corridors of the palace
all 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 the
Marcos children, sporting a new bobcut hairdo, sat at the head of the table.
Irene sat beside her, reticent and uncomfortable in Sunday clothes. Ferdinand
Junior, master Bongbong to one and all, was wearing a bowtie and a starched
cotto.n shirt, and his attire apparently made him restless, as he kept sliding
off 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 kissed
the children one by one, Imee dodging and receiving instead a red smear on
the 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 cardboard
tickets to the concert.
Athalf past eleven the children began complaining, so breadsticks
and 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~ny
her on all her itineraries, They had been suffiCiently instructed on whIch
angle to shoot from and which side to take, and anyone who took the wrong
shot was dismissed posthaste, his camera and negltives confiscated, The chil-
dren were more difficult to shoot: bratty and impatient, they always came oul
pouting, with their chins stuck out. It was always best to avoid them.
Unknown to this gathering, acommotion was going on at the lobby
of the Manila Hotel. On hand were Brian Epstein and members of the concert
crew; ColonelJustin Flores and Captain Nilo Cunanan of the Philippine Can
stabulary; Sonny Balatbat, the teenage son of Secretary of State Roberto
Balatbat; Captain Fred Santosofthe Presidential Guard; Major Tommy Young
and Colonel EfrenMorales of the Manila Police District; and local promoter
Rene 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 more
important things to do," . .
Assoon as she was gone, Imee pushed back her chaIr, fIshed out her
ticket, and tore it in two. The other children followed, and for a few seconds
there was no sound in the hall but the sound of tickets being torn. Bongbong
hovered near the plate that had been reserved for John Lennon. "I really
much prefer the Rolling Stones," he said, Photographers caught the young
master at thatmoment, his eyes wide and blank. Imee looked at hlln and
remarked, "The only Beatles song I liked was 'Run forYourLife.''' She looked
around the hall defiantly. She had never been so embarrassed in her lIfe.
People always said she was an emotional child. That morning she seemed
she was about to cry.
 Beatles would not perform until the audience simmered
The Beatles: Mass Hysteria!
ByJun Hidalgo down,

And when the Beatles finally opened with "1 Wanna BeYour Man," you could
Eighty thousand hysterical fans cramped into
feel the excitement ripping through you, a detonation of such magnitude
Rizal Memorial Stadium to watch the Beatles, the largest
your entire being seemed to explode. 1couldn't hear anything except a long,
crowd Manila has seen since the Elorde-Ortiz boxing
extended shrill-the whole stadium screaming its lungs out. 1 looked at
match in the same stadium.
Delphi. She was holding her head between her hands and her eyeswere bulg-
While traffic snarled to a standstill along Dakota
ing out and her mouth was stretched to an 0, and all 1could hear was this
Street, 720 policemen, 35 special detectives and the entire
long, high-pitched scream coming out of her mouth. 1had never seen Del~
contingent of the Manila Fire Department stood guard as
phi like that before, and 1 would never, for the rest of her life, see her as
the Liverpoolquartet performed their hits before thousands
ofcheering and screaming fans, many of whom had waited remorselessly young as she was that afternoon.
to get inside the stadium since early morning.
THEMORNING AfJ'ERthe concert, Jun asked Delphi if we could take the Ford to
When the gates finally opened pandemonium broke loose. I held on to Del- Manila Hotel.
"Why do you have to take us along?" Delphi asked him. It was clear
phi, who held on to Jun, and the three of us braved the onslaught as we
that for her the concert had been the high point of our adventure.
squeezed past security and found ourselves, miraculously intact, on the front "We still have to get that interview, don't we?" Jun reminded her.
row beside the Voxspeakers.
"Besides," he added, "1 need you to cover for me," Jun said.
"1 don't want to sit here," Delphi protested. "We're going to blast
"Cover?" asked Delphi. "As in war?"
our e,arsoffl"
"Looks like war it's going to be," said Jun.
"Relax," Jun said. "Everybody'll be screaming anyway. Wehave the 1was going to pose as a bellhop. Delphi was going to be a chamber-
best seats in the house." maid.Jun had bribed someone from room service to let him take a snack to
~vmone. in the stadium was a mophead. except the Vietnam vol-
the Beatles. Apparently our plan was to swoop down on them in the name of
®teers sitting in our row, whose heads had been c1ean1¥shaved; they were
impeccable service, with Jun secretly recording this invasion with the help of
youn men lucked from the provinces, and man of them w rver am-
a pockel-.sized tape recorder. As usual, he had the uniforms re~dy,re~ltedfo~r
ing home again. 1was so relieved 1 a grown my hair longer that summer.
the day for half his month's wages. "The hotel laundry boy s a childhood
My hair was a clear sign that, despite my young age, 1had gained honorary
membership in the exclusive cabal of this generation. Youcould tell who the friend of mine."
"You're the company you keep," Delphi teased him, because she
pigs were: they were the ones who roamed around, their ears pink and their
heads shaved clean like the Vietnam volunteers. Some of them had guns knew it tortured him whenever she did that.
1 wore the monkey suit perfectly, but somehow it still didn't feel
tucked into their belts; they had been warned that a riot could break out.
right. 1 looked at myself in the men's room rT'irrorand knew 1was too young
for the role. And Delphi looked incongruous as the chambermaid: her bob
Soaked in sweat, Beatlesfans impatiently heckled the open-
cut was too in. As it turned out, all my misgivings would be proven true. We
ing acts, and emcees had to threaten the crowd that the

crossed the lobby to the service elevator. Jun walked several paces ahead of us
nonchalantly 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 and
p~1l me ~ide:, Immediately, Delphi was all over the detective, hitting him
WIthher 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 the
elevator. I motioned for him to go. The detective draggeCIDelphi and me out
to a backroom where several other detectives were playing poker. "Dy, got two
more right here!"
As HERECALLED UTER,Jun wheeled the tray into Suite 402 expecting to find
telltale 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 he
camem.
George Harrison and Brian Epstein were sitting on the sofa, and
Paul McCartney was precariously perched on the TV set, brooding. The three
of them apparently had been having an argument and they all looked up
surprised, 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 shake
hands."
"That's precisely the reason we've got to pay customs the bond for
the equipment," said Epstein.
"Let them keep the money then," Paul said. "Everyone says here
come those rich mopheads to make more money. We don't care about the
money."
"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 a
wealthy 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 first
place. Why should we apologize for something that's not our fault?"
At that point John Lennon and Ringo Starr, who had been booked
in the adjacent suite, walked in. Ringo, sweating and tousled, plopped into
the sofa between Epstein and George Harrison. John Lennon, wearing :,;"
dark glasses, walked straight to the window and looked out. "We've got a few
things to learn about the Philippines," he said. "First of all is how to get out."
THEMANIlAHOTELDETECTIVES deftly disposed of Delphi and me with a push via
'
the back door, where a sign said THROUGH THISDOORPASSTHEMOSTCOURTEOUS
EMPLOYEES OF MANIlA. Wewalked back to the Ford in the parking lot and waited
for less than an hour whenJun, struggling out of the hotel uniform and back
to mufti, sprinted toward us and hopped into the driver's seat. "Get in!" he
shouted. "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 or
something. 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 to
happen 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 been
trying to get the Beatles to go to the pal ace? Youknow why they were so keen
on 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. Allthese guys are going to get the
top 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-duty
position, 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 Efren
Morales, 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 up
an army of his own. All these new guys will be licking his boots and there's
nothing the generals can do about it. That young mophead, the son of
Balatbat, he was there for his father, who's going to be reappointed secretary
of state, And if I'm not mistaken, Salvador Roda, the airport manager, wants
to take over customs. The man's going to be a millionaire, kickbacks and
all."
"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 the
city, and everybody's going to find.out why."
SALVADOR RODA was briefing the press agitatedly at the VIP lounge of the airport
that afternoon, explaining why the republic was withdrawing security for the
Beatles 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 to
the nation. PUla, where's the sense in that?"
Wewalked up the escalators to the second floor to change into our
porter 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 floor
was deserted. "LUCkyfor us," he said, pushing Delphi into the ladies' room
and then pulling me into the adjoining gents' .Wechanged into the uniforms
and 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 was
afraid 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. They
weren'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 group
of women-society matrons and young college girls-had managed to slip
past the deserted security posts and, seeing the Beatles arrive, they lunged for
the group, screaming and tearing at the band's clothes. Flashbulbs blinded
the band as photographers crowded at the top of the stairs, It would have
taken a miracle for the band to tear themselves away from the mob and to
reach, 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 his
voice meekly, almost contritely. Behind the booth a crowd that had checked
in 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 the
booth, the crowd that had been waiting there seemed to swell like a wave and
engulfed 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 by
security police. Someone was cursing in Tagalog: Helo 'ng sa yo bwakang
inang putang inang tarantado kal Paul McCartney surfaced for air, his
chubby face crunched in unmistakable terror. Hepulled away from the crowd,
and the other three staggered behind him. Somebody gave Ringo Starr a
loud whack on the shoulder and pulled atJohn Lennon, who yanked his arm
away, tearing his coat sleeve. ' But we are probably more to blame than the Beatles. We gave lhem too much
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. They
were 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 hours
started screaming. The band clambered up the plane. I kept my eye on the
plane, 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 friends
the 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 Manila
in sulfuric ash for days. Amonth later a lake emerged from what had been
the volcano's crater-a boiling, putrefied, honey-yellow liquefaction.
The Beatles flew to New Delhi, where they were to encounter two
figures that would change their lives and music: the corpulent, swaying Ma-
harishi, and the droning, mesmerizing sitar. Back in London later, they were
greeted by a swarm of fans carrying 'placards with mostly one message:
Manila's columnists took umbrage, and the side of the offended
First Lady.Said Teodoro Valencia, who wou1dlater become the spokesman of
the Marcos press: "Those Beatles are knighL) of the Crown of England. Now
we have a more realistic understanding of what knights are. They're snobs.
importance." AndcolumnistJoe Guevarra added: "What if 80,000 people saw
the BeaHes?They're too young to vote against Marcos anyway I "
Imelda Marcos later announced to the lavishly sympathetic press
that 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, she
herself asked her brother and her tourism secretary to make sure the Beatles
got out of the airport safely.
But the virulence of anti-Beatles sentiment would not be assuaged
by her magnanimity. The Manila Bulletin declared that Malacanang Pal-
ace had received no less than two hundrl;c, letters denouncing the Beatles by
that 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. And
Quezon City passed a law declaring Beatles music satanic and the mophead
hairstyle illegal.
. Jun Hidalgo wrote his story about the Seatles' departure, with in-
sider quotes taped, as an editor's introduction to the story revealed, "while
undercover as a hotel employee." Afew weeks later he was accepted into the
Manila Times, where he played rookie, as was the custom then, in the snakepit
of the local press: the police beat. He gave John Lennon's coat to Delphi, who
dutifully mended the sleeve, and they went steady for a while. But like most
youthful relationships, the series of melodramatic misunderstandings, peri-
odic separations, and predictable reunions finally ended in tears and many
unprintable 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 in
school as the keeper of a holy relic, and, like the martyrs, I was the object of
much admiration and also much envy.One afternoon, armed with a copy of
an ordinance recently passed in Manila, directors of the school rounded up
several mophead boys, including myself. In one vacant classroom we were
made 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 for
a 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 knew
that something irrevocable in my life had ended.

Emgire of Memory
 A Lost Tribe
ATYPHOON APPROACHES QUIEnY,massive and grey. Thunder rumbles but always
seems too distant to cause alarm. The wind is thick and hard with brine. And
as always, everything is caught by surprise: the sky darkens immediately, like
ink 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. The
whole world throws a tantrum.
The howler blasts through the archipelago on its way to mainland
Asia, ignoring borders and unleashing its fury on islands of small fortune
that disappear p'romptly into the sea. Now the sea repulses and leaps, pillages
land of all signs of life, and dredges the shores of huts, poultry, blankets and
small children.
Farther inland, tidal wave subsides to eddying flood, swelling, inch
by inch, towards TVantennas and coconut trees.Debris and mementoes, bodies
andfurniture drift past. Families marooned on rooftops die quietly of hunger
and pneumonia. Giant mosquitoes, the size oftutubing karayom, nest and
breed in the fetid waters, bringing amoebae and malaria. For days the ty-
phoon would leave the little villages isolated. When the sun returns like a
poltroon, it sends epidemics of cholera and sunstroke. Uprooted coconuts
settle 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 hundred
years, ravaged inland just after the summer of 1980.
It rampaged across the tiny villages of Central Luzon, uprooting
fresh 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 thousand
five hundred, not counting the bodies washed down Apalit River among eels,
crabs and milkfish.
Apalit River winds through towns of faded earthen hues, flat and
muddy, but fertile and abundant with 'fish and moll usks that teem and crawl
out 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 choke
the water, turning it into a viscous, emerald slush.
This is a land both fact and fiction, where generations leave no
trace of themselves and everything is constantly wiped out, punctually, by
clockwork destruction: typhoon, tsunami, earthquake, drought. Because of
this we have no memory of ourselves: we remember only the last deluge, the
last seismic upheaval.
Across the river a f1eetof fragile bancas wends its way towards the
banks of ravaged towns. It disgorges its load of relief workers carrying plastic
bags bursting with Nutribuns, canned sardine, condensed milk, and soap.
Stencilled reminders across the bags declare that "These Goods Are a Gift
from the First Lady." There is a mad scramble toward the bancas: ragged and
besotted children, followed boisterously by their mothers. And then, in a stam-
pede, boys and men darkened to leather by the sun. Abag slips, spilling its
contents 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 head
sinks, 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 unconscious
fe1l0w,bedraggled, face up, on the bank. Except for the blood on his forehead
he seems to have just decided, out of an impossible whim, to stare at the sun.
THEYOUNG BOYcame running to us, his hair wet and smeared with mud. "Fa-
ther quick!" He stood just outside the relief center, this quonset hut once
hastily transformed into a local school, now transfigured once again to ac-
commodate the hundred families displaced by the typhoon. Their huts had
been blown down and washed downriver, a~.d for days they clung helplessly
to coconut and acacia trees, their small possessions drifting away from their
sight. 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 Simon
and 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 rice
granaries and haciendas had given his face a leathery tan, framed by a lush
beard 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 were
drifting towards the South China Sea. The young boy had been walking along
the river and had seen Rudy's pale hand bobbing to the surface.
There was a crowd murmuring like fishmongers over the recovered
body, They made room for Ted and myself. Ted lifted the blanket off the body
and examined the boy'Swrists and ankles. Then he turned the body slightly
on its side and showed to us three stab wounds just below the heart. Old
women crossed themselves, LoloTato edged his way towards us and said, "We
tell 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 his
mouth, as in prayer, an unconscious signifier that he was about to divulge a
secret.
"Rudy-Vegawas an adventurous boy," he said, "He would wander
for days along the trail of the river, and come back with souvenirs-ferns,
driftwood, butterflies. Everyone in the parish liked him. He was quiet, and
intruded into their lives only like a punctual diversion."
Rudy had heard a story last summer about a tribe in the peaks of
Susong Dalaga liVingprimitively, but with a complex mythology of monsters
and 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 to
find 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 off
since 1974 after a counter-rnsurgency. raid. Nobody had lived there for six
years, Or so we thought." . .
And then Rudy discovered the sawmill: a vast compound bUIlt In a
clearing, an entire community grinding with--actiVity.Logs, an arm's breadth
in diameter, were being rolled in as the blades whirred in anticipation. Rudy
saw 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.th
often 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 about
the mill," Ted continued. "When we asked neighbors who they were, they
said they were ¥elchor, Gaspar and Baltazar 1.ocalhumor."
The sawmill belonged to Colonel Jose Zabarte, not of San Simon or
Santa Clara but from farther south in the island, of San Miguel. Now that its
existence had been exposed, the colonel's caretakers took it as a maller of
course. The workers soon came to spend their weekends in town, where many
hearts 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 the
rumors, 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 the
mill, as we all know by now, had been put up to provide protection for the
tribe which had been recently discovered by the Ministry for Minorities or
something. 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 were
truly sorry about Rudy, they said. Many people here thought it would cause
less 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 how I discovered the Lost Tribe.
NOW EXPlAIN
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 of
'~,'
her 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 and
wattle, punctuated bysmall fires for cooking and a larger bonfire, all of which
were 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 a
curtain of frayed cotton, and she kept silent even if in the thick of love she
wanted to howl. ("Nahiya ako, pero masarap!") In the morning she bathed,
wrapped in a blanket, with the other women, her body smarting from the
previous 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 a
large town.
She learned three basic rules in the camp: [1] the women were to
remain faithful to their men, to avoid drunken duels; [2) they were not to
wander outside the periphery of the camp; and [3) no fires were to be lit
during the full moon.
She understood some of the rules and inquired about the others. No
one could wander out because careless neophytes could get lost and be eaten
by pythons and wild boar. And no fires were allowe~ on a full moon b~cause
the 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 fear
among a sensible community of hardworking men. Compared to the head-
hunters of Mount Pulog, these people were gentle as rabbits. There were a lot
of 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 not
comb 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. ,. .
0: G'
\~, - ~ir
They blackened their teeth and burned tattoos onto t,he,Ir flngert,IPs.
The took no orders from lowlanders
simpleangua~the PuliDiwaJL\gI~.
from someone the
<\ god of the Isneg. . ,
. Theydidn't have names. They existed only by instinct, therefore as
a 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.ityto 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 be
married 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 of
her search she was swept away by Typhoon Maling. .
, !hat was how this primipara's sad storywent, and how we explained
RU~; s mIsfortune. I was curious most of all about the presence of this "pale
god .an~ had wanted to ask her more about it, but the young woman began
bawllOg mto her spare clothes, and a wave of commiseration from the sur-
rounding refugees engulfed her. I would get my answer eventually, when
another woman, claiming (0 be a disgruntled member of the tribe, crawled
her way to the center one afternoon.
ArrER SPENDING a few days at the refugee center I knew [ was beginning to get
on everyone's nerves, particularly since my often sacrilegious humor didn't
go dOWAwell with theDevotees of the Sacred Heart, not to mention the Marian
~aiden.s, solicitous social workers who had been dispatched by headquarters
m Mantia to administer to the infirm. I myself sometimes feared thev would
pray over my meals for me. And so, as happens when people share to~ many
causes together, I found it best to avoid them on many occasions. When not
m~ch more work,needed to be done and there was talk of packing up and
gOing home, I spent most of my time shooting peripheral vegetation, I mean
photographically.~ 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 had
been 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 body
smeared with mud onto which had clung vines and shrubbery.
She wore ragged sacks of jute, and until she spoke it wasn't clear if
she 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 her
hair and rubbing eucalyptuS onto her numb arms-only to discover she was
not one of them.
They interrogated her and, failing that, threatened to throw her out
to the wild boar. She relented and confessed that she didn't know who had
killed Rudy Vega,but she knew that there was in fact a sawmill on the ea';[ern
crest of Susong Dalaga. She herself had been there, and had heard of the
Isneg's pale god. They called him DoJs!Qr.He brou~ht no gift of medicine ~r
healing 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 offered
him sites of small excavations, dug by hand, of ancient bones and ores. The
bones he threw away,but from the ores he taught them to extract gold. With-
out knowing the relative value of gold and offer..dedLythe nonchalant des-
ecration of their ancestors, the lost Isnegs were said to fear him and resent the
work of his men.
The camp had been set up, she finally revealed, not to protect the
Isnegs 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 question
when 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 the
raid on the NPA,the area had been declared a sanctuary. Mymeanderings on
video 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 for
Bongbong Marcos, the President's teenage son. Doktor. reportedly donated
some of these birds to wildlifeconservation 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~l
an<rposT:legallllalket ~n them a Swiss dollar acco~~t. He traded
ferns, orchids and crude jewelry of gold. He incited envy as well. Not a few
 of fresh shirts. If I were to make a statement to this tribe and become part of
wanted Doktor assassinated. Dilim herself had been one of the discontented
iL~germinating myth, I was going td he at my best.
and 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 many
WE HIKED TO THE o..\1P by midmorning, taking the southwesltrailthrough the
dialects, and seoke in fact a sort of Esperanto culled from seven major dja-
densest part of the forest. There were patches of sunlight where dappled leaves
~ec~ learned from all their dealings with Doktor's visitors or, as many sa})
the size of surfboards trembled with a secret nervousness, and also areas over-
patIents. hung with thorns and vines, arachnidal interstices where there was absolute
1\vo weeks later, after everyone had gotten used to Dllim's by now
shadow and gloom. The little boy was leading me to the camp. He limbered
~nstoppable patter, she stole off one night with many of the refugees' belong-
up with the precision of a homing device, brushing aside the marvelous foli-
Ings-food and money, and also family mementoes she had picked up in
age with unrehearsed indifference. I stumbled along behind him-l was
her haste - and clambered into the woods, perhaps to return to the site of
used only to dodging pickpockets and street urchins in the Quiapo under-
the tribe. we found out that she herself had been . about her kin-
pass. I must admit that I chose to follow the cryptic message with both trepi-
s!}ip to the tribe, and at she lost her way. which was unlikely of one who
dation and childlike eagerness. I was younger and more reckless then. my
~ lived her entire life in the mountain, and was devoured by a pack ofbQaL
enthusiasm for adventure yet unabated. I braved thickets of wild palm throb-
~body's tatters, strips of clothing and her booty-paper bills, photographs,
bing with leeches and white-furred higad. I expected birds as mythical as the
t~ans - were found scattered among grasses and fungi the next morn- adarna. Or worse. We clawed our way up with less fabulous mosqultoes and
ing. Alsoa driver's license with her picture, giving her name as Leonida Ca511~
salamander lizards, slipped over crags pillow-soft with lichen, and finally
A day later her grieving sister, a bent, black-veiled spinster from the
reached the camp by sundown. We stepped out of the tangle of balite and
naval base town QfAkeldama, came to claim her body and was besieged by
narra and onto the rim of a slope, at the bottom of which nestled the camp. I
reporters, who had rushed by ferry and plane to interrQgate her when news Qf
saw a footpath leading down to the camp and told the boy, "Let's go."
the IVishap came to Manila. "No more na," she brQkeher English, "we suffer
He sprinted up and said, "No! We wait!"
enough."
Back in my quarters that evening, as I prepared tQpack my gear, I "Why?"
"Dangerous to go down," he stammered. "Zabarte men shoot you."
caught a nQte being slipped under my door. r yanked the dQor open and "But aren't you Zabarte boy?" I asked him. to which he responded
found a small dark boy crouched before me. He looked up, startled, at my
unexpected apparition, and I held him down firmly by the shoulder as I read: 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 .
. If you lived in a place called Akeldama, wouldn't you want to take a
I turned around and found an M-16 pointed straight at my face by a local
.1jjbL .
qearer WIll takeyou Inlosi tribe.
~.
~ ~/
\ 0 ~ nMAl!'-'
o.Jl.\f ~.'s.' . 'Y
~\
Rambo burned raw by sun and sweat and definitely displeased with our pres-
ence. Behind him, and coming around us from the shrubbery, were about
\f\ \'
five of his clones. "Patay ka," he snarled cinematically.
I folded the slip, tucked it in my pocket, and released the boy, who \~
The little boy jumped up and began to twitter, "Not him, Doktor ask
jumped up in gratitude. r saw his face light up as I handed him a peso and a
to see him!" to which I Vigorously nodded assent. The rltle was lowered dan-
chocolate bar. I felt once more the tingle of danger running down my spine.
gerously to my heart, and still more dangerously downwards,
My curiosity, as they say, was piqued, and I prepared my camera, fortunately
"ID," the sentry demanded, incredulous.
palm-size, state-of-the-art and a mere kilo in weight, plus water and a pack
 , 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 ArJisJ
Napagkamalang NPAI the tabloids would titillate. I saw the rifle slowly
making its ascent again, and at the apex of that arc I knew my head was
going to be blown off.
But then a figure rustled out of the shrubs. Asit straggled towards
us against the light I could discern the silhouette of an M-16 pointed at my
captors. Rambo turned around with a growl, stared hard at the intruder, and
let out a long, ear-splitting yawp. Hewalked up to the figure and chocked it in
a finn embrace. The newcomer brushed him aside and said, "The camp's
folding 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 knocking
about 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' .\k
WE '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 and
looseness 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. "Everything
you'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 the
trouble," 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. I
might 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 i
your 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 to
my 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 seeing
us set up our show. In the end we wound up covering up for his logs. I hate
the motherfucker. Sorry."
"They say you made a lot of money trading endangered species," I
reminded him.
"You're one of those too, huh? No, we shipped them to Calamian
Island, 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 as
I 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 him
Minister Armando Lizares. Mandy to one and all except the Isnegs, who called
him 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's
men killed those two. Rabid academics are raising a howl, the commissior)'s
personnel are getting restless, National Geographic is expected to sue. We're
all 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's
got to do it. Stilt working for pennies for those what do you call them? Those
volunteer 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 make
some 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 then
proceeded downhill, following the trail of the ex-tribe. They really seemed to
me like actors walking away from the scene of a crime; in a few minutes they
would return, I thought, for curtain call,
. ..\ ~ lA~~tO~U~Jj
'-t7 ~J\04-E\ \y\~\f \. . ) seifWordersome tea: it was served in the usual thick mugfound in Chinatown
.-_/"
A.S.l.A.
I ARRIVED IN MANIlA under October's colorless sky; the entire city had the feel of
driftwood and the hulls of cast-out things. In Quiapo that afternoon two
jeepneyloads of fortune tellers were rounded up and taken to the Manila City
Jail.
Quiapo's fortune tellers were the first to re-open shop upon Typhoon
Maling's exit, and were immediately swarmed by cro~ds of mat~ons, young
colegialas, housemaids, poets and professional occultiStswho milled around
Plaza Miranda, waiting for their turn, Under the parsimonious shade of para-
sols, the fortune tellers read palms and cards within earshot of a dozen other
souls. Bynoon, when many of the flower shops and Chinese pawnshops were
only thinking of opening up, they had earned more than enough mO,neythe
shops could make in a week. And, as was the custom, that was the tIme the
police came in to collect a portion of their revenue. ,.
The third district police arrived. Slippers, vegetables, Itltes and
clothespins were thrown about as the vendors, accustomed to the waves of
arrests here, scampered to stash their merchandise in rented havens, usually
nearby shops that let them meander like windowshoppers ~hile t~e raid was
going 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 arrived
that afternoon. I proceeded immediately tQthe nearest carinderia-:~l2..&~
Bistro was its name-to relie~mys~lf and, returning the favor, forced my-
·~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 would
be swift and decisive, pouncing on the old and slow-footed.

Out of this drift rushing past Oyang's, Dayang the witch extricated
herself, walked into the carinderia, sat in front of me and, with her hands
clasped 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 now
formed a poorly woven halo around her head. Her clothes were dusty, of a
shade of black that constant wear had faded and frayed at the seams. She
said, "I am too old for this now." She stretched her legs under the table and
let out a long, exhausted "Aahh" which everyone in the carinderia heard.
She smiled broadly, embarrassed by this sudden unguarded act. "Drink,'~ she
said. "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 it
were: 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 only
secretly 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 her
silk stockings could no longer conceal the silveryscales that covered her thighs
and shin, Imelda asked her Blue Ladies what possible cure they could find for
her, and obediently they hustled Dayang into the palace, her old tatters neatly
pressed 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![I,II''''IIP"rn-'
. 1
~+>~,
1::. eluded that Imelda had offended creatures of Tacloban Strait, over which the
( President had built, as a gift to her that summer, the I.Gpgesthpdge IQ ~he
~. The next day the First Lady flew secretly to the Island, accompanIed
by the Blue Ladies. Motoring without her usual phalanx of secunty agenL~,
she threw orchids and anthuria over the bridge, Twodays later the scales were
gone, and she immediately sent for Dayang. "..,
"Tell me one more thing," Imelda asked her, Is thiS ltfe gOing to
end?"
~ Dayang looked at her and replied that all lives end, and that the
~ house of Marcos would fall only after these three omens came to pass: a churst
.[J Qf God crumblind man in white ste in down from t and agowd
"'-g:Qssing Mendiola Bridge, 'l~
The First Lady thanked her, and a secretary pushed into her hands
an air mail envelope containing, after she counted it later, ten thousand pe·
sos.
"What happened to the money?" I asked her.
Paid the bills, she said. She was also buying a ticket back to Siquijor.
Bythis time everything around Plaza Miranda had simmered back
to normal and the stalls were back in place, Vendors,emboldened by their
narrowesc'ape, now hawked their wares more aggressively,hollering to passers-
by.The remaining fortune tellers huddled beside the doors of the church and
furtively awaited their customers. Dayang stood up and walked back to them,
and before I knew it she was swallowed up by the crowd. It wouldn't be the
last time I'd see her. But now she was lost in that marvelous maze of talis-
mans, roots and herbs, candles for love and also for hexes, the Santo Ninos
with erect penises and the medallions of Sa.int ~hristopher, ~ins~rels an~
beggars, the daily crowd that came back to life, like Lazarus, In thIS part 0,
the city that had long been dead,
JUNAND I had seen each other only once or twice since he broke lip with De~;':';
sometime in '68. His byline nonetheless greeted us almost every morning In
the pages of the Manila Times. Afterwards he got ki,cked.up as ~es~man.
When Marcos declared martial law in 1972, the Mantla TImes bUilding on
Soler street, Santa Cruz, was one of the first his soldiers raided. Jun was man-
 gling the health reporter's copy when they barged in. He spent the next two
months in a jail cell with other editors, poets and farmers, after which he was
released for lack of Evidence {i.e. he was not significantly-to )Iii &:be
~uzzword then-subversive), He thought of going to Davao to farm, then
toyed with the idea ofpublishing light entertainment magazines, which were
the onl~ ones allow~d by the government. Mandy Lizares invited hi~mto
Malacanang when Llzares was appointed Minister for Minorities; Jun had
after all written aprafile in the Sunday Times which had somehow made
Lizares guapo to the Apo.
"A think tank, I think, is what it's called," he said as he pulled a
chair 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. . Isneg covered up a lot of things. They themselves, incidentally, have begun
~. .••.~ "She married?"
"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. A
local 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 Gentle
talking to the Zagreb conferees. There's one story in the New York Tt'mes

~1*~
~~
~
"Not anymore. Four-year old brat lives with her."
Heput the folder down and said, "This looks fine. What's his name?"
:'Whose?" ,.
where they confessed being made to walk naked for Tom Walker, the photog-
rapher."
"The Geographic guy,"
~'The brat's," r-tJ ryJ-t- ot~d.fM "Well, Geographic's disclaiming him, says he's freelance, More free
:COpernic1JS.~ was taking it out on her kid, I think. They ~ lunch, actually, The guy never paid for any of his bills, The agency's expenses
him Nico'for short. He might eventually become Machiavellian." -J' were truly astronomical. Wish I could say the same thing about our salaries.
"How soon can you work?" he asked me. \ c,,'_ J . ,Il ~ J. ,ll Let's get this clear,,& Myagency did background research for Mandy, all this
"Anytime," I said. '-v \'1 ( W7\::t YV\Q-WU tribal stuff, you know, what they do, what they eat, what they think, Mandy
"Goo& Tomorrow morning at nine. Now let's go get a beer." sort of extrapolated and came up with the idea for the Lost Tribe, Zabarte
Wetook his Mitsubishi Lancer to Ermita, where we let the smoke of moved in to protect the secret, and went into logging on his own, Mandy's
E,epe'sGrill engulf us, Jun commandeered the table nearest the curb. "Good been eyeing the mines. This elaborate hoax, as the scholarly journals have
for people watching, Garcon! Est-ce que vous pouvez nous donner de la biere?" 'f ? begun denouncing it, will be dragged like a carcass for sometime, Mean-
And to me: "They like it when I do that. Or 'dalawa na bier: Means it hasn't while, being clean and clear of conscience, I have other matlers to atlend to.
been a terrible day at work." Let them fry."
"And when does it get terrible?" "And the President's clean, too?"
"You can't tell," he said. "Sometimes Ma'am or Sir gets an idea "Wait till you see the people you'll be messing with," he said, eva-
and we're up to our necks in research." sively. "Artists, intellectuals, ex-professors, ex-journalists, and certainly a lot
"So what's happened to the Test Agencyfor what?" of assholes, We'll be working directly under A.~sholeNumber One,~ax Pla~,"
"Dissemination of Rumors. Flunked, It'll be all over the papers in "The journalist?"
the next fewweeks."
 ".So-called.Don't let him bother you, though. He'shere for the money
and the chicks. But he won't be bothering us all the time. I'm being moved to
a more or less autonomous bureau, and that, my good friend, is where I'm
taking 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, a
total 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 acronym
dWS 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 mind
control 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 same
way, ahd wore his earnestness like a camouflage.
FROM BEAllEMANIAC to hippie to student activist of sorts,Jun Hidalgo's life from
the late '60s to the early '70s seemed, to use the patois back then, one with the
flow. In 1969, for instance, he had shot through the Times rank and file from
reporter 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 space
10 the Ttmes with Gloria Diaz is Miss Universe! These events summed up
the times: it seemed that America had claimed the moon, but the Filipinos
had won the universe, with Gloria in ~celsis and a swimsuit. In Czechoslo-
vakia, Alexander Dubcek, the popular liberal leader, was replaced by Gusax
Husak in a new authoritarian communist leadership. In the Midway Islands,
President Richard Nixon and Vietnam President Nguyen van Thieu rebuffed
proposals 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 marriage
for Jackie Onassis, (2) China's "self-destruction" in the 1980s, and (3) also,
natural calamities and political upheavals "with unknown figures coming
to the fore."
Undaunted by prophecies of doom, the biggest hit in local Pinoy
cinema was Mu-Muu Fiesta, starring Eddie Mesa and Helen Gamboa. There
were 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 in
the company ofJun's current fiancee, the laVishlycharming Susan Tala. Susan
at that lime was working for the National Historical Institute. The fact that
they were dredging up neutrinos of ancient Philippine history would further
strengthen the institute's professional relationship with our own .A.S.l,A.But
for 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 where
Jun and I went for beer. Wewould wince with envy; we had only memos and
blacked-out texts to amuse us the whole day. "Documents full of supersti-
tions and miraculous events," she would continue. "Out at sea, Magellan's
men 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 in
the 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
 transported to the censors office-the bureau at that time had to squat in a
small room in Malacanang, He looked up, she stared at him-and then she
yelled. "Don't t0uch that!" He had been going over a Journal purportedly
written by Antonio Luna, the young, irascible leader of the insurrection against
Spain, and how and why it got to the office was the question he had been
pondering for the last fifteen minutes,
She rushed to him, scooped the document from his hands and saved
it 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 thought
we 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 he
had gotten married somewhere along the way to the Diliman Republic. Per-
~ aps this was why Jun refused to mention the incident again after that, and
we l~arned little of that phase of his life. Susan would have a stabilizing effect
on 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 was
carrying a placard-"Marcos '[Uta ng Imperyalista!!!" It began to rain, but
they stood their grou od. Drenched under Manila's relentless rain, she seemed
she was capable of passionately believing anything, and of defending this
belief to the death. He became an activist, spoke in at least two rallies, and
travelled 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 back
to Manila, found a dingy apartment beside an estero in Quezon City,made
ends 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, as
President of the Republic of the philippines, do hereby decree the creation of
A.S,l.A, the Agency for the Scientific lnvestigation of the Absurd, on this day of
the 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 proper
version found in many of the books the Ministry of Information issued later.
The acronym certainly stQod for something else, which we have no need tQ
divulge here. We gathered at the Malacafiang Reception Room fQrits 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 dnfted
close behind, or seemed to, her pale face encumbered by a lacquered bouf-
fant. 1wondered why they looked unreal on my first encounter, and nQWI
recail that it was because they were bathed in video lamps all through the
night. 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, clerks
and accountants,
Office of the President
Republic of the Philippines
Official Memorandum
The Agency for the Scientific Investigation of the Absurd is hereby
authorized 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 lhreat
thereof;
2. OVr,lseea bureau whose task Is to expedite the above;
3. Enforce the suspension of any entity found violating the above.
"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 thinning
hair, he was a sleaze who once worked as an editor for one of the pre-martial
law 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 of
ingratiation was how Jun once described him. The man of-eourse had taste;
drove a BMWand wore Versace shirts, Dior ties, Bally shoes. The trappings of
his charmed life he displayed with a studied candor: you could tell he was
uncomfortably, deliberately bon vivant, often excessively so. lWice a month
he traveled out of the country on behalf of the agency; there were symposia in
Bangkok, meetings in Zurich, conferences in London and NewYork.Jetsetti~
with Ma'al11,he was photographed in tabloids from Makati to Manhattan. He
had published, through our office, a novel of outstanding mediocrity, and
had once toldJun and myself, in front of his adulant staff, that he was the
only Filipino qualified to win the Nobel Prize. .
In 1973, a few months after Marcos declared martial law,with Plata
at the head of the censorship office, it was not uncommon to find magazines
with entire. paragraphs blackened with special felt pen, and photographs of
American rock idols with their long, friZzyhair opaqued to crew cuts. There
were instances when Plata even suggested clipping the tres.c;esof Beethoven
and Mozart. Later he decided it was time to monitor books as well. Andso Jun
dutifully spent late hours deciding which works were passable and which
were to be condemned,
For some time most of the periodicals all over the country bore the
marks of Jun's new profession. Later, to Jun's relief, Marccs issued a decree
stipulating that publishers should censor theIr own work. Jun would walk
around the news stalls inspecting random copies of magazines to see if they
complied 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 at
all:
xxxxx want to take you XXXXexperience XXXpower comes from
the XXXXbut if you believe the closer we get to xXXXXXXXbecause we were
good in XXXXXX,they thought we XXXXXXlike to see how XXXXXXXX,because
noneofthis 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, The
title was Plata's idea, and Imelda Marcos, who was going to be Governor of
Manila in a year, extrapolated it to include national highways brimming
with bromeliads, Metro Aidestreet sweepers clad in bright t-shirts designed by
Pierre Cardin, cathedrals of Capiz and filigree silver devoted to the Santo
Nino, and lavish processions in honor of tbe Marian image. In October La
Naval de Manila would accede to the lavishness of the cult of Mary, and in
Intramuros, the walled city would heave its burden of legacies in a candlelit
procession 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 de
Guia, Nuestra Senora de Penafrancia, Nuestra Senora de la Paz, Nuestra
Senora 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 stopping
by the Philippines on the Asian leg of his world tour.
We were rattling past Recto and Legarda, Jun's Lancer picking its
way through potholes and debris, "City of Manholes, indeed," Jun, who was
driving, told us, "Wait till His Holiness sees what the First Lady's prepared for
him."
 "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 rubies
and diamonds."
"Not in the procession though," ]un said. "Everybody will want a
souvenir."
The Pope's future lodging was going to be the Coc®H1..Palace. The
title was literal, because the entire mansion was mostly made of parts of co-
conut trees. Massivetrunks rose to ceilings ofcoconut panels; the Luzon room
had canopied beds draped with coconut fiber and a ceiling painted with elec-
tric scenes from the Creation; the Visayasroom was done in pastels and gauze
fabric, mirrors framed by husks, cherubim peeking behind fronds; the
Mindanao room promised passionate evenings amidst the metalwork of kris
and 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 use
the palace jargon) infrastructure and services for the farmers, but Cuenco
decided to invest it in more profitable ventures, and the palace was his tithe to
the 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.
"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
"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 of
crafts at the Philippine Center entitled "(sang Bansa Isang ,lliyia," which
would later become the slogan of the new decade. More than two thousand
balikbayans started to fly back to the New Pllilippines with their crates of
Stateside pasalubong. DiscO"King Denny Terio was scheduled to swish on the
Araneta Coliseum stage, and one sashaying couple would make it to the fi·
nals of Dance Fever. Marcos announced in the government press that he
had ordered the completion of the Agoo-Baguio highway in time for the Pope's
arrival, where presumably the Pontiff would pass enroute to the [gorol~ and
the USAirForce in the Summer Capital. Allover the city there was a growing
buzz of anticipation, even as Jean Saburit tried to titillate the pious in
Kaladkarin, while at the QUAD,Ali-3, tuneta and Gotesco, four clones in
synthetic moptops reenacted TheBir/h of/he Sea/les. In the United Kingdom
272 Filipino domestic helpers were arrested and deported. And in the Middle
East, Iran and Iraq had begun exchanging air raids, with threats of anthrax
hovering in the air. ~
But not even television's World Tonite, with its exclamations of up
heaval around the globe, could top that night's latebreaker: Marcos was lift
ing martial law.
THEANNOUNCEMENT was issued on the day of the feast of the Black Nazarene In
Quiapo, and instantly it spread through the rumor mills of the district faster
than the periodic fires that razed its shabby tenements to the ground. MAR-
TIAL LAWTO BE LIFTED SOON! the tabloids shrilled among vendors of
sampaguitas and talismans. DETENTIONCENTERSWILLBE PHASEDOUT!
echoed the morning dailies. Seven hundred forty-five detainees were going to
be transferred from the military camps to the National Penitentiary, there to
serve the rest of their terms as ordinary criminals. Camps Crame, Bonifacio
and 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 Ooodthe
newspapers with. "Or wegamalll. now that's a thought. Shopping plazas for
the self·contained communities of the future. What do you think, AIBoy?"
Better than getting caught in Quiapo in the thick of the Black
Nazarene procession. Allafternoon the machos of Manila had been converg-
ing around the church, waiting for the cross-bearing figure of the black Christ
to emerge. These were the district's pickpockets, bag-sbL'ihers,pimps, rapists,
male prostitutes, and usurers who jostled with young men from the Catholic
schools, officeworkers, jeepney drivers, taxi drivers, boys frol11the bote-diyaryo
 carts, rugby sniffers, pushcart dwellers. Stripped to the waist, they swarmed
barefoot 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 their
sins, 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 mass
of bodies advance, and it seemed as if this force could truly dispel by sheer
mass 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-
1'ty• "
Marcos invited a group of diplomats to witness his formal lifting of
martial law at the palace. We gathered at the palace'S Heroes Hall to listen to
one of the most important speeches (edited by)un and yours truly) of our
time:Max Plata had imposed the task on us, and for days )un and I went
about the office dazed as zombies, thinking of the proper tack. "Max gave
just one rule," )un told me. "We can say anything, but don't make it sound
like 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 of
our generation, yours and mine: that it has been called upon twice by history
to serve, to risk life and honor, in the hour of crisis and the hour of need. The
first time was when we had to fight a war, a war not of our own making, in
order to defend our country. The second was when we had to impose on our-
selves, eight years and four days less than four months, a martial discipline
in 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 offered
their lives, happiness and honor to a quest that we pursue to this very day: the
quest for a New Society.
"This has always been the Filipino dream, a dream of a new order
of national existence, a dream thwarted for close to a century. We have.Ma.a
J
tlliodred }£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 the
many. 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. But
soon 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 have
proven 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 is
the one thing that wHi never change."
A MONTH LATER, Pope John Paul II arrived at the airport of the NewSociety.The
president 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 Roxas
Boulevard 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 perfect
ideal for Asia's only Christian country, where faith in divine providence was
transmuted 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 his
visit the Pontiff would remember his ovelWhelming flock in the Philippines
and include the country during his Easter morning prayers from his Vatican
balcony. 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's
oldest port district. The Palace had arranged for a few hundred children;
garbed in new clothes courtesy of the Blue Ladies, to greet the Pope with
flowers and songs. But there was no controlling the sudden swell of the dis-
trict's poor, the stevedores, seamstresses, chimays and yayas, drivers, street
sweepers, the dregs of the City of Man. The motorcade veered towards Tondo's
antithesis, Binondo, the other side of the silver coin as it were. Years a 0
er ope, Paul the sixth had lant arra tre tal
--
where 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. One
hundred communicants were accommodated by the Pope, led by the daugh-
ters of the president and followed by Mother Teresa, who had flown in from
India.
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 Holy
say,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 as
she parlayed questions and said, "I am here only as a worshipper." So were
the thousands of Cebuan0s who crammed over Mactan bridge, waving and
cheering. In Antique, two islands away, a hundred residents who were not
able to hire boats to Cebu woke up that morning with a disturbing vision: a
strange disc, huge as a hippodrome, phosphorescent like the crucifixes and
rosaries given by nuns during First Communion. It hovered over the fields
and 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 motored
directly 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 cheering
crowds of Vietnamese families. Things happen in this land, he thought, that
God alone, He alone, can understand.
"OYE,YOU BOYS are going to write a book." That was Max Plata calling us to
conference, one of those big, ceremonious powwowswhich came once a month
at least. "The Apowants you to finish volume one of his encyclopedia for the
New Society, Leatherbound, gilt edged, a national heirloom, He wants it by
September, 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 work
yourself. 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 myself
chose 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 stretch
well 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 damn
thing," said Max. "Everything from the stone age to the birth of the Filipino
nation. The staff of the Historical Institute will help you. 1 know you'ye got
mistresses there. Here's a list of names to interview, give you research, Friends
and 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 logic
in 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 the
country 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 damn
routine. 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're
going to write about it."
He flew to NewYorkthe next morning, where ostensibly he squan-
dered time and dignity on gala premieres and shopping binges at
Bloomingdale'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, Jun
as 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 pieces
of prehistory, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle. There'll be obscure authors with
obscure 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'sstill alive, isn't he? Wecan call im up an er 1m
the national treasury."
\
"He won't see," Jun said, "the point. Max is mad. The president
doesn't want it that soon, or maybe he does but he'll settle for a year, maybe
two,"
~ "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 CynIcalfor my own good, I know. What do you say, Diaz?Will it P
~ . the censors?"
)~ "We are the censors," I reminded him.
~~ "I rest my case," he said.
~ Our prequel would introduce a magnum opus ostensibly begun by
/t
/-'t:ii the president in 1976. Marcos had commissioned a series of volumes on the
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\\'0 of the series the Spanish chronic er Francisco Clavio reported
in 1518 that it was common to say "minabadlica ako nang panginoon
co, "which translated as "my master has freed me." Maharlika was also the
name of the guerrilla contingent Marcos was reported to have led during the
Second World War. Some pundits (mostly from the clandestine OPPOSitiOn)1
noted that in Hindi the name meant big prick (maha = large, linggam = J
prick). The priapal pun, although said derisively,appealed to the President's
ego, who had always taken pride in his sportsmanship and machismo. Notso
for the First Lady,who was said to have been offended by rumors that she
preferred specimen more prodigiously endowed. In 1975 she allegedly haj
one 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 Spanish
era, another on the beginnings of the American empire, and the third on
Marcos' ascent to the presidency.The first volume, the task at hand, demanded
considerable research from the Historical Institute, which had been laboring

over the job for the past four years. When I saw the wealth of materials Susan
and the staff at the institute had prepared for us, I was both overwhelmed and
excited at the prospect of writing the volume. Not only were there transcripts
and codices from 1521 onwards, from Hernando de Magallanes' unfortunate
foray into local politics up to the era of the first Spanish colonialists; there
were 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 and
impossibilities, so that when I reported for work the next morning, I was
surprised to find Jun stooped over the transcripts, his head in his hands, It
was often difficult for me to understand his schizophrenic generation: one
moment exhuberant, the next moment seriously sentimental, or pensive, or
merely spaced out. He looked up when I walked in. He seemed as if he had
just woken up. "Somebody's shotJohn Lennon," he mumbled. "Putang ina."
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 in
the 16th century. , 'to improve our lot'?" I askedJun as Iwent over the president'S introduction
I have met with men who had been part of history but had never
sought to write it. My earliest memories are of nights spent on th~ lap of my
grandfather, who had fought bravely in the war for the first Philippine Republic
in 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 people
r.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 own
education, and felt that in the study of history one must also dispel the crisis of
identity, I have since tried to navigate my course Lothe source of this great river,
the Filipino's true history,
This history encompasses the seismic upheavals that created this ar-
chipelago, the pleistocene era which carved from rock and volcano these fertile
islands, [t traces man's beginnings in the Philippines and the development of
human 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 traces
the 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 democratic
revolution,
This search for the Filipino identity has gained real purpose and
direction 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 such
memory, 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 epoch
with its own moods and patterns' Our own New Society has brought its own
changes, 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 I
had sought only one thing:
"Should I say something like, 'to inform my people of the nobility
of our race,' or should I be less pompous and more direct to the point, as in
to our volume.
The printers had used the latter phrase and had misspelled the last
word, bestowing upon it a double 0, Heads would have rolled had I not noted
the error, Not a few had been sent to various camps for reasons of national
security; in Camps Crame and AgUinaldo violators of the curfew had pulled
weeds 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 Camp
Bicutan, 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 the
Daily 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 it
anyway: 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 favored
the 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 get
better by the day. One proof: by the summer of that year Imelda announced
her plans for theJ!rst Mapila kilkm13ljonal Film FestJ.yal..The whole world
would 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 the
hurried establishment of the Center for Cinema, the ce, headed by the presi-
dent's daughter, black-tressed, black-laced Imee, her young face perpetually
pouting, ~immiRg witb mega-.i@as she picked up, like divine
i~ the eorridefS sf Prjnceton.,It was often difficult to understand
what obsessions haunted our presidential family: or perhaps everyone of us
felt we had to monumentalize our small existence. Because no matter how
much wecried wewere small, our small livesspeckled across the South China
Sea. Driving past the dingy barrios of Manila, I couldn't help feeling all this
jubilation was unreal. All along the South Superhighway, the Department of
Public Works set up fences of wooden planks, twice the height of a man, to
cover thedilapidated warrens from visiting dignitaries. The fences extended
north.wards to Taft Avenue and onto Espana, all the way to the wattle houses
of Tatalon, Quezon City.This was the New Society's ~nything
below the minimum wage had to fall out of view.But beyond that, beyond the
petulant 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-ulated
b~pelessly diligent Qpposition~w Socj~ had done its job. Now
martial law was ending by magnanimous decree, by the powers vested upon
blessed arrival. Anew world was about to begin. j
His Excellency by the constitution and the people's mandate and the Pope's
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 ~, Allthe world'~ grief
converged in hIStmy body and tnto the VJlutes of his tmy soul. Cradled In th.e
spindly arms of his mother, he look~~~jf he had known, all throughout hIS
b]'ief~tence, the destinies ofiiithe generations whohad been born before
blat
.. 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, or
I'll skin you. Go to San.-MigueJ,find outwho the beck tbis Ahra is and get the
story right. puOe1a los cabrones' Hijo de leche!"
Not to mention lechon de leche, which was going to be slaughtered
come ~r Sunday in the San Miguel mansion of Colonel Jose Zabarte for
our impending intrusion. Undaunted by Max's pidgin Spanish, we new into
the island in the thick of Lent. On Easter Sunday this surreal ritual of repent-
ance and recrimination would culminate in an outburst of bacchanalian
exultation 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, their
hands roped with rosaries, and small girls robed in silk and rags and wearing
paper wings on their backs. The rest of the community followed, brandishing
palm fronds; they looked like a gigantic, murmuring centipede as they wound
their 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 a
stage was being constructed in the Plaza Mayor in front of the parish church.
The driver, a leathery man wearing Raybans, annotated our swing
through the town center. "~o," he iflfermed liS, swerving the' , ~
jeep to avoid a pushcart laden \ffib small children . .§a Bi¥frnes Sm,lQ,hai.
mga Kristong ipapako "
"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 of
various peoples, truly halo-halo. German kaong and French gulamans. Also
Chinese mung beans and Spanish garbanzos, just your regular hilos ck
frailes."
This random osterization of various bloodlines and diverse origins,
]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 to
the Monte) clung to with amant ri e and 0 . ness. Noweveryooo
else,' 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, The
Spaniards 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 joined
the revolution ag:linst Mother Spain, But then again, who did? The town
itself used to be called San Miguel, as it was the only populated area apart
from the pygmies' camps. Later it came to be called after the river, Rio del
Fuego, and still later after our destination, the colonel's residence, If we study
it~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 in
cities all over the world, But they continue to control practically ewry busi-
ness on the island, by long distance as it were,"
l\ The jeep swerved off the main road and jiggled towards the north-
R
~
western mountain ranges, known collectively as .Monte de Om The driver
became more relaxed now, which was not good news, He slumped lower in
his seat, tapping on the accelerator as though to music, and we sputtered past
vast stretches of sugarcane, coconut and banana. He had been eyeing me in
the mirror throughout the ride, and now he found the appropriate pause in
my 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,"
S 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 last
eruption 600 years ago a lush jungle of ferns, vines and trees became refuge
for macaques, negritos and communists, The two towns along its slopes were
completely antithetical: Villa del Fuego's somber provinciality was Akeldama's
rowdy 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 sprouted
in 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 since
December. 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 have
wilted 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. Il
was overgrown with untended banana and coconut trees, whic~ grew into
giants webbed with shrubbery and vines. The ground seemed to have sunk
with the weight of this vegetation and was submerged in a muddy swamp. In
the distance was a battered obelisk towering over the trees llke the limb of an
ancient 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 it
like 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 . . through the windows:
miSSiOO local artists to adorn its ceilings and walls with portraits of aD.
~lJic creation The First Family were depicted as seraphim, and, as added
gumption, Minister and Mrs. Aspwere portrayed as zephyr and wife floating
at Imelda's heels.
"No walls there ahara," our driver said. "No ceiling either. Just the
simborio."
"What happened to it?" Jun asked him.
"Quemada," he replied. "Burned down a long time ago. I was not
"Burned down by whom?" ]un asked him. "Piratas? Bandidos?
Pulahanes?" . "We must go there and talk to them sometime," Jun said. "We've
"Pulahanes, bandidos," the driver said. "I know not. I was not born.
The heat makes everyone loco."
Hecontinued his annotation as we rumbled towards Villadel Fuego,
the colonel's residence built on a crag towards the Monle de Oro. Its stone
walls loomed in the distance like an oasis, or a fortress. "The heat," the driver
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 newly
opened American market made millionaires out of the sugar barons who
built 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 from
the mills, engulfing the coastal villages with the burnt odor of molasses.
The jeep wound past thickets of azaleiL'Iand bougainvillae towards
the colonel's mansion, from whose orchid-choked balconies one could look
straight out to the Visayan Sea. Exhausted from the trip that had swooped us
out of humid Manila to torrid San Miguel, we hobbled into the colonel's
foyer, where domestics in crisply starched uniforms offered us dew-speckled
flutes of ice-cold buko as we cooled ourselves under the ceiling fan. Beyond
the windows we could see the faded hues of the plantations and the distant
periphery of villages of sacadas. We could hear, faintly, the pentatonic wail-
ing of women rehearsing the pasyon. Their eerie, dirge-like ululation wafted
Pedro ieao may naligao
at nageamali sa daan
mali ca sa eatouiran ..
Pastor aeo at iyong i1ao
na pageaeaguinhauahan
"Incroyable," the colonel's wife remarked as she sat down to meet us, "how
they continue for days," She turned to Jun, who was sitting next to her, and
explained, "'[,be singing. I mean. The caotada The same women misrI:!.a
..Qerform evetYyear. And then their daughters take over when they die."
been collecting texts for a book commissioned by the President. Perhaps you
can help us?"
"Que se yo," she remarked. "T~ women there are muy timido. The
men mor~' She fanned herself with an abanico which wafted a scent of
powder 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 second
It seemed to change her visage entirely, like a rainbow, or a chameleon. She
sat with her back arched but without tension, as though she h~d spent her
whole Iif~ in proper posture. Her name was j)olores Zabarte She had !nog
bla sleeked to ebony with coconut oil and herbs . t
.Jsnot below her nape..Now t e scent of burnt coconut and crushed lavender
enve~oped ~s like a fragrant cloud. Her softly rounded face, the legacy of
mestizo Chmese ancestors, was sharpened by the fierce line of her brows, a
strong 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, above
her striking facsimile of a granddaughter.
"You are not," she remarked absently as she swayed the abanico
lazily before her face, "related to the painter? Que lastirna HeWas a sad man
this 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," Jun
said. "His model for forty years. She brought home his ashes from Paris, but
was 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 good
hotels, 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\merican
stores. 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 last
statement directed at me.
"[ have enough film for Cecil B. de Mille," 1 assured her. "Videos
and transparencies."
"I studied photography once," she said. "But the chemicals made
me-what is it?-allergic." Reed-thin and fanning herself, she seemed pale
and frail. She had been a sickly child, given to attacks of pollen fever and
pneumonia, "But the air in the villa revives me so. 1do not like Manila so
much. 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 leaving
dusty imprints on the mahogany floorboards. He walked straight to us and
we stood up to acknowledge his presence.
"Compadrel" He grippedJun in a tight embrace. And then he pulled
his revolver out, backed away from Jun and pointed the gun straight at his
face. "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 know
that. The Wildlife Fund was after us. I saved your skin."
The colonel wavered for an instant. Then he (ucked the gun in his
holster 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 to
his wife, "has brains. That's why 1like 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 be
turned off early tonight. 1 am getting tired of your men's games, Jose," She
walked to him and planted a kiss, Ilght and fragrant, on his cheek, and he
received thIS benediction with genuine gratefulness,
 DINNERBY aNDLEUGIIT at the Zabartes. We peered at each other's faces as we
devoured our Palm Sunday meal. The tanguigue had been grilled in banana
leaf and drenched with butter and garlic, and the rice fluffed to perfection.
We tossed flakes of lobster with our salad, sipped German wine and became
loose 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. Little
boys 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 rea
in propaganda leaflets and the mosquito press in ·Manila. My dear brother
has 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 on
behalf of the poor. But when it ceases to be the trend of the day, we'll have
dear Antonio dining with us again, I assure you: Boy,more wine!"
The subject of the conversation-as Jun enlightened me much
later-was the colonel's younger brother, Antonio, with whomJun had worked
briefly at the Manila Times,. Antonio Zabarte was news editor when Marcos
declared martial law in 1972 and was arrested with the rest of the editorial
staff and placed under maximum security at Fort Bonifacio, During one of
his 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 mountains
of 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 which
the 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 fewpower
lines and play little games, that's all."
"Is it unwise for you to stay here then?" said Jun, "[ mean, why not
live 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 surely
you find the story aburrido? There was a grandfather who lived in the city but
came back some years afterwards. He chose never to go back again,"
"Amada, he brought home a wife," the colonel corrected her. "Her
abuela, 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 Miguel
and 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," Wetoasted
once more to that, and he continued, "You have no idea what it is out in the
montes. This little revolution will be over If I have to strafe their pueblos with
napalm,"
"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, We
shall need it after strong wine, [ think."
We retired to the sala, The room wa~spacious, elegantly appointed
with ~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 in
the sala, all of an antique ivory color: one upright pianola had been pushed
against a wall and, being presumably out of order, was burdened now with
artifacts and relics: photographs and statuettes, ceniceras and cowries found
in 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 . there manana.l go there at this time of the year. The children call me mama.
winds that blew rom t e south. In ancient times, wrote the historian Cesar
I<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 accompanied
these winds now. We loitered by the windows and watched the pinpoints of
light from bancas scouring the sea for crabs and weeds. We cooled ourselves
with tea and Brahms.
The colonel, drunk with the wine, staggered towards a butaca. This
chair must have been designed not only for women giving birth, but to catch
inebriated fathers during times of nonconception. The rest of us walked out
to the balcony, where the wind slapped us with warm, drowsy vents. In the
dis'tance we could see the dithering lights. To the left the water rubbed against
the hacienda, now blOlted in the darkness. In this black void we could see
bonfires 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 see
them often at this time of the year. It's a ritual here. Burning the old crop to
make way for the new. There is something of a resurrection in this."
"My Wife," the colonel boomed from his chair, "cannot help her
exclusive 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 Manila
a 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 help
the poor to earn our place in heaven. Amada, we are in heaven. It cannot get
better. 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? As
if these people were shih tzus one can coif and tie on a pink le;Lsh.,," He
babbled on until his soliloquy ground to a murmur.
"If you want to see the orphanage," Dolores said, "I will take you
Muy carinoso. Do you have children? Ah, a pity. They make life so noisy and
pleasant. We have no children, you see. But I have two hundred at the Santa
Isabel."
"There's proof, senor," the colonel suddenly spoke up, and we were
taken aback to realize he had been following the conversation. 'There's proof
we do not have starving children here. These newspapers make up stories
that hurt us. Perhaps the photograph was taken in Manila. You have dying
children there, no? Allover Ermita, childre,1 selling themselves to tourists.
Putang ina."
We looked inside at him. He had slouched deep into the seat, his
legs 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, as
though it had a small, mechanized life of its own.
SHE WAS PlAYING Vaughan Williams in the sedan as we drove past the fields the
next morning. Her profile was sharp against the nascent sky, framed by the
silhouette 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 and
salamander.
Less than a hundred years ago this was unclaimed land, an ex-
panse of weeds and nothingness. Her grandmother, Dona Consuela Paz, had
just recently married Don joaquin Suarez who had helped the American troops
fight the dregs of the Spanish colonialists. He had just turned twenty-two, his
imagination fired by the revolution of the Katipunan and dispirited by their
defeat, and then revived by the obscure but decisive successes of the invading
Americana-\'. The Spanish armada was sinkir~g all over the Pacific, Latin
 America was erupting with republics. Commodore George Dewey vanquished
the fleet in Manila with a perfunctory roll of cannons and led the Spaniards
out. Harper~ Monthly reported what it considered a minor Insurrection
among begrudged Filipinos when the Americans pulled into Manila and took
over the government. Small rebellions (said Harper s) sparked in mountain
barrios, spreading like wildfire throughout the archipelago, but were quelled
with SWift,violent reprisals. Bythis time DonJoaquin Suarez, already acoJo-
nel in the Filipino army, had surrendered peacefully and come home. In the
army he learned two things: how to kill a man, and how to gamble. With
monies he had saved from wagers won between skirmishes, and with the help
of American officers whom he supplied with vital information on Filipino
outposts, he bought the land just under the Montes, shipped workers from
the impoverished towns of surrounding islands and set up his plantation.
World demand for sugar gave him impetus and wherewithai to team up with
American investors WilliarnJackson and SOl)S,and a friend he had made in
the army, Colonel Elias Camacho, who became his confidante. Together they
set up a mill which later expanded, by legacy and intermarriage, to the
Azucarera Zabarte. The couple had a son they named Manuel who became
the heir to the conglomerate.
Their fortunes fluctuated erratically: Colonel Suarez was ambushed
by irate bandits who never forgot his betrayal of the revolution, and the young
Manuel grew up alone with his mother. Pensive and taciturn, he devoted his
time to books and the sciences, studying agriculture and classical literature.
~ a young man he meandered around the plantations in a white suit and a
straw hat, quietly observing the business. Evenings found him at their
balustered porches where he sat with his mother on wicker chairs and read
until the lamps hissed and sputtered.
Years later he met Isabela Santiago, who became his wife. She saw
in 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 early
age, this powers to elicit such lush emotions, he became even more with-
drawn, nurturing both terror and a quiet narcissism, a sense of unearned
triumph. He pored over his studies, convinced that it was only his mind that
needed perfe~lion. Perhaps an early knowledge of his limitations created in
him a contrapuntal humility as well, or a faint lack of confidence. People
said he looked far removed from the concerns of the world, like a saint.
Dolores Zabarte's long divagation abruptly ended there, when we
reached the §anta Isabela orphanage,1Vhich had been named after both the
saint 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 by
the Suarezes, and until the early 1930s was an equestrian club built with
pavilions, gazebos and stables for thoroughbreds. Nowthe aged wood hinted
quietly of this faded splendor: balusters and balconies had been torn down to
accommodate San Miguel's children.
The long passageways seemed empty and desolate, echoing our
voices and footfall. Adoor opened at the end of a corridor, and we heard the
listless chatter of young voices: pristine, glassy laughter tinkling from the
dormitories. A small girl peeked from behind the door. When we came closer
she gave out a yelp. "Mama here, Mama here!" Immediately we found our-
selvesengulfed by little hands, little faces looking up with bright, newly-woken
smiles. This wave of adulation propelled us farther into the building, the
little hands tugging at our pockets. "What did you bring for me, what have 1
got this time?"
llooked at Dolores, herself delighting in this swarm of young bod-
ies. She was letting herself be pu lied into the rooms, her hands held out and
gripped bysmall, pleading hands. She was laughing with abandon, her mirth
now genuine and unusual. This was the first time we saw her without her
usual guardedness and her imposed restraint. Behind us Jun groggily fol-
lowed, carrying the bags Dolores had brought with her. Upon seeing him the
children rushed and pulled at his sleeves, sending a fewcontents of the bags
spilling 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 the
door, and in a swiftembrace she lifted the girl up and kissed her on the cheeks.
Dolores was crying, All this adulation crumbled all her defenses and made
her 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 and
looked at. the other children scrambling for Dolores' presents. She smiled
wanly at us and at the children madly swarming around us. There was some-
thing othelWorldly about that smile, I recall now: evanescent and pale like
soft 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 '~it
was una dia de dolor, a sorrowful day, because the rain looked bleak and
desolate. I was her little sunshine,"
The little girl turned her face up and smiled, and Dolores repeated
for her sake, "My sunshine," The little girl sputtered with laughter, "Do I
look, seflot, like someone who was born on a rainy day?"
No, but her face was always clouded over by a silent, unremembered
slidness, 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 w
accepted for Jun's sake, He was now. wide awake, having spent the last fe
minutes doling out Dolores' presents to the children who returned his lar
gesse with delightful yelps and jealous squeals,
We walked to the gazebos. The sun was not yet high and the grass
glistened 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 skittered
about on the grass like a whelp learning to wobble, She ambled off, paused a
moment, and suddenly tripped, falling on her face on the grass, Dolores had
been talking to us ar4d she gave out a gasp when the child fell, Jun surprised
us both and sprang towarcis the child, hoping to catch her in midfall. He
missed, the child's face rubbed onto tne grass and she gave out a hoarse,
rusty cry. Jun scooped her up and walked back to us, handing her over to
Dolores.
"AII right now," she whispered to the child. "S;t!alllat, seiior,
salamal."
The sisters, ever vigilant, must have seen all this happen. Sor Teresa
rushed 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 retreated
softly, 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, to
everyone. 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 more
than five inches small. Pequenita, we called her. I chose Lalita. 1)0 you know
what 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.s
not 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 0
She 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 should
be. Otherwise, we perish,"
"r.,
~J1( 1cr 1$. not [J{'cessacy "I's)(' SimpI "I ."
SJ! rVIYl'
"And what is'I" Jun ~lsked
 She didn't answer the question at once. Then she said, "Many things,
senor, of which we have little time to think. One must be too busy being alive
to wonder so much about them."
"That sounds very Zen," said]un.
Dolores laughed. "We seem to have covered the major Asian falths,"
she said. "I suppose Lalita's name does provoke a number of questions."
"I apologize," Jun apologized, and then picking the language:
"Perdone, perdone. I wasn't too forward, I hope?"
But she seemed not to have heard. She said softly, as if to herself, "I
always wish the child were stronger." She looked 'at us. "Lalita, I mean. We
worry so much about her, the colonel and I. We have no children, you see,
Shall we come in now, and join the sisters?"
We came in to the tinkling of flute glasses being filled with
calamansi, and fresh bread on the tables. The children were singing a nurs-
ery rhyme all of us must have endured at some point in our childhood:
- They came to be called...1Lulajanes, after the red troll$Pr$ they ..JO$e, Their only
nen pen de sarapen
LDe cuchillo de almazen
How how the carabao
Ba Tu Ten
There was a nonsense refrain that followed, which we could not
complete, Sipit namimilipit/gintong pilaklnamumulaklak-and then
1""f
what? ~ ~
"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 I
answered your question now, senor?"
AKELDA.\\A,
MAUNDY THURSDAY.The colonel, bored with Holy Week rites, took us to
this city on the other side of the Montes. The road wound through the
mountainside, dropping several feet below into the rocky lagoons of the Mar
de las Almas, the Sea of Souls. We were smartly saluted in at least five cheCKl
points. The road to Akeldama was government territory, and we travelled witbj
out worry of an NPA ambush here. But not taking any chances, we rode with
two 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 us
mortified 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--. ~ reh
weapons were bolo knives and rilles stolen from armories of the defeated
Spanish government. They were led by eWers called babaylanes. fierce and
andro nous warriors who were also shamans and blac . Natu-
ra fy,subjugation was conducted violently reported Harper s), but after some
years the revolt was snuffed out. Perhaps the most popular'of these babaylanes
was Isio the Po e of Ne ros Island, Pa a Isio continued to alarm the
American colonial government with sporadic raids and am ushes, and also
b the fact that eo le allover the archipelago considered hIm no less tha a
' livin c ture in ten ears into the war i
CJve, 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 marvelous
woman, sir, You are very fortunate,"
"Not quite fortunate," he said, "The woman always wanted to have
..
a 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 back
X into the seat.
~ ••
tI\tI'-: The driver, our IQquacious companion from the airport, drove on
with abject seriousness, acting as if he CQuld hear nothing. With the colonel
Qn board he seemed tQ have IQst all ability tQ communicate and became an
automaton zipping us into the sleaze and dazzle of Akeldama. Bumping down-
hill, we careened towards Magsaysay Avenue, past glittery dancehalls and
dilapidated rodeo bars, and headed straight to the Holy City Zoo. Hostesses
loitered outside the bars, blOWing tired kisses at us. There had been a slight
drizzle; now the neon signs nictitated in puddles all over the avenue, metallic
as shrapnel.
The Holy City ZOQwas a bungalQw crammed between an open beer
garden and the HippodrQme. The Hippodrome's main attraction was a
dancefloor as wide as Asia; the Holy City Zoo's was a row of caged dancers all
dressed in late 60's fringes and minis, and Sal X, the superstar of Akeldama.
The young rock singer's photographs-long, shoulder-length hair greased
down to frame a chiseled, handsome face-were plastered in front of the
Zoo, alongside a selection of the club's most voluptuous dancers.
SALX ANDTHE ART DODGERS
PRETrY DANCERS ANDTHE COLDEST BEER IN TOWN
ONLYATTHE HOLYCITY ZOO
WELCOME USS TOMAHAWKWE LOVEYOUJOE
WE HOBBLED into the Zoo while little boys in khaki shorts and tattered t-shirts
tugged at our hands. Central airconditioning reprieved us from the twilight
heat and miasma of the streets, and we were welcomed effUSively. Maria led
~the tables, Zenia brought us cold beer: Tina, svelte in a ruby-colored
cheongsam, gave us the names Qf the da
presence a . The sailors, young boys driven tQ rQwdiness and
mayhem with liberty and beer, were crunching their ladies in rituals of des-
perate affection. Their curses mingled with their kisses, made even more
raucuouS by the nervous metronome of rock music. Maria and the ladies
clambered 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 lonelier
ensigns along the bar.
- The owner, a slightly balding Chinese mestizo with the im 1robable
name 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 here
for 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 the
face of a girl fresh out of CQnvent school. She sidled over to the colonel and
sat 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 you
at Malacafiang."
"Hello," Lingling obeyed. Her voice was small and birdlike. Her eyes
glistened 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 all
up. She hates it when 1 say that. Now go get mc.;a room and tell1tnja to look
up some girls for my guests. tiot Vina; we don't want them spreading tbings
among my sacadas."
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 sheen
to 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 myselL
reel faster than tbe beer dia.
- "The Hippodlome," he lallated, "makes big competition, But they
have no Sa!."
"Truly worth his salt, eh?" Jun said. "Funnywe haven't heard much
'
Qfhim in Manila,"
ltll,lfI- '!~P- II!.I~ [1111""" ~' \,nC
_ 1'1"'- 1:111''''- 1"1111"- I'W,II"- I 11F-,

,{
~lilllt'- 11111- pll'l'i- 1fI'~- lI'l'- Jl'11- 111'-

r
"Funny of course," said Pat Chiu. "Here in Akeldama the sailors
look 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 is
flll!. 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, Pat
boy."
"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 Sal
actually gets crucified. I mean they actually nail him on the cross, just for a
few 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 is
the'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 a
tradition 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 the
stage, 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 tlicir
country's invisible wars, we saw Akeldama's Main Act:Sal X.
Good news God is love
It~ coming from the sky above
So I'll do what I'll do
And be what I am
Bomb the Vatican
The young singer, the star sensation of Akeldarn<J'sMagsaysay Avenue and
the Messiah of the Holy City Zoo, leaped onto the stage in ripped jeans and
leather jacket, his thick black hair swirling like a dark halo around his head
as he trotted about, gyrated and whirled before hoisting his Stratocaster heav-
enward to an invisible demon. Seeing him the girls of the Zoo extricated
themselves from the desperate embraces of their drunken GIs and leaned,
hypnotized, towards the scene onstage.
Good news from above
You can't fight my love
!do what I do
justfor you
Bomb 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 a
striptease in tandem with the dancers. Lessacrobatic ones were trying to swig
two bottles of San Miguel beer at the same time: twobottles propped into their
mouths, to see which Joe could drink the fastest. The foam gurgled down to
their 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, as
Pat Chiu informed us, we heard selections from the Four Million Braum
~mericans compilation and Sal's first album. tilled The Best o[Angsf. This
latter album, I heard, had caused a minor conlrollllrsy soon after its [(·i£·ase
by 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 issidL
~ -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 very
ploud of him."
No curtain call answered the wild hooting and howling coming
from the bar. The girls stopped dancing, placed their fingers to their lips and
whistled. Sal Xslipped into a gap in the curtain and was swallowed by dunes
of dusty velvet. We would not see himJor the rest of the evening, even if the
other members of his band eventually popped out from backstage, lingered
among the tables, accepted kudos and generally got drunk with beer offered
by 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 y his father c aimed him and delivered him out of his countcy's reckless desti-
could, erha s 0 to some Yakuza bar in Shin'uku a an. They thought
of Sal as a gimmick to veer GIs 0 the rival Hippodrome, and like the rest of
the 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 . country? Now hear this: we've got more work to do, yes, here at the Palace we
Sf nth fleet but somewhere in California, in Chicago. in New york And Sal
-.~
X, 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 attended
by the city's parish priest and his cofradias, the city mayor and his barangay
councils, 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 bore
upon us that afternoon, the earnest, glistening faces as they watched with
horror and fascination that very moment when the nails-five-inch
aluminum rivets-were.driven through0.al's palms and ounded onto the
~ood of the cross; and the bloo oozing out of those holy woun , trickling
under his arm, into the arm it and down his side to stain his loincloth, down
his leg and over ,is ro ed feet down to the round where it create pu cs
under t e bent knees or Akeldama's widows and daughters.
Hours later, we drove past his house, a rundown bungalow of old
stone and lime, where a crowd of devotees had lined up to view his body.The
faithful and the recondite sweated profusely under the sun, their restlesschatter
drowning out the novenas of the damned. But once inside they' fell into a
reverent hush, wiping handkerchiefs against his side, smooth and cold as
porcelain, and planting swift, furtive kisses on the stigmata smarting in his
hand<. There they ""re, ancient women gripping knotted rosaries, tatt1
stevedores, students from Catholic schools, beggars and thieves, poets and
philanderers, rich matrons in Gucci pumps, vendors and pimps, all the ve-
l!!&.offenders of tbe Monarchy of Sin. Dawn of Easter Sunday, Sal would stir
out 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 young
Amerasian. the son of a MariQ~who had taken liberty in tbe bars ofAkeldama
twen -five years ago, had vowed to have himself crucified ev
lution and irredeemable despair. In Akeldama, Sal X was not just pop'guru
and hanky tonk superstar: no, not an icon: a saint.
"OYE,MA'AM LIKED YOUR REPORT and sends her warm regards. The agency gets
additional funds and you boys get a raise. Don't you love working for this
earn our keep, not like those freeloaders in Pt.:blicWorks. Loscabrones sit on
their 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'll
be 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 I
show effusive gratitude. I was also grateful for the prospect of having Max off
our backs for the next few months, as the Manila International Film Festival
was 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~adydrawn
up 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 . flower
ol~ 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 or
understoo? filQl§..Max couldn't tell a dolly from a teddy bear, a pan from a )~IJe
pot. Fassbmder could have been a brand name for brassieres, Fellini a new L.t-L
sexual 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 woul
safari with Brooke Shields; in New York he would dine with Dame Margot
Fonteyn. The Reagans feted him in California, and George Hamilton tanned
beside him in the French Riviera. Consigned to home base,jun and I worked
on the assignment bequeathed by him, which meant completing the Presi-
dent's book on our own, We were naturally exhilarated, because this meant
we could work on the book without follOWingMax's general concept, which
read 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 because
I'm going. Ma'am says el Dente likes the first draft, says he likes this family
history you've unearthed at the Historical Institute. Puneta, I don't know
wh~ the heck cares for a third rate penny novella, but if he says he likes it
heck. Ma'am wants you to use the book to trace her family roots to the
Zabartes,"
"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 he
would return to San Miguel to conduct more research, much to the distress of
our little crew of accountants who were busy padding both Plata's shopping
accounts 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 the
car" 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 al
my 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 in
lbe 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 mace
lavish baysjde carnival.
Later that summer, out in the eddying shark-infested Tablas Strait,
the MVDon Juan collided with the tanker Tacloban City;both ships exploded
into 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-colored
coral.
Now to the book in question: It seems that Susan had unearthed, in
the course of her research for our project, a short novella published privately
by 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 and
descendant Dolores. It turned out thatJaime Lorenzo was a pseudonym, and
that 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 no
other extant copies could be found.
But what was interesting about the novella was that it used the names
of real people-ancestors of the Suarez and Zabarte clans-in romantic
portrayals of quite compromising situations. I had the suspicion copies of the
book had been suppressed by the understandably offended clan, butJun and
I would find that out, and the unfortunate Miss Romaldes' fate, much later,
Just before the rains pelted Manila and turned its dingy strcets into
muddy torrents, Jun headed straight to San Miguel airport. [ would not see
him 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'rnl1lost
tip of the archipelago-to recuperate after his definitely excruciating per-
"\ form~ce. I was going to receive word much later that the young performer
was gomg to meet me back at the club in Akeldama, and I left without so
Villa del Fue 0

1
. 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 Santiago
ROffialdes roman a clef, meant only to plot out crucial turning points, whether
true or not, in the family history. The others will be in the form of notes taken
for my video of the mysterious, demented Krista of Akeldama, after which we THEY TIlREW TIlE BODIES off the ferry's starboard like sacks of
will plot his difficult ascent to the airwaves of Manila and beyond. The reader spoilt rice. They heard the bodies,crash into the water, and
has been warned. saw them bobbing up and down before finally sinking into
the shark-infested San Viceote Strait. The wind howled and
-J..~

snuffed out the lamentation of the bereaved. Thus the trip

from .§.ombrio to San Migu.elcontinued, sixteen hours af-
ter it had left port.
The unfortunate island had been stricken with
smallpox, malaria, beriberi, cholera and every conceiv-
able disease the tropical miasma brought with it. Mem-
bers of the American cavalry, upon orders from the newly
installed Director of Health in Manila, filled the moats
around its battlements with soil, tore down their flimsy
nipa houses and, when no amount of diligence seemed to
disinfect 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 coop
of chickens and some pigs. From the starboard of the last
ferry to leave the island, Elias Camacho watched the smoke
curling from the island like a funeral pyre.
Their destination was the port of Cebu. But three
days into the strait a squall rose from the.west, intensified
into a storm a few hours later and cast them off course
into the thick, briny crashes of the Visayan Sea. The poor
boat clambered up six meter-high waves and swooped
down 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, There
were no provisions, no water, no hope of land in sight.
The captain, an ineffectual man hastily assigned to steer
the boat to Cebu, was himself sick with dizziness and
malaria.
Elias Camacho directed the crew himself, follow-
ing only his instinct. He had spent his twenty-five years
among these islands, but had not experienced so relent-
less a storm as they did that night. They steered the boat
due east, straight to the path of the sun, knowing that if
they couldn't find the port of Cebu they would-eventually
veer towards Samar island. In the unlikely event that they
would miss that, they would have to crash onto th~ small
~aDd of SaD Migu,rl. beyond which was certain de'ath in
the inhospitable, unpredictable Pacific Ocean, He himself
was no navigator, having spent much of his youth in the
Filipino 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 of
the Visayan Sea declared themselves separate republics,
perhaps not without the foolhardiness .of the naive. Their
governors wooed the support of the invading Americans,
who helped them preserve their fragile governmenl~ with
a handful of cavalry men. He became a colonel, faithfully
guarding a tattered regiment of Filipino soldiers in
Sombrio. And then, when the government was no more
than 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 les
into the sea, it was because he himself had been stalked
by death throughout his life: the violently dead in the
course 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, something
caught underneath. Elias'Camacho peered off the side of
the ferry into the morning mist. The boat had hit a hiRh
jut of coral, scraping against the calcified branches and
breaking them off. They had reached the island of San
Miguel. He gazed out, expressionless, at the island. In the
face of war, epidemics or typhoons, he remained unfazed.
People said later it was a stoicism born out of constantly
facing deprivation and tragedy. But he always knew he
was born lucky, even if all around him he saw nothing
but despair. His own undeserved luck brought on him a
melancholia 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 tore
through the air. The passengers on the boat, stirred out of
their lethargy, whined and crunched deeper: there were
several women and children among them, many of whom
had proved the sturdiest among his pasSl:ngers. They drifted
to shore slowly, the waves nudging them inch by inch until
they could hear the corals grinding underneath. There was
another burst of gunfire, and now ~hey could see a troop
of Filipino soldiers crowding around the shore, riOes held
aloft and shooting into the air,
Elias Camacho jumped out of the boat into waist
deep water and waded ashore, He held his hands up as a
gesture of surrender, holding a white kerchief in one hand.
When he reached the shore the soldiers pointed their rifles
at him. He stopped for a moment, then walked resolutely
on. There was a faint smile on his lips like the smile of the
beatified-an almost exalted insouciance to his own pre-
dicament The leader of this troop stepped forward lo meet
the approaching stranger. At first EIi;l~Camacho cOllldn 't
recognize 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 this
would be, after his excruciating odyssey from war to pesti-
lence and typhoon, his inglorious end. But when he saw
the 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."
FROMHEREON the presence of Elias Camacho would unsettle the fates of the
people in San Miguel. The man he met was ColQnel Joaguin Suarek,' TQ-
gether they had fought in the revolution when it reached its apex, sometime
in 1897. A year later, the Americans sank the fragile and antiquated Spanish
fleet in Manila, drove the revQlutiQnaries Qutside the periphery Qfthe city and
set up a provisionary government. In lessthan a few months a new war against
this more modern, mQre formidable enemy had begun.
With the century drawing to a close, the two young men felt they
had been overwhelmed by a war they had not fQreseen. They felt their young
lives betrayed. Their leaders had all been arrested or executed, all YQungmen
cut down in their prime. !hey themselves were appointed colonels of th~.!F
own regiments, holding guard in the crevasses of Los Banos. While fighting
intensified in the north and the islands in the south, their own men grew
listless aJld sick, and many of them soon preferred to drown their misfortunes
in gambling, local wine and the barrio women with their sad voices and eyes
Qfglinting metal, 1 ather than fighting a hopeless, invisible war. They longed
to 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, their
trQopswere captured by the American regimenL~,Afew shots were exchanged
and a few soldiers wounded, but the capture was swift and brief. They were
brought to Manila, where they were obliged to pledge allegiance to the Ameri-
can flag Th.ree years and two wars later, ColonelJQaquin Suarez and Colonel
Elias Camacho finally abandQned what they had tfiQU ht w~H~ wat
a 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
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 the
epidemic struck and killed more than half of its population,
Jn his notes Jun said the author Amalia Suarez Romaldes must
have probably known Iittie of the history of the surrounding islands. The
entire novella mentioned the war against the Americans as a tidy little affair
that was soon settled and forgotten, but in fact many of the islands around
San Miguel had put up a valiant resistance to the American infantries, We
knew 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 that
barbarous forms Qflmlme were practiced by both camps: the Americans used
the 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 from
one of the towns of Iloilo. Medical records from that era showed there were
several epidemics that broke out in that island around the time of this story.
When Elias reached San Miguel it had been several years since the
American government in Manila declared the war over On fact it would go
on for some more years). We didn't know exactly what year he arrived, but
there were receipts of expenses kept by the diligent Colonel Joaquin Suarez,
himself an astute and punctilious entrepreneur, whic!1 indicate that Elias
,may have arrived as early as '900 -
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 few
chickens that had survived the storm, They arrived at the plantation bl' noon
and were led to small villages built around the fields There they were fed and
doused with sea water to revive them.
 JUNINCLUDED 111 IS PARAGRAPH
for one reason: we learned that in fact Elias broug~t
farmers from nearby islands to work the plantations of San Miguel. This he
did regularly during his stay.jun suspected that Elias may have earned som
profit 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," The
house had been constructed of unshaved wood, whose spartan construction
was counterpointed by a clutter of furniture brought years ago from Europe-
divans and chaise longues and Viennese chairs, all of which still maintained
their original dignity despite years of humidity and rot in the tropics, Pictures
of the original residence of the Suarezes were kept in the library at Villa del
Fuego, 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 conduct
their work, and they themselves refused to mingle with the rest of the popula-
tion whom they thought extremely immoral, being bastards of the frailes
and 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 the
colegios in Manila where they learned the wanton gaiety of the city and also
its intellectual progressiveness borrowed from ~ unjversitie) and~
Madrid, Barcelona and Paris..
- Consuela Paz studied at the Instituto de Mujeres, where she was
tau 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 in
the mountains ot Ulon. He was a restless, indomitably assertive young m~
When he saw her passing by the cafes of lntramuros from the college, he did
what 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 the
defunct Propaganda Movement, until. haunted by the scent of roses and lines of
poetry bursting in her head and her own incomprehensible fevers pulsing in
her heart and blood, she relented and became his wife one fine mornin~ at the
chapel 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 the
elbow, on which the young Consuela clung tcntatlvely, her sha'1) features
softened by a spray of flowers and a lace veil.
THEISlANDOF SANMIGUELwas a different world, Everything was bustling there:
his friendJoaquin Suarez had revived an industry left in a terrible state by his
wife's forebears whose isolated life in the island had remained untouched by
wars, insurrections or the petty jealousies of the ruling friars. Colonel Suarez
immediately had natives from less fortunate islands shipped to his farm, and
many of them became loyal enough to be trusted with guns. He took upon
himself the title of Don, and had a small army patrol the periphery against
bandidos and hooligans who occasionally swooped down from the jungles of
the Monte de Oro, These were farmers who once fou ght the war against America
and stubbornly refused to surrender even towards the twilight of the war, They
would send him curt messages telling him to continue to support the rebel-
lion. When he finally refused to submit to their demands. Don joaquin sent
for 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 new
government had received voluminous orders for raw sugar from the United
States, and was counting on his support to IT'E:etthe demand,
Don Joaquin immediately decided to construct a railway from the
outlying 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. He
had fortune on his side, but the colonellackcd thorough knowledge of these
modern mastodons. Elias, who in the war had been consulted on these mat-
ters, stayed on to oversee the construction. He kept much of the operations
going and became a reassuring presence at the villa.
One evening, in a patio under the moonlight, they dined and drank to their
collective 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 and
remarked, "We are blessed by your presence, colonel." She raised a glass as a
toast and sipped the wine.
"Everything, amigo," said DonJoaquin, "has been granted to me by
the 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 kissed
her, full and strong, on the mouth. The suddenness of this gesture, its drunken
brazenness, seemed to surprise her, and she accepted his kiss stiffly, with much
reserve. 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. Elias
himself felt like an intruder and averted his gaze. When he looked at her again
she had closed her eyes just slightly, taking in the wine-drenched passion of the
kiss.
In his room that night, drunk with wine and his new fortune, he
kept pacing around to assess his new life. It h.ad opened before him, as sudden
as a squall rising out at sea, and seemed to overwhelm him and toss his destiny
towards its obscure, frightening, magnificent end. There were several times when
his own sadness deepened at the thought that nothing of the future, not even
the next minute, was revealed to him, and that he lived his life as a wayfarer out
at sea, tossed by waves and drifting with little concern. 6nd he thought· Wh~t
was in the wine and in the moonli ht that made her eyes so fierce a
sadness 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 his
misfortune staring out at him on the coasts of so many islands whose shores he
could now barely remember. This evening, looking out at sea, he had found his
home.
The caisson lumbered up the bend towards Monte de Oro. When it
reached the downhill slope it sprang loose like a bull off its tethers. Several
workers 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 the
nearest ones with a dull whack. Five men died in the mishap. Elia,sbrought the
bodies 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: children
in tattered shirts of rough cotton handed down by theIr fathers, and women
with hair twined and knotted, falling like dark vines around their shoulders.
Who were these people? Somehow he had thought he would find somebody from
his 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 entire
village 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 men
to help the women bury their dead. Nobody moved. He repeated the order, and
still 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 a
church if they were to continue working on the railway.
"Do you need God's help to finish your work, amigo?" Don joaquin
asked him.
He said, "If there will be more accidents in the course of work, my
workers will need to bury the dead." He had found out recently that the villages
disposed of their deceased in an elaborate and ultimately practical ritual. They
first 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 they
tied it to a raft of coconut logs which was then pushed out and left to the sharks
and ravages of the Visayan Sea. It was not unusual for islands farther south of
San 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 and
calcified, like coral, from as far as the shores of South America.
"[will think about it," Donjoaquin told him, "when the need arises."
There were no further accidents after that, and as work progressed the couple
saw less and less of Elias. There were many evenin~ when he failed to join
them for supper, as was the custom since his arrival many months ago. But they
received continuous reports of the work's progress from soldiers dispatched by
Don joaquin and from the kitchen heip sent everyday by Dolia Consuelo to
bring 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 but
from the wastage of so much food - nothing lasted more than a few hours
under the tropic humJdity. She was kept awake at nights, looking out Into the
fields, 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 that
they should take their horses Ollt to the field to see what had become of their
railway.
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

sun with a lace veil that hovered over her eyes like a thick mist. When they
reached the camp they found that the men had finished work for the day and
begun a wrestling match in a clearing not far from the foothills. There were
several of them crowded in a circle, all howling and throwing sliver peso coins
in a wager. Inside the circle and the swirling dust were two of the strongest men
in the camp: a man who had survived the accident, perhaps miraculously, as he
had 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 kicking
up dust, when Donjoaquin and his wife arrived. Several men noticed their ar-
rival, and the howling and heckling simmered down until there was no sound
to be heard but the two men struggling. Just when Elias swung his opponent to
the ground, he noticed the unexpected visitors. Hesprang up, wiping his hands
against his trousers. And then his darkened face broke to a smile, his teeth and
eyes white against the mud and grime.
"I have imagined," DonJoaquin said, "there would be little time for
sport until the work is done."
Elias was silent for an instant, and then he threw his head back and
laughed. The other men ioined in his laughter.
"Senor," Elias said, turning towards the foothills. "Come and see for
yourself."
There,w~ no time to finish his announcement, because at that in-
stant a collective howl rose among the men who sprinted towards the direction
he had indicated. From the distance, hidden by the stalks of cane that had risen
h1ler than any man, a plume of smoke curled up, churned in the breeze and
trailed 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 to
a stop just a few meters from where the men had gathered to cheer and throw
their shirts and caps into the air. The car, a formidable machine that had been
shipped from Manila a year ago and had been left unused until now, loomed
like a huge, monstrous god, capable of mowing down any man.
Elias looked on proudly and said to Don Joaquin, "[ have given you
what 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 give
them back their souls."
Don joaquin steered his horse around and called after him, "Come
back 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 not
unlike the ferry that brought Eilas Camacho to San Miguel. In a few months,
the workers' villages would blo:lt Into oversized communities encumbering the
plantations. At night, plaintive ballads wafted from the fragile huts, singing of
life and death and the moon.
Elias Camacho built a cabin not far from the shore. He wanted to
drown 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 for
its rhythms, haVing heard them all throughout his life. With work on the rail-
way reduced to occasional repairs and maintenance, there was not much for
him to do, or so he felt. He longed once more to sail off, perhaps to islands past
the Canarias where people were not troubled by the bonds of hunger and the
earth. 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 onl
in 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. He
wanted so much more and yet nothing. His life had reached a cul-de-sac. This
evening 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 It
came 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 one
of those splendid evenings and the bridge over the Pasig had just been newly lit
with incandescent lamps. There were people staggering from some revelry, their
costumes 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 pushed
the 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. He
looked at himself In the mirror: the shadow of a beard had darkened his jowl
and his eyes looked grey and devoid of life. Perhaps he was still dreaming. He
smiled at the boy to see if he would smile back, but the boy receded into the
 ,11:111". f r 11111.
darkness, Elias walked out heavily, but as soon as he stepped outside the seawlnd
revived him. He jumped on his horse and motioned for the boy to follow him. In
the distance they could hear the sad ballads of death and deprivation. Across the
path, the moon, a pale crescentln the sky, tossed its milky Ught. The mountain
loomed ahead of them like a sleeping hunchback. He was wide awake now. He
could hear the thunder of the sea recede behind him. And because he and t~e
boy rode in sl[ence, he heard only his breath, just as in his cabin he heard only
the sea's lelentless call.
Don joaquin Suarez was sitting on the porch with his wife. He stood
up to greet Elias with a warm embrace and offered him a seat and a glass of
bourbon.
"We have been wondering, sir, what has become of you," Consuelo
said. "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 there
is 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 1000000000y a he was earning he could have booked himself at the elegant Oriente where the
wager in his cafes, but that has not soured cur friendship. Nonetheless [ do not
trust the Yanqui. They had, after all, deceived us into war. But all that is past, I
know. I need a man in Manila to represent the mill. TIlere is no one else [ can
trust, 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 more
loitering in beaches for the rest of our lives." He downed the bourbon and, with
the satisfaction of a man who had never made a wrong decision in his life, stood
up to scan the fields below them.
Consuelo walked to his side and slowly turned 'around to address
their guest. "Om prayers will be with you, sir," she told him. "We and the island
will miss you terribly."
f"llhl. f 1'1111111. f IITIIIII. 11111'1111
'. 111~11I1:1II ~!illll. f IILIIII" f 1111111111
'~[
THE AZUCARERA'S collaboration with William Jackson would be successful only
_ to a certain poinLlackson was a former officer of the American troops in the
1 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 as
worthless 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 of
\
Mmllla, he could eventually develop the land between city and new Village
into prime real estate. His sons later married into the wealthy families of
Manila 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 the
. concierge and stepped out Into the waning heat The clopping of hooves and the
gooselike honking of the trams in Escolta assaulted him. He wondered why
Elias Camacho insisted on staying in a busy street like this when with the money
notables stayed and were feted. Even the late Doctor Rizal had roomed there
and 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 the
numerous 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 New
York Bar, the Paris Confeclionary, the Philippine Trading House, the British
India House, La Commercial, EI Luzon. He greeted the passing merchants and
tourists. Soon after the war, when the American governors opened the islands to
the 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 de
France in Intramuros. The bar was called EI Pin de SI~IQ and its darkly lit
interior and creaking furniture, inherited from many of the condemned houses
of 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. Atthis moment Elias was Its central
attraction. 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 their
profession. 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 rooms
at 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 undress
him lovingly as though he were a gift, fighting over who should unbutton his
shirt, or unlace his shoes, or kiss the scars he received from the war, and which
adorned his smooth torso like indecipherable hieroglyphs. Aftertheir lovemak-
ing they would ask from him a lock of his hair, and he would adamantly re~use
because it would make him vulnerable to the hexes of the city's witches to whom
he knew these women would run in order to entrap him.
The azucarera had done good business, expanding production with
the help of money from partners Donjoaq uin Suarez had befriended in Manila
soon 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. The
women with their sad protestations and unbelievable lives drew him away from
his own loneliness, and he would stagger back to the hotel at night, drunk with
whiskey and affection. His bills accumulated to astounding proportions, and
notices from his friend Donjoaquin came in periodically, urging him to rent a
house somewhere in the residential quarters of the city. This was the day he
would decide to do so.
William jackson finally caught up with him that evening at El Fin
de Siglo. The women stayed deferentially a few feet away from him, as was the
manner in which they treated American businessmen, but hooted invitingly at
him from the bar. He dismissed them with a polite tip of the hat, his silver
moustache quivering above his lip. Elias was sitting underneath a whirring
ceiling fan, with his feet up on a table. jackson pulled a chair beside him and
handed 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 leeth
flashing 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 itsenvelope 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 and
his 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 we
should prepare for this visit. Should we book her at the Oriente?"
"You know these things more than I do," said Elias. "She will be
here for only a fewdays. Yes,the Oriente will be fine."
The MYMarinaJailed towards Manila Bayat dawn. She stood against
the 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. The
stripes flew over the shadow of a mascot, an eagle with spread wings. Cascoes
were 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 a
horde of drivers of carromatas and calesas. Somehow she had never Iiked the
city, harboring like her forbears a secret disdain for Its vulgar commerce, its
unabashed sense of progress. Riding past the wider streets towards Intramuros,
away from the cramped, cholera-stricken quarters of the pier, past the dank
huts 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 had
been informed that she was going to the best hotel in the city, and already she
could see its arches from a distance, its wide porticos and whitewashed facade
and 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 the
morning chill would giveway to suffocating heat, and the entire city would wilt
till sundown gave It reprieve from the sweltering sun She directed 11](' driver to
turn 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 (which
was how many residents of the city interpreted the epidemic). Their oodles were
piled in front of the convent and then carted away to a common pyre outside the
.•.
walls 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 she
wanted to. But sailing northward and staring out at the violent waters of the
Visayan Sea, she suddenly felt viciously alive. Outside of the constrictions of her
own island and her own past, she felt sparked by an unfounded sense of pain, or
some 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 of
the city burn in the distance, their fragile lives curling to smoke In a sacrificial
slumlJer. Farola was the first to go, its parched huts torn and burned t . ~
otlin
to decimate the Filipino population. and there were VOCiferousoutcries from.
t~ indignant aod the bewaved. She listened patiently to their stories. Andwhen 4 William Jackson finally turned to him and tweaked the ends of his
the sisters finally asked if she wanted to spend the rest of the day in private
quarters, she smiled wanly, and replied, "I have come at last to the end of the
world."
"That morning, at the Hotel Oriente, Elias Camacho waited for her
to arrive. Perhaps he had seen the coach driving past the hotel, and perhaps he
had darted out of the lobby, recognizing the profHe staring resolutely ahead
inside the passing coach He asked the concierge If Dona Consuelo was due to
arrive that morning, and the concierge answered for the fifth time that indeed
she was. And then, just when he saw the last passengers from the Marina being
driven into the city on coaches that hobbled with the weight of centuries, he saw
his driver coming back from the convent. The driver halted beside him, his
horse neighing with thirst and exhaustion.
"Perdone, senor," the driver called to him. "Dona Consuelo Suarez
is 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 traffic
of the clty, overtaking some calesas clopping over Puente de Espana towards
Escolta 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 ldsmell her powdered fragrances
stllllingering in the coach. When he closed his eyes he could almost imagine
her beside him.
Manila, Don William averred, was a city that had shed one persona to assume
another. Like an actor on a stage, he said, it changed its costume quickly before
the curtains rose for the second acl: American bars and tradi ng shops now stood
cheek by jowl with older cousins left over from the Spaniards. People had also
learned to supplant the Spanish language and were. now chirping in halting
bnglish.
Elias was not listening. The heat inside the carromata was sLiftling
and soporific, and he felt he was slowly losing consciousness, The enLire city
was in a state of ether. He had not seen Dona Consuelo for the past week and
now there was word that she had decided to sail back to San Miguel on the next
morning's ship. They parked in front of the Hotel Oriente, where Dona Consuelo
was staying for her last night. Porters were busy herding horses to a trough, and
visitors kept going out and in. This was the last place he had wanted to be,
thought Elias.
silver 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's
side. "Dona Consuelo says she will see you now," he said. Elias Camacho rose
heavily from his seat and straightened his hat. Hesmiled at Jackson and tapped
him 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," she
said 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 hacienda
would be nowhere without you. You are living comfortably here?"
"I have just moved to a house In the suburbs, senora. Adistrict called
Qulapo. The air Is cool, and from my quarters I can hear the river. Don William
likes 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 would
have 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?"
"\t"
"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 you
there soon," she said. "They have started building the church,"
"You must tell Donjoaquin that 1am very grateful, and that he may
expect me there in the future."
"In the near future, 1 hope," she said. "Our son will be baptized
there within the year."
Hewas taken aback, and she noticed his confusion. "Not within nine
months, senor. The sisters have a way of knowing, you understand. 1am certain
the colonel will choose you for a godfather. He trusts no one else,"
He staggered to the window and drew a deep, audible breath, It Is
over, he told himself, I will shatter everything, my world and all the people
around 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 of
the heat and the suffocating air of the city and the unpredictable winds: he
crushed against her, holding her by the shoulders, and kissed her on the mouth
with such desperation that she succumbed Immediately. This sudden, brief
moment obliterated all their misgivings about the past, and there was nothing
now 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 the
Iig~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 a
moment now he would be awake, He walked to her, and the scent of floral oils
and 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 Itstopped
him from approaching any further, but as in all dreams he was soon devoid of
his own will and he drew nearer, As he held out a hand to her she turned her
face slowly and looked at him with the eyes of someone who had long ago given
.up her own world.
SOMETIME Afl'ERTHAT we know that construction began on Villadel Fuego, named
after the river that coursed through the mountains and gave respite and nour-
ishment to the island.
' .. , rowrds the end of summer, when the searing heat gave way to
incessant rain, DOilaconsuelo gave birth to a boy.The baby was delivered in
the villa, with herbalists and nuns assisting the midwife. Dona Consuelo had
subsisted 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 slight
of weight, but also melancholic. Jun found records of this birth still extant in
the 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 it
Manuel, short for Emmanuel the King, Of the child's baptism Amalia
Romaldes writes:
Today the se~nts and workers were in a frenzy, The aroma of roast suckling
pig and spiced vegetables permeated the house, and cooks hobbled about the
kitchens, hauli pots overflOWingwith sauces and steam, Buntings of palm
and paper were set up around the mansion grounds. The soldiers ambled dis-
tractedly about, cajoling the cooks' maids into lavishing them with an early
meal.
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 towns
for goods and ammunition. Aparish priest had been shipped from the villages
of Sombrio. He was a whiskered, aging man of indeterminate years, efficient
and unobtrusive, and chosen specifically for his lack of purpose which ensured
 that no sennon of his would agitate the workers. Padre Juan Ferrer christened
U!.:..church after San Isidro, patron saint of laborers, and declared two days In
tb.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 even
mo~ impressively In boots and~~hpurs, were on horseback, leading a fragile
carnage on which rode Dona Consuelo and her newborn son. D6nJoaquin rode
his horse next to the carriage, surveying the crowd that had already gathered by
the 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 your
presence." 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 down
to her knees. She saw the two men talking and walked up to them. "He seems
not to bother about all this," she said to them. "Thank you for accepting our
invitation," she addressed Elias. He placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed
her. They walked to the font, and she handed the child to him. He accepted it
and was surprised to discover how light, almost weightless, it was. He had never
held a child In his anns before.
Padre Ferrer was waiting beside the font. A crowd moved in with a
reverent hush; this was in fact the first time many of them had entered the new
church. Large panels of mahogany and marble lined the walls, punctuated by
the heads of smiling cherubs and intricate candelabras of brass and shell. The
pews were of polished malave, over which splinters of color were cast by stained
glass windows.
The baptism ceremony was qUick and solemn. When the ancient
priest poured water over the young Manuel's head, the shock of ablution woke
him. He gav~ out n crackly whine and then a robust cry which echoed through
the church. The congregation burst into applause after the priest announced
the acceptance of the young master, Manuel PazSuarez, into the community of
Christians and welcomed him into the grace of the Lord. Elias Camacho turned
to show them the newly baptized and caterwauling Manuel. The chUd began
squinnlng Itself out of his tentative hold. Consuelo came to his aid and scooped
the child from his anns, calming it down with the incoherent, arcane placatlons
whose meaning is reserved only for mothers and their young, In the distance
the fireworks began: the soldiers set off the cracklers and small explosives bought
from Chinese merchants in Manila and accompanied this revelry by firing their
rifles Into the air. The guests streamed out of the church to look, and then
something happened. .
No one couid say exactly when the first horseman arrived, but in an
instant the guests were scampering about. Some scrambled back to the church,
while the others flitted to the back courts. One young man, confused by the
sudden 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 Instant
that he looked towards its direction a bright rose bloomed on his shirt. spread
across his chest, and he tumbled backwards, hitting the door.
The bandits had been waiting all morning for the congregation to
fill the church. They attacked the soldiers who had been idling outside and rode
towards the churchyard as the crowd cowered in the vestibule. The leader of
these bandidos, one Oscar Roca, was riding roughshod over everything in his
way, his rifle aimed at the church doors·
- "Don Suarez!" he shouted out as they rode past. "Your heir will pay
for the crimes of yom family' Mark these wordsJ"
Inside the church, Consuelo cradled the child even more tightly in
her 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 out
their pistols and took position by the doors, but the bandits rose past swiftly and
left only a trail of blood and swirling dust. Don Joaquin walked back to his wife
and placed a hand over her velled head. She looked up at him and said, "As
long as I am alive they will do no hann to this child."
The ancient priest waddled to her side and took her arm. "Dona
Suarez," 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 was
certain 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 the
next kingdom. She looked at him gratefuliy and then stood up and announced
that they were calling off all festivities until the congregation had buried its
dead.
AMALIA ROMALDES here takes writerly liberties with history. In fact, the festiviti~
continued, and there are doubts whether the bandits attacked the church at
all 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 looked
upon as an act of heroism, therefore his death caused considerable unpopu-
larity for the bandits, a ragtag group of nationalists, They were E:ventually
flushed out by the Philippine Constabulary, with considerable help from the
American troops in Manila. Here is how she ends her book:
That evening, when the last visitor had left and the debris of the aborted feast
had been left outside for the dogs, he suddenly realized he had not seen'his son
since that morning. He dashed about the house, knocking things over, and
stonned 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 out
the 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, was
holding the child in her anns and singing softly to it. At their feet were large
wooden traveling crates. She looked up at him as he opened the door. Little by
little he could see the room: the carved wooden closets had been dredged of
clothing, 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 Elias
Camacho.
Hewalked in. Elias rose to meet him. "J'm sorry," Ellas said. "( have
been 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 to
grow 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 on
his shoulders. "1 have never dreamed my two best friends wuuld betray me like
this."
Consuelo said, "There has been n0 betrayal. lIer~ is proof of my faith
in you, and I will do everything to protect it. I would even leave this frightful
place to save it from harm You do not undrrstand anything at all. Perhaps I
should have betrayed you."
Don joaquin flewfrom his chair to Consuelo's side, holding his hand
up 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 one
else 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 live
in!"
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 you
have, and your only friend's?"
"[ have never stopped being a friend to you," Elias said. But there
was no time to finish the declaration: in an instant Don joaquin hit him In the
jaw. He reeled momentarily but stood his ground.
"I won't hit you, amigo," Elias.said
Donjoaquin rushed out of the house, hollering for his soldiers Mem-
bers of the household, servants and cooks roused by the commotion, peered out
at their distraught master who was riding away and up to the mountain with
fifteen 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 moon
heaved its sharp horns over the mountain ridges.
Late in the evening a squall rose among the fields, and by morning
it had intensified into a storm. The rains battered the crops and flooded the
footpaths, turning them into muddy torrents. Allday they looked out for signs
of Don Joaquin's brigand, but all they could see wa., the hovering grey of the
storm swathed about the mountains like a shroud At nightfall the dogs bayed
at the thundering sky, the windows of the villa were shuttered and the lamps
kept 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. and
brought out blankets Don joaquin leaned on his horse, his side punctured by a
deep wound. He could hardly walk, so they carried him into his room. Doiia
Consuelo stayed up all night to dress his wounds He was delirious for most of
the night, calling out to the men he had left dying in the storm. Elias stayed
close 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 a
corner of the room. "Now the island is yours," he said in his stupor. She tried to
help him sit up, Elias rushed to help her, and immediately Don Joaquin seized
his hand and held it tight. He released his grip slowly and submitted himself to
the tenderness of his wife's embrace, "Call for help, please," she told Elias, and
he ran down to alert the servants. She could hear them darting about the grounds
of the villa, sending off a carriage for the doctor and the priest. For the first time
in 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 searcn
out the love she had always looked for and things they had seen together: blac
storm, ocean water, great mountain. Warm tears streamed down her cheeks.
She whispered a prayer in his ear but found she could barely remember beyond
those words: storm, ocean, mountain. She lit a votive candle beside him and
said, "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 her
arms still draped over his body, and the candle still burning beside them, throwing
shadows across the room.
Hidal 0 Discovers A Journal
THESEFRAGMENTS from the lovelorn Amalia Santiago Romaldes my colleague
]un endured during his retum to Villa del Fuego, Most of the time, he said, he
felt he had to go out of the villa and into the villages around it. He spent one
afternoon In the planters' barrio just outside the azucarera. Wrinkled women
with furtive eyes rrlade way for him as he scanned the lean-to's with their
sickly 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 where
grimy children splashed around and washed their clothes and drank, Ase-
cluded shore lined with drab brown huts stank with mulch and refuse. Even
the sky seemed cloudier, dusted with smoke from the mills, They called their
villages by the names of saints, many of whom may have been invented to
accommodate the proliferation of barrios: Saint Genevieve, Saint Andrew,Saint
Gregory, Saint RebeClCa,Saint]ohn. Collectively they called their villageUos.-
Ciudades de Muerte, Cities of Deatb. After the summer, when all the canes
had been cut, they went Qut to sea for fish, throwing dynamite they had im-
prOVisedfrom gin bottles and gunpowder. Many of them blew up accidentally
in 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 tne
privately published volumes written by members of the family: the Suarezes
andSantiagos were indefatigable writers of treatises and priv.atejournals which
had 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 wife
wasted no time and led him to the library. Although he had earlier made the
courtesy of informing her about the task, he sensed Dolores Zabarte was merely
obliging now, without her former hospitality. But in the library, tojun's sur-
 prise, sh~ showed him a copy of Amalia Romaldes' despised edition. She pulled
the 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 it
the 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, you
see, 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 her
believe it was being published, despite its contents. Have yay pyblished a
book Mr. Hidalgo? I am told it is the final moment of a sacrifice when th
demon its writer in thraUts finaU cast oul."
Her aunt Amalia ironica y suffered the fate she had intended for
the-subjects of her book: she was no longer around to come to her defense. In
the 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 purely
hjtorical pu!])oses by Dolores' mother herself, Isabela, and later, after Isabela's
tragic death, delivered to Dona Zabarte. The other had been sold by mistake
to 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, she
wr')te her book many l'ears later in an attempt to sully reputations, perhaps
even 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 therapy
during her convalescence in the convenl. Her delusions drove her to adopt
the 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 enough
to 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 house
of card)."
Books passed on from the time o(Dona Consuelo filled the library
which she had built to indulge her~on's predilection for the written word.
There were leatherbound editions published in Spain, France and the United
States, gilt-edged Bibles, original editions of the Harvard Classics; and first
editions 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 a
wedding picture-her father, Manuel Suarez, tousle-haired and seraphic,
and her mother, Isabela, firm and proud, with sharp features and very black
hair. 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 blossomed
with 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 of
the 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-a
Fili 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 restore
the industry by working the mills himself. There were several pictures of him
in the family album, one with arm resting on a shovel but with clothes still
immaculate and hair neatly pasted with brilliantine. There were also pic-
tures of his wife, a young convent girl with a dark, sad face, whose name
could be found scibbled under a portrait she had sent the young volunteer. To
my beloved Egidio, from Maria Bernardina.
Besides these were several photographs of their sons, Colonel Jose
Zabarte and his younger brother, Antonio. From these pictures it was almost
possible to tell the personalities of the two brothers. The colonel seemed
healthier and more robust, while his younger brother looked pale and with-
drawn. There were photographs of them while in college in Manila. For some
time it seemed as if the brothers were inseparable, and had they looked more
alike 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 the
trip from his Manila dormito'ry a night earlier, When he arrived, he stared at
the lavish fiesta waiting for him and remarked, "All this food could have fed
Manila's poor," His mother cried but Jose was unfazed by the remark. "It's
just like Tony," he said, "to be disgusted by all this attention we lavish on
him." The brothers grew increasingly aparl..6!}tonlQ joioed the f1el)j idealis-
tic demonstratiQns and marched towards Mend' where
he ave ra in s eec es enouncll1 t e residenc and American foreign
Qlic . 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 he
raduated a ba e is class. During one of their soirees at the
cQuntry club he met DolQres, a reluctant socialite and azucarera heiress from
the old hometown. For many afternoons thereafter they met at the country
club, walking under the pines and discussing poetry in the chilly air. They
went 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 the
state. She herself was bored by the affairs of men and hoped for some kind of
peace, if only to avoid such talk. She wanted her life to stabilize, and when
Jose asked her to marry him she knew their life, his and hers, would now take
on an even keel, like a ship that had set sail for calmer seas. She insisted that
they stay at the villa, her mother's home. Now she was anchored safely, and
he with her, Unlike her largely peripatetic forbears, she found reason to stay
in one place and be as immobile as a rock,
"This one, sir, was my husband at the academy, and this on a day
during our honeymoon."
In one corner of the room was another portrait: a young man with
a sad, brooding face, lean and handsome, his eyes dark and piercing. Jun
askedher who the last portrait was, and Dolores gave a surprising reply.
"That is Colonel Elias Camacho, who to the very end remained a
good and faithful friend of the family, The book you have in your hands, sir,
is an unfortunate lie."
108 Empire of Memory
SPENDING THEREST of his stay mostly at the library,Jun found other books that
caught 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 with
pagan salutations: some were prayers for safe juurney, childbirth and sleep,
while others·were invitations to saints, ghoSL~and demons, (l~well a~short
courtesies to appease the spirits in rivers, trees, stones, They were prayers, she
wrote in an introductory note, she remembered being taught as a child, as
well as those she had heard her governesses and the help recite, and she had
compiled 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 as
the one on prayer, but this had sketches of butterflies and short annotations
and no explanatory note. Apparently the aggrieved Dona Consuelo had taken
to studying the island's lepidoptera when prayers were not enough to console
her.
There were also several volumes by her quiet and studious son
Manuel: 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-there
were neither short biographies of the author nor loving dedications.
And then something curious happened. When he tried to put the
books back they wouldn't go all the way in. He peered into the shelf and
discovered 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 had
found enough material for his work in their library, Guiltily he told her he
had looked the books over but would only begin reading the next day. He
suspected they wouldn't be too happy if they knew he had Amalia's journal
with him. The colonel was exceptionally jovial, (l'l ?.Icohol always had this
effect 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. Antonio
had led the Times employees union, recalledJun, and once managed a week-
long strike, The union WQn,Dolores seemed interested in his story, but the
colonel 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 she
talked 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, he
suspected, was the girl's condition.
Afterdinner and the customary drink,Jun excused himself and pored
over his discovery. He jotted down some excerpl~ for his report, and took note
of the fact that the sisters, Isabela and Amalia, had ~ecently moved into the
island from Manila at the time Amalia began writing her journal. The sisters
apparently lived in a mansion rented near the villa by their parents who were
doing business with the Suarez mills. They were brokers, acquiring orders
from the States and Europe, and spent almost all their time traveling. The
two sisters for most of their lives had been entrusted to the care of governesses
and convent sisters in Manila, but apparently the city, with its burgeoning
commerce and entertainment industries, was not deemed a proper place for
decent girls to gro;wup in. Most of the entries in Amalia's journal were wrjtteo
probably from 1941 !lOtjl\bQ~tli' ~'~F tke SessRd World War. The journal
begins with an unflattering impression of the strange island they were to
spend 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't
care to ask. There are ragged palms and dusty roads full of carabao carts and
dogs, and no lights at night. The smell of the sea comes in from evel)Where and
sticks to our clothes, and even the water we drink tastes like the sea, so salty and
with a queer mint color. The people are obseqUious and polite, but they speak a
vulgar 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 radio
or the gramophone, and have no idea what an ice cream noat looks Ilke. When
we disembarked at the pier they thronged around the docking ship as though it
were a massive god sent from heaven. They swarmed around the crates being
unloaded. I feared forour po~ssions because they seemed they would tear loose
the 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 I
felt 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 these
gatherings. I prefer going to films, where 10 the darkness Icanimagillc I am in
a strange, perfect world. She knows I will do nothing but sulk In a corner and
wish for the night to end, and she will be up al: night, dancing with the most
raucous and ill-mannered men in town, Sht's the one who's been excited all
week about meeting these people, I am content with staying in the house all day
and shutting myself off from the wunds and smells of this horrible island. I
must 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 the
ball for six hours and I was getting very tired. She was up all night dancing. I
cannot imagine the embarrassment tomorrow when the convent starts talking
of 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 as
uncomfortable 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 it
seemed he disliked this ball most of all. Once or twice I caught him looking at
the glass windows at his reflection and preening himself. He seemed about the
most vain person I had ever met, but I felt grateful for his bland, undemanding
company. He seemed strange and sickly pale, but he had very good 100 ks' I
found out later, when I told [sabela about him, that all the women at the dance
had been wanting to dance with him, His name Is Manuel Suarez, the son of the
lady who had invited us to the ball. He had just returned from his studies in
Manila, and the dance had been arranged to introduce him to the town, I never
knew [was going to be the envy of everyone that night, haVing spent all of two
hours with this quiet, retreating, narcissistic soul.
Atchurch we saw Manuel Suarez again, I introduced him to Isabela, lie seemed
more reticent than before, butnol as pale; he said his mol her had sent him to
the seaside to get some sun. He is coming over to the house to bring some books
tonight. lsabela invited him to come.
I suspected she likes him, which is not so surprising, everybody in town seems back. 1ran as fast as 1could, and when I reached home my heart was beating so
to like Manuel, but he is so detached from everything, so aloof. They say there fast) was afraid everybody in the house could hear.
were unfavorable events during his birth, but people here talk like that. 1 have
very 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 so
I saw them walking in the garden today. I was filled with an unbearable pain,
far away. Tonight when he comes I shall learn more ahout him.
They looked so beautiful together, Manuel and Isabela, and there is no doubt In
my mind that they will be lovers someday. One only has to look at certain peo-
Isabela dominated the entire conversation, as always. He seemed to en joy her ple to know they are destined for one another, and no matter how much one
company. I felt more and more shut oul. Now he has found someone stronger fights the fact everything seems to lead towards the inevitable IwiIIsay nothing
than himself. lsabela mirrored his own radiance, and there they were, two suns more, I cannot bear thinking about how it was when I saw them. She had her
outshining the other. [ remained silent most of.the evening, and Isabel a ever hand in his, He seemed seraphic under the sunlight. His hair is like a halo that
graciously turned to me more than once to ask if anything was the matter. I envelo~ everything around him with his glow, his silence, his serenity.
could see right through her insincerity. (loathed her superfluous vivacity, and
1detested Manuel for giving in too easily to her ploys. 1shall have nothing to do
with this vain, selfish man in the future.
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 because
I 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-
I cannot bear going to church any longer.l know 1can only see Manuel Suarez
ably since we first met him. He comes often to visit, his shirt always dusted by
there. My beautiful angel, my ray of sunlight. 1 sit in the front pews with my
the pollen that falls off butternies' wings. He has become more open, more fa-
sister, knOWing he is somewhere at the back, his eyes fixed on me, on my back.
miliar, and even laughs occasionally. There is something childlike and inno-
I can feel his gaze piercing behind me. I can no longer concentrate on any-
cent about him when he laughs. Perhaps this h2s something to do with his
thing. I sing my psalms loud to shut him out of my mind. I say my prayers with
infatuation for my sister. I feel her unkindness for him is undeserved But I
twice my former devotion, but with each word I utter my prayers mean less and
remain silent.
less.

Last night I went to town alone for the first time. Nobody knew who Iwas. There
( look out the window often and hear the sea roaring in the distance. I have
were workers there from the plantations, drinking this foul-smelling alcohol
grown accustomed to it now, and I fear I'll never hear it again. I cannot see it
they ferment from the heart of palm. They had women with them, ragged and
from here but I know it is there, vast and powerful as God. I look out sometimes
dirty with loud voices and unpainted fingernails. 1 could hear the sound of a
and imagine the waves calling to me. This is what mariners must fce\ and an-
piano somewhere, but I couldn't tell where the music was coming from. Surely
swer - the call of the water to which the now of their blood responds the way
these people cannot own pianos? When I passed by an aUey a man hissed at me.
the turtle's young break out of their shells and seek the pounding of the waves.
I stopped to look, and from the shadows he called to me.
In their pure hearts they know they must go to the water or die. Those of us who'
"Young woman," he said. "Walk with me in the dark."
hear the call and have no such passions wither and remain forgotten on land.
"] 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 frightful
face, pocked and shriveled, dark a~ld grimy, the face of a man long dead. 1
screamed ili panic and ran off. Icould hear him laughing as ( ran. I didn't look
 went on. I could hear nothing else. I tried to imagine the roar of the sea but it
I cannot believe the news. Manuel's mother has asked on her son's behalf for
had left me a long time ago.
Isabela'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 for
them. I don'tlhink they want to bother about our lives too much, and I k.10W
this is be~ause we are women. What great commotion this would cause if Isabela
Manuel talks to me often, and I am happy to receive him. He is bored With life at
were a manl Tomorrow, if things go well, Isabel a and Manuel will be engaged.
the villa, I know. He is distracted in Manila and unhappy in San Miguel.~
Their names will be posted onlhe church door, and in five months there will be
tbWnericans are taking over much of the busines.~here and are making more
a quiet wedding. Isabela will finally live with Manuel In the Suarezes' villa. I
Oloney out of su~ar than the plantations themselve~ He has no friends among
asked her how she feels about the arrangement and she says she has not been as
them, he tells me, but he deals with them everyday. He says there is talk of war~u.:w},
thrilled in her life. I know now she will do nothing but torment Manuel, seell1g
in Ellrope.apd in China. These places are not real to me. [live here in=;;;ysmarr
she does not truly love him. 1can tell by the way she answers me that she feels
world, hemmed in by the water and by my solitude. Wars have no meaning for
she is being forced into this marriage .•!.Jmow that DoPa Cpnsue1a spuez oply
me. Man~el thinks they are real enough. His face has grown sadder, less an·
wants good stock. She does not think like a woman. this DoDa Consuelg She_
gelic. I want so much to reach out and touch that face, but if I do so it will
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
vanish.
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;IL
•.
this is all beinK done to Diem h@rilollQ nlll a.n)'9ni eli'@ I ~nst steer clrm of ber .
I know her kind.
Manuel talks often of the Japanese and how they will take control of Asia. The
only Japanese I know are the merchants who have opened shop here and in
Manila. They say there are Japanese prostitutes in town, but I have not seen any
of 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 talk
I cannot bear to look at the moon. It seems too distant, too beautiful, too
of war coming into the islands. He says the war in Europe will last longer, and
unreachable. that many other parts of the world will find themselves at war. Hesays trade has
gone down, everything Is at a standstill. He grows sullen by the day. I grow
afraid when he talks like that. I have not seen my sister for a long time. I wonder
I have not been feeling well, and lsabela suggests I should go back to Manila. if she also grows afraid when there is talk of war and how it is coming to us the
There are all sorts of diversions there, bars full of American businessmen and way the waves of the sea crash into shore.
restaurants with French and English food. They say you cannot cross the streets
too carefully anymore because the city has so many automobiles. The noise is
unbearable, the heat more so. But the pleasures of the city make up for all that.
There are reports of raids and blackouts north of Manila. The Japanese have
She and Manuel are going there after the wedding. She wants me to go with
bombed most of the ports. Many American businesses have left. The few who
them, for my diversion. But I cannot bear the thought of spending the night on
control the industry here have also left. But Manila issafe, and so are we. Weare
the same boat with them. I shall have to look elsewhere for my health, for my
too far away from this business of war, and our lives continue. I see Manuel
happiness, for my escape.
often, now that he has not much to do. He says Isabela is pregnant, but they are
not sure. She has had spells like these for the past few months She torments
him 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
Allthroughout 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

yansactions, new masters to pay homage to He has become very cynical, my
Manuel. I look at him and feel only infinite sadness, my own and his.
II dream: I am walking by the sea, watching this silver icicle hanging from the
moon. 11is deathly cold. I cannot feel my hands. My eyes st\ng from the icy
wind. Allof a sudden I see giant crows flying everywhere and covering the moon
Their purple win~ flap noisily they shriek and hurt my ears. I cover my ears
and run, but there is nowhere to go: only this pervasive darkness and this cloud
of Wings. I look up and discover the crows pecking at the moon, tearing its light
to shreds. Finally they vanish, flying off into the distance. I look at the sea a;1d
there is nothing but flecks of torn light everywhere, pulsing like small, strange
creatures 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 to
fight the war in Europe. That is what Manuel tells me. He says the Americans
have 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 as
well. To prevent bloodshed, we will not put up a fight. We will let them march
in, and we will do business with them because that is what they want. Manuel
says a new era hl~come. He says the Americans have lost this war and will not
be back again. I grow more and more afraid of him when he talks like this. We
have given up the mansion and 1have moved in with them. There is no mail
and the banks are closed. From the money we have saved from the rent we buy
rice and coffee at exorbitant prices from carpetbaggers all over town. Isabela
will give birth very soon. Even that makes him panic. He seems lost now, my
Manuel. 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 over
my meals. We eat corn and tubers and weeds that grow in swamps, and innards
of 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. The
Japanese kempeitai do not allow American music to be played or books to be
read. They have well-bred officers in the camps, but the soldiers we see everyday
are Insufferable-at night they-become intoxicated and boisterous I believe
soldiers are the same everywhere. Whenever we see them on the streeL~we have
to salute them In the most ignominious manner, boWing to them like captive
vassals. 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 turn
our eyes away. We are told these men were tortured and bayoneted. No one dares
to 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 was
in labor. She screamed and wailed all through the ordeal, my poor sister. She
kept cursing at everyone in sight, including Manuel and the midwife. The baby
came 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 and
wrapped it In dry clothes. w.,eshall have it baptized ve soon even
forbids 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 In
o ~ 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 the
mills and all sorts of metal scraps. He tells me the SClapSare shipped back to
Japan 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 t
ea 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 are
doing 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 v
ometimes 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 sure
If Itwas a sob I heard, but 1 ~ked in and I saw her sitting in the shadows, her
chair pulled close to the window and looking out at the town where all the
lights had gone, d me once, soon after that ball where I first saw
Ma ue reatest pleasure wou e to take over the house fr
.consuelo. Nowshe seems to lave one t lal. She has reduced Dona Consuela to
a relic kept and dusted each day, and her son to something less-what It is I
don't know. Isabela and Manuel often fight in front of me. She scorns him and
calls him a traitor and says he will pay when the Americ;)s return. I myself
believe nobody will return. we are all alone on 'this island. Our livescircle about
us like birds of prey. We see only one another, and become entangled only in
each other's lives.We are kept like prisoners on this island by ellow uards who
neither speak our language nor un erstand our live~ At night I look out the
window and list"" hll~E :lEIl.Iti'S"lib longer there. There is only this boundless
emptiness, this darkness.
The officers and their soldiers have become frequent visitors to the villa. They
require us to entertain them and offer our sincerest hospitality. They listen with
unmistakable rapture as lsabela and I take turns playing the pianos. Their eyes
iquint with delight a1 Bach Brahms Chopin, Schubert They seem to have an
~limited capacity for 'lllpreciation and for a few moments thR)'seem human
and not those beasts in uniform we encounter in the streets. The officers are
particularly gallant, and arrive each evening with real coffee and real tea, as
well as rations of rice. We are thankful for these and play music as though it
welled 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~e
since they arrived, and they have been diligent about teachin i Manuel
has become conversant a out a great many things in this language. He tells us
that there will be new signposts and billboards not only in San Mig\jel but in
ManiIa especially, and that the Japanese signs will replace the American, which
are 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.
This afternoon I witnessed the operations of the Makapili. After the Japanese
assembled people from the town, the Makapili arrived with woven baskets over
their 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 the
kempeital carted the vlctlms off to camps, We knew they would be tortured and
we 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 It
open with bamboo slicks. They pour muddy water into It until the victim Is
bloated beyond recognition. Then they place a board over his belly and jump on
it. 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 over
this to Manuel and Isabela, who seem not in the least perturbed, "We are alive
and that is all that matters," Manuel says to us. I cannot understand how he
can remain unaffected by all this. I have heard that the Makapili are rewarded
handsomely by the kempeitai. Many of them were no more than jobless va-
grants before the Japanese arrived, and now they own most of the businesses
here, 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 the
sacksful of Japanese paper money they buy their share of rice and corn. We are
more fortunate here: we have land where we grow vegetables and graze our
goats. But I cannot Imagine how long ~.biswill last.
Isabela and Manuel fight everyday. I take the baby when it cries, and from the
balcony I can hear them shouting 1t each other. I wonder sometimes why 1
insist 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, but
so unlike any of us.
Adream: I am walking by the sea and suddenly [ see a rainbow extending from
one end of the island to the other. It is iridescent and mesmerizing, and the
colors are so vivid (can almost touch them. Andthen it fades, the rainbow fades
and In Its place is a long black arch that engulfs the Island ~d when r look
back 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. We
have no medicines except what thejapanese army dispenses to us, quinine and
ether. 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 feel
anything here, except the vast, empty darkness at night and the Inconsolable
howling of the children. I press my hands against my ears at night and wish for
the sounds to vanish, But each night Is darker, the voices grow louder, more
relentless.
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 a
word . 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 time
ago: 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 had
she said that than Manuel hit her on t e ace so hard she stumbled
the 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 say
anything. 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 was
over she looked at me and thanked me for coming to comfort her. I felt a strong
feeling of guilt because I knew I was not the friend she saw me to be. I had been
a traitor all these years: I had wanted her unhappiness because it meant for
myself not happiness but something akin to it, the absence of unhappiness.
Later that evening, when heads were cooler, we arranged that she and Manuel
should talk. They talked the whole night, and we left them alone so they may
resolve their differences. 1went to bed knOWing in my heart 1 had done all that
I could, [slept but I had so many dreams which I cannot now recall. I only
remember that I kept waking up at night with this vast emptiness crowding into
my solitude, snuffing out my breath and pounding in my blood. I kept hoping
for daylight so this darkness and emptiness would be over,
Isabela has left. No, she hasn't left th'e island, only the villa. And now she has
sent word to me that she has found lodging in town, and she will stay there with
the baby until more permanent. quarters are arranged. Manuel is throwing a fit
but has finally decided to let matters run their course He will allow Isabela her
leave but insists that for Dolores' sake she take a nanny with her. For the past
few 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 doing
now. There is talk that the Americans are arriving soon, much sooner than we
expected. 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 let
the kempeitai know we are listening. Last night they heard the shortwave news
coming from a house in town. They arrested everybody in sight and shot the
master,~before everyone. 1 cannot imagine how Isabela will survive alone in
town with all that trouble coming in. I must go there and see that she's all
right. I feel very weak now.] have not been sleeping well. But these are unusual
' times, I \<now, ] am not the only one who has problems.
Last night we heard the news: the Americans have landed and taken Leyte. Soon
they 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, saying
there is no chance the Americans will drive the Japanese oul. He knows how
much ammunition there is in the camps. He walks about the house telling
everyone to prepare for another war. The servants tell me all this, as I cannot
bear to be anywhere near him anymore, Once in a while I sneak out some
things for the baby. [ see Manuel alone in his library, and want so much to
console him, to let him know I can listen, But not now,
Darkness and sorrow. My hand trembles as I write this, my mind is overcome
with grief. The American planes started dropping bombs this morning, and the
entire island was caught by surprise, The Japanese army has retreated toward
the mountains. There is news that they massacred hundreds of civilians along
the 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 villa
with stories of horrifying deaths at the hands of the Japanese. Young men were
lined up and bayoneted. Children and babies were flung in the air and caught
wlth 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 no
place to hide. The bombs fell evel)Where. When we heard about this we were
overcome 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 American
soldiers arrived, we forgot about him completely. They trooped in cautiously,
trudging from the shores where they had landed-how many weeks ago? We
ran out Into the streets to watch them coming. They looked so young and so
relieved 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 the
last of our friends and relatives from the town. (looked around amidst all the
noise 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 rose
out of the rubble. Then I saw Isabela running towards me, the baby wrapped in
her anns. She was crying from grief and joy all at once, as everybody was.l felt
so relieved to see her and asked if she had seen Manuel. No, she said, but people
along the way told her Manuel had left earlier to look for her. And then a man
called out to us: Come quickly, the church is burning! Wepanicked, ran aroun
and looked for water. There was none. All the pipes had been bombed wee
before and we could only fetch water from the river. We ran to the church onl
to find it had become a giant blaze rising slowly to the sky, its tongues of fir
licking the wooden foundations and coiling around the stone structure, while
ribbons of black smoke curled out from them and choked everyone. Somebody
said a man was inside. They tried to break the walls down with pickaxes and
poles, but the fire was too much for them. Manuel! they shouted. 1 ran closer
when I heard his name. I don't know if it was Manuel that 1saw but [ did see
someone there, not a person but something else, howling and crying with all
the grief of the world. 1called out his name but he gave out only an ear-splitting
howl. 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 byt
there was no reply. They pulled me awa from th . [ remember onl t
heal and the sound of the beams crashin and the entire church co
hear sa a crymg in me. And I heard somethin else som
me: an inc oate an
urc
lthink of Manuel often but I do not talk about it, as this seems to provoke a
rush of tears among the residents in the villa. Sometimes I want to go into Doi'ia
Consuelo'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. I
know she grieves deeply for her~on, for the island, for everything we have lost in
the war. Every night I imagine how it must feel to burn, and what thoughts
occur 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 senses
and blinds one to everything but the sensation of fire peeling one's skin and
draining one's blood. 1 pray for you, Manuel, and weep for you, and hope you
have offered your suffering enough to gain reprieve in heaven I must believe
this 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 us
she has recovered. She is stronger than anyone thinks, my sister, and everyday
we 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 the
time. 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 they
know about Manuel's dealings with the]apanese, but they refrain from talking
about it. In town I have seen collaborators belng lynched and executed, but we
have been left alone. I know it is because ofDona Consuelo, whose late husband
knew many of the new American governors and military officers. They come
here often with gifts of chocolates and coffee for the old woman, and also for
ourselves, 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 and
grief. 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 Maria
Bernardina. They brought with them a bottle of American whiskey, hut Isabela
and [ didn't want any of that loathsome liquor, Don Zabarte became rather
loquacious and officious as th(' night wore on, Isabela found him partlcul'"lv
offensive, but surprisingly she kept silent, perhaps because she had made good
friends of some of the American soldiers there. Don zabarte's wife, Dona Maria
Bemardina, must have found it a relief to talk to some women while the men
Indulged in liquor and vulgar conversation. All through the night she seemed
concerned aboultheir two children they had left alone back at their quarters.
She seemed most anxious to get this dinner over with for their sake; 1imagine
she had been dragged here against her will. The elder one, she told me and
Isabel a, was only about five but could take care of his younger brother who was
two. Isabela naturally found her good company as they could talk of children
all night long. Little Dolores was asleep. She is an energetic child, romping all
over the house by day until she has exhausted herself to sleep. [ have grown very
fond of her and lsabela seems jealous of our closeness and seems to resent my
presence sometimes. [ had to excuse myself early at dinner because I wasn't
feeling too well enough to stay up. Lately I have had dizzy spells and I wake up
in the mornings feeling drowsy and heavy, as from prolonged illness. The sol-
diers chorused their disappointment and begged me to stay but I insisted on
leaving. Don Zabarte himself rose up gallantly when I left, the others went about
their drinking, which is probably why [ chose not to remember their names.
The millstlave resumed working and the island is busy again. There is talk that
the new government will start rebuilding Manila from the rubble. I cannot bear
to 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. 11
would 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. I
can hardly hold a pen to write, but I force myself to overcome this. I look out the
window 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 shake
so 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 the
sister's own farm and br.ead which they make, and I am expected to consume
all that they bring me. I am gaining more weight, they say. I look at myself on
the 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 have
improved greatly. This morning they gave me this surprise: a set of pens and a
shade of clean paper to write on, 1shall have many things to say. I :Iln happy
here.
I have not written anything on this journal for months, and I see its blank
pages staring at me like a neglected orphan. I have begun a book about our
lives, and it's terribly exhausting even the sisters notice my fatigue. They say I
must not exhaust myself through writing, But I cannot stop. I feel I am driving
away 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 brother
of hers who works In Manila. He has a small printing press there and would be
interested in my work. The sisters are very supportive of what I do, even !I J lIt:vt;r
show them my work. They say it is good to keep my mind off many things, but
at 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 of
getting my work published! Now I am terribly confused, uncertain of my own
writing. This evening after vespers I tore out several pages from my work and
will have to write everything all over again, but even now I feel I do not have the
strength to do so. My health has worsened, I am sure of It. At night I cough
without end, and during afternoons I burn with fever. I write opiy when the
fever subsides and I am strong enough again to pick up my pen, But more often
than not, I just stare out and watch the grass bend in the wind. There is so much
life out there, and more and more I feel I am being excluded from it. I seem to
be 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 picked
frolll 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 a
robust, 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, just
looking out at the convent grounds. The nuns have kept the place well tended
and Isabela still makes substantial contribullons In the name of the late Manuel
Suarez, God rest his soul. I think of him occasionally on these long walks, and
how his memory lingers in these grounds, his spirit at rest at last among the
shrubs and trees. I do not go to the cemetery anymore (the sisters refuse to take
me there anyway), I can no longer feel him there. I feel he has gone far enoul\h
where 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 of
the sisters had shown her my manuscript before having it shipped with other
cargo 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've
been to Manuel's family. 1don't know what she's talking about; she herself was
never exactly a saint to her late husband. 1 tell her everything that's on my
mind now, and I don't care what she says to me. My book is the only thing
where I have set myself free, and 1 will not allow her to stop it from gettlng
published. Isabela has taken control of my life for a long lime now, and this will
have to end. Iwill not allow her to deny me the only thing I was able to create in
my entire life.
I look at the trees outside the window. 1 have shut everything out. I am alone
and 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. This
piece 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 cannot
imagine I had the strength to write all this. The word.~look so different on the
page. I am a different person now, not the same one who wrote these words so
many 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 r
we that strao~er 10 the futyre. Isabel a looks at me and knows how weak I have
become. I tell her I regret nothing. She weeps beside me, my poor, unhappy
sister, and asks me to forgive her. But for what? How sad she has been all these
years, 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 around
me. I know I have reached this far and will never return. How unfamiliar this
-
),
landscape is now, so new and so full of light.
JUNRETURNED THEJOURNALthe next morning. He was certain now that it was no
accident it had been tucked behind the books. Hecarefully pulled out Manuel
Suarez's tomes on agriculture and wedged Amalia's journals back in. Then
he replaced Manuel's books and was about to peruse through Dona Consuela's
prayer book when Colonel Jose Zabarte walked in. Rain was pouring all over
the island that morning, and all around them was the sound of its steady
drone.
"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 the
rest of the world. We have our misunderstandings, our reunions, our own
problems and pleasures. The rain makes us heavy of heart, like you." He
slumped down on an armchair and lit a.cigarette. "My wife dislikes it when I
smoke in this room, She says the smoke does harm to the books. Will you
have 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, you
know, but that's how it is in this country. Our anceslors were far too few they
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.
the media by the balls. You worked for the media once, didn't you? Do you
believe everything they say?"
]un had to admit thai' he didn't, and the colonel said, "My brother
and I used to have long arguments about which side to take, whatlo believe
in, whom to serve. All this talk tires me, especially because I know his part of
the argument holds no water. The com01unisl.'i have l1othin&to offer,Ilidalgo b

"I can tell you everything you need to know. No need to go through the agony
~cept visioJJSof a new order, and even that seeIDsconfused. That new order
of reading college papers and novellas. I have read every book on these shelves,
~ have no rice, no food, no houses. nothing for its enlightened people. You
Hidalgo. I know you don't believe me. I can be an obnoxious boor some-
can't feed people on hope all the time. You have to give them the real thing;..
times. But books give mecomfort which nothing else in this world does. Have
real food and real houses. ~r was a dreamer, sePill, He fled our home
you read the Ramayana, Hidalgo? The great books tell us that good and evil
to follow a dream, and I know that little by little, up in his hut in the Montes,
are inherent in the world, and man in his folly acts out a script too great for
that dream IS being corroded by reality. Do you know what they do to our
him to understand. Don't bother with the family novellas, compadre. Read
men when they capture them? Last week we found the body of one of our
the books that matter while you're here." soldiers, a young man, almost just a boy, from the village, a very promising
"I found them interesting, actually," Jun demurred. "The books
young fellow who wanted to go to Manila some day to study. They stripped
written here, I mean. You can imagine the kind of reports we endure in
him and tied him to a post and fed him to ants. Do you know what the hantik
Malacanang." are, compadre? They're ants as big as centipedes. They swann over you and
"The palace," the colonel said musingly. "My wife and I attended
devour you little by little, eating first your skin, and then slowly working their
some of the parties there many years ago. Mywife dislikes going there. She
way inside. When they work their way to your ears you can hear them chew-
dislikes Manila, but I tell her it's her ancestors' snobbishness more than any-
ing away at your t1esh. I ask you, is that how a war is fought'; Nobody wanl~ to
thing else. They used to :>elievethey weren't part of the country, you know.
live like that, not even my brother. Least of all my brother. Nobody wants war.
• Federalistas was whanhey called themselves. They tried to establish a repub-
I don't want it. But if I have to go to war just to avert it, by God"." He trailed
lic at the height of the Philippine-American War. But you know that."
off, imagining methods of counterwarfare, "My brother," the colonel contin-
"I didn't know you.were frequent guests at the palace."
"Not lately," the colonel said. "Dolores says she refuses to be identi- ued, "was a man of great promise. We all knew he was going to be the leader
of the pack, a journalist of great repute. In col!ege he was always being cited
fied with the First Lady. But my wife and I do not share the same views about
for thisor that achievement. Hewrote so well he actJally had fans who swooned
many things. She goes around tewn doing charity work for the nuns, and I
over him in the cafeterias. I was known as Antonio Zabarte's brother. I wasn't
let her do so. If the communists take over they will at least spare her for her
very prominent back then. Not as prominent as I am now, I mean of course
charity. But the bastards will never get this island,"
my girth." He slapped his belly and laughed. "I know you've been reading
"Some of the news wires picture this island as some kind of
the journals, Hidalgo."
f1ashpoint," said Jun. Jun's face t1ushed with embarrassment and confusion, He said, "I
"The foreign wires have Filipino correspondents here who talk and
just happened to discover it accidentally, behind the books."
think like communist~. We've got our eye on them, be sure of that. Most of
"It was not being hidden," the colonel said. "'I'he family h;l~ no
them knew my brother personally, which is why they get all these statements
skeletons in the closet, compadre, I myself don't care what is said of our
from his command. It's simple as that, Hidalgo. It's a question of who holds
lives." The colonel heaved himself off the chair and walked to a r,hinese

128 Empire of Memory

 apothecal)' of red teak, He pulled out one of the many tiny drawers and plucked
a leather bag from it and walked to a ' tures, and their voices rose higher above the trees, more piercing and urgent,
He emptle lle ag on the table, l!§ contents looked like dried mushrooms
found 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 colonel
picked one up, one which looked freshly cut and had dark edges of dried
blood around it" e fi htthe war the wa we have to " he said. "I will win it
even if 1 have to fill this room wit their ears. Everybody believes I am doing
the right thing, compadre, and I know it I believe sometimes I am on a
special mission, a holy mission, and 1feel no compunction about the wa I
c uct m wor ,My rot er feels t e 5ame wa about is. And tha Hid
is..the root of all w~'
He kept holding the severed ears up to the light "There is only one
person who doesn't approve of my work. Our mother, Dona Zabarte. Yes,you've
heard about her. You must meet her, compadre. Iknow you dislike me, and
many people do, and so if and when you write that book about our rami!
xov do ve to be kind, Y "
DONAMARIA BERNARDINA L.wARTE lived on the crest of a hill along the range of the
Monte de Oro surrounded by servants and gardeners and an aviary of a thou-
sand tropical birds. To enter her mansion one walked through the winding
gardens painstakingly tended by horticulturists, with its bright explosions of
frangipani and orchids. Then one passed by the aviary, a vast jungle enclosed
by metal nets in which birds of various plumage drifted like bright-robed
angels. These were the birds caught by her servants in the mountainsides:
duckbills of ebony and yellow,parakeets of shimmering emerald, parrots that
could talk in the ancient Carolan dialect, bleeding-heart pigeons', ominous
black martines that could repeat anything from human greetings to the sigh-
ing of the wind. And then there were the rarest specimen: nameless birds with
diaphanous wings, silver beaks and eyesof lead, or huge and hawk-like yet so
light and weightless they glided effortlessly on iridescent wings and landed
on the trees without making a single leaf rustle. Throughout the lawns of the
mansion 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-
so that it was always known inside the mansion if an intruder had trespassed
upon the grounds.
jun arrived that morning and was greeted by the calls of distress of
these birds. Their cries were deafening even to the caretakers, who pressed
their hands against their ears as they ledjun into the house. A gravel path led
up to a sitting room where a set of rattan chairs was moduled around a glass
table. 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, giving
the room the musty darkness of a monastery. He could hear the birds' calls
dwindling to pet61antchatter as he settled himself and waited for Dona Zabarte
to 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, which
had gallantly withstood violent winds and typhoons, now showed the exhaus-
tion of its endurance.
Dona Zabarte hobbled into the room beside a maid, gripping the
latter'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's
presence.
"My son told me you were coming," she said. Her voice was strong
and clear, one accustomed to giving orders, jun noted that she must have
been a big-boned, robust woman: she seemed to occupy the entire chair with
her presence. "Do you like San Miguel?" she asked Jun, who immediately
assented.
"I am working on a book for the president." Jun began, and Dona
Zabarte 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 old
for anything but an afternoon's nap," She looked at Jun with dark,piercing
eyes now clouded over by cataracts, Then she asked, "What do you want to
know?"
"Everything I have to," Jun said. "I mean, I just wanted to meet all
the liVing members of the family if I am going to write about them."
 "There are so many you can no longer talk to," she said, "God has
taken care of that."
H[ know," Jun said. "['ve been browsing through the library at the
villa. The Suarezes seem to have written a lot of books. Iwonder if the Zabartes
have 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.he
Zabartes," she paused, musing on the name, "we came into their lives to stop
them 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 I
know very little of you, 1 mean the family. I drew up a genealogy based on
what I've read, which wasn't very extensive. I find it a bit odd that there was
no family tree available in the library at the villa." He handed his sketch to
Dona Zabarte. She held it in her hand without looking at it.Jun realized she
probably couldn't read anything on it, but she held on to it, as if the very feel
of 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 . fore
you 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 made
him 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 I
could tell they loved each other, They romped through these gardens and
132 Empire of Memory
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 and
ber,rie~,Egidio I~ved them both, but he lovedJose more, J made up for that oy
lavlshmg 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~st
for him, and we lelt that was enough. Wedo not grieve for our losses here, We
know our place and our time on this earth, and that is enough,"
The maid came in with a tray of calamansi and reminded Dona
Zabarte that she had to take her medication, She dismissed her impatiently
and said toJun, "You must forgive me, I am an old, old woman and Icannot
stay 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 hear
the shrilling of the birds. Jun looked at her, hidden in the half-light of the
boarded room. Her magnificent white hair gleamed in the dark, like the halo
of saints in cathedrals, and her skin, pasty and pale blue with veins, emitted
a powdery fragrance like that of scented candles. In this light she saw little of
the greenery, little of the world around her, but in her mind she could retrace
all the steps around the lawns, the stones that were covered with lichen ar.d
moss, and she could recall the shimmer of wings and the soft breeze. There
were worlds forever hidden in her eyes, her hands, her bones~ Alone in be8~trA.(W
jlndeot mansion, slICcQllOdedby bright flowers acd Ilnllsual birds, she waited ~ ~
fDrthe rest of their lives to unfold, just as the gardens around bpr waited for Cotc~
tbe SliD and railL

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 the
first time, that the wisp of hair falling across his forehead cannot hide the
inch-long slash of keloid just below his hairline. It has always been a source
of great embarrassment for him, not because the scar somehow mars his
handsome features but because of the manner he acquired it at the age of
three.
They were Hving in a fifth-floor apartment just outside the base, he
and his mother and stepfather. It had a large open window giving onto the
avenue below wh€re everyday he could see American sailors drift groggily
from the bars with their Filipina girls. They always called out to him or tossed
him 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 fight
lQi_the.S~T}Q.y:g'-li1e~;would taunt him. Q.D~daYt..hedidJhWJ
better: he threw himself off the window, landed on an awning,then rg~d
iLown (Q mrstr~p~r~w.JIe-~[gn~tianuQ]illE·a1Ilie:~a.ctO::tiy.
FORSEVERAL YEARS he was obsessed with the idea of flying. He spent most of his
time on the rooftop, watching the ragged sparrows scrimmage for scraps and
build their nests.
He gawked at the jets thundering from the base, huge pterodactyls
with dangerous talons careening from aircraft carriers docked at~·
~~ When he grew up he was going to be a pilot. Hewould leave this city
where children and sparrows fought for scraps and space.
134 Empire o( Memory
"mil. Pll! I \ .pma L.
:110 1 JlIIIII_,,11II1I • 1,11I1a
HIS FAlliER gOL OlOWll up III a JHallt~ e\1 IUUle LU l\UI tit lile Cil Cu 111~ldlll.e~ Wl;1e
never clear: there was a miscalculation'sorr.ewhere, and a bomb or some
newfangled gizmo exploded, ripp.ing a hole through the plane. He and six
other GIs were pummeled out, the shredded litter of thei r bodies scattered all
over the YellowSea,
THEY~OVED TO AKELDAMA a year afte~ he WIL~ horn: his mother Miranda BI;ill.<;,I1
and hiS stepfather luan who had lound work in the shipyards of the b;L~e.His
mother, 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 they
resettled he~e, '(v'hentalk was nfe that the Americans were going to set up a
naval 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 carry
Citiesand airplanes, Hewas very young, with closely cropped hai r the color of
pale.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, but
he 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 whatever
a 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 begged
her 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 furiously
the neighbors banged on the walls and told them to stop their howling.
Juan del Mundo at first r.rlus~4JQJ"~avel ~1lJl1jU.Y11,Smub...W
Al~~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 she
said no, that was where she belonged. Heworked as a carpenter, but he could
be anything if he desperately wanted a job. Y'ami was one of the islands that
lay right on the path of the southwest monsoon and all the houses were dug
low into the ground, thick sturdy fortresses reinforced with lime and covered
with heavy layers of grass roofs. Each year many of the houses needed reo
pairs. He made good business here, Why would anybody want to live ina
place condemned to annual destruction? he asked her, and she gave her stock
reply: 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 vague
about his assignments: Can't tell you now, it's top secret. She moved,ollt of
the apartment after a month of virtual solitary confinement, and the store
owner 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.As
soon as she stepped onto the shores of the rocky island that had been as-
saulted for centuries by violent waves and relentless typhoons, she thought
herself purged of his memory and felt clean and immaculate Later she found
-
out she was pregnant. She never saw Lloyd Wallace again.
AKEI.DAMA WAS BUILT in the 17th century by Spanish missionaries who needed a
port for ships in transit from the Visayas islands to Manila. Its unfortunate
name 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 t
decided to build a new naval facility in La Paz Bay.Asthe naval base grew in
importance, 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 chocked
with clubs and bars to entertain passing marines en route to Korea, and later
Vietnam.
Young Sal del Mundo thought of it growing like the Magic Rocks he
used to buy in ·the PX stores along Magsaysay: little colored nugget5 that,
when submerged in a bowl of water, grew stalagmites and became miniature
multi-colored reefs. When they first moved in, the town was no more than a
fewdilapidated shanties that doubled as general merchandise stores with back
rooms where young Gis brimming with hormones made desperate love to
the brown fragile daughters of carpenters, locksmiths and fishermen, In a
fewyears jukeboxes started to come in, and small dance halls sprouted where
Marines taught their women how to dance the twist. AtfirstJuan del Mundo
didn't feel completely settled there, and more than once he decided it was best
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
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 a
bristlIng, burning sensation, for which he could find no name apart from
what 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 of
the world, She spoke to him as though she had been witness to all the world's
despair,
By th~ third month of her pregnancy, people began to notice the
small persistent life that had bloomed in her womb. Nobody in the small
island knew where she had been and what she had done. All they knew was
that Miranda Blanca was a fine young woman like all women of Y'ami and
would do nothing to put the town to shame, She began to fear being seen in
town 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 mustered
enough courage to say to the young woman: "The father should be good
enough to ask how that child is doing, if you ask me,"
That did it. Miranda Blanca wilted before his eyes and crumpled on
a 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 a
child in her belly but there was no father, there never had been, and she
didn't know what was happening at all. Whether Juan del Mundo took this
story of immaculate conception seriously or not we don't know: but he took
her in his arms, cooed placations in her ear and felt at that instant that sweet
confusion of pity and fear and compassion that makes us weak in the knees
and a little out of our senses. Then and there he proposed to marry her, if only
for the child,
Later, when news of the new American base wa.c;announced in all
the 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 was
born. There were other reasons for her decision: the town had all this time
doubted 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!S that he oe~r
made 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 and
arrived in Akeldarna soon after the rains.
They took an apartment right next to the gate of the base so he
could rush back home after his shift. Everyafternoon mother and child would
look out the small window at the jets flying home from war games where
they bomb~d open fields of cogon grass and strafed occasional strays from
the mountairl villages. Juan would catch mother and son framed there on
his way from work. They would wave Vigorously at him, and sometimes all
he could see were their hands napping out from the window. He was always
afraid of coming home one afternoon to find them gone, and this fear kept
him distracted for the rest of his life. Somehow he knew that she kept hoping
one day, out of the blue, the young Lloyd Wallace would step out of those
gates and claim his son. They never talked about this. There were nights he
just stared at her as she lay peacefully beside him and the child, her smi.le
small and beatific, and he wondered what new shadows she encountered 10
her dreams. Aheavy, unbearable sadness overcame him when he re~lized no
man, not even him, would_eve~~~:~ close to the sourc:~ ~~:~l~
\iJ ~
UTER, WHEN HE BECAME a megahit in Ma~11].;t)~Ld~1~2]'Ould tell a persist-
ent reporteCihat the ~. greatesf.@fluences C?! his :a..reer w~~_!!!~.2lS~2f
America 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 it
and repeating i·tsfamiliar phrases to the passing GIs. Even the local stations
had 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·The
cartoons would follow: Betty Boop sashayiniwith her squeaking repertoire,
a~d the Loony nmes announcing Uh-bedee uh-bedee that's all folks! Then
more saviors of the universe: Captain America zooming out to make the world
safe for democracy, followed by the brooding, virescent Hulk. In the evenings
he waited for I Love Lucy, the Three Stooges and-the high point of the
night-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 m4sic
he hated. In the dead of night, he listened to the elegiac violins of Gabriel
Faure and the lamentations of·Rachmaninoff and the prancing etudes of
Erik Salie. During the day, when his parenL~were out, he would PLltWagner
or Bartok on the turntable and turn the volume LIploud until the nei~hbors
screamed 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 artifacts
of 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, the
young LloydWallace's letters bundled up tightly with a string. Hesifted through
the letters furtively, his heart pounding. For several years he suspected Lloyd
Wallace as just some blurry figment of his mother's imagination. Now,as he
deciphered the scrawny, puerile penmanship, Lloyd Wallace seemed lllUl\;
, unreal, more a fragment of a memory Sal was not privy to. The young, care-
J tl
less words, once passionate and burning with raw desire, now smouldered
faintly and quietly like embers.
His mother never found out his intrusion. Later, when the Pearl
Buck Foundation established a center in Akeldama to give aid to Filipino
Americans, 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 letter
that contained no more than news of the training and sundry talk of the
weather.
"This letter," she said, "will be your passport out of here." She
adamantly refused to accompany him, even if he had begged her the night
before. All the mothers there would be bar dancers who had gamboled with
their GIs and were seeking payment for their love, she told him. She stapled
the letter right across the middle, giving it a metal navel. Brushed and scrubbed
clean, he tucked it in his pocket and sauntered away to the foundation, seven
blocks from their apartment. When he reached the small bungalow that had
been converted into an office, he was surprised to find about three dozell
madonnas and children already there. Hewaited in line, clutching the leiter
like a bloom picked along the road. By the time his number was called five
hours later, the letter seemed to have wilted in his hand. The director, a
schoolmarmish matron with huge plastic spectacles and haIr wound loosely
in a bun, perfunctorily studied the letter and then looked up at young Sal to
pick out telltale signs that should dispel doubts about his origin. Although
the young boy had fine dark hair that fell over his eyes of an unusual light
color (somewhere between chestnut and ash) and his skin was of a light
brown shade, burned to a tan along the ar'11s by constant forays into the
streets of Akeldama, his nose was prominently strong and chiseled, And in
this country where origins are decided by the shape of one's nose, young Sal
passed the ocular inspection with little trouble:
The director handed back the letter and a sheaf of yellow cardboard
forms. "Salvador Blanca Wallace del Mundo," she addressed-him, "you will
have to decide what your name really is," He retreated to a bench beside other
children 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 was
finally touching base with that force that had always beckoned deep in his
blood and was coming now to transfigure him. Nowhis own life would begin
at 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~r
scnoorfees-ii1aiiFew'meals. Periodically, he received letters from them with
posicirO]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~f
. flowed 'liKe cascages,downher shoulderS,'She would always watch from a
the 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 of
advisers, 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 many
irate parents in Akeldama nodded Amen and cheered everypersonnel change
in the foundation.'
When he got his first gig at the Holy CityZoo the auditions manager
asked him what his name was, and he thought he should go by something
people would remember, so he gave the name~ They liked it: short and
cryptic, with perhaps a touch of the sinister and the unknown. He was given
three hundred pesos a month and the use of a rundown cabin in an alley not
far from the club. For the first time in his life he felt free. Initially he played
solo like many of the singers Pat Chiu had plucked from Akeldama's dingy
bars. 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, with
musicians 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.ate
vth~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,Qst
J9I~1&dasal. APRare~t!JJ.heU!~.9.Wn't ha~e.me.~euceJoJnrese.e
..UleJe~tQJ,tDe\l/ofT1~!1)ngre.~U.uned.
.l.lel.fl:!tllr~YQ£at!9Jl:.?h~,Y!'*5,.Q.IQ~JJhao.
to the experiences of the world, andthereforesadder. HerlongbI~ck hair
corner as Salperformed his set, sitting quietly with her customers or,)n a....
cQutel1lpJati¥e-mooo.,-&ij}pingher.cocktaiLalone.Then she would run out of
the club and through the bustling avenue to talk to him before he sulked
back 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 room
backstage 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 himself
a legend wa~ to be a~scarce a~ possible.
 She bent dowrl and said, "I would like to be the {irot QnetQ.kiSHo.e
l.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 the
crowd didn't listen when he sang. When Magda went to his cabin one evening
to ask him what had happened, he said, "Your kiss has stolen my songs."
"No," she said. "You'vegiven them away.NowIwill givethem back."
She kissed him full on the mouth and slowlyundressed him. Helet her warmth
assault 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 he
would go to bed with, ~Q_eY~!rY~~~~~ent.h[~~.QJJJenjYQ!llgJe.e.U.YE.~
SeQL.~th,~~gh. tb~iE ui.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 portrait
and 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 them j find Pat Chiu, He toddled towards her, bouncers in tow,saying, "No photo-
~ ~
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 tender
forcefulness 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 its
strange, salty odors and purifying waters. Everywhere she touched him were
a thousand new sensations, and the more she touched him the more insatia-
ble he became, pleading with whispers, cries and imprecations. She responded
by growing more aggressive, more jealously passionate, and she bit and
scratched and dug her nails into his back, creating tiny roses and lunettes of
blood. In the evenings when he was alone he stood naked before a mirror and
stared at the relics of their passionate evenings, those tiny wounds that left
dark patches all over his smooth skin. Once, when she was too occupied at
the club and he had not made love to her for days, he picked up an old
jackknife and pushed the blade slowlyinto 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.iL
Js 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 a
minor commotlon when she started taking photographs of the place and
also of Sal and the other performers. Bouncers sorang to attention, hovered
around her and gruffly suggested that she should cut it out. But they did thiS
with much restraint because not only was Megall American but she also had
fine blond hair and skin so pale even the GIs in the club stopped and stared
when 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 seemed
to have had her social position clearly mapped out for her. Amore aggressive
reminder not to take pictures was met with an equatly confident reply: "I'll
only take a minute. I'll keep out of the way," She had another formidable
passport: ~ap ofh:r ~~~..:r.~.P3~~~~b~~~9prgJTlir1entl.~di§Dlayedan
lD 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 to
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. But
she declined, saying she was just a.Jraineeat thehasen.el)'tork. She sai~"
proballi~lhe.mllillllf.Qr~Jil]1e. Allshe needed was to get
a 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 fob
at the network or not. "I'll talk to that singer there, and any other bands you
have 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 have
bands 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 tQ
recall much later if it was a song by the DOQr~. It certainly was not one of his
own, she noted sadly, because nobody wanted too much original material
here, no maller how good they were. People who came here wanted to rock
and 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 swarm
of decrepit huts, sad neons and cranky jukeboxes had to be unreal and as
distant as war. ---
BACKSTAGE, SA!.WAS STIJDYING
his face in the dressing room mirror when Pat Chiu
walked in with his pay envelope. Day-off tomorrow, all the putas with their
American boyfriends would be going down to Patty's Holiday Resort or the
Sea Breeze Hotel for vacation. "Good play tonight," encouraged Pat as usual.
Sal didn't hear him. Hewas studying his eyes, leaning with his face
close 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
out·fleur de lis the gallineras of Betis, Pampanga, but reproductions as well
of ;antos that seemed more weathered than the original antiques found in
the vestibules of Hocos. Once a year, a month before Holy Week, he made
crosses for the dozen or so men and women who had themselves crucified in I
Akeldama 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 I
some 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 t
going to be one of them,
THATEVENING he woke up in a sweat. He had been dreaming of himself naked
on the cross laid down on thE}ground, Hecould feel the rough wood grate his
back and the heat sear his skill. His throat parched and his eyes squinted at
the glaring sun directl) above him, When he stretched out his arms they felt
numb, as though they had ceased to become part of his body. He uncurled his
fist and felt the cold point of the nails touch his palms. Ashadow fell across
his face as the men lifted the mallets, When they brought them down on the
nailheads, a bullet of pain came shooting from his hands down to some deep
and unknown center of his body, From that depth he felt a howl rise and find
its way to his blood, gushing in stream~ out of his hancl~,There was a n;L~hof
lightning, and then he was stirred out of the dream, hearing only the muffled
thunder of his heart. He sat up in bed and rubbed his fists into his eyes, He
looked at his hands-they were pale, sweating and trembling. He felt he was
never going to last through the night.
INTIlEMORNING he had forgotten the dream. He walked to the small porthole
that 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 long
shower, the cool water pelting his body and invigorating him. Then he dried
himself briskly and stood before the mirror and wrapped a loincloth about '
him, He dressed slowly, putting on a clean shirt and loose cotton slacks. He
felt he was doing this for the very last time. This thought gave his slightest
action a special significance: the way a button felt in his fingers, for instance,
I or the way he combed his hair seemed like the profoundest of experiences for
which 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 of
janitors who were mopping up for the Happy Hour crowd. He had bread and
a Coke at the counter. Old Mang Isko had instructed him not to take too
much 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 and
found Mang Isko sitting beside a stack of five crosses.
Mang Isko looked up as the young man walked in, The old man
.-J thought he was seeing some angelic apparition. He held up a hand against
the 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,"
. \.1",
.. DO.
\ UY'l"!' (}. , ' ,J
tile
"
~ VI""'- v- \.J'~'r\ u~
I d LN ~oire of M§!tnQry 145
 "Get some rest, Lola," Sal said. He walked to the stack and ran a
hand against the wood. "They're good crosses, Lola," he said.
"~U?~ ;lfEa)dT' ~h~ old Il)~\!]asked him. It wasthe first time he
had ever asked that of anyone he made crosses for. In the past Holy Week\ the
repcntanL~ merely had their arms and legs bound to the cross, but Sal was the
first one to propose that he should actually be nailed to it. Enactment was not
enough; true sacrifice demanded true blood.
"~'SaLsaid. He wondered if the wood would feel the same later
that afternoon. He rubbed the back of his hand against it. A splinter caught
in his skin and he yanked his hand back. He pulled the splinter out and
watched as a trickle of blood oozed from his hand. "I can't feel anything, old
man," he said.
He looked out. There were people marching off to church, holding
their hands against their eyes to block the sunlight. In the distance he could
hear the wailing of the pasyon by ancient and inexhaustible women whose
voices would follow hirl as he carried his cross to the plaza and flagellated
himself with ten other repentants. The voices would snake around him as the
whip lacerated his naked back and turned it raw and streaked with blood. He
would hear the same voices as they stripped him to his loincloth and laid
him on the cross, the same voices that would pound and reverberate in his
ears as he spread his arms out. Those were the same voices he would strain to
hear 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 blind
in 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 to
slowly, blond light rearranging his focus on things and the sound of light
footsteps 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 he
tried 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
or
'J ').1 o~ ~ His hands felt numb. He looked at them and noticed the fine gauze
'~~t~~ bandages wound tightly around them, That would have been the handiwork
li c~, 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 pictures
she had taken of the crucifixion. She did that often: developing and printing
several rolls of film at one go until she was exhausted and reeled from the
fumes 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 whenever
sht: went out to shoot pictures. The darkness obliterated those worlds, and she
could do this instantly just by turning off the light. Then the red glow of the
bulb 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~.&~S
t~ 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 J
era. In a way it was true: these were their souls she had in her possession, an
all she had to do now to conjure them was to shake them in a pan under a re
bulb, as if she were merely waking them from their captive sleep.
j
SHE WENT IJACK
to the club after a week to bring the pictures. There W;l~ another
band playing thall1ight. Sal W;l~ in on{' corner or 11)(' bar talklllg to SOIIH' or
 "()y SAl, when you gonna play for u;,?!' That was a group of girls already
Sht' could see that his bandages had been removed, and whe~
th e women.· I I dark scabs on his made up for the day, getting ready to go to the clubs. In their bright flasi1y
she handed him the photographs shc notice( t1cre were
clothes they looked like tropical nowers blown in by an ill wind. "Oy Sal, play
palms. . I "W II ·tay for a drink'l" (or us for free, we can't afford your gtxldam gigsl"
"TI\l'Y look VCI)' good, Meg," he s;ut . I YOl~S " , . : k
"There's a place here [ wanl you to set·," Sal told IIH'. "My folk.~
"I haVl' to go back to the b;L'ieto pack," she said. 1 m flYing bac
moved here a long lillie ago. They never wan ted to 11 lOveou t."
home tomorrow morning." "
He looked at the photographs. Ihere were so.
'h ts of the crowd on' We were in one of Akeldama's villages, and it felt ;l~if thl' whole
world had shrunk out of proportion. Barong-barong huddled together like
Good Friday, their dark faces grimacing in the heat, ~n1 ~?rtr~lfts a~~~~:~~ \ aged folk borrOWing each other's heat. The muddy earth stuck to our shoes
from the club, their faces tired and sad, and dose-ups a lmse,
like a bad memory. Veins of filthy water came out of the earth, around which
details of his room. '" h k d h r "when I do it again?" chickens and dogs lapped and gamboled. Smoke curled out of the windows,
"Will you be here next year, ease e, giving out a smell of rotten flesh. Children surrounded us, tugging at our
"Depends," she said. shirts and calling out Sat's name. There, too, he was well known: people
"On what?" d '?" came out of their huts, waved at him and shoved before our faces portraits for
"On wher~ I'll be next year." Then she asked, "Why. do ~ou 0 It.
him to autograph. "Ls~!LrnnJQr)]}aY9r here~ ha? Bu t therear.e. Qtb.e~:vay§of
"1 don 't lillQw,".hesald •.:'Butl'lI keep dOing it until 1 bndmy fa~ g~tting..ricll.:' ". "'-- --"~_. "
~-,~.~ ... _."_.,,..,

ther." h 'd We walked past more huts propped up from cardboard and tin and
She looked at him quizzically. "1 hope you find him," s e sal .
all brown and grey as if the world had lost all its color. We finally reached our
destination, a hut slightly larger and cleaner than the rest, its boards coated
"Very soo~~ laughed. She said goodbye, then slid off the stool and walked
with fresh paint. "Oy, si Sail" The neighbors spilled out of their warrens and
out. Sb,~lefLtbepict~E~~~~!hhhlu1· I afte she had gone. Magda sat ~-~, crowded about us. The door of the hut opened and we beheld the small,
He remained slttmg t ere ong r, , '1" h "d shrunken face of no other than Sal's mother, Miranda. She seemed smaller
.'. entl laced a hand over his. "Deliver us Irom eVl, s e sal ,
than I imagined her to be in the course ofSal's fractured narrative about his
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 youth. But in her face I still saw traces of her once striking beauty, her youth-

I ful charm softened to an incomprehensible serenity. Streaks of silver hair

r
~~Si~: h~~~~:e~'o~~~~:l ~~~ething gather to a ~owL The mo~~:~ :~~ :~~~
the more she felt it intensifying. She let o~hlS han~~~lds:~e on the ~each
last time she felt like this was wh.~ S~:o~~~e ~:~:~ Magsayay Avenue. She
!
!
lined her head; her hands, when she held them up to welcome her son, were
brown and leathery like hide.
We walked in. The place was small and dark. There was no furni)
i

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
One day she sllpped.her han. ~nto ~.r poc was only as if something, some I
1t
stone. To her surpnse, she Ie t ndot I;gi h and now she would be walkingi
sense of security, had been carve ou 0 er,
defiantly with a hole where her heart had been..·
ture except for a table and a cot, where Sal's stepfather,)uan, lay with a maga-.
j 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, pan
.....•
.Americana.
. 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'

148 Empire of Memory

 lOwn center, but [ was too polite to ask. Even~~ Sal ~tJIl~J.obave read. ~es .al~~~LuE a~4~l<!DIUU.troll. Policemen chatted idly in their pre-
~y tho~g_~~_~n_d.~~tu_~~.e_~r~9~,;il~~~I§'!~I~k.J:~.~ak~l~201 of mls~L cincts, waiting for the day's action to begin. They yawned and talked of la~t
prandn.s onstage !<]!_~heAme.rtc~~ .._ night's brawls and compared the amount of bribes they managed to collect.
. --,.. -There was embarrassed laughter all around, and then Juan said, Street children played in the mud like stray dogs. The smell of grease and
"It's not bad to entertain the Americans, Many of them have become our ketchup clouded over the burger stalls. The somnolence was shattered occa-
friends. But friends sometimes forget you." sionally by jets streaking from target practlce, trailing plumes of slipstream
Sal said, "Dad feels the base hasn't paid him enough for the acci- across the sky.
dent." There was a lot of pooh-poohing from Sal's parents, and Sal contin- "You play good tonight," Pat Chiu told Sal from the porthole of the
ued, "It's true. Bastards don't care if you get your balls cut ofr." cashier's box.
"They've given all the help they could," Miranda told me. "Hey," Sal snapped back, "I play good every night. I don't even get
"They've given shit," Sal said. "That's why Fm working my ass off a fucking day off,here."
at the club. ['m not all bad, di ba?" "Because Sal and Art Dodger very good."
"We tell Sal he should do something else," said Miranda. And to "Thanks, Patria Adorada, I'm overwhelmed."
Sal: "You can't play in clubs all your life." "You don't call me those names, I don't like it."
Sallaughed, then turned to me and my camera, "The club's not "As you please."
bad. Pat Chiu's not bad. Iran get an apartment for my folks near the Zoo but "You play good tonight, because judges come to get you."
they don't want to move out of this dive." Sa1walked up to the porthole, "W3:.i1aminllte.~h~tjudges? Com-
"We own this house," Miranda said. "We don't want to give it up." ing t9£.elLDeJorwhat?;,: ...-""------
"One of these days, Mom," Sal told her, "I'll get you a place and -- .' "EQI-S~Q~~~!:::.
~.i,tb9lJ!).22!5Ln~lli2~~2~"th~~£~.c.~.s,.Ee1.~b!.\.l.~lum~i
you can sell this piece of, uh, real estate." a telegram thrqugh the porthole:.I',Valk,eg oyer.toS~:L<I,ndre..adover.bis shouk.~
"It is always good to hope," Juan told him. aer: ..
• "That's right," said Sa!. "It's good to do that. Just wait a bit ard Pat Chiu Manager Holy City Zoo Dear Sir We are pleased to
you'll see." And to my camera: "What do you say, eh AlBoy? [s Sal ~onna ~ inform you that the search committee for the First Philippine Popular
the hell out of this duWll or Vih~tr.6paD~an!J:t Music Festival will be dropping by your club tonight to select your local
..- r-\)~ ~~ . " representative to the natz'onal competitions to be held in confunction with
"Oy PATCHIULI,my Pater Noster, what have we got cookIng today? Sal and I the First
~_~
NaOOnalYi£i1:.21theArts - __ ~~_.
sponsored
__ ~.._....,]~,~,#_
by the First l.flifl.~!!~.1t/.l;~ldP.
. ...,__ :c:ll!IY-l"""'''''''-_':''_>;-~''-"

stepped into the dance harroTthe Holy CityZoo. That early in the afternoon it {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,
looked like the 1Wilight Zone: the chairs were all up on the tables, the fluores- numq~g[pqrt(sipqrl!?ltqg .~~.will ~~c~z~::rlu..KE£qEf!!f!!i2Il.StoP.
cent lamps were on, casting a greenish tint on the whole place and on the "What do you
_,,,,,.,,~'"I~"""~C"-·'.
mean p'fiy""g"-oootonlght?"Sal burst out. "The
".._~,~."""",..""",~"'"Y:"''''!;''''T'''"'''··'''-··'~''''·
"'·;"'_"_'·'N_·_'_:;-'''''~_·''_···_ ·".n_.:", __ ,,~ .. _'"_tt,~"".;y",c.",~,~:•.. ••",..
com-
.•.--"....~."..,.,..,.,_

faces of cleaners mopping up. Pat Chiu was sitting inside a booth, his fingers
dancing over the beads of an abacus. Everything was quiet except for the
wooden 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 in
the alpha cycle of their well-earned sleep, oblivious to last night's loves. The
souvenir shops displayed their wares, their hawkers ~Uoeing at young M~
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 noticing
my 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 message
got here today only. Allother clubs my enemies, they want to kill me, They all
play good but Sal plays gaoder than everybody."
 Sal handed him back the telegram. "I get it," he said. "I'll be your
pambato, eh Pat Chiuli? You want me lO whip them like they've never been
whipped 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 and
tuned the strings. He plugged the guitar to the amp onstage and struck a
deafening chord that jolted the sweepers out of their inertia. The whole place
vibrated.
"Let them come here tonight," Sal boomed into the mike. "We'll
show them what it's like in the ZlJo, eh Pat Chiuli, you Old Spice. We'll show
them 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~e
dead!
~
. be picked just before the night's revelry b~gan. Several clubs had alrea<ly
~RGEANTCASTOR
SAw: wanted to spit out the coffee. That was his third order
and 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 coffee
she 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 legs
aren't right, the waist too big, the arms too small. She wouldn't look good
dancing in a cage without her clothes on. This girl is going to rot with bad
coffee. He took another sip and gagged. That afternoon he was in the mood
to kill for coffee or anything that came his way. His troop had been stationed
at 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 because
Sergeant Sapak couldn't get decent coffee at what's this gooddamn joint's
name? 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.~~gly
dre~~o~~mani~ p~~kedTroml~e farms of San Miguel ;mdj
theuniversitiesotManilaa .-.. ; rliere were ahout fifty of them by noon ,
an ergant Sapak calculated that he needed just seventy I!len to disperse
them 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::s
were~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~(ft
fortJQubJe"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 underneatIh
the 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.d
showed 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'ich
iorne,,~~&.;aid:'"0
was 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. The
judges, ~all and deformed bureaucrats from the Ministry of Tourism and
the 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'mts
rnnlmed Pat Chi .. t. w· . ..,,-.",:~'- _.... ",
_,._._ •.:...._.,,,.).I. •..P6\Sl y.and ..~ynd~r .the ~~~ hgbts, announced,
II '
We at
Holy City Zoo not go around in circl~. We know the best we got and tonight 'wNe
giye you the best." He was applauded for th is eloquence and he slinked bac:k-
~;,!.b,~,s~r~.a.inS?Eened. .
SERGEANT SAPAK WATCHEDthe crowd with some consternation. Somehastards were_
pushing ihe'oarrrIcade closer tathe police ranks' a~d the goddamn thing
looked 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 bwakang
inang 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 them
right where it countc;-on the head.
, The barricade inched forward a bit more. The banners unfurled J
above the crowd, hastily painted slogans from the'Federation of This and the J
Alliance ofThat. Sergeant Sapak scanned their blood-red denouncements:
--
IBAGSAKANG BASE MILITAR!!!
US BASES OUT!!!
YANKEEGO HOME!!!
MARCOS TUTA NG KANO!!!
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. The
sky darkened. From the edge of the road the lights of Akeldarna popped up
one by one like multicolored plankton,
SALX CAME ONSTAGE wearing black, his guitar slung by his side, He approaChe~~
the mike and crooned a soft ballad-no hard hitting feet stomping rock and
rolling 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
roosts 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.-;
SOMEBODY FROMTHECROWD threw a rock anhe police rank. The rock hit a shield
and a metallic thud ~huddered through the nervous silence, Sergeant Sapak'~
men pushed the bamcade back, Some student'i hurled more rocks, They pelttd
the 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 swung
to action. Clubs hit heads, arms, legs: a dull whack, a body rell. The crowd
i surged even more boldly. The demarcations were blurred now: a free-for-all
ensued, the p~lice swung their clubs frantically, and the demonstrators re-
taliated with stones and incendiary bombs, Sergeant Sapak yelled the order
j
to quash the demonstration, "Todasin ninyo!" Immediately, Armalites ex-
ploded and the crowd scattered helter-skelter,
WHENTHESONGwas over there was a moment of stunned silence, Then the
whole Zoo burst into applause, Even the judges were moved, and their hands,
still clutching their evaluation sheets, clapped in unison with the rest of the
audience. 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 of
the demonstrators, The nigh t deepened to tar and the bodies became almost
invisible. Banners left along the road flapped and whipped in the wind like
sails of abandoned flagships,
WE THANK ALLOFYOUfor coming over tonight and we thank especially all the
.
managers of the clubs in Akeldama for graciously participating in the search
,
for the regional finalists for the First Manila Pop Music Festival. Thanks also
\.
to the office of Mayor ?peedy Gonzaga and the kindness of Councilors So
•
I Forth and So On, and especialiy to all the beautiful ladies who have made
ourstay here most enjoyable. Now we are all hopeful your official candidate
,
wilt make a good impression in Manila and we are certain this is only the
\
beginning of his successful career, And so we call on Sal X to receive his
award and we wish him good luck and Godspeed,
 Sal walked up the stage, his shirt soaked with perspiration. Many
people had come in by then, catching just the last riff of his son~ and that
rJlonwnL The applause W~l~raucuoUS and deafening. One of the girls ran to
tlw stage and handed him a specially designed trophy they had ~ade ~hem-
selves: a champagne bottle twined with rope and Howers. Sal hOisted It over
hiS 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~~~~ ..'rhe
rapture 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 the
fishing village of Carmen is guarded by rnaligno that inhabit every gnarled
balite and mound of earth and all uncataIogued fauna. Accident'\, if they
have to happen, happen here: lightning strikes twice and cars skid and drop
into 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~JL
but 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 afternoon
that Colonel Jose Zabarte was dispatched there, five of these psychic elders
were hunched over the dirt road, divining the cause of a recent mishap through
the intestines of a newly slaughtered fowL The colonel's jeep rumbled to a
stop 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. truck
by day's end.';
Colonel Zabarte stepped down from the jeep and walked to the side
of 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 ravine
and looked like a box of crushed metal and ripped canvas. The wind was
blowing in from the south. "Bad time forfishing,.'.:the.colonel said.
They turned back and walked to the elders. The soldier pointed to a
crag above the road. "They were shot from there,sir. They hit the wheels. The
truck skidded into the ravine."
"Any survivors?" the colonel ;l~ked.
 "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, lugging
ragged baskets filled with roots and bark, Colonel Zabarte caught up with
them and said, "Tell me what you saw."
One of the elders, a shriveled man with silver hair, spoke up, "La
isla 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 onto
theleep'anci'torrthe driver tv take him back to the barracks just outside
Carmen. '~Wlgr:' the colonel called back. "I want the village closed off. I
wanLaU 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."
WHENII\RRIVED at Villa del Fuego after my trip to Akeldama the mansion seemed
emptier and more desolate. The colonel had been gone three days, Jun had
agreed to wait for me and was once again the special guest of Dolores, who it
see'med had enlightened him further on the plausibility (or lack of it) of our
research.
"Imelda Marcos," she was saying, "is loco, out of her mind. The '
Suarezes cannot possibly be related to her family, Leyte is three light years
away from San Miguel."
We nodded wearily in assent. LeyIe was actually just an island's hop
across, but to get there one had to risk unpredictable currents, sudden tsu-
nami and sharks, all of which seemed to corroborate the fact that nature
itself precluded commerce between the two islands,
"She builds cathedrals and ma~sions oul of lhe sand dunes of her ,l
, 'i
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'recled
in the other island, and Ma'am had been illvitillg very illlportani people to
inaugurals and sentimental homecoillings, Max l'lala's report.~ carried all
the 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 globe
to keep off the h\lnds of devotees. The mansion was a sprawling compl'ex
replete with state-of-the-artajrconditioning, dire.ct dial teJepI101]~s,an0grass
that was green all throughout the year.
"You must think, sir, that [ am one of those who want to overthrow
the regime." In fact according to our files in Malacafiang Dolores Zabarte
had been haVing fancy dinners with people who were not looked upon with
favor 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 and
daughters whose businesses had been handed over to Marcos' friends-these
languid ladies of the old rich unburdened their frustratiuns on her, who had
remained steadfastly skeptical of favors despite her husband's good standing
with 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." She
laughed, never having taken the colonel's statemenl~ seriously, She had spr.nt
most of her time managing the mill 's accounl~, something she detested but
had to do: increasing ambushes by the NPA demanded that the colonel leave
the affairs of the villa to his wife.
"You will pardon me, gentlemen," she laId us, "if I cannot attend
to you. It is not that I hold you responsible for a project [do not approve of, or
that I choose to be inhospi table, There is just loo much work to he done
here." We told herwe underslood, and we weill back to our ro011lSto drl'ss for
dinner, l1ut Wl~ wOllld Ilot see her agailllllltillllllcl1l:llt'I'lhallliglll.
THECHILDREN CRIEDand the dogs howled, and for a moment it seemed as if
death itself had entered the convent. The rnenhobbled toward the gate. In
theshad.awsJh..~~is!m.~ould discern about t~+orroillOl'~They rang
the bell only once, and then left their load at the gate. They could have been
workers 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 and
poked it with a stick. Underneath the rags was a ~eavily bandaged ~an. He
was only half conscious; he turned his head weanly toward the novices and
for 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~ Manok
Apparently, mernbersofthe rebel squad who had ambushed them brought
him 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 one
can'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 tuberculosIs
was incurable in the late 1950s?"
"She was murdered!" I jumped to conclusion. "Maybe the sisters
didit."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 'j
the last remaining copies with us."
"What do we need both copies for?"
160 Empire of Memory
"Insidious intent," Jun said. "When wewrite the book wedon't want
all the bright boys of the universities finding us out. Wecan invent facts and
nobody 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 here
and there. S~e would actual1y marry one Romualdez, thereby connecting
Ma'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 of
history. Jaime Romualdez carries her off to a blissful marriage until a tragic
and lingering illness strikes her down. But what happens to the fictitious
widower?"
"Follows her to the grave, soon after. Today his sou1 haunts the
rooms of Villadel 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. Doloressays 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 certificates
this evening, haven't yOU! ~~~~~D~;Las they say it here. What have you
. got?"
"gIA~~.a.I]l~.£h9...
marJig,d,!.g.Y.I2~~~owena."
"Come off it." "_M",,_
 "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 in
a 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 off
the story anyway, considering our moral standards."
"What did Dona Zabarte tell you about Don Egidio?"
"Nothing much. Died of a stroke in 197I-the certificates would!
-'~'l
have shown you. Abanal, unceremonious demise. Buried in the town cem-
etery with pomp and circumstance. We know also that Dolores' mother died
in a sailing accident, somewhere towards Mar de las Almas. Dona Bernardina
says the Suarezes were a family with a very short lease on earth. Avery reliJ
gious 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 of
sleep, then it's back to the daily grind. Do you love this job or what? I'll take
the book with me to help me sleep. I'll holler to wake you up. Now go."
AsHERECOUNTED lATER,Junhad troubled dreams that night, possibly as a result
of heavy servings of pork fat and gravy,The south winds howled like panthers
into his room, ripping apart the curtains of old lace and sending the silver
candelabras crashing to the floor. Why did he think of panthers? There were
no panthers in San Miguel, nor anywhere in the archipelago. The mosquito
netting suffocated him, and he was sweating heavily. He got up, Moonlight
slinked faintly into the room, dappling objects and furniture. He was thirsty,
He remembered that the maids filled the jug on the antique dresser with
water every night. He groped for it carefully, because he knew if he knocked it
down he would never be able to face our hostess in the morning, In the dark-
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, he
resigned himself to going down. to the kitchen for his drink of water.
He found his lighter, lit the candelabra and inched his way down
the 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 scanned
the 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 the
refrigerator 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 hitt
his head on the sink and fell face down on the kitchen 11001'. The candelabral
! clattered on the noor, snuffing the light out. In the darkness he felt his arml
I. twisted behind him and his head grappled in an arm lock. He struggled tal
I break free, kicking his legs frantically. He knocked a chair down, and someJ
thing else: he heard glass crashing on the tiles anJ then, from upstairs, thel
sound of feet hurrying out of the rooms, The weight over him suddenly lifted. 1
He could barely see his attacker scrambling (\ut through the back door, Hel
struggled up, dizzy from the fall. He looked out of the kitchen door but could i
see nothing.
l1,.
Atthis point Dolores came into the kitchen, and I followed. She was t
holding 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 I
few 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 toJun and ,l~ked, "Did you see who 1
it was?" I
"No: it was too dark," ]un said. "But from the way he pinned me
down I would say he was about a hundred and sixty pounds, maybe more. Is
there anything missing? Anything stolen?" \
.~---- \
 "Yes," she said, "~ome papers. 1ney were Hele Ull HIt: tdUll:.
"We shall have to tell the local police tomorrow," Jun suggested. i
"No," she said. "They are not so important." ." I walked into something I shouldn'Lhave, that's all. 1 have also reason to be- .
"But where are the dogs? Don't you let them loose at night? \ Ileve the man in question was Antonio Zabarte."
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."
i~to Manila Domestic Airport in the bleary heat of early
THE PlANE SKIDDED
=~~
morning, Hawkers and taxi drivers swarmed for our attention, and we brushed
them 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 various
ministries requesting the honor of my presence in thisor that inauguration,
plus a few announcements from the Cultural Center on the arrival of so and
so 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 one
letter Mad Max finally found the intellectual stamm a to write, askmg us to
explain in so many words why we had practically deserted the office.
Jun set the coffeemaker bubbling, and the aroma ofBatangas barako
whisked m back to our senses, We had not had much sleep, The previous
night's unusual encounter at the villa seemed, well, like a dream, as it did
most of all forJun. We had cleaned up for Dolores' sake, andJun, exhaust~d
after the ordeal, promised to tell me all about it on the plane. The promise
was left unfulfilled, as we both immediately dozed after take-off. I was now; I
told him, about to collect my due.
"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.
164 Empire of Memory
J l~{)l UJaCKlIlall, ne saw. 1 nave reason to believe that me man
who tried to strangle me didn't mean to d~ so, but only to find a way out. I ,
"Holy shit, ]un," I said. "He must have had something to do with
the 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 chance
to see a scar on his forearm. Back at the Times Tony Zabarte used to show a
scar he earned-that was the term he used back then-when things got
rowdy 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 nobody
dared 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 very
carefully as if it were a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls. i
Dolore.~,it began laconically. The bearer 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-l
ter. Weare not at war with the San Miguel military and have no excuse I
for 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 l
convent 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
l~
"Working for the underground," Jun said. "Too simple, Wal~on. [
. would think she's being used as a contact between the two camps. There's
. some kind of truce being negotiated here, and I wouldn't be surprisen if evpn
Colonel Zabarte knows about it. A truce in San Miguel can win him more
.l«'V~"" "'''''~. J ~~ •.
~~v~ ••.••.•.•.•, .l .•••...••.•
0 --,.' • '.
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 for
him. No way for him to know this had been done to protect the guests from
turning into dogfood, She must have tried to contact him from the convent.
Failing that, she must have sneaked back without our realizing it. What was
she 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 i
must have noticed her skirt underneath. She was waiting for him, and then I I
barged into the scene and ruined the rendezvous. She must be very hap.2Yto
be rid of us by now." ~ ference studios, a basement complex of offices and post-production laborato-
Having said that, ]un picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a
number. From the conversation [ could tell he was talking to one of our re-
search consultants in Camp AgUinaldo. "Colonel Lizares? Yes,]un Hidalgo
here. 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 some
l~tters being sent about town. Vou know what I mean, compadre. I want the
experts, 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 this
week. Sige, pare." He replaced the handset and said to me, "We must do our
work as efficiently as we can,"
But I wasn't actually listening. I had just then caught the front
page 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 1
agam. 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, a1fresco beauty pageant venues and posh seafood restaurants planned
by the First Lady. Pundits in the mosquito press referred to it as Imelda's
Edifi~ Complex, and Mad Max had our officewracking our brains out trying
to 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 to
house one giant theater and, on every floor, smaller theaters for competition
viewing, and several preview rooms each accommodating fiftypeople for films
i out of com~tition. There was going to be a reception area and several con-
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 area
in question, the one that had collapsed a day ago, was part of the theater that
would be honored, on opening night, by the presence of luminaries from
Hong Kong to Hollywood. There was a small photograph in the Express of a
few workers in hard hats digging perfunctorily. What was unusual about tne'~'l
photograph 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 i
my company during my days as a volunteer in the flooded plains of Central I
Luzon, Hissmall, bearded face was unmistakable: he was scowling under thel
sun, one hand holding down a floppy hat. Ikept this Information to myseJd
knowing 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 bel
trouble. ,~
I called him up at the seminary, little knowing if I could actually
reach him there. I was lucky.Ted'sfamiliar, 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's
schedules for the coming film festival. Finally, just after five, I toldJun Ihad
to rush right back to my apartment to catch up on my sleep. He himself was
going 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 a
bit older than when I saw him last. I found out that he had not had much
sleep since the accident. The night shift was just coming in and there was a
lull 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?" he
asked me.
r told him everything passed through our office and that r believed
nothing.
"So," he said, "do you eni2U9..ur '!Y.or~r:
NO,ana TIe lmew-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, Betsy
Braga, had ordered engineers of the Film Palace to rush construction for the
simple 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 already
jaded by the French Riviera.
To rush construction of the Film Palace, engineers defied physical
laws and kept on pouring cement and erecting one floor after another. 1\vo
days 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 unfinished
basement.
"Most likely," he said. "WorkerShave reported hearing screams from
under the rubble, but they can't seem to locate exactly where. This afternoon
Betsy Braga ordered a stop to the rescue operations and had them resume
construction. "
"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 j
about forty of them down there. Ghastly, yes. Wecould hear screams coming 1
out of everywhere when they poured in the cement. It'll be all over the fore.I.·.~.n~ I
press this evening. Madame is in deep shit. Pardon me," .~
"I gU,essI'll be writing some kind of disclaimer tomorrow," I said. I
saw 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;;j
sermon. ''I'm not asking you to quit your work and go hungry. It's too muchl
of 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 I
might 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 started
walking 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?" j
He smiled and waved a hand. "It's a risk I have to take," he said, !
~,-l
THEFOREIGN WIREShad a field day guessing how many workers died in the
IUbble. Betsy Braga issued a statement saying five workers had been injured
but were promptly treated at the nearest government hospital. The mosquito
press buzzed ·,,·,··,''',._.,..>.·,_'''''~w.-,',''_,
""', -·->.·_-,-..;,·"'· •..•,-"''''-.-''''.~· ....
~;:}Ten~~'
with rumors, c1aimingtha.t about a hundred ~.4~:"::,.t:.'-
....••.....
"",~"-""'··
".,"",><",."-"""".""",,,,,,,,-."'" ._.', ."",~_.,_.iO"_''''.''',.~.c,c.-"."",""",.,."."~,,.,,_ ..••.}._ .•,,,~ ..•.._
 trapped in the basement, many of th~f!l£hHgr.~nQfqUl~.~~<rs}s luck would
have it, there was no need for A.S.I.A.to issue a statement: for the duration of
the 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 in
effect that from hereon the function of the censors office was not to suppress,
delete, obfuscate or simply reject, but "to promote and preserve the growth
and development of arts, media and the democratic society."The small presses
began 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 For
some time it seemed censorship had bottled up only two things: anger and
libog. Now everything was spouting forth like bad wine. Movie gossip rags
published 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 ~he
Butbut tribe, was gunned down following his opposition to the constructIOn
of Chico Dam. The dam, the chief had said, would flood ancestral lands and
displace tribes in the mountain province. His adamant opposition had made
him a legend among his people, which was all the more reason for the army
to fear him. They shot him in the dead of night. Weeks later, strange white
flowers with soft, powdery petals like the wings of butterflies sprouted all
the hillside where he died.
Meanwhile, young Ferdinand Marcos Junior wa.~elected vice-gov-
ernor of !locos Norte, bailiwick of the Marcos Dynasty. Chubby-faced and
beaming in a light barong, the new vice-governor told adulant members of
the 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 and
news releases about the forthcoming festival, to be known from hereon as
MIFF.There were photographs of the First Family sampling the cuisine at a
newly opened fishfood restaurant beside the Film Palace, while the Manila
Bulletin ran daily spreads of incoming guesl~: Virna Lisi, Priscila Presley,Pia
Zadora and Amparo Mu~o_z,stiI! thc.d_arling of the~Pino¥ macbu ~jncc ~he
won the M!s~-lJnTveJi-title here many years back. Simultaneously, there was
going to be an arts andmusic festival at the Cultural Center: dance troupes
from South Korea and Indonesia, Bayanihan dancers with their signature
singkil, brass bands, Igorots straight from the Mountain Province, azarzuefa,
the Madrigal Singers, and the Los Angeles Metropolitan Opera Company's
Asian premiere of Madame Butterfly. Somewhere within this month-long
fiesta 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:'r
had prepared rough footages of my video and had ehteredit in a c~t~gory
calledExperimental Film and Works in Progres~QY Young Filmr1l_?~~.rs~ i\nq.
as luck would have it Iwould receive a series of scholarships and technical
supportfor promfsiIlgfilmand vfa@arUstS.
Betsy Braga managed to have the Film Palace ready for opening
night, more or less. While guests dripping with jewels swished down the car-
peted aisles and special emcees announced the presence of Celebrity This and
That, we heard the workers pounding overtime to finish construction of the
other screening rooms in the building. There was a distinct odor of fresh
paint aH over the place. Atthe opening rites the President thanked the 1,091
foreign 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 us
inaugurate a new era of culture and celebrate the human spirit, the spirit of
creation." What a celebration that was. Actorsworldwide came, led byToshiro
Mifune and Peter Ustinov. Werner Herzog gave a lecture and Alan Parker
attended the midnight screening of The Wall. Halfway through the festival
]~remy Irons flew in unannounced, accompanied byMeryl Streep. Sir and
Ma'am themselves went all over the ci~inaugurating services and facilities
for 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 town
and created the Cultural Center's "Kasaysayan ng Lahi," an epic pageant
that lasted well into midnight and prompted comments from the First Lady's

visitors (duly quoted by the press) such as, "There is nothing of its kind in the
whole world," "'-,
We shuttled from Malacaii.ang to Roxas Boulevard in the thick of
festivities, from Palace to Palace as it were, until one morning we received a
rather disturbing memo: it seems the festival was not earning anything, not
a single centavo, and we were supposed to think of a solution to that.
"Puii.etang Max 'yan," Jun exploded. "When things go wrong he
passes 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 and
paying 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 of
democratic dialogue, we're going to give the Pinoys what they want."
BETSYAND MAxas usual had an even better idea: they announced a series of
special screenings of the "adult film genre" at the Folk Arts Theater, to begin
with 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, and
the 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 increased
curiosity about Lady Chatterly's forget-me-nots and Kathleen Turner's body
heat.
All told, the Philippines spent more than six million pesos for the
festival-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 jelted
home and the last journalist had filed his report, Bl~15Y 111':q',:1 wa" kilkd whell
her 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, said
that he wa~ driving a government sedan when they saw a trio of poltergeists
blocking their path towards the resort. The ghosts were ambling stoically
towards them; the headlighL~ caught their gaunt, vapid stare, bouncing like
pinlighL~ 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 new
offices in the basement of the Film Palace. There were reports of bereaved
suspirations 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 had
been acting up not because of poltergeisl~ but because of faulty wiring and
plumbing. 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 after
papercha~ing all day in Malacanang. One evening was particularly annoy-
ing: the Iighl~ kept t1uctuating, the sound drawled at the wrOi1g speed, and
the 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 ty
wiring.
Then! heard something: a long, drawling murmur coming from
the main staiIway. No, it seemed more like a muftled chorus, the sound of
many voices uttering a breathlike prayer. My hair stood on end, I rushed out
of 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

main lobby up the stairway. I edged closer and closer. The voices now grew
more distinct. They seemed to be reciting an incantation in a strange, unfa-
miliar dialect, but as I inched closer to the stairway 1recognized some words
as distinctly Ilocano. I climbed the stairs. From below I could see flickering
lights 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
.· gong and dancing around a stolid beast: in the flickering torchlight I dis-
,I cemed it was a carabao. There were also a few chickens bound and lying at
j 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 faces
of 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 thunderous
crescendo, one of the elders threw his arms out. Everything fell silent. I could
hear only the distresstd clucking of the chickens and the crackling of the
torches. A tribesman pulled a chicken up. It gave out a nervous cackle and
tried to flutter out of his grip. He slit the chicken's throat and broke its neck
and drained the blood into a jar. Then the elders approached the carabao.
The leader leaned against its ear, apparently whispering something. The beast
swayed and shuffled on its feet. Then the elder moved a few feet away, and
instantly 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 bore
through the thick hide. Blood spurted out everywhere. Then they started
slashing at its throat, sending thick folds of flesh and fat oozing out of its
wounds. The beast buckled down and slumped on the marble floor. It expired
quietly, plunging its horned head into a pool of its own blood. The tribesl1]~.n
gave out a piercing, blood-curdling cry. The rhythms started again, and th~
tribesman hopped around the animals, splashing the blood with their ba
feet.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 all
lover the hall. The observers inched closer to one another in fear, There was a
L:0b somewhere. And then, when everything subsided, all the IighL~wenl on,
ANNOUNCEMENTS about the forthcoming Pop Festivalwere broadCtl~tevery hour
over radio, with free tickets being given away to lucky listeners. Ten days
before 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 represented
in the Philippines, such as Warner Brothers and Sony, the director of the
Cultural Center, the ministers of education, communications and culture,
and wives of governors and generals.
The evening of the competition was muggy, with premonitions of a
brutal, unrelenting summer. Crowds packed the Folk Arts Theater where a
breeze 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. "You
know, that journalist chick I told you about." I said I would have a copy
ready in a few days. I asked him how Meg was.
"Pretty good," he said. "Coming back to !.sia, but she doesn't know
where 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 were
clearly visible like a birthmark. It wa.~obvious he was confident as hell; he
had spent all his life for moments of glory, rehearsing them as though they
could 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 won
the 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.

"A PEOPLE PERENNIALLY at war with itself: how does that sound? Is war the mark
of a civilized race? I would think so. The empires were created out of the
('~~:~;'~~~11~~~~ ~~~~~i~~~~~~r:~~~~~~~~:;:~~;;~~~~~;/~ao:
necessary, There were scandalous outbursts at the MiIkyWaywhich were not
•.. resolved, as was their custom, by the eventual osculating and moteling, Susan
blood of many, Civil wars are important. They are the mark of a nation find-
\\ walked out andJun refused to placate her "out of amor propio." For the next
ing itself. That's it. Let's put that in." \ few d~ys he pored over the documents on hand, and I refrained from com-
That was Jun, who had worked rabidly on our book since our ex-
! mentmg on the valuable help Susan's team had been giving us for fear that
tended vacation in San Miguel. Memos were coming down from the Presi-
, the mere mention of her name might spark another outburst of temporary
, dent saying that he wanted the book out in less than a year. The sudden
urgency was unusual (uncharacteristic, I should say, of a government that
i dementia in my colleague.
L ~£.~,~use hil1lselfhe had secretly c?mpiled e~trapolations on our
intended to stay for a long time). Wefound out soon enough that Ma'am
more serious ~e~~~rGIL11ta([SO (Q-say'"Tog~merwHo'tne voiume for tEe Presi~
herself wanted to rush a few thingsafier a n~~ round bf'vtsits to:MatacaLtanp,.:
by the witch Dayang. The name sounded familiar, and I remembered that
aent he also scribbled a shadow volume of fictitious histories which he was
'now Beginning to take more interest in, Among the items included innis
this was the same Dayang of Siquijor Ih,\cl occasion tocon\!erse with many
personal volume were salacious excerpts from Amalia Suarez Romaldes' ro-
moons back, in that dingy cafe in Quiapo. There was talk in the halls of the
man a cle}; as well as fragments he picked up1rom Susan's research. He
Palace that she had become a regular visitor. I would have wanted to see her
'became obsessed with the later (and obscure) life of our enamou red bandido,
again, but I doubted if she would remember me. In any case, her presenc~",
Elias Camacho, and was increasingly frustrated that no material about him
was felt strongly in our little office, Jun's eccentric behavior, which had be-
was actually available. Once he considered spending the next few months
come more pronounced in the past few weeks, could be due to the fact that
combing the islands around San Miguel just to discover where the blasted
work had prevented him from seeing Susan for weeks, and that he had con-
island of Sombrio really was, Failing that, he produced a pastiche of
cluded that the book would not be completed in so short a time. Madame
idiosyncracies culled from various texts, ranging from the manner of cir-
would have our heads. cumcision among native Tagalogs, to all the available ejaculations, to saints
"Justice," Jun was now saying, "is a prerequisite of a civilizea race,
real and not. But the bulk of it was his--he invented much of the material
There can be no human society without a few crimes punished and a few
for the sole p~oseof'K~epinlhissaf1ity:rriashorf tilne 1 too would be his
heretics burned in public, Make that number two." We had gone deep into
~ccomplice:Twould suggestlittledetaifs toembellishhis book of anti-history
the writing of the first volume, and to do so we delved into material un-
(as he sometimes called it). We did it as a sort of game, an inter-office diver-
earthed by the Historicallnstitute on pre-Spanish Philippines, According to
sion that was necessary in the face of the work-load in Malacaiiang.
documents retrieved by the institute, a certain Lu Ho, a merchant trader ply-
Jun's black humor and my detachment and our collective cynicism
ing the Formosa-I1ocos route sometime in the late 1200s, had noted down a
kept us going, Or perhaps we were just thicker-skinned than the next guy,
 really kapaimuks, as his generation used to say. There were times when none
of these things mattered and the prime motive was just to keep one's sanity
intact, 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 of
insanity. "What do you think, eh AIi Baba? We do a little thievery here and
there 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
'the'ar;clent venerables! thus disputing the"falslficatlonsQf the conas a.nd
cabrones who came here to fuck the lad.r.qnes.
. - ',. "
Los hi,i,o,sde catoli~a,sl kOS
. ','.. . .. .
pu.~~ta?t"
1. War. Since the proto-Malays established villages and kingdoms around
the 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 taught
to 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 sultanate
that Solismaya's army had dWindfedto a'few inexperienced archers, many of
his finest warriors having expired after the violent eruption of the volcano of
Bonbon.
AIShahid set sail on the crest of the southwestern winds, bringing
with 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 hear
the eerie music of the fleet as they swooped into the waters of the bay.
They reached the delta in the lull between storms, ransacked the
village with little resistance, and assassinated the rajah in his chambers and
threw 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, a
cargo of poultry and talking bird~, and a Oeet of ancienl boats that they tied
and towed behind their balangay.
i'''~, They kept the young Mayi in the tower of a minaret until she was of
age to be accepted into the sultan's harem. Their first night wa~ uneventful,
the sultan having stumbled straight to slumber from drunken revelry. In the
morning he woke up looking into the face of the most beautiful maiden he
had ever seen.,Overcome by this vision, the sultan offered to marry the young
girl, and gifted her with monumenL~, minareL~ and palaces of ruby, quartz
tCL. and 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 not
offer herself to him until her father had a resting place in the water where the
sultan's warriors had thrown his body. AJ Shahid immediately dispatched a
team of architects and foremen to construct a :nosque on the Ooor of the
waters where the late Solismaya had been disposed, It took seven years and
many lives to finish the submarine mosque, and on the day it wa~ finished
the sultan brought Mayi to the site. From the tottering boat where they stood
they could see the brilliant domes of the mosque shimmering underwater,
sending ca~cades of brilliant hues among the coral. Mayl then declared that
she would plunge to the seafloor to ask her father's permission to marry the
sultan, and if the sultan truly loved her he would accompany her down to the
depths 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 neverseen 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~;<h
colonizers, 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
Alinam this was no les.~than a shrewd plot to dispose of the war-mongering
sultan and thus diminish his hold on the kingdom. Today the vestiges of
these kingdoms continue to be at war, but for otherreasons.
2. Justice. In the 13th century, when the growing empire of Sri Vijaya was
causing much turmoil in the states of Banjannasin, Brunei and Borneo, ten
datus sailed north with their families from Borneo to escape oppression from
the tyrannical ruler, Sultan Makatunaw. Among these was the benevolent
Sumakay, who, upon reaching the island of Panay, was able to buy the island
for a gold hat and a gold necklace. The ten tribes prospered and reigned in
peace, 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 for
his subjects whose unbounded prosperity had made them rambunctious and
unruly. It soon became apparent that the new ruler was not as benign as his
forbears. The laws stipulated that anyone who killed his fellowman, stole or
hurt the aged should be drowned with stones in boiling water. Debts were to
be paid punctually; failure to do so merite<i one hundred lashes, and if the
debt was large, the offender was beaten to death. It was forbidden to have
women who were very young, or be given to excessive lust: offenders were
Laceratedwith thorns. Many were put to death for cutting down trees of ven-
erable appearance, for shooting arrows at night, for entering the houses of
tlle headmen without permission, and for hunting sharks, crocodiles and
white 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 were
beaten 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 a
black cat when the moon was full would be exposed for a day to ants. lilly
man 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 l
escaped punishment, they would be tied and burned until their souls gave.u.p
their bodies and confessed to their crimes. . .....J
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 ofthe fourgrearest languazes of the world-Hebn:w, Greek,
Latin, and Spanish. It has the [Tlysticismand difficulties of the lIebrew; the
di.stinctive terms of the Greek not only in the common but also in the proper
names; the fullness and elegance of Latin; and the civility and courtesy of
Spanish." Indian traders and Moslem warriors left a syllabary of seventeen
symbols for three vowels and fourteen consonants, the use of which could be
expanded with the addition of diacritical marks, They wrote vertically from
top to bottom and left to right, carving on the barks of trees, on ieaves and on
tubes of bamboo, with the use of pointed implements and the sap of trees for
ink. They con\posed poems, riddles, dirges, lullabies, songs for war and also
for marriage, and,cOlJl2IgLs~0.ge~h\!Il1e(,\QJ}Iy,b.y!heblinQ,Often they recited
their verses with dances and plays, and they developed instruments from
gourds, reeds, shell and metalwork that could produce marvelous sounds:
from the sheen of stars falling to the plucking of the wind, from the roar of
the 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 thist
music that is forgotten but throbs quietly and persistently like blood in the \
veins. .......J
4. Religion. The chronicler Antonio Pigafetta on the idols he encountered
in the island of Sugbu: "These idols are of wood, hollow or concave, without
the parts behind, the arms are open and the legs apart, with the legs turned
upward. The face is rather large with four enormous teeth similar to the
fangs of a wild boar; all are covered with paint." Other records noted idols
made of silver, gold, ivory, stone, and bone. There were images of gods for
planting, 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 lower
I deities, called anitos, who were all subject to him. The supreme god was often
represented by a golden oriole, similar, according toJose Rizal, to the eagle of
Jupiter, 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'tthe bones in coffins and the skulls for venera-
tion. Their funerals were simple and were often animated by relatives of the
deceased going berserk. Aftergrieving for the dead, they indulged in a..D!ne:.
~t of eating and drinking called pasiam.: It was believed that the soul
took nine days to depart from the physical world, and that during this period
of 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 I
would 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 could
prevent 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 the
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 out
much later after the act, both thereby indulging in a protracted frenzied de-
light, notwithstanding the spilling of considerable blood and suffering other
injuries."
7. Asense of history and destiny. The natives p;linted thelrbQ.di~wilh
tgttoos, which was why they were caJ.l.e.9JLinlqc!Qg,·, It is said that entire family
histor'ieSwerewri'tten o-n'fne-skinof each individual, and the part on which
the history wa~ written indicated its importance in the destiny of a man or
woman, 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;' i
bined as a new story on the child's own skin. In the course of time the youth J
added stories of his own. There were times when young men lost their limbs I
to 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 I
1.

somber, austere ritual of prayer came to replace the joyous celebration of

for human memory, and began to attack villages where they would search l
out the most tattooed residents, ~~
passing from one life to another. When they died the natives believed these designs would be the only
things that would remain of themselves, and would continue to shimmer
'5. An early start. In the first century before Christ, QiQdQn.lL~j£lJ1!§ re-
after death. By these designs they were identified by angels who would wait
vealed news of islands in the far seas, whose existence was told to him by a
for them on fragilebo~ts ofic,e,so that they may cross the lake of the other
GreeksaHQr l1amedJarnPoul,The sailor had recorded details of the islands,
world and enfer'ffie KIngdom-Grail memory, The first men from the Westwho
.their inhabitants, their literature and systems of navigation. Ptolemy also
encountered tb~se natives wer.epqle and d~vol(oraIlY bodily design, The
noted three islands called Sindae in Latin, inhabited by ~Iyvxm·,These
natives took pity on thern, because before then it had never seemed possible
islands were later deciphered as Celebes,Gilolo ~D~Amb~Qi.na.Ptolemy also
tfiat any f1!an could exist in thiSworld without any memory, ilnd therefore
wrote about the islandofm O~U SXLPORO,which turned out to be Borneo,
wlthno future Lolook forward to, and no boat with which to traverse the
and of the islands caUed SxYPOlTBBXL,whfch were Mindanao, Leyte and
Cebu , and of RXBRLODXLJwhichwas the site of Manila. '"greatlake,
'-"~""~'

FATIlERTEDUNFOLDED the paper before me and pointed to a story bu ried in page

6. An instinct for pleasure. Asidefrom orgies devoted to the gods of the
seven. "There," he said, "is where I'm going, You'll know where to find me,"
sun and the moon, many wayswere devised for encouraging intimacy. Among
There wa~ a picture of some barrio, all dunes and brush, and in the fore-
these was the ~gra.,.¥~ungmenmade incisionsclose to the head of their
ground was a group of people with sunken, staring eyes, About a month ago
penises and attached a snakellke head of me tar or iVOrY- ''WIth this contriv-
._._ ..~~".", ..
," ~- ,"..,~.~
.. '.-.' a 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 as
the winds unpacked the eirth ,lnd buried huts and beasts of burden. "It's one
disaster after another, isn't it?" Ted said. We were in a carinderia in Quiapo
where the waitresses were fat and greasy like the victuals. "It's the land that's
sick," 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 the
glass window beside us, pointing at the coffeecups before us and holding up
their 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 to
motion them away, and they scampered about, some of them crowding against
the next window. We went back to our conversation in relative peace, and Ted
said, "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 a
few 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't
live 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 and
scratched his beard-which was what he did whenever he wanted to avoid
an issue. "I just wanted to see how you were, AI. We haven't seen you a lot
since 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 had
a 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 important
military 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 me
they wanted to help, if we needed any." He chuckled again. "After a few hours
I deduced it all boiled down to one thing: they wanted to know how 1came by
all 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 and
payroll 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 lot
of 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 the
world. I can't understand all of it myself. But my staff has been doing a lot of
legwork and here's what we got. A lot of money pouring in, and your office is
one of the recipient,>."
"I could h,we told you that," I said. "Ma'am makes sure we get
enough 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 know
where they go but they go somewhere else. Out of the country, maybe. We've
got names the President and Ma'am have been using for their account,>."
"Ted," 1said. "I don't know why you're telling me all this What do
you want me to do?"
"Nothing," he said. "I'm going of! to Abra tomorrow, and I just
want 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 young
men in your organization?"
Ted laughed. "Don't think I haven't done that. You're not the only
one 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 little
while."
"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 call
you 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
"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 nuts
lately. 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? You
know 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 go
there sometime."
Iknew Ted was well-read in pre-Hispanic culture as well, and could
give us some new information unavailable at the Historical Institute.
"I'll call you up when I get back," he said after scribbling a few
notes on the back of the paper. He folded the paper and handed it to me. I
tucked 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 jeepney
stop without talking, and when we reached it Ted held out his hand and
shook my hand. "Don't work too hard, AI," he said. "It's not like you." He
laughed again, then hopped on the jeep. I took my own route home, and
reached my apartment withered and drained after an hour of heavy traffic.
MyPRESUMPTION that we could take it easy soon after the film festival proved lo
be wishful thinking. The next morning, as soon ;L~ I got to work, there W'L~ a
memo 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 the
day at the palace library and I was also to dress more appropriately: lIO sport
shirts and jeans, only shirts and decent slacks. I complained to Jun, adding
that 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 where
Manila's 400 trooped in tafetta and satin, flashing thousand-peso tickets. I
was driven to these ceremonies in a chauffeured limousine, one of several in
the First Lady's convoy, between armed bodyguards dressed in barong Tagalog
who called me Sir. Westopped traffic, wailing like a matter of life and death
through the streets of Manila that had been lined with ipil-ipil trees and tall
wooden planks to hide the squalor behind them. Westepped into hotels and
reception chambers in full regalia, while paparazzi from the government
press blinded us with flashbulbs and guest relations officers bowed and of-
..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
fered ete.r.n.a..Io.bse.quio
_~~~_e_~n.dDina, two.~~,~~~~~~1l9~~redJii;m1.JYLtb,Jl~._
...ms,.-.-.J....
•
and agitafea'tFie SKinny PR girls with their petulant .complaints and love .
1'ives'.'rterewere the Wive'fbfGenerarTI1is;i'fiaIKaLiiilx trgll~~_h.QJ.:'!!n
..-._,.- .._'-"~-----' t~J9- .~
.~
'6f~J~,illltiful~ by.thYJce~rkhand a.lWQstas pow.er!ul. Herewere I
Madame Wong, owner of the biggest department store in town and perennial i
companion during Ma'am's New Yorksorties, and M1;. Edit~ fuenco, dri£- j
pi ng,$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- i
tressof 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.
 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 r
parasol 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. Quite
often she talked to herself, or straight to the camera; not to me, but to the
machine whirring inside my Sony.She talked of how good life was, and how
much she wanted to dJ for the Filipinos, and how the universe had chosen
the country as its central point of convergence -- or whatever, Ididn't listen
anymore. I had become, in a short time, like an automaton that could be
switched on and off, unbothered by whatever it was Iwas asked to tape.
Except for one incident. One afternoon, Dayang the witch returned
to the palace, bringing with her samples of herbs and oils from Siquijor. She
just arrived by boat that morning, and she smelled of brine as she waddled
into the palace as though the waves were still rocking in her bones. [ was
immediately dispatched to accompany her to Ma'am, I took position a few
feetbeside them. The First Ladyand Dayang sat before a mahogany coffeetable
embedded 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 dutifully
handing 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. Aftertwo minutes (my
camera 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.r
you.,"
"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 said
a 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 this
idyllic world breaking apart, but of the same visions recurring, as though by
special request they had acquired a certain' persisteFlce.Then Dayang added
something else, "There is trouble, b~~not here. [sang islangmalayo. Death
and 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~h
and gifts. I was sent to deposit the tape at the Iibrary, but along the way I
detoured to the office and showed the footage toJun.
"Voodoo," he said, "doesn't thrill me. What does Payang do for a
living, (l,ide from telling fortunes?"
Irealized [ hadn't asked her, "Probably raises goal)," [said. "How's
the book?"
"Thick as congee," he said. "Susan's sent more material, fresh from
researchers 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 kissed
and made up, Susan and I. Want to go to the MilkyWaywith us? We'll tear
each other apart for your sake,"
"No," [ said. "Got to get some sleep, Maybe a movie to beat the
traffic." I browsed through the afternoon tabloids on his desk to scan the
movies schedule, but I was dumbstruck by one of the headlines. "Jesus, Jun,
have you seen this?"
"Yellowpress," he said. "1 never read them." He pulled the paper
from 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 Francisco
Santos, had been captured by forces led by Colonel Jose Zabarte off the town
of Carmen. The victorious colonel was himself photographed beside the cap-
tive leader, his gruff countenance now broken by a triumphant smirk. The
report said that several others had been captured with Santos, and that the
military was well in pursuit of the ragtag squads dispersed by its raids,
"Colonel Zabarte's doing very well," Jun said. "[ always knew he
was top calibre." He read the story through and said, "Listen to this, Diaz.
'Rebel documents captured by Colonel Zabarte's battalion reveal that the
Communist Southern Command has been planning a general meeting to
revamp 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"._

THREESOLDIERS were trying to see who could put out a bonfire by shooting at it
from forty meters away. The shots rang out all over the village and bounced
back as a distant rumble from the mountain ranges. Each time they fired the
soldiers scattered the bonfire, sending small explosions of sparks and embers.
Aportion of a wattle fence running along the length of the foothills had been
tom down by goats that were now ruminating along the slope. The soldiers
fired in their direction. The goats trotted farther up, and when they were too
far up the soldiers shot at the bonfire again, scattering its debris of ash and
burned twigs.
Colonel Jose Zabarte watched them from the window of the bar-
racks. Fucking bored idiots, he said to himself. They pick village idiots to
fight 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 unbearable
heat of the afternoon weigh down on him. He scanned the spartan room
around him: a t~ble of some hardwood, polished to a deep burn; a shelf of a
fewbooks, including three Bibles, one in the native Carolan; a portrait of the
President, young and smiling, in a pristine barong; and a service with several
bottles of his whiskey. He emptied his glass and unfolded the note he had just
received that morning. Hewas doing this for the fifth time this afternoon. All
day he had wanted to be alone in this room, to reword and rephrase and
repeat 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 watermark
he had not noticed in the morning when the courier first handed him the
note. 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 he
was reading somebody else's notice:
Col.Jose Zabarte,
Southern Command,
San Miguel
Colonel Zabarte
I, Ferdinand E. Marcos, President 01 till' Hl'puhllc 01 till'
Philippines and Commander· in·Ch ief of thl' Arllled Forces of the
Philippine\ extend my deep appreciation and commendation for
the invaluable work your unit has done to maintain our democracy
and the integrity of the republic, in spite of the odds faced in your
unfortunate region. I extend to you the appreciation and gratitude
not 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 its
military 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'<L
your 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 up
slowly, 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 scorched
by the sun here, greener and thick with vegetation. In the distance he could
hear greenbill parrol~ screeching. The peaks of the range were smudged by a
mass 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 be
back at Villa del Fuego, where the wind was more benevolent and the drinks
cold and untainted by amoebae. Let them crush the skulls of this forsaken
land, 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 killing
and the greyness to other men.
He walked back to the barracks. Afew meters away the soldiers had
been guarding the huts of the village of Carmen, a gaggle of peasants and
their fami ties and livestock. They had cordoned off the vii!age after the attack
at Bitukang Manak. Three residents tried to escape to forage for roots and
tubers in the mountains, and the soldiers shot them on sight, as they had
been instructed to do. There was not much food left, and now even his men
were 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 his
pocket. Then he drew out another note, written on crumpled paper without
an envelope, and tucked it also in his pocket. He turned to the soldier and
asked, "Has he said anything?"
"We have everything we need, sir," the soldier replied. "He doesn't
seem 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 young
man slumped on a wooden chair. The young man was naked, his arms tied
with, rope to the back of the chair. His thin body bore bruises that had turned
black on his dark skin, There were deep cuts along his arms, blackened now
where 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 disfigured
with bruises. His lower lip hung out, torn and bleeding. There were black,
round wounds on his skin where cigarettes had been stubbed oUl, and his
testicles 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.j
The 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 and
said, "That's enough of your games." The soldier understood and went back
to the hut. The.colonel climbed into his jeep. Asthe driver turned the ignition
he 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 the
scribbled 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('ople
of San Miguel, prepare to answer the call for war with the hllie thaI we own and
with only our faith In the Ideals of the movemenl (Jur people arc bcin~ abused
by 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 accept
defeat We accept only victory for the people and the counlrv We shall smite the
enemy 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 the
soldiers 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
flown to Man il~,.thereto ~e photograph~ciby thepr~~saDCLcl~lajJWclinc~[11j).
Thtsl110vement will be broken, said the colonel to himself, even if [ myself
will have to break it with my own hands. They drove towards the mountain
road, passing by its pattern of crushed rock, lime, lichen and crag. He could
hear 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 NPAleader
were distributed by stewardesses of Flight OM 112 enroute to Tokyo, The story
was somewhere below the fold, superceded by photographs and commentar-
ies dripping with sympathy for victims of the drought, which by then had
spread to the towns of !locos and Central Luzon. Pictures of burnt landscapes,
shriveled trees and gaunt, hungry faces leaped out of the page. Atthe bottom
corner 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 government
had alleviated the plight of the drought victims, as it had vowed to do, There
was 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 l
turning to Pat Chiu, who was munching beside him: "Why did you have to :
pick this plane, Pat? SaVing for a rainy day again?"
"You must learn money," Pat Chiu said. "Young people don't know I
anything." .•,-J
"That's why you're my manager, Pat," saidSal. He leaned back and
closed his eyes. If I didn't know anything we'd still be playing for pennies at
the Zoo, that's what we'd be doing. If I didn't know anything those hordes
wouldn'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 to
shoot 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't
stop till my dic'k gat raw. Doped-up punks in Manila come up to me with
jackknives and bare their chests and ask me to slash them, just so they can
show the scars to friends. And I'm not smart enough for this coolie. We've
been 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 Araneta
Coliseum, 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 by
hallucinaUng 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.:~/''~''':~:""~<'~~!,-""""',,",,>,~,~,,,~
.."~e.rn~Yb~.qo9.LP~tI.'~!L~,h~ILt~19","
!,~~~at_~~i.ul
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 think
they'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. '
I At the Champagne Room of the Manila Hotel, cantankerous from the heal I
and jetlag, Chuck Berry said to Sal, "Nobody plays before me. BUI you play J
real 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 the
rest of the world. His mind went on and on, interrupted occasionally by air
pockets 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 were
Sal XandJohnnyMidnigbt ..Jhe story came a week after Sal's music-the
slower, more introspective ballads-were aired to close the Johnny Midnight
Hou! over DZDouble B Radio. Before that the Johnny Midnight Hour was no
more than a crackpot radio discard set up to fill dead air. Johnny Midnight
WtlS a sleazeball of a deejay, a radio has-been who had botched up every
program he deejayed for. None of the Top 40 gung-ho executives of the local
distributors wanted him to play their all-American music.jqbnnyJheeOld
,~Sle~~.~@§.tb~.~~,L91M~&.~g~lU:U.!,§1~L~Jbe'i.':Y~.r~S2D£~JJlgd,JJe
. for a while, and news went around that he Wtnt up to the mountains of
faded 0 ut
Banahaw and secluded himself there for seven months. When he came back
he was spouting protestations of faith and the like, but no one paid much
attention to him, at least not in Manila where everybody has seen almost
everything. He spent the next few months guesting on midnight television
shows, expounding on the grace and the truth and the whatnot of Christian
living. 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 of
his own.
About a month after Johnny Midnight's comeback, Pat Chiu had
this idea of sending him copies of Sal's new single. He was surprised, days
later, to receive a call from Johnny Midnight, saying the Good Lord had in
fact asked him to play Sal's music on the air for the benefit of the unre-
 of Man, the infirm became.well, the insane bec~',me lucid, the unloved found
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 and divine supplication, "
Now there was talk in Manila that all this pig Latin gobbledygook
more listeners: all the lonely housewives in Manila waiting for their hus-
was pattly rendered efficacious by no less than the music of the young musi-
bands to stagger home from philandering in the massage parlors of Maalikaya
cal sensation Sal X, Mystics and crackpol~ came to the conclusion that the
and the striptease joints of Ermita; all the domestic servants winding down
rhythms employed by the young star were on the same wavelength ,L'itk
from the day's work, fiXing meals for senorito and senorita and putting the
]lerna! BreaLh.of Shiva .. Record sales shot up ~ky high, and Sal X, erstwhile
little brats to sleep; all the stevedores and drivers of trucks and taxis and
Kristo oj' Akeldama, w~-l!.9w K!is.lQ..2l!1~.t.r.Q
Manjlli.~~I!~rJ.lll.lJakcllbi1e
jeepneys and tricycles and caritons; all the beggars and fortune tellers and
rugby-sniffing children of the Quiapo underpass; and all the co!egialas, lost
Of 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 with the esla mpil@:
in the fantasy of their lOVeSand lusting for sex. Everybody listened - the
of the Mother of Perpetual Help around the stalls and kiosks of Quiapo, The
hobos of Rizal Park and the First Lady in her Palace chamber, and all be-
fortune tellers invoked his name, and the noontime television extravaganzas
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, held Q,~nG~,,~9ml2.~Utt9D,~ On.lhJ]>11Lqg"Cwe.
All that happened less than a month ago, but it seemed to Sal, now
from diarrhea to hepatitis, from malaria to insanity, Even the syphillitic
sinking deeper into sleep, that between then and now a thousand years had
maidens of Mabini and Del Pilar tuned in, rubbing the speakers onto their
passed. A new contract had been prepared for his next five albums, and
lush pubis to stop the unwanted secretions that came with their profeSSion,
national rights were being negotiated everywhere, Sal moved to a four-bed-
Take a glass of water, turn the radio on, and pray with Johnny:
room apartment in Quezon City, just a stone's throwaway from New Manila's
ancient houses, and bought himself a two-door Lancer where he installed
ACNOAMISIOTAM IPOCSO CAMAD
Bang und Olufsen speakers. Not long after, Pat Chiu received an urgent cable
HAPHAP ROCOB SAIO leos
from a festival organizer in Tokyo, saying they were requesting the honor of
LEPUS NAPRAP
the presence of Manila's number one sensation to grace the Asian Song Fes-
ADONAlJEHOVAELOlM SABAOTH
tival at the Budokan. Although the invitation came on such short notice, Sal
and Pat Chiu packed up guitar and suitcase and took the first plane out. And
Drink of the cup and be cleansed of the tribulations of the world, 0 My Peo-
as flight DM 112 skidded down the runway, jolting Sa] from his sleep, Pat
ple. TlltcYAlY.e.s.,QL1he.M~Jr9J1~ni,l,'!~f.I~,~9I~-~nl~hirJed and p,umpf.d
Chiu turned to him with his lizard-like smile and said, "You big star
all night, deliveri~gsogn~to-beholy water, and tbe anlenl)~ ()fthe.M~nil~
Welcome to Japan,"
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 the
'SJl!!IMA~'£N,' ,f.~T~~2:..\itN,
S&~~£2kQllLt11l,q§.JJ".~~'
on ly panacea avai lable to Eeopl~~bg .he,9 Jml,~Jl1()r,~.tg expeqt from ,'!nY:.
I

It was difficult to determine whether the small, round-facedJapa-

thing.lf c;odcotildn'rsavet~e world,Johnny Midnight would, In his booth at
nese director was merely inquiring or was in the throes of hysteria. In his
nigh( round-faced, mestfzong-hilawjohnny-Midnlgh-t praised the Lord and
neatly pressed business suit he seemed more like a banker than a concert
callen on all good listeners to drink of the fountain of blessedness, and 10 and
promoter, and he spoke with a restrained drone even a<; stagehands d,L'ihed to
behold, across the entire Metro Manila area, across the length and breadth of
and fro like hullet trains, The show would hegin in an hom);al X or the
the National Capital Region, throughout the alleys and esquinitas of the City
Hirippine, heing the new kid in town, would open the concert, to be followed
 ml'lll'il•
by more familiar names from Tokyo and the United States. Pat Chiu fidgeted
and looked around the dressing room. Sal's Stratocaster was there, and his
clothes that hanged beside a full length mirror framed with incandescent
lights. There were several cans of Coke and Kirin and an unopened pack of
Marlboros, 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 like
world warii b?te.
. "He go for more Kirin," Pat Chi~said, and thedirectQ(~ Lacehroke
to 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 behind
the Budokan. People were starting to queue for the concert; the lines slinked
down the length of the theater, causing a minor traffic jam. He looked around
helplessly; Pat was no good in unfamiliar cities, and he knew that if he took
so 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.j
looking 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 bride
and groom, on the other hand, were dressed in simple street clothes; they I alsobega[1tore,l9~~MhisIsctipt~res
looked as if they had just decided to tie the knot and had walked straight int?J
the 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 five
minutes ago. The photographer, who knew little EngHsh and understood Sal's
quaint accent much less. nodded politely and continued taking pictures.
Sal wanted to spend a great deal of time alone in Tokyo. Nobody
knew him here. The screaming groupies who hounded him in Manila were
not here. He was anonymous in Tokyo, and somehow he liked that, it gave
him repose. He had been waking up in the middle of the night for the past
two night since they arrived, and he would sneak out of the hotel room in
jeans and a coat. He could hear Pat Chiu snoring in the room next to his. The
!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 were
more secretive, nocturnal goings-on in the small alleys where he wandered.
Young sarariman were staggering home, drunk and murmuring to one
another. For the first time in his life he felt alone. Somehow he felt relieved of
the screaming adulation and the unaba~hed fanaticism and sexuality of IllS
young fans. Everybody was trying to get at each other's throat to he number
one. You nUlllberone, Pat Chiu always reminded hilll, and he had sab slleeL'I
to prove it. But sometimes in the sullen interludes at night he knew he had to
g~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 his
songs, 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\l
would 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, shootingl
crack and fucking discards from the c1ubs.·J
The tenuousness of his success had astrange effecton him. ~eJurneO
inwardand went backJotbe books that had given him comfort as a younger
, man. When he opened the books, the texts leaped outllke a reprimand,Jie.
~g?iril§9mething he had 90n~only 9,)
areei1'agerMse~rchin~for l11ea~irigamidst th~ neon dazzle of the clubs. Desire
is 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 late
night evangelists. He found himself staring at the ones who looked straight
into his eyes. He snickered at their predictions of impending apocalypse, but
when 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 their
appeals. Hecalled up the station one evenin~, his hand tremhling ;L~he dialed
the 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 to
save the world."
Pat Chiu almost gagged. "You save the world, yes, but you save
yourself first," he said. "God help those who do."
"I was the Kristo (J Akeldama, Pat," he said. "People there looked
to 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 all
alike. 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? It
was difficul t to say, but stari ng at the temple grounds he suddenly knew what
It 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 be
the biggest thing in the recording world today he wOllldn't have to suck up to
anybody anymore. Let Pal do it. Astrange animal wanL~to tear itself out of
me and let itself loose. I can feel its claws ripping my insides, I can feel it
bursting out of me.
But now the ceremony was over. Sallooked at his watch. He got up
and 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 a
I'heure, monsieur." And having recognized the last words, the photographer
broke into a smile, replied with astring of mellifluous salutations, and watched
as Sal staggered away.
ATTI1E 8UDOKAN: walking on stage, all he could seewas a spot light beamed at
him. He peered into the crowd and yelled into the mike: "Is there anybody
out there?" Polite applause. There was only one tbing to do, he thought: he
jumped into the opening riffs of his new song-and immediately it seemed
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[{ LIPSI
SHE'S SINGING OF THE APOCALYPS:~I
ANDAVOICEIS RINGING IN HEH HEADI
SAYINGTHIS AIN'T THE WORLDWE USEDTO KNOWI
IF WE BLOWIT UP IT'LL GOI
AWAY!!!
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 the
depths 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 his
mfr~~~l.o~ss_~g,Ll.es in ,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 the
shocked guesl~ and hotel personnel stared in disbelief. It had always seemed
to him that fame granted him license to do anything he wanted and to be
what he wanted to be. He had the waiter deliver sake and then beer, then
passed drinks all around to whoever was loitering at the lobby. Rumpled and
disheveled 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 dispensll1gthe 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 and
censure, and for some time there were small items about his antics spread in
screaming kanji all over the shimbuns: Sal guttered somewhere, Sal picking
a fight with big Caucasian in Shinjuku bar, Sal visiting the striptease circuit,
.,C' Sal striping naked onstage, Sal simulating masturbation before a crowd of
forty thousand, Sal spreading his arms apart and opening his handS to reveal
his 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 you
stay cool but you no listen, Sal walked around the city, trying to lose himself
in it and to walk away from his own imagined distress, But people walked up
to him or huddled on the trains, obviously talking about him. He saw them
pointing at him in convenience stores as they would to a packet of nori, He
heard them shuffling about, tiptoeing to get a view of him, as he waited for
his 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 and
snow-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, his
head pounding with their cacophonous messages. He darted for cover in the
alleys, upsetting saba carts and pushing past the drunks staggering home
from Ikebukuro. He dashed into the avenues with his head in his hands,
silently screaming as the neon signs and video walls swooned and engulfed
him. He sat up in bed, hitting his head with his fists while Pat Chiu snored in
the other room. Finally, one morning he was able to find shelter in a temple
somewhere. 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 an
old well. All he could hear was the sound of water trickHng down a bamboo
tube in a nearby trough. There was nobody else around, He slouched down
on 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 up
S,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: only
Meg walking beside him with the faintest smile on her lips, Her hair was
bright 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'm
not sick, you know. What are you tucking me in bed for?"
"Get some rest," Meg said. "That's all you need." He sank deeper
into sleep, into the undertow of half-dreams and half-truths, and when he
awoke, hours later, she was still there by his side,
She had corne to Tokyo on an assignment that had already taken
her 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 dances
of Bali, and the skyscrapers of Singapore. When she talked to him about work
she seemed like a walking travelogue, pointing out strange towns and stranger
customs. "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~,d wbal 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 meetings
with 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
she was away; A & R managers raved about his music but he heard only a
dull babble and a string of lallations.
He gave himself completely to this overpowering weightlessness of
spirit, and each day he woke up buoyant and distressed that she had not
called. Eve!)'thing he did seemed like a rehearsal for things they would do
together: 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 of
grilled 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 him
quiet, and safe, Lying in his wooden bathtub at night, soaking inwater so hot
it could scald the skin, he soaped his arms and chest and imagined her lips
tracing the path of his strokes, burning his skin with soft, furtive kisses, When
he passed by a gallery in Shinjuko or an abandoned bench in a garden, he
would imagine himself there with her, indulging in forbidden pleasures un-
seen by the passing world and which he replayed over and over like a video
loop. 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 both
Iiyed and relived the same thing in their minds all these days that they were
apart. They tore at each other's clothes and assaulted each other with long
and jealous kisses, and they made love with the bedlamp on so that they
could 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 with
him, "No guarantee I'm going to stay forever," she told him jocosely. She
loved him like crazy, and he knew it. But her ability not to care, to turn against
him at a moment's notice and put him on edge somehow made each minute
of their relationship unpredictable and new, That was how he wanted it. No
run-of-the-mill day-by-day blissful saccharine relationship, but something
to keep them on their toes and keep their guard up. This, he realized, was the
recurring eleme~t in his relationships: he was used not to expect people to
remain. Back in the club in Akeldama people walked in and out, admiring
UUL Vl 11l~ 11llHu rillll'-
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 the
next. He liked it that way. In those days he always went back to his cabin
alone, except when he felt horny and took lip one of the girls' offers and
screwed till daybreak. But often he wanted only to he alone, Ill' preferred the
distance of the stage, the godlike feeling of heing llIanipulator and ohserver,
watching the crowd as he mechanized them into frenzy. The l110rehe f('lt that
control and the more he knew he cOllld hold people in his gra.~p, the emptier
the vacuum he felt inside him become, It grew a5 hig ,L~his soul.
But how everything changed with Meg. She knew everything and
forgave him everything, He made love to her furiously, thinking each night
would be the last. Tomorrow she would be gone. The world would be grey and
full 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 a
merienda of buko and bibingka and chxolate eh, ~nageLPat
Chiu 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 Express1
insinuated 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 Psst Magazine, 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 the
local 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 the
entertainment industry revelled in it with relentless gusto: there were scan-
dals and chismis enough to take people's minds off other, less sensational
concerns, 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 the
area had been sacrificing chickens, the last of their livestock, to appease the
gods. Cyclones of dust swirled over the huts. Trees shriveled to slumps, "(lVers
," VENUS 819-73143-0
dried up and coughed out the bones of milkfish, crab shells and prehistoric 632-55353-C
PLATA
stones. CUENCa . 842-77373-C
There was news from barren Abra that the local military units had
apprehended a group of suspected communist front members conducting ."".J ,Cuenco was of course the coconut czar (as the papers call~ him)
intelligence work among the villages, The names of the studenL~and workers and Plata could be our insufferable Mad Max. 1 coutdn'llell what Mlllllka.~
had been withheld by the military camp for security reasons. Tactical interro- . .
and VemiSwere, and the numbers beside them seemed even more cryptic.
',;.~", .,

gation was under way, and the suspects were to be brought to Manila camps
in the next few days. Thestory~Jso said that some membersofthegrQup
escaped the raid and were now believed to be in hiding, Among the names
listed was Father .Ted,
I must confess that Ted had been farthest from my mind since we
lirially, baflled by these arcana, I interrupted Jun from his work and showed
.
him the names,
"Given by your activist friend, eh?" he asked, and for a minute I
doubted 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 know
~~~_"'~-"'_'-'''''''''="'"-'''''-''''''''''._-'''''''"?''<''->-''''-''--''_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)ceswe
gettingfreq,uent
re 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 that
needed to be rehashed, and the Historical Institute continued to dredge new
material for us.
When news of Ted's disappearance came, I remembered the piece of
paper he had scribbled on, I looked around for it through the mound of
paperwork on my desk. 1 emptied my desk files and flipped through books
and finally found it tucked under a sheaf of manuscripL~, I unfolded the
paper and looked at the notes:
AT3:1f
J' m}1
l/-Tr
I recognized the ancientTagalogscript, and remembered that when
we last met I had mentioned to him jun's desperate extrapolations on our
book. 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 syllabary
guide and came up with these puzzling names and figures:
what they're dealing with. If you scramble the letters a bit you might come
up with other, name~.Palate, fQrinstance, and not Plata. Yes,this is definitely
Cuenco, no doubts aboutthe diacritical marks, This one could be Benosa or
Venosa, and Malakas could actually be Maragasa or something. Doesn't make
sense."
"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 not
give 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
720·70S33·D
they are looking for you, and when you put two and two together you'll know
819·73143·D
what this blasted code is all about. Meanwhile, we have work to do. Shall we
632·SS323·C
842.77373·C go to the Milky Way for a beer?"
"Christ, no. Not the Milky Way. I want to get out of this kitchen for
a while."
"Good," he said. "So do I. And I thought I was the only one who
was going loco. Let's go to a real bar in Makati. I'll call up Susan and tell her
to meet us there, Tell the secretaries we're going out for research. Wehave to
go pronto to beat the rush hour traffic. Any excuse to get out of this dump,
hal"

206 Empire of Memory

 We took his car down the south highway. The drive was smooth and "The papers say he's missing," I said. "I thought that might.g!~:~~_
_~i - ,._,. .. ~;:...,.•.,...
,---,
...•.
~ ••_
.•.
_~....••••
_••.
__ ••
_~

easy, and we reached Makati in thirty minutes. We g(abbed a comer table at
the 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 calamares
and waited for Susan, watching the sunlight fade over the lawns. We were
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 couW
hear 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. '.

J
into our second vodka tonic when she walked in, breathlessly cursing traffic,
pollution and Manila. She tapped Jun on the shoulder and, sitting down, "Ted," she said. \
announced, "I need a beer quick." Jun said, "AI's friends are never all right."
"She has to catch up," Jun told me. "Women always do." "Shut up," Susan said. And to me: "I'll call you after the weekend." ,
"You're unbearable," she told him. Asit turned out, I wouldn't hear fromher for days, -,",,' '
"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

"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 rescue
and said, "I told them to meet me here. I have this load of materials that I
really have to turn over to you." She opened her briefcase and handed over to
Jun a sheaf of transcripts. Max grabbed one of them and studied the page
perfunctorily. "Good work, MissTala," he said absently. Then he returned the
papers and walked away. "Don't let these hooligans fool you," he said. "They're
only 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 can
take 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. .
. The venue was going to be the MarCl'~ hOllletown of Sarr:ll, way up
north in the deserts of 1I0cos. Masons went to work overtillle paving Sarral's
streets with old brick, and carpenter.; h,l~lily huilt racadl's of carYl'd wood to
cover up the town's dilapidated shanties. The chul'ch Wil~ n~constl'lIeted and
repainted, and iL~ancient belfry scruhbed am! furnished with a new bell.
WHENI REACHED the office the next week I saw Jun at the corridor talking to a Insjde, mahogany panels were put up and a fresco was painted on the ceiling
man in military uniform. The man had his back to me, andJun interrupted by one of Manila's most favored painters. Uiant chandelier QL:ap~
what seemed to me a rather animated conversation when he saw me. "You s;qconut shell was hung and, then ,~o.r.~ ..gg.w.D.Y{h~l}Jhen,aQb_~rg~~~qJr~l';:
remember my colleague, the video whiz kid, of course, "Jun said. Our visitor PJotested, Shena,!
ii'~pliiCedinsteadby. a,chlindelier Gf fr~~h chrysan the-
turned to face me and gripped my hand in a firm handshake. 11 was6ri~a·. IllHJlls00wn in {rOIJlGbiOll"llaster sculptures of seraphim lined the street
<lleLGe~etaIJosQZa8afte.,A stern smile was as much recognition he allowed leading to the church, and ivory images of the Santo Nino were installed in
for me, although I knew he was more than glad to see another familiar face the altar. Full-grown trees were transplanted from Manila and planted along
in the palace. General Zabart~b~"4.~ecentlY~~~.8jve}lJQ£lytt!leJ.h,9J1QL,,, the streets, giving newfound shade to its artificial houses. A new hotelJ:o(t
of ~jngf!,1Si~.&,E!J;st,ka~~@<;:~!'FI'iff1fRe'wa&giULQ.gJ;ll,U4 1!2EE-QdIa•.was CQDstructed.Qxeuand dunes, re?lete..wltb five-star se.rYic.eAIld.
s,elf ac~u~~m~9 ~itbJh e. IaryrifllbtQ~J qYQ1!langgffjc.~, r~t~tiQJlililRtjn.!b,e eno~Kh,mnbl~J1ce.,~9,.a.ttta.clmQYie~shoolsJ~ooG. T.\le.Eitsl
palace, He went to Manila with great reluctance, he toldus, because it meant ~r,~~tg S~::Y~£lD&lr2..11~~~LL~!JLlltQ1tQ,~a!~,\L~Y'y~~j.l!J!llLi!~reJll
•.
lea.yW& SehloQ II].,~is San Mig,ymiii9IOOlilli:mTin~~!i'J~i0.w.. ~ PierreCa~djn and 1000aldesigner J~Sfllaz<j.!".UnabktQJiR~iqg,\:\'hich oneJQ ...
yi~.~,gf,tb.~"Yis,aYa!LSg!tlllJ,t41lSQ..tb~.Cill1l.p.an¥,oLh.is ...wife.,Mani~'.llaS-Cer- •.p~ocUl·e· 10fc Irene...sbe.boughtalUou.r.
tainlyJ:!otterthan San Miguel, and twiGe as Q1JJDig.JI1J 94Q, Junre,l11i~.Qed The government papers ran periodic updates on what social butter-
hiITl, Ernest,HeITling\VayexPressed the same cOITlplaintlleon~rrivil1giI1Jh~ fly ~l~Jl.:r~mblQibilled in her society column as The Wedding of the Cen-
CilY'" ~~afes1rng.a·t~·ro~[~D9~al.wri te~!. t~~ ~~tb9r,·~b9h~~.·i~it.~e~th~E~.g tury. There were photographs of the church under renovation and the ~-First
t,~~~.~.e~~~ C~vil\Va~~~.~~~t~~gJ>.ublished For Whom tbe Bell Tolls, asked, ,L?4y~rsonally inspecting the reconstruction, ~~~_~~_!~!9.pe.J~~i~a~jerGen-
"~owCiln you wrjt~19.this_~e~th~r?" ,era! lQ~AiB~.ro/, [~li!!~9 n~~~There were reports ihalwltn
"I am in good company when I complain then," General Zabarte in
the general now such a poweifuT posTif6n~' it was just a matter of time
said. And added: ~'l1o\V!indeed, do you write?" before the insurgency in the south led by his rebellious brother would seek
"Wilhg,re,gpain,'~,sajdJlin:"An1i1orsaken all writing and is doeu- amnesty.
~e[ll~Q~gILR~~~e a~tivi~es." .'. .... • Our researchers and secretaries clipped the reports and handed the
"In that case we snail have to keep an eye on you," Gef)eral Zabarte news cuttings dutifully first thing each morning, and [plodded through them
said, and I met his feeble attempt at humor with an insincere laugh. with the diligence of a bill collector. This arrangement somehow made me
We begged leave, wishing the general extreme happiness and good miss much of the other news, since after the secretaries had mangled the
luck in his new work. We went back to our work, considerably impressed by papers I had little inclination to peruse them. And if I ever wanted to read the
the general's good fortune. That same morning we received an urgent memo: papers ll.iW5 Dol¥ he£auseJ.~anted to see what was happeninR to the rest of
the world. It was on one such oWiSToii1!liTropened one man gt'ect'i5.meof ...
.. ._. ~'__'... _" __ ._~' "'~'_"' __ ~ " __ '''''' __.~'-''~_'~''''' ~' .',..••.•.'J"""""'''''~''''' ._,.
__ .->"~.".,. "_'"

WHATHAPPENED back in Abra? There were only sketchy reports from the military
command there, and when we called up the military intelligence office for
details, 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 of
recruiting 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 the
local armory and stole off v.ith a dozen M-16s, and the second only late last
month when the NPA ambushed and killed seven troopers.
I never cared much about Ted's stupendously tiresome discussions
on ideology, but he remained a friend of mine, no matter how much time
had 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 City
where 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. There
were wreaths and pots of flowers choking an entire wall, and a portrait ofTed
as 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 a
long time ago, and now I felt empty, drained out, because there was nothing
for 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 the
mission 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 to
recount. As I watched his coffin being lowered into the ground at La Lama
Cemetery, I felt terribly sorry for Ted who was going to his last resting place
with no family except for an uncle and a sobbing aunt. But then I realized
that everyone in this IT.otley congregation, every disparate life and anony-
mous face, must have been family to him and kept him strong enough to
fight 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 women
raised 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' of
them 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 helped
him 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 ready
to help those who helped the poor. There was a photograph of the general
signing the order to investigate, after that he flew directly to Abta where he
was photographed inspecting the barracks of the military detachment there.
For days I couldn't concentrate on work, which meant the bookJun
and I had been assigned, millennia ago, to fabricate.
"AI Boy, stop being so serious and join us for a beer." That was ]un
rattling me out of my ennui. [ looked up to find him and Susan looking at
me from the door of our room. I had not seen Susan for some time, not since
we 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 was
all 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. There
was the usual gaggle of bureaucrats, palace reporters and assorted office work-
ers. Happy hour had just begun and the TV was tuned to an entertainment
extravaganza hosted' by Kuya Germs. There were pretty boys and nubile girls
sashaying in a pathetic dance number. They were just winding up their dance
when 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 famous
international star, Sal X.' .
.
 "There's your enfant terrible," Susan said, nudging my elbow, Sat
was nattily dressed in a coat and lie, impeccably proper to impress the
primetime television audience, Wecould hear a lot of shrieking and scream-
ing from the studio audience, and the camera panned twice to show hordes
of fans unfurling streamers with Sal's name written on it, surrounded by
crayon-smudged hearts. After the performance Kuya Germs indulged in the
usual 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 of
real artists. I lhink the time has come to set art free, to let artists create what
they want." """1 .
::~~~~:~
~~~~~
~;~::~I~:~~tl1;~~it~~~~d
andwhat
tnf
perform know nothing about music," Sal was saying to the embarrassed hOst./
"Well, radio's pretty dumb," said Susan. "I think the guis got,
point." ~ No, he wasn't upset. He wac;delirious. He had always wanted to take
"All this music regulation business is nothing but a disguised cen
sorship, 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 was
tha.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 music
was 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 video
in 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 that
the recordings of Sal X were to be suspended indefinitely,
All the stations were caught unawares, and for several days there
were several minutes of dead air hanging over the city as deejays scrambled
for 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'nl
stores 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 11IXllrlllliS
locks had been. The eslampilas vanishl'd 1'1'0111 thl' stalls of Witches and for·
tune tellers in Quiapo. The minus-one tapes vanished, and Sing-along hal'S
sadly 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 spacious
house, overlooking the lights of the city, holding his head in his hands to
shut out the voices that had come back,
"You're only imagining them, Sal," Meg called from the bedroom
where she wa~ preparing a folio of photographs for her next assignment.
"You're just upseL"
a break, to get away from it all, and now this was his chance, granted by force
majeure. Now he could slink back to private life and compose his art, not
those 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 this
country better than you do. Ningas cogan, right?"
Ningas something else, because right now he could feel something
burning inside him, burning in his blood. And if he looked close enough he
would 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 and
she said something he couldn't hear.
"I said," he repeated, "where the fuck are you going?" He hobbled
in and turned the TV on, There was Kuya Germs again introducing a new
batch of eager youngsters, their well-scrubbed faces innocent and puerile on
the 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·· ••. -" ', •. ' •..•• _•. , ' .' •
 ItilFllln I '1111'111 '.
• II!I 'I InlJl
.., II·n. In,.' II,... II,... 11,.,_
~ral(l 01 oemg lOvell uy a Illall VI' a WVllliU I.
~ and gentlemen, the ~~!~~~l!!L!<LrnmY.QYJ1J,he.Messl~~.~ 111l:1l: I:>II\JUllll~ 1111I1l: 1111j}\}II.UII

Masa. _. --,_.- ar1Clnmle elasi ye in tit is life than t!lisfreedom, ,,_. -

.... 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 she
found Sal leaning against the rail. He was crying. He gripped her close to
him, so close she felt her breath knocked out of her. "I don't want to go
mad," 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 would
not spare me: my video, long quarantined in the stockrooms of the Film
Center, would be excluded from a competition that would take its winners to
an 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; slwuklbe
free 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!lliQK fQrc~.thatcontro,lst~emo~~~~~t~fl}2,~~~ ..~~j~~~nd
Iwant to be free to be alone with that forceyth!;I1.\:.Y~L~~nt..~D
sfiould be free to love any man or wonianY:'hQJ.9Y~~Jhe.mj.DJ~J.~!!l~Lam.uQ~."
yg,Mcnne dIsencfiaiTIedYQulhof Miii1ralook his words and lUfI1l>O
them into gospel truth, and distributed photocopies of his staternenL~in the
bars and cafes of Ermita, the university campuses, the cafeleri,L~,the street
rallies, Kul~n8,!!£l~(J~J4.118J'ittJl?(I{)C!!! :~I.Sat~}!Ii~llw lcepncy
ana
drivers 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 lhe
,
DamriedJh'e'Cnu'rdl
"t •••••••
\_~I
ol1litDrrn?:s ..~-emtt:jlr(t'mml\1'e·rrrlr-rr?t(·l"'·~
~~"t ~••• I •••••
.,,®.NoO
..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's
suspicious 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 were
true, and he kept sin in an i a,~~IUQ,.e.&~i~1
~l", ..e,~" U~~~~~""~9,,~!1.,~,n~~4~:*,,,~.JL1¥J£~· They
went on and on, Sal turnmg and twirling as they crapped their tiny hands, He
tried 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 0 n~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, you
can't tell a song from a rart." Andthen he hobbled to the microphone, yanked
it off its stand, and started cursing everyone in the room. Pandemoni um
broke loose: the putas sought shelter behind the bar, the hobbits skittered
away, the drunk customers hurled thei I' chairs at the two l'i~ures()nsta~e and
. then started throwing punches at each other. The bouncers caught and gripped
Sal by the anns as the other customers and the offended croakster look turns
. hitting him. Said the croakster. "J'yebeenWqUJng,J9Jot11i?,119Ilg,tiI1leh
. pretty 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~,~,gpj lJg,
out. They kept hittin gh im,Yn,liL,l~l]~",~}l~lt~,as IittleIife 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 best
hospitals in Manila. There were rumors of his confinement in the basement
of the Makati Med, where drug dependents and the terminally insane were
rehabilitated, but Pat Chiu issued a statement later denying the allegations.
There was also a report, buried in the lower fold of the afternoon
dailies, 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 had
assigned his brother, Brigadier General Jose Zabarte, to forge a treaty on the •
President's behalf. " pers for porcelain and jade. They sailed home with their boats laden with
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 to
leathe] 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 into
Brigadier GeneralJose Zabarte's window and stared at him with rheumy eyes,
nOdding her head and opening her mouth without saying anything. "I do
not 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 was
enough time to rest until next morning's ceremonies, barring uncontrolla-
ble urges to get ourselves blind drunk at what promised to be a gotpe de
gula/: Governor Bongbong Marcos' dinner that night at the newly constructed
People'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 Family
stayed at the new Guest House across the Santa Monica church.
The Hometown of the Hour had been preparln~ 101 IllI' WI'ddll\\~ of
the 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 powerful
pcoplc frolll Manila were children of Sarra\: The Armed Forces Chief Fabian
Ver,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! their
forebears were skilled mariners and craftsmen, and had perfected the art of
making fayag, or sailcloth, which caught the winds that brought them to
the ports of Macau, Canton and Shanghai where they traded garllc and pep-
treasure and filled the crannies of their parched land with relics from Ming
tombs.
The church of Santa Monica, where the President's daughter was
going to be married, faced the dried-up Padsan river which once bore the
dreaded canoes of Chinese and Moslem pirates out to attack the nourishing
galleon trade. Construction of the chu rch was begun in 1724 by the austere
Augustinians, 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 a
big clock that struck the time every thirty minutes, They named the church
San Miguel, after the archangel, then later after the Virgin Mary, and finally,
considering the need to honor their patron's mother, they christened it after
Saint Monica. Several earthquakes destroyed the dome of the church and the
clock, but the tower remained and provided a good vantage point from which
the residents looked out for incoming marauders.
No such trepidation attended our arrival. '!\vo months ago, the First
Lady 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 monumental
reconstruction. Landscape artists were nown in to rehabilitate the wilting
gardens. Now sound experts busily tested acoustics and horticulturisL~ de-
 bated the uprooting of hundred-year-old banyan trees that had once sprouted
from cracks on the church floor. And the white walls proved to be offensive to
the young bride, and had been painted over with ivory.
Afterdinner and several magnums of Dom Perignon, we waddled
back to our quarters. Fort Ilocandia welcomed us like a squatting squaw, and
we gave in to the temptation of loitering at the bar, where more drinks were
on 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 so
favored."
, We thanked him for the compliment, andJun asked him about his
future assignment as tru,:e negotiator.
"Good as done," he replied.
"It's always inspiring to see two brothers reconciling," remarked
"Mybrother, sir," said the general, "makes it more difficult. But not
so 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. Warsto
ease his guiIt.,Hewas nevercomrort~ble~~()~t\h~ famij'i'~:~~~!E~;-"--"'-
There was no reason to pursue logic when the general had had his
drink, and we let it go at that and ordered another round. The general was
eyeing the waitresses-young tanned maidens with the harsh, slant-eyed
solemnity 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 by
pointing his chin at the girl, and immediately one soldier approached the
girl and said something in her ear. She seemed confused, recalcitrant, and
then she followed the soldier to our table and introduced herself. Her name
was L~j~;,;She seemed no more than fifteen. She had small, slanted eyes
and 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.
"Because my mother says I will·t~avel far. Even before [ learn to
recite 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 learned
to walk.
The general slapped his thighs and downed his drink, Then he strug-
gled up and told us, "I leave her younger sisters
~..;;.J1::,> , ,.. - ,-.- .. -
"
A GREEN CARPET was rolled out from the altar to th:: grounds of the church
where patches of bermuda grass has been laid. The church itself was choked
with chrysanthemums, dendrobiums and carnations. The bougainvlliae re-
fused to bloom, and in their place paper tlowers were stuck in the vines. The
young 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 whose
deathly fragrance permeated the cobblestoned alleys. There were trell ises and
buntings all throughout the town, some with real !lowers !lown in from the
hillside gardens of Baguio, others with crepe paper strung together by Sarrat's
schoolchildren for the past two weeks. The bells of the ancient lOwerbegan to
peal, sending swifl'; and marlines lurching out of their perches like a squall.
Members of the Presidential Security Guards were lined up in front
of the church, dressed in their gala white, Guests wearing seventeenth·cen-
tury barong and frocks shufned to their pews, !lapping bright woven fans
against their noses. The entire church had been airconditioned for this event,
but even now the seeming volume of silk and sequins must have burdened
the airconditioning which hummed diligently as the priest called the faithful
to prayer. The First Lady, wearing a pink terno, was accompanied by the
groom's father, who hobbled in wearing a gobernadorciilo's hat and cane.
 Matron of Honor Imee was in a pink Maria Clara with obligatory alampay
and white flowers in her upswept hair. And then, when the bride and the
President 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 if
she were floating on a cloud of lace, her hand resting lightly on the crook of
the President's arm. The President himself cut a striking figure, and his usual
air of authority was now softened by an obvious happiness that shone through
his meticulously powdered face. There was talk at the palace before we left
that the President had not been well, but there was no trace of that now. How
proud they looked, father and daughter, so self-assured and confident of the
world now paying obeisance at their feet. They walked up to the altar, the
young bride's train trailing behind them with its dunes of lace and silk.
There were photographers and video crews documenting the entire
ceremony, and they jostled for space as the Mass began. I had been relieved of
my usual duties for this particular event, thanks to political maneuvering by
the program directors of Channel 4, the government station.
Back at the People's Center, the guests gorged on the feast caterers
had prepared all night: suman, ensaymada with butter melting sensuously
over grated cheese, goat cheese souffle, longganiza croquets, fresh mango
and.mugs of rich, tRick chocolate. The President proposed a toast: "I wish
you both as many children as possible, irrespective of family planning." Look-
ing tearfully at Irene, he continued, "I could hardly believe this was the same
little girl who had romped around the palace years ago. Now I feel older, but
Mrs. Marcos says she feels younger. For a while, I think, she felt the wedding
was her own." Laughter all around, and more cheers. They all wished the
new 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 and
platters 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 was
a group of walters encircling someone, then backing off and laughing among
themselves. 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 the
kitchen knife she had been holding IIp to them. 1 ~L~keJone of the waiters
what 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 111her
hand 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 bread
at 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 places
a curse on everybody, that crazy woman."
I looked out the window and watched her hobbling away. She held
her head down, as though she were tracing back her steps, or looking for
something she had lost long ago,
SHEWOKE up early that morning, as she always did, with a vague, distended
feeling of emptiness: the shell of an ancient loneliness, the reason for which
she had never thought much about, and had forgotten long ago, Her bones
were 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 the
People's Center had been throwing leftover bread everyday, and it seemed
there 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 drive
her away on many occasions, now seemed relieved to see her scrape their
trash. Lifewasn't bad.
She got up heavily. She was still wearing the tattered rags she had
been wearing for a week, and a dusty odor clung to her skin and hair. She
walked 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 downhill
to 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 were
now 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 them
away. Tben, seeing she had no choice, she walked upriver and dunked the
mug in. The water felt like ice. She squatted by the bank, ruminating like the
beasts beside her, and looked at the sky.Already the light was filtering out of
clouds, 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. Their
glistening 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 the
steeple of the church in the distance, In a few minutes she would be in the
town plaza, She hollered in her ancient, rustyvoice,but by the time she reached
the 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, as
though she could stop the earth from trembling. Underneath her, from a
place deeper than her memory, she could hear something rumbling, cours-
ing-through the entire town. Dogs whined and sought shelter, birds shrieked
over her head. She clapped her hands against her ears and howled.
People were dashing out of their houses, raising arms and calling
out: "ApoDios!Apo Dios!" The walls of stone houses, untouched by man or
nature for the last two centuries, crashed into the streets in an explosion of
thunder and dust. The dunes blew open and farmers and carabaos slipped
into 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 brought
with 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 or
swallowed by the earth, Ahundred others were injured and eleven buildings
were 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 crus-
I
I .
"taceans and the skulls of Moslem warriors. Streel'i swelled and coughed oul
L
I
underground stones as huge as dinosau rs' eggs,
- The new airport's runway cracked open and W;L'iilllp:L~sal>ll'.When
rescue 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 heads
of saints and the wings of seraphim. The 5.11:l1Y.S.ta.~y~J~(tg~ndin&
~a;;J~atof
Saint Michael the Archangel.hovhobad.9nceguided the.church centuries
ago 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~e
rUbbie: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 continuous
aftershocks, They kept scribbling prayers against the pews, scratching out
their shrift of penance and sUIl calling out silently to the only one whose
voice they wanted to hear, God Help Us, they wrote on the ews. When the
rescue 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 blessed
listened over their radios as a message from the First Ladywas aired twice in
the 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 our
natt'on and our people will. Weare a blessed race, blessed by theforces of
power tbat pt'erce the skies and shower their blessings on these islands, the
same power tbat created the great cilJilizations of Allanlis, of (ll/cient
Greeceand Rome, of the empires and the holy churches. Let us look up to
thispower and receive it, because in it lies our strength. There wilt be no
poor, no sick and no dying among us, Wehave been ble..\~\'ed.Wehave
been 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£lO
the 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 the
i~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 she
had 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 talked
of 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 good
she had built around her. She talked of her dreams. Once, in the middle of
the 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 light
more 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 her
arms 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 Pope
said, 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 into
them, 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 this
time there were other concerns in the palace: rumors were rife that the oppo-
sition leader, former Senator Ninoy Aquino, was planning to come home from
exile in Boston, possibly under a nom de guerre. Security police manned the
airport day and night, scanning luggage and double checking passports. ~L
li~.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 to
herself while the palace guards waited anXiously in the shadows for the song
to end.
lwo ~J.al.eJ!the senator, dressed In a \Vhitesuit, arrived o~ a
plane 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, which
she pretended to avoid. He walked out of the house and, upon reaching the
doorway, promised to take home some food for the night. She wouldn '[ wanl
the usual pancit, he thought. Thank G(xlit 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 Illore
~~oke up early that morning. He put the kettle on the stove and than thirty minutes but today it took him more than an hour to get there
went to the sari-sari next door to buy freshly baked pan de sal, and when he because so many people had already converged at tl',epark earl ier that morn-
got back the water in the kettle was steaming and he made coffee. His wife ing. Others had given up trying to catch the jeeps and were just walking.
came out of the bedroom a few minutes later, and watching him dunk his Almost everyone, he noticed, was wearing yellow, and he heaved a sigh of
pan de sal in the coffee, she said, "Y9~ eat mQ~ tb.a1tibat. Rady~ relief: 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. Radio
~~y~3E§.!b_~_~~IS!l.'!Yill.laill.lU~~'
He smiled at her and told her to sit with him. This was the first time reports hissed that thousands had joined the march from the church, and the
she had spoken to him since their argument last night, which ended not with cortege wa~ moving painfully southward and would reach the park only by
any resolution but by default: both of them, exhausted from their circuitous about three in the afternoon. Tonio Paredes ate the sandwich he had pre-
argument, fell into uncomfortable sleep. Now she was ready to pick up where pared for himself and munched ruefully, surveying the crowd around him.
they left. "What are you wearing that shirt for?" she asked him. "Para kang 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.
gago."
• Ii~had 0~eIl8w, ilI-fittrng t"5AiF~ Re bought at the Sant9 •• By two in the afternoon people began pressing towards the avenue
QQ.l@1~~,lL\!leek~~·it had the ridiculollS]ydiSlor!ed f~ where the cortege would pass. From where he stood Tanio could see only the
tops of people's heads, yellow visors and yellow balloons. He knew he had to
Ni!!~quino s,U~Sr~~[}~d.QU- it..
~~se yellow warriors are making good money out of you," she move to a more strategic location. He pulled out of the crowd until he found
said. Last night she had tried to convince him that it was improper, to say the himself a few feet from the avenue. Bythe time he reached the curb he could
least, for him to go out marching with the late senators' supporters ..~~_ see 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,
wgX1tmLhi1 ~.~yu~.totheJ?~l!lQllo..QL~.!lgirJ~~L,,\l1Jhg~- one of whom was standing in front of the bier and waving the Philippine
wi ys.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 reassure
her. "I lust feel I want to march."
"'111esepeople aren't going to feed us when they take over," she
said. "You want your family to starve, go ahead." She waddled off to pour
some juice for herself, lifting herself heavily from her chair: she was seven
months pregnant. She looked back at him and said, "It's a stupid shirt. Too
r-""-~'-'-~-"""-""-
flag. The sky had grown dark. There were rumbllngs in the distance, and
when 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 hier
had 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.·,,,c.,.....'he•.•....•·.._.•.·,.:,
....• '. ',",...
could ....,
,>.•~'"

bright. 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~h other 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 drift
past. Up on the tree, Tonio Paredes strained to catch a glimpse of the bier
passing by,and he held tightly onto the branch, The sky had darkened to the
color of a bruise, and thunder rumbled just above his head, When the bier
crawled 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 was
pouring relentlessly. Everynow and then the park would light up with a l1ash
of lightning, revealing pale yellow crowds scampering for safety.
He loo~~~~'!..e_"tthe n:~s~ve greyness th~t had stolen aH color frQJJl
the day. Several ~ople caITedto him to come down, but he didn't hear them
,because of the c.ra.'ih Qfheavy rain. Lightnins·streakeddo\!ID.tQ.wardstheparK.
!Ie started tQ clarn!>er£lO\VP but something caught his.eye:ahtight.t1ash ..tilat
s~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 day
after Ninoy Aquino's funeral. There was no reportof the frighteningly mas-
sive crowd that turned out along Espana; the weeping women who poured
out of the boarding houses of Sampaloc; the hostesses and bar dancers who
wept and waved their yellow underwear from their rabbit hutches in Morayta;
the shamans and fortune tellers who crossed themselves and threw talismans
and estampitas at the crowd in Quiapo; the street children who clambered
up the cars of the Makati socialites, calling out Ninoy's name and begging
•. i§S.\Ae~a ..de.nlal.
for 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 and
an 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 of
Makatl 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 armies
really poured ilthick: human rights lawyers kapit-bisig with' socialites and
parading under a cascade of confetti shredded from the yellow pages. With a
jaundiced eye, I recorded some of their marches as they wended their way
through highrise Ayala.There were some embarrassing moments for the city
government: when MakatiMayor UrOiQoTorqspoke beforeanass~mbleq
cro~9 o!M.¥~os~_':!E£2Tl~~_Ln,}hecenter of the business districtoffi~em:"~.
a
RI~l~~~Jr0!J1tI1~~e~tieth floor of 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. be
consigned 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 the
President. 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';
..,,,,?,,..,. ••• ~·,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! decided
perhaps 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 been
conferring 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, I
didn'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's
probably 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
through our masterpiece. Then he asked, "What's the problem with Mad-
J...
1t
"Redundant is whai you'll be if you Gon't SOIVl:that prohll'111," Max
said. "You think up something. That's what we pay you !\OWl'Illl11'lllfUlllls
for."
"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, fished
out a lighter from his pocket, and set the book on fire. The pages curled as the
flame devoured them, sending a ribbon of smoke from Max's hand. Max
dropped 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 the
source of the problem. The Zen masters say that, or didn't you know?"
ame's request? Are the Zabartes being uncooperative?"
He walked out of the room, and called out from the corridor, "I
"Not at all," said Jun. "General Zabarte and his wife have been
more than willing to share their family history. There's this book that's gOing/ ••.
· want that book pronto."
Jun stooped over the waste basket and poked around at what had
to put.ourcredibility into question."
been left of the book. There were flecks of burnt-out pages on which we could
Jun took out our copy of Amalia Suarez Romaldes' novella and \
discern some text, but generally the book had turned to smouldering ash.
~~~ded it to Max. Max flipped the pages over and asked, "What's wrong :it~
"Badquality," Junsaid. "They used really terrible paper back then."
"Spelling, for one," said Jun.
>--i'AftYOltgoTngtorern;Tm;bout'11ieotf1er'copY?';'TiSkedjun. "
"Much later," ]un said. "When I'm ready to strike." He looked at
"What the fuck do we work here for?" Max said. "Just say she's a
me and expiained, ~~~x)scertainly goingto &etcreditforthis book. W,e'll
cousin thrice removed or something, or they spell it that way in what the fuck
have our names in some acknowledgement somewhere after the index, in
that island's name is, Or write an entirely new book about how names are
six-point Times Roman. Or maybe not at all." He poked around the W,L'ite
changed over there. That's it: tell them the spelling had to be changed during
'basket, reading bits of text. Then he said, "We'll let the geniuses in the uni~
the war. The Romaldeses were anti-Japanese guerrillas and they had to go
underground and the rest of the family had to assume the new name. That versities findthis one out."
"If they do, Max will pass the buck as always," [ reminded him.
would look even better in the book."
"You find a way out of that," Jun mimicked Max. "That's what I
"No, we've already done that for the President," Jun said. "We don't
hired you for. Go for the jugular, Al Boy."
want to be redundant."
 I SUPPOSE I shouldn't have taken jun's advice seriously. For the next few days
the 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 issued
to the government press. Naturally, this keptjun and myself busy. Economic
technocrats were periodically consulted to refute allegations by the opposi-
tion press, which]un called the yellow press in one memorandum-a term
later 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. The
title, "The Promised Land," was to be retained. There would be chapters about
•......
the bravery of the islands' guerrillas during the Second World War: the
Romaldeses would be the first to link up operations with the Americans in
Bataan. The, young guerrilla fighter]aime ROrnaldes hirnselfWQuldhede"
scended f~()ma distinguished line of QQctors.,lawyers andedl!Cato~IDaI1¥.of
ihem 'Sp~nis~.and C~~:!~.~~~lq~,.~b2,~e!:.!p~~~~~~.~L~,9,X;IJ~r~~i!ll.
@ ,..L
. I.n.ter-AsiaLtd.. ...
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 and
MacArthur's forces liberated the island, the young Romaldes, now Jaime
R,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 the
yellow press everyday, and there were periodic notices from the National In-
telligence and Surveillance Agency,calling our attention to this or that item
written 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 we
followed up the effort by issuing counterstatel11enL~to the govl'f1l1lll'ntprl'ss
The 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 doubt
The 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 various
government 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 goddam
motherfucking pufieta!"
lie was particularly incensed, Ipresumed, si~Ee his naf1le~pp~a.red
on 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,
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 it
inside 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 he
thought of the Cari/as story.
"Innocent until proven guilty," he said. "That lawstillstancL'I,doesn't
Not according to Carl/as and not according to some of the palace
rank and file, among them writers and artists from our research stafr, who
resigned not en masse but singly and quietly. It seemed we had come to a
point where we were expected to profess our undying loyalty to the President
or ship out. Jun and I stayed put. Or rather, Jun stayed put and that ni ght he
told me, "The choice is yours, AI.Things are going to pull apart for some
time, and you can't be fence-sitting al! the time, I sound like a government
pamphlet, 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 were
young 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~~.?:J
told 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 mess
with. That's why I'll live a long and happy life. Three kids and a wife. There's
poetry 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. Just
because Ifigured it out long before the yellow press did doesn't mean I'm an
accomplice."
"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't
find it anywhere so you keep moving around, hoping you stumble into it, like
prospectors 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't
think 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 next
day with the horrible realization that they're out of the job."
"Doesn't it bother you at all,Jun?" [ asked him. "Things are falling
",_ apart all over."
'~ciJht£~m~.r ~a.!l.ng~~old," .~1~sai~l. "What, you wilnt to IlIlllp
ship before we all sink? That's not veiYheroic, Diaz." '. A
....-.... '- '-''''rrs~n'ora'very"(feCentShip''to begTri-;;tK;'; ~aid. "Look at all these
reports coming out. Theft and torture, Jun. We sound like a fucking Costa
Gavras movie. We sound like fucking Latin America, Don't pretend you're
blind, 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 the
words 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 into
the battlefields and find a remedy for the turgid prose of the underground? I
know \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~t
tfiestree~, S§re therains and the riot police land, come ou t.her9~s of som,e
rev'Ofution.That n~voiutfon'hippe~sonlyi~the;?mi-nd~, Di~,Ajl th~~rYand
gHtfj~'[~, 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. Open
your eyes, Diaz,All thes.~.pr~HY)f:djesmarc~in~down Ayala~lreblind. They're
lemll)in~s led to,sea, R::l~folloWlnga piper. Do IOu think they do th.is be-
,<";y;"" .."",,.,,~'l<_
j( ... 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, and
aaj]JLLm~selLwouW.go andmarcn wUllJ,bi;ffi..lLLbeUevedJor,amoment
they wanted a better lifdor. the co.rnmo.Q.l11~O bRf\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.1g
Wnen this government falls, another faction wi!! take its place, and tha,l'sall
Y2H'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 papers
into his briefcase and said, "I'm not going to stop you, Diaz. I'mnot as cal-
lous as you think, Or maybe I am. I want things to change, too, but I can't see
any 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 then
you can go anywhere you want. I'll arrange for your separation pay. Who
knows, 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 afternoon
in San Miguel. A soldier who had come to meet him gave a snappy salute
despite the heat. The general pitied him, and there was a sad air of heaviness
as he acknowledged the salute. The heat in San Miguel always made him feel
drained, emptied of everything he lived for, He wanted a drink badly. A local
photographer was shooting his profile, From the corner of his eye he could
see the lens being pointed at him, and his face grew sterner. Hecould always
do that: sense some moving object, and with no more than peripheral vision
plot its every action, its every move, With this sixth sense he had once escaped
getting 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 escaped
the bullet. Some say he managed to shoot the sniper in the eye.The story was
still being told in the barracks in San Miguel and in Manila. Now he could
feel nothing moving around him, the world was at a standstill. That was
good. Life-or his life here on this island-was a series of storms and lulls
before the storm. Hisgreatest feat was haVing mastered the regularity of these
misfortunes. 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 and
rode on the front seat. Nobody spoke to him, not even the driver, who had on
certain 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 hetter
this way. There would be a lot of talking to do when he got to the meeting
... ~ ....•... ... ... ~".,
•. point. Hewould take twenty men, not fiveas he had earlier agreed to do. Who
were they to complain? The obvious victor would be he, and he had every
right to take along as many men as he wantr.d, Let them tremble before his
troops, His brother's command was not negotiating any truce: he himself,
Gentral Zabarte, was accepting their surr2nder. Betteran ignominious peace
than a glorious war, He would make short shrift of it so he could go back to
the villa and sit with a cold drink in the crook orhis favorite chair, his wife's
voice IihinS in the gardens below, talking to the servants about plants and the
most inconsequential of things. She would be there, He would ride into the
~._ .•..."",-.. ...__
villa on the jeep, flushed with the terms of truce. She would run up the path
to 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 first
time 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 appeared
not on the morning of his arrival, not on the afternoon when he embarked
on the route southward towards the winding road called Bitukang Manak,
not in the late afternoon when they reached the fork towards the camp, but
th~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\jlliL
"~-.- ...-._._--, - on(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.
THESOLDIERS FOUND 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 behind
him. Her cries woke up a small boy sleeping on a cot. The boy sat up and
began to howl, and she ran to him and covered his mouth and smothered
him in an embrace. Asoldier beamed his flashlight at them and asked her
who the boy was. ''Apo ko, "she said. The soldier grinlled at her and said, "We
don't want him." They dragged the old man ourand when she heard the jeep
starting she ran out. All she saw was the jeep riding away into the light that
was breaking over the mountain trails. Acold wind blew in from the sea, and
the Monte de Oro, dark ~ a sleeping hunchback, loomed before her. She had
never seen the other sidp.or the mountain in her life. Her husband had always
warned her not to cross the army checkpoints. She walked back to the hut
and found the boy struggling out of the cot. She sat down beside him and
stared 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. For
three days and three nights they kept him in a cell that had only a small slit
for a window, through which he would imagine the passing of the day by
watching the thin streak of light creeping upwards on the wall like a fabu-
lously illuminated insect. Each morning, someone would slip in his meal
through a slat under the door-some muddy gruel and a glass of murky
water. He could hear voices and footsteps from the other side of the door, but
after two days of darkness these sounds seemed to merge with one another
until 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 stories
about life in the barracks, but these were told by farmhands over several
ciemy'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 other
things they told him, to dispel his own fear, Don't fall asleep under the light
of the moon. Pray the rosary in the dark until you fall asleep with prayers on
your lips. Hum softly to keep mosquitoes away. Sleep in corners to make room
for the nuno: they will reward you for your hospitality. By the third night he
was 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 a
corner, mumbling the rosary and weeping.
"Get up," one of the soldiers said. With the light on the other side of
the door he could see only their silhouettes. He got up slowly,still mumbling
his 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's
men, 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 young
man interrogating him: the young, his father always told him, can be easily
persuaded, because their minds are still searching for truth. He appealed to
the 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 terrible
to send someone so young to war. The old man smiled back, showing a row of
rotten teeth blackened by years of chewing betel nUL~,How he wished he could
have 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 mischief
Then he faced the old man again, and in an instant he kicked the bowl of
gruel. 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'.- .

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
:Lo[Q. ',:Jh~Q.fn£~L?i!id. :~2X'~_~~,~~I~}?~.~~l'..!!!)~JllliliL[)a
Vll1d __
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 not
my children."
"We know thaI, puta," the officer barked. "We know she goes to
your 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't
tell 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 you
now. ,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 he
was willing to give them anything, to say anything just to go home. "Yes," he
said. "I know who it is."
The officer smiled, dropped the cigarette on the cement floor and
stubbed it out with his boot. Hesaid, "The woman '5 here with us, that courier
of 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 grew
accustomed to the light he noticed a wooden table and benches, but apart
from that the room looked bare. They pushed him into another room, dank
and windowless. There was a putrid smell that filled the room and suffocated
him. The soldiers stayed outside the door, laughing. He walked in tentatively
and looked around. It was very dark. In the middle of the room was a long
table with something on II, draped OWl'wllli'a dirty ~lll't't 111\hllil \11I1~1'lll
end. He knew at once what it W;l~ Ilis 1I1sld('s1111'111'd
ill 111III' w.lllll'd 11111111
out.
':Go ahead," the officer callt·d III hllil "'011111,1' dl)(li '( ;11 IlIlIk ill
your friend."
001.01<1'5 aUAHTE had been walling all J1I1Jr1l1llgfor l.allta. (Jill' of lht' millis
had gone to the convent to fetch the child, ;l~W;l~tlwir custom each weekend
now. The child would spend the night at the villa and would be brought back
to the convent before Sunday noon. When the weather was fine they would
drive down to the water to gather shells. The trips to the viUa had been doing
the child's health a lot of good, and the num were all too glad to deposit
Lalita 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." Dolores
Zabarte followed her down the steps. She could hear the sound of the door
being opened and the shuffle of feet coming in. When she reached the foyer
she was surprised to find Lieutenant Colonel Rex Asisthere.
"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 cold
drink, 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 been
serving 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."

"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, She
was 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 to
identify 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 of
the situation, Ma'am." The last statement wa~ a standard line among the
army and she knew it well. She had heard her husband utter it countless
times before, It meant ar.ything: we have solved the problem or we don't
know 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 accompany
you. 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. We
do not ever forget that. But we have never been successful. We hardly know
where Tony is."
"('m very sorry, Ma'am," The officer took out a piece of paper from
his 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."
'l..qjg.JlQt isslleJb.e ..Qcde~Ma'am,...!t ~~m~ from Manila, I don't
want tQdo.~,~~ _ - -'--- -.--- --",----.
~.. '.'.
She handed the paper back to the officer and said. "The defense
ministry there will do anything to discredit my husband and my family. Do
they think we hold parley with communists for their entertainment? Wedon't
think 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 the
mansion, 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 have
instructed them to be very careful, and not to break anything."
She thanked him. Then a servant shuffled in and announced that
the car with the child Lalita had arrived. Dolores stood up and said to the
servant, "Prepare another place for Colonel Asis,He will stay for lunch." The
officer protested, saying he and his men had prepared meals for themselves
at barracks. "You will join us, sir," she insisted. "The maids will prepare food
for your men as well. My husband would insist that you join us,"
She walked out and opened the door herself, and immediately the
child 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 haq
been dispelled by her stay at the orphanage. The nuns themselves considereq
her the liVing proof of the efficacy of prayer and miracles_
They had arrived late, the driver explained to her, because Lalita
had 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."

"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 child
called 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 was
about 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," 'l
The 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?"
"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:" ~ wire reporters who managed to sneak into the camp. She kept to herself,
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 the
house. 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 found
some letters, Ma'am. I'm very sorry, but 1 have to ask you to accompany us
back 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 laconic
replies that seemed to carry the sadness of afternoons in her native island.
She was driven to Camp Bicutan and brought to an airconditioned room in
the new wing where showcase detainees, as they were called, were being
groomed for the benefit of the foreign press. Bythe second day she developed
an allergy from the dusty, smog-choked air of Manila and the airconditioning
and the odor of fresh paint that pervaded the new detention cenler. They
brought in a box of antihistamines and had on': of her servanls attend to her
every 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." For
~ what? For the purloined letters the military south command had discovered
\ at the villa, letters which could undermine the entire structure of the
t, No 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 the
\ Reds; she didn't want 10 pay taxes and risk the kangaroo courts, and offered
~ him the way Igorots offered carabaos to the gods; she would inherit his villa
and azucareras. She remained silent in the thick of it all, refusing to speak to
reading poetry and the Bible. With her books and her box of pills she seemed
to ossify into an artifact, a forgotten gem or mineral, distanced from the
world and oblivious to its concerns. And then one afternoon she received a
note from the camp's commander. She was to be released from the camp and
placed under house arrest. She had no house of her own in Manila; all her
life she had adamantly refused to es'tablish her domicile in the city that she
and 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 and
war and now had the look of perpetual sadness, told her, "~~~!!eral's_~?~~r
has 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"tIleT
looked Iike'battlemen'~: 'Thema;:;~;;;~io0d6enm(ra oatle'I)i'6f"gnarTecr6aTITe'
trees'~Th~-;dobe'Wanshad been further reinforced by wrought-iron spikes in
the 1960s to keep prowlers away, The mansion had been useful early in the
general's career for entertaining army officers, diplomats, businessmen and
even the President himself who had expressed effusive admiration for the
garden and its ancient fountain spouting ancient water into a pond filled
with lotuses and singing frvgs, The garden had since been overgrown with
wild weed, its flora left to flourish untended, growing haphazardly into wo-
ven tangles of bougainvillat, hibiscus, poison ivy. The cherub hovering over
the pond had been encrusted with achalk-like inwissation and relieved itself
muddily into the stagnant pool. The balconies overlooking the garden had
taken on a patina of lichen and mildew, and the Persian tiles had faded to a
dull rose.
The army staff car brought her there on an afternoon of fine misty
rain. She entered the mansion as though she were entering the threshold of a
dream-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 they
had been quietly molting. She could hear her footsteps echoing in the empty
halls. Along the stairway leading to the upper floors were portraits of the
Zabartes, sepia cameos in rococo frames, and as she passed them she noticed
that thei r eyes seemed vacan t and distan t, en igmatic and sad. When she wal ked
up the steps the boards creaked under her feet, damp and pliant. She went
out to the balcony and stood there, holding her Bible and her box of antihis-
tamines. She surveyed the disheveled enclosure, the small overgrown jungle
that ended with a row of spikes and a wall so high it obliterated the rest of the
city. The rain veiled her view with a mist of silk. ~9m~,she told
h~rseIU?,~be en~ world... ~~"-"'~",,.~o.c~
GENERAL EfREN VALDEZ, chief of the National Intelligence and Surveillance
Agency, 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 eat
ees. I tell him we cannot release da letters because dey contain vilal
impormation about the location op da NPA south command, I tell him we
are studying da documents in question because we may get rebel positions
prom da letters. Max Plata does not listen to me. He want da letters released to
media, 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 few
moments ]un held it away from him, looking to me imploringly for help.
"Yes, General,'" he finally intoned, "We understand your posilion. I myself
believe yours is the wiser decision. That may cost me my job you know. That
can cost our agency its existence, come to think of it. We'll go over the letters
and decide if we'll issue them to the press."
"No, I decide eat now," the general insisted. "I say eat ees not proper
time, Max doesn't listen. Your boss is making pasikat again to da Apo, I'm
not blind. He links he can control eben da milital)', by golly. Now what does
he 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 seen
them, 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 a
report 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 to
Dolores Zabarte from her husband's brother, Antonio, The weblike shadows
on the photocopies showed that many of them had traveled through several
hands, and the letters reached their destination bearing the stains and wrin-
kles of their difficult journey, The dates, interestingly, spanned only a few
years earlier, possibly because at that time, when news was rife that Antonio
Zaharte was being considered for the leadership, and when he could no longer
make frequent and surreptitious visits to the villa or his mother's residence in
the island, they saw less and less of him, and could tell if he was alive only
when they received his letters. Here they are in chronological order,
I am writing this leller knowing it may never reachyou, and so I can say
anything I want, Or it may reach you ajier some time, and what I have
to say wilt no longer maller. I write this with a sense of desolation but
also of hope, that it may fall into your hands eventually. I cannot tlJink
too welt here, so much activity is buzzing around at camp, In a few
minutes I must hand this note to our courier, who will trek many days
and nights down the ranges, and in a town I am not allowed to know he
wilt deposit this letter in the care offriends, and from then on / don't
know what happens, I leavefate in the hands of thesepeople, mostly, That
is what I came up herefOr, after all,
For several days we have been trekking the ranges, lookingfor
a 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 had
impacted into one lusb, solid mass, But as we draw nearer they open up,
as though compelled by instinct to welcome us, Wesurvive on wild fruits
and roots, Once the men tried to chase a young boar, but to no avail. On
the third day of our journey /fell into afever, and I became too weak to
walk, I thought it was malaria, but after one night of chills and spasms
thefever subsided, thanks to some herbs thepeople had found for me. We
reached 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!:r
me, I have heard newsfrom a toum wejJa.I:I'edbYforjJl'Ol'il'iolis /JIIII!J(;\'l'
people have sworn toprotect me, jusl as I halJeSUIOrJItojJroleetthem, f)o
not 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 a
brook near our makeshift village tofetch drinking water and to bathe,
The water comes from the lakes at thepeak of the Monte, which no man
has ever seen, That is what they tell us here, Welive our lives simply: when
the,sun is out, we bask in its warmth and gatber what we may, when the
rams 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? We
forage the forest for food, we hunt for wild chicken and young boar.
When we know the sotdiers are anywhere near the ranges, we do not
build 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 silently
Stng songs to one another.
There is a tale told by elders in the villages, They say that wh~
the moon isfull, 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 afraid
of moonlight? Because when moonlight touches their skins, they turn to
music: I mean they disintegrate complete~y and become nothing but
sound 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 around
theforests singing when the moon isfull, and our songs are even louder
 without the moon, because then we know the night.creatures are out and
1, They talk of an offensive come Christmas !Jay, but we are [101-
~y their mischievous tricks. . ing down that proposal. I wish you.happiness, uJ!)(meverthis letterfindl'
But lately we have decided to keep silent. W7:Jenthe moon is gone you.
we do not light our fires and there is total darkness around us. Wetake
turns standing guard at night, listening for the footfat! not of night s
creatures, but of the soldiers sent ailer us. Tbnight the moon is waxing
and I write this under itsfeeble light. Everything issilent. Every now and
then Ifeel something I recognize asfear, and I hum a tune over and over
in 11JY head to dispel it. My world has grown this simple, Dolores! I live
and sleep according to the whims of the earth and the moon and the sun. Weare deeper in the mountain now since the army command found
Tbmorrow all things wt'll be new again. I will not be the same man who out about our camp. Wehave crossed two ravines for which we spenl
wrote these words. days building a rope bridge. Our supplies have dwindled, but wefind
berries and wild game.
Westopped by a town for replenishments. Wewere told the army
command has been assigned toJose. Nobody in these villages knows he is
my brother, exceptfor afew of our men there. I am happyfor him, ellen
as I often questiun his choices. Thisbodes wellfor both our mission, but I
know even kinshIp does not change thepurpose of the revolution.
f wishyou happiness and peace this Christmas. Wedo not celebrate Christ- I think often of you and the music in the vitia. But I cannot
mas here. But many of us silently wish each other well. People I am think of going back now.
working with come from the universities in Manila. They have joined us
out of idealism and despair. Thesetwin sentiments follow us. But f feel it
hypocritical to completely ignore the rituals of our past. I am told I should
undergo further education to understand why.
W7:Jen I think of everyone, !feel something between derision and
sadness. / remember myoId schoolfriends who turned up their noses at
anything outside our circle, as though not to belong were a criminal What a surprise to receive a letterfrom youl
offense. How ignorant, how misinformed they seem to me now! / think of I'm glad all is well with you and thefamily. I wake up some-
them also with sadness: how tenuous that world of ours was.' Everything times in the dead of night and think / am back in San Miguel, in my
we believed in and loved and lived for was just an illusion,' a dream. I parents' house, wakened by the noise a/macaws in the aViary. But at
will not bother you with rhetoric because you will refuse to understand. once I realize where I am. / know my place in the UJorldand / must abide
W1Jenthey told me about my impending education, f felt f was about to by my chosen role. This causes great pain to thefamily, but this is'the
be turned inside out-all my past beliefs and emotions disputed and only way.
dispelled. But'this is what / came herefor, and, / lookforward to it.
 I am happy to hear about Lalita, Take good care of her-she
will be your blessing. I wish you both bealth and 10lleand happiness, I
long 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 easyfor you to send any
reply. 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 sorts
of bickering erupt. One man S fealousies over meal portions becomes
another man S accusations of secret desiresfor his wife. Talks drag on
until a kind ofpeace is agreed upon. But each man sleeps uneasily witb
resentment 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 more
adversarial. ~ but a pamphlet being circulated in the towns. Thepampblels are catting
• 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 on
trial and sentenced to death. I was not part of the trial-on(y senia:J
members are allowed there,"
I don't know what happened to him after that. They say he was
brought deep into theforest, shot and buried tbere. Many other agents
have met the same fate. In this revolution, we are told to keep our eye
only on the salvation of thepeople. Anything that disrupts our goal must
be eliminated. The thought that we shalt soon reach that goal comforts
me.
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 command
of theirpresence. Soldiers arrived before noon and rained hulle/s Oil/be
hut they were staying in. Theowner of the house bimsetj was kilted, eln
old man we had trusted for food and news since wefirst moved camp.
Twomembers of thegroup died in thefight, and theotherthreecut througfil.
the backwoods to the camp, They arrived, half-naked and cut by branz-,
bles, after a day s trek back. Doyou know bow the military discovers our>j
presence in town? By looking at the clothes hanging 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 still
here, I am still alive, I have dreams in my head that reji/se to giue
refuse to come true. But here I am, I'm going on.
• The survivors of that encounter brought home no provisions,
.~,\:
for negotiations and a truce, They are callingJ)r three days of sale pas-
sagefor both sides, Thestatement was signed by lese. I am not surprised
he is now a general. Ever since f can remember; lose had set a timetable
for himself,' and f know hefollows it to the letter. He will ploU!through
anytbing tbat stands in his way. Now we are discussing thepossibility of
a truce here, often with much passion. I'm being called to preside. and I
must quickly end here.

Forgive me: I did not intend to demean my brother s achievements, but
we disagree strongly on so many things. Thecommand has chosen me to
head the truce panel. Threeof my best men witt be with me and Jose must
lim# his escorts to only three soldiers.
I don't like to speak to him, but I want to see you and the little
girl. Three days of truce wilt mean those days with thefamily, and with
you. Negotiation! It is like asking the wind not to blow westward, or the
grass not to bow. I have stopped believing in truces. Ifeel no guilt about
this war, and no remorse, We know the path we have chosen and we
abtde by it,
But if this metJns I am free for three days to seeyou and vis# the
family, then I say there u,t'llbe a truce.
A terrible thing has happened. They moved into our territory. One of their
jeeps touched off a land mine and exploded, and soldiersfrom the other
jeeps fired upon our men, My men had no choice but tofire back, Only
five of my men fought their twenty or more. Jose s soldiers kept firing
every which way. At dusk my men came down to attack and finish oJ!all
survivors, My men found all of them wounded and half-conscious, ex-
ceptfor one man: Jose, He was tending to the wounded, and merely
looked up when au} men approached him. Lucki(y the leader of the team
recognized him at once, he says for a moment he thought he saw me in
uniform.
They brought him to camp that evening, alone. I have not seen
him yet, but tomorrow, when he comes to, I will talk to him for thefirst
time 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 does
will 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 Ihis
point and we cannot turn back now, He hasforced Ibe momenl, nolI. I
know one of us wilt have to die. Thereare no survivors in Ihis war, On/v
the victors survive, Jose and I know thai,
FORSEVERAL DAYS Antonio Zabarte decided against seeing his brother. His men
brought the general food and water every day, since he was not allowed to go
out 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 him
and said, "General Zabarte, if you take one more step I will have to shoot
you."
Thegeneral stopped to study the guard-a young boy, plucked from
one of the villages his soldiers had raided years ago-and without saying a
word he turned around and went back to hiS hut. There was much debate at
night about how they we were to conduct the general's capture, Some of the
comrades believed they should hold him for ransom or exchange him for the
leaders 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 ambushes
and encounters that killed countless peasants; theft, for land, livestock and
produce scorched or stolen by the military; sexual offense, for soldiers who
raped 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. His
execution had to be decided soon. Finally, the comrades decided that for crimes
as heinous as he had committed, he must be subjected to the worst execution
possible, and this unfortunate task must fall in Antonio Zabarte's hands.
THEMORNING BROKEover the ranges with the atmosphere of a deep, pervasive
solitude. Antonio Zabarte walked out to a trough and doused himself with icy
water, and then boiled black coffee and drank it from a tin mug, which burned
his hand, Crows were swooping into the pale, milky light. He went back to his
hut 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 in
order 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 the
troubled dreams that kept him awake all night showed in the puffiness of his
face. He had dressed himself in the uniform he had been wearing during his
capture. 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 the
woods. They hardly spoke to one another along the way.
When they reached the clearing the general stopped and turned to
Antonio. "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 out
all the light, and the birds shrieking madly-above them. "They've really turned
your head upside down, haven't they?" he said. "Or is it you who does the
turning 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 left
of 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(' dUly
you 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 and
that, enticed by all the pa~sionate causes so deal' to the heart of the 1lI0ve
ment. 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 for
your treason and your weakness."
"You want me to kill you," Antonio said. "You will be the hero, just
as 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 same
cloth, 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 I
know what it is you're after. Tony Not the people's glory, not a new nation fu II
of hope ar.d promise. You want nothing less than the glory of having turned
an entite country inside out. You want to be adored and emulated. What
could 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. You
kill 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 fed
my soldiers to ants and alligators. They've torn off their balls and plucked
out their eyes. They've slit open their guts and left them screaming, clutchi ng
their 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 little
villages where they become fodder for your killing machines. And we, the
heroes 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 my
grave," he said. "I will not keep you from your glory."
 He knelt down, digging the earth furiously with his hands. Antonio
held his M-16 up and pointed it to the sky and fired a round of shots. The
shots startled the general, who looked at Antonio, terrified, Antonio brought
the rifle down, pointed it at him and said, "I won't make you a hero in your
own 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 wanted
to prove yourself better than me. Here it is, Here is the moment. Your noble
gesture, 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 followed
behind, 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 have
fought this war long enough," he said. "Let there be peace at least between
us."
Antonio walked to him and handed him a pistol. "There can be
peace only among equals," he told him,
The general tucked the pistol in his holster and walked away. Clouds
gathered in the sky.Thunder rumbled distantly. Antonio turned back toward
the camp. All throughout that day the hours seemed like an interminable
twilight, 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 110
people, except for a solitary old man who.saw him grimy ilild exhausted afll'r
his two days' struggle out of the woods, The old man W:L~sillll1j.\hy an ahiln
doned shack that had once been a sari-sari store. There was all old Coca Cola
sign hanging over him, its hinges creaking in thr wind, iL~paint chipped off
to 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, holding
out a canister of betel nuts to the general. The old man pointed towards the
peak of ihe ranges. "Follow the river, walk five days and fjve nights. You find
them there." .
The general sat beside him and exhaled loudly. "No, I've done
enough walking. Do vehicles still pass this road, old man?"
"Yes," the old man replied, He looked at the general from head to
foot and back. "You find the gems?"
"Gems? There was nothing in that forest to treasure, [ can tell you
that," the general said. "What is this talk of gems?"
"People from barrio go up the mountain, follow t~e river to look
for gems," the old man said, "Stone like glass, egg of bird with voice like
water, 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't
tell us the entire truth. You've been waiting in vain,"
"My grandfather tell me a ship, from Espana, sail here many years
ago when the island was not, and it was all sea. And the mountain rise and
become 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 all
up, Apo."
 . . The general reached camp that Sal11eafternoon, They wired Manila
The old man chuckled and spat on the ground, "You follow river," of hiS mIraculous escape that evening, and by the ncxlllloflllnK Ill' W:L\ Oil
he told the general. "You go look for stones and eggs," the plane back to the city. .
The general looked at the mountain looming behind them, It had , He.arrived at the airport amidst a crowd of reporlcrs, photographcrs
almost seemed impossible for him, two nights ago, to find his way out of its and emissaries ,from t~e Ministry of National Defense. He refused to give any
tangle of darkness. In his exhaustion he seemed to hear the squalling of wild statement and ImmedIately sought refuge In a wailing sedan, He lookcu ou[
birds as if they were human voices, angry and desperate, The leaves seemed the window of the car at the passing streets, his face marked by an incalcula-
to turn away from him, jealously hiding directions, and the sun struggled ble sadness. They drove to New Manila into the old Zabarte mansion, The
out of the web of mist and rain only for one morning and was never seen g~neral walk~d up the stairway to the balcony. Dolores had been wailing for
again. ~d UQ there, in that thicket of jnhQspitabh.: lif~and atWed rebe1s.was> hIm ~Il morn mg. She stood there without speaking a word. Her bags, packed
Uhi~ .Qlgold? He lauw~sl tobirI2S!!LJ.~ljU1W,e..dQ\¥JJrjYSl[l1l~a,if I am " the mght before as soon as she heard news of his return and her release were
~~~.§~111!JlL"I1.QJY,J,et it course its way down to me and lay its treas- in one corner of the balcony. Asoldier picked them up and brought lh~m to
ures at my feet. He watched the old man pick out a wet leaf from his canister, the sedan. For several minutes they just stood there and said nothing, It seemed
pop it into his mouth and stare out at the road, smiling contentedly to him- as if an interminable abyss had been carted out between them and now it
self. Asimple, ignorant people, the general thought to himself. He felt a sud- was impossible to take the first leap, that first bridge of words, b~cause to do
den pang of longing for his own home: there were things he wanted so des- so was t~ break the si.lence that kept all their fears and hopes from surfaCing
perately he could kill for them. But now, sitting beside this hallucinating and starIng at them In the face, like impossible ghouls found only in a for-
elder, staring out at the road that seemed to begin and end nowhere, he felt est's tangle of darkness,
he had come to the end of a journey that had taken him all his lifEto walk,
and all he wanted was to retrace his steps and begin where he had left so lor:g
ago•.
There was a rumbling in the distance. The sky was darkening again
and the rains would pour soon. The old man sat stolidly, unmindful of the
coming 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 waved
his arms to stop it.The jeep sputtered to a stop and accommodated him among
the farmers who had come from fields in another town with~baskets of roots
and wicker cages full of clucking chickens. He squeezed himself in and said
nothing, nodding only at those who edged away to make room for him. When
the jeep chugged on he looked back, but the old man was looking at the
mountain again, and his lips kept moving, repeating to himself the same
stories he had told himself over and over in his forgotten world.
 Free Fall
,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:.),
"OYE, TIlEPASYSTEM is not working, puiieta, I told those peasants to double
check the danin thing but what do I get?Just a lot of static. Puneta, if this
government'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 to
sing behind that acacia? Puneta, does anybody have a brain around here?
Hoy, Hidalgo, give the envelopes to that foreman there, the one who looks
smart enough to count money, I can't believe we're paying these imbeciles
real money to do nothing, Nada, puiieta."
Max Plata was bmy overseeing the final touches to the platform in
front of Quezon City Hall. Trucks and buses we had earlier dispatched to
HoGOs,Isabela and Cagayar. werenow arriving and converging around Quezon
Memorial 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 remarked
as we handed out wads of money to government employees who came by the
busload. "Fiesta time, folks. Gather round."
Jun deposited the dole-outs to an already overwhelmed researcher
and pulled me back to his car. Max Plata left later to check out the camera at
Channel Four, which meant wecould skip the rally after all. Atleast that was
whatJun had been suggesting all morning, Somehow he never seemed to be
interested in these elections, and I of course knew why: "Mora mora tang
ito, Al Boy," he told me, "We're going to win it, hands down. No contest, as
Muhammad A1isaid way back in pre-A1iMall Cubao."
Wewaited for the President to arrive before making a fastbreak to
the 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~.,. '
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 called
ea~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 Iast
note. Borne aloft a hand-carved chair from 1I0cos,hISfigure tottered above
the crowd where supporters were waving tricolor paper nags and nashing the
victory sign. The First Lady followed close behind, surrounded by a cordon of
bodyguards. It was difficult to hide the fact that the President was not exactly
in top shape: earlier that morning palace doctors had advised against going
to the rally, but the President was adamant. He wobbled over the crowd with
syringes hidden under his sleeve, and as soon as he reached the platform, a
streamer 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 the
rally that the President may not be strong enough for today's campaign; in
which case the First Lady was to go on with It, and we were to edit a speech
written by Esther Plata, his sister, for her, There were platitudes of love and
beauty and peace and prosperity which Jun deleted and Max put back.
Aswedrove away from Quezon Memorial to Hobbit House, we could
hear the First Lady recite the speech we had polished for her.Jun repeated the
lines and wagged his head in time. When we turned towards Manila down
Quezon 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 was
obvious that as soon as we finished the book we would have to follow ourown
fork in the road. The week before, we found out that Jun was going on a
public relations consultancy for an agency owned, ironically enough, by Plata.
"I thought you hated his guts," I told him when he read the memo
to me.
"Jungle warriors used to say the only way to strike your enemy is to
stalk him. Besides,pay's not bad. I've asked Susan ifshe wants to quit her job
at the Historical Institute and join me. That job of hers will turn anyone into
an 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," I told
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 a
giant heirloom, around which the faithful, the soothsayers and herbalists
swarmed. What a stupefying, persistent city this was, I found myself thinking.
So overwhelmingly populous, so deeply dangerous, teeming with hundreds
whose 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 enough
to know and bear the intricacies of all these lives. Quiapo would stun the
hardiest of deities. Driving up the soot-smudged lanes of Quiapo Bridge, over
the amok-riddled alleys of the Moslem market, past the basalt-colored waters
of 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 setting
up a stage of their own. There were yellow buntings, silk-screened portraits of
Aquino, and ice-drop and bananacue vendors already pushing their carL~to
strategic 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 to
turn green, Someone was testing the PA system, and his voice sputtered across
the park like a coughing train, An old man was throwing pieces of bread at
the pigeons which pecked at them and strutted about with the bjL~stuck to
their beaks, The old m.an looked up, Just as the light turned green he saw us
staring at him. Then he did a strange thing: he waved his hands about him
and scared the birds away, Aswe sped down the boulevard the pigeons flew
past 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~lljghtaudhiIed
a 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~J1QD
,yq_ ....·.~;.f~f.c-·"'·
.... ,"
JQ.)j~J~Q,,!Qjl~,,,.••
" .." -, ""-','-;-,'-'. ""'-',""--
",,)--
~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 of
ornament and pretense, and the gaudy colors of the clubs gave way to the
parched tones of untended paddies, shanties and cogon grass. There were
dark 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 town
one could hear and feel and taste the sea without ever seeing it. Sal's lyrics
howled through the speakers, Pat Chiu groped with one hand to tu rn the
volume down. Then he said, "You skipping work to find Sal? Many things
happen 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 out
there 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,s
mgxi.n~arou~dloHke lolling,stone,"
This much she knew from the cards she had received from Sal: he
had gone back to Akeldama and founded a community of pimps, crooks and
assorted 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. The
hell 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 the
clubs, Not so, the other girls along the strip protested-not thieves but beg-
gars scrounging for meals, like Buddhist monks. And still there were others
who said they walked around dispensing miracles to the sick and the poor. 1:1
any case nobody saw Sal, even as everybody invoked his name. They believed
he was Out There, and whatever kalokohan his thieves or beggars did he •
certainty found out eventually, and reprimanded them accordingly. There
were those he had banished from this rumored community, and now they
went around spreadin g lies about Sal X.So the gossip simmered and tongues
wagged. Sal would have liked that, thought Meg: talk of the town, eh bab ?
They knew they had reached the community when they saw make-
ib~roe~
shift signs along the.ro.a.d.::ent and=~~on1and another quoted, ..
Abandon~~ . 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, and
embers still smoked on a stone stove. She looked around and found a pipe, a
child's shoe and an old cat crouching under the cot and dismembering a
sardine 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 cringing
before a ragged, unshaven hulk who was brandishing a rusty bolo under
Pat'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 hell
and spread out his fat, greasy arms: "Welcorne to Nirvana."
They walked for about another kilometer to a cluster of less dilapi-
dated huts, the hulk cutting sharp cogan gr;l~s with his bolo. There were
shanties huddled in a clearing, lean-to's the color of dried weed with rods of
recycled corrugated steel. As soon as they reached the clearing children
swarmed 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 that
were 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 reached
a 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 hulk
ushered them in, solicitously sweeping his hand toward the door, a smile
puffing 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 cramped
lOtenor: a cot, a wooden table, a few benches, a guitar, books lined against
one 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. He
hobbled to Meg and kissed her, To Pat he said, "You'll pardon me if I spare
you the kiss." .
But already Pat had his arm around his shoulder, like an
overconcerned father, "Sal, what happen to you? We look all around."
"Hibernation," Sal said. "Retreat. The mountain rises but remains
beneath the sky. You know your I Ching, eh Pat Chiuli? The superior man
withdraws 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, Pater
Noster, and leave us kids alone awhile. We haven't hanky-pankied in ages,"
"YOLlcome to Manila with us," Pal insisted. "I say right now. You
have 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 me
alone."
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 the
show."
"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 say
the whole damn country's going under, and all of us with it. So here's the
plan. I go up on stage with .the President, and then I have this, ah, gadget
taped 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 place
Nirvana, don't you? These pirates don't even know what Nirvana is. They
think it's a brand of refrigerator. They think Alan Watts invented the fucking
light 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 [0
see 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 new
strmgs."
Hestoo.dup,an? grabbed his guitar. Afewstrings had been snapped,
He plucked a stnng: It VIbrated dully. "I'm so scared, Meg," he said, "Never
been 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 wantedf
to be with you. I wanted to sit here and shut out the light and die. No one
would 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 gon
away 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." They
kissed. '!he world isn~~~aid. "It goes on forever."
Heslung the guitar over his shoulderand said, "Let's"go,Meg.These
people can do without me for a while," They walked out. The derelicl~ of the
community who had been milling around the hut swarmed about them as
they stepped out. They followed him as he walked down the clearinp, to say
g?odb.ye. Th~~ crept out of their houses, women and children who tugged at
hIS 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, "[ shall
return," he said, He turned to Pat and said, "I mean that, Mistah, Just going
to 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 thi
hallucinatory community was easy, he thought. But on the plane back
Manila, with Sal asleep on Meg's shoulder, all Pat could think of was how t
get Sal out of the campaign. He'll probably make a mess of it and blow hi
entire career. Give him time to rest. The boy's gone out of his mind, Just sl
years ago he was his brightest star in the clubs, a world so far away fro
them as they flew back to Manila, Now the star had collapsed, and enti
worlds burned with it.--
"SIRENA!SIRENA!"Wading by the shore, Lalita looked like a pale apparition
rising 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 the
mOQnlight, 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 she
IQok~ 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 first
two 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 under
the sun and then-gQing to the Qther extreme-to drown in a succession Qf
typhQQns. But here they were. February turned the sky intQ rippling hues Qf
silver 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. On
the beach everything was at a standstill: Qnly the water, nudging against the
shore, 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 jeepney
coughing labQflously through the gravel path to the shore, From the corner
Qf her eye she watched as the servant, dressed in impeccable whi Ie like an
apparition, approached her. She sat still, watching Lalita wade in the water,
"Senora," the servant said. "Senor Jose says you will be back for
dinner, 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 Lalita
back tQthe CQnventmyself. I want to stay here for a while," The sunset will be
freakishly beautiful, she wanted to tell him, but these were things one laid
nobody, least of all the help. I will stay here and watch it turn the landscape
into a maddening fugue of colors, and it will confuse the senses and I will say
I'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 she
had been remiss about everything at the villa, she couldn't remember where
she placed things, what day it was. Since she and the general returned from
Manila it seemed as if they had returned to an entirely different world, a
world 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 once
held a special memory, some fragment with which she could measure their
life together, gave up its significance, became nQ more than an artifact of a
past life. That waswhat it was: because all things were past now. Not that she
had given up anything: she had begun to take life up anew. Everything seemed
to 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 and
a loneliness that became renewed everyday.
She stood up and started picking up towels, sand buckets, toys.Then
she plucked the parasol from the sand and folded it. She could see Lalita
ambling farther out the shore, towards the direction of the mountains, wh ich
now cast their ominous shadows over the beach. She smiled to herself. Watch-
ing Lalita wading, walking farther away, she realized how adventurous the
child had become, independent a<;a wild bird, That was good. Lalita wa<;the
only constant in her life, and yet not quite: the child was growing up faster
than they had imagined many years ago, when she was a sickly waif who
seemed 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 Manilawhen
she was older, or perhaps together they could fly out of the 'country: out of its
incessant confusion and relentless disorder, She had argued with the general
more than once about that: the general had become more and more aware
that she was retreating into this new world of hers, in which she alone and
Lalita were allowed. Here there was no place for him; he was a shadow,
unremembered, unheeded. They spoke less and less. When they saw each
other, during the times when the general was at the villa, they acknowledged
each ~ther's presence with a perfunctoriness that was the only thing demanded
of themselves. Otherwise they lived as if they were completely absolved of
each other, living in different times, different zones. More than once she
thought 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 far
as the gate of the villa, commanding the astounded driver to fetch one of the
cars, Then she realized she had nowhere to go, and that her life had reached
a cul-de-sac. She went back to her room and unpacked her things slowly, and
she spent the rest of that afternoon listening to the dry wind mumbling like a
lost pilgrim over the fields,
Now she listened as the wind of her loneliness rose over the beach
and 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, some
mdete:mlnate,gram of paniC, an inchoate fear, Sill' walked f,L'ileralol1g the
shorehne,.callmg Lalita's name. There W,L'ino answer, She walked into the
water, feelmg the undertow tugging at her ankles and dragging her in, She
strugg!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, Seeing
Its headhghts !lash at her, she called to Luis who was approaching her, and
the servant, sensin~ the panic in her call, rushed to the shore, Together they
scoured the beach, first towards the looming mountains, and then back again.
Then they walked back the same way, shouting Lalita's name, The waves
swelled 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 rocky
crag at the foot of t~e mountain, They looked out at the sea for any sign, any
call forhelp, and still there was no sign of the child. Finally, when everything
was dark and they could see the pinpoints of fishermen's lights far out at sea
Luis 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 the
jeep rumbled away,
THEYNEVER fOUND the body of the child, Rescue boats from the Coa..~tGuard and
ragged tugboats from the Marines scoured the waters olf the coast, and divers
probed as deep as eight fathoms. Lalita's body was nowhere to be found, Two
days after the last boat had given up, the nuns at the convent, accompanied
by some of the children, went down to the beach for final rites, Later in the
afternoon, just as the sun was setting and the nuns finished reciting the last
of the Glorious Mysteries, a ragged troop of elders from the villages trundled
toward the congregation, bearing offerings of rice, sugarcane, and lighted
candles, whose flames they protected from the wind by placing the candles in
cups 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 the
dead." There was nothing the soldier could do. They passed him quietly, about
thirty old men and women stooped and ragged and cupping their candles in
their hands. They searched out Dolores Zabarte. She was standing beside the
general, 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 to
Dolores. The others then walked to the shoreline, and there, one by one they
set 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 sisters
asking, 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, an
unkind word,.could dislodge her from this comfortable assurance. Now she
felt it again, listening to the general annotate the ritual. She herself felt she
wassinking slowly, fading out like the lights at sea. The elders were reciting
something even she could not understand: there were phrases in the ancient
Carolan 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, walked
knee-deep into the water, and looking about her as in a daze, she sudd~nly
lunged 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 ragged
skirt clinging to her legs, and with one deft hand she held out a knife, thrust
it into the head of the eel and slashed it lengthwise in two. Blood spurted In
all directions as she threw the two halves of the eel onto the sand. The elders
huddled around it, watching the parts thrash and squarm, creating a bloody
calligraphy on the sand. When finally the parts lay still the elder who had led
the 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 droll
ing an incantation. And then he faced the waler, bowed his Iwad, tUI'IIl'd
around and walked ~way, back to the road leading 10 the mountain, Quietly
the others followed him. They spoke not one word. The only sound that could
b~ heard w~ the so~nd of their footbells tinkling, vanishing into the howling
Wind. The slster again asked General Zabarte, with some trace of panic in her
voice, "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 sea
will 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 only
tells us to be stron g,"
"No, sister," the general said. "He warns us 2.bout nothing. That is
the 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 have
said, "God warns us about nothing, and that is the saddest thing about our
life." Or, "God warns us and we refuse to listen." But he didn't believe in God
or 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; but
It was no more than that. It was a vast, blind, unemotional strength that
bonded planets or kept galaxies apart, not some benevolent figure that kept
watch over calamity, prayer, sin. But what made him think of it at alJl Since
his capture at the mountains, since his frantic trek out of the forest, he had
begun to doubt everything he so emphatically believed in: at some point, one
night among the heaving of huge trees and the suspirations of unknown
fauna, 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.'Ttl
wants. God does not warn us about calamities, Our lives go on as best tt:ti
can.
He became impatient waiting for Dolores .tocome down. Hepoured
himself a glass of brandy, and then another, lost in thought. Then he moved
to 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 wind
blew in like a summons. [t brought the sea back with it, and memories they
had given up to the sea, long ago when it was difficult to give up so many
things. Howeasy it is to let go of things now. Or,he would have said, it isn't so
easy to let go but we accept the pain with less resistance now. Pain? He had
not thought of that word, had not used it for as long as he could remember. It
wasn't something that came to mind even during those muggy, stink-filled
nights when he watched his men pierce the bodies of young farmers with
sticks and pins, like pincushions, He was too good for pain. He felt nothing
when 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~-~-"'-'".'-' ,'"~"""'---"';-""'' --''--'-----' -.-.',-..' ..., ,'- -
-~-_.-. 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 still
in his hand with not one drop spilled, and discovered, too, when he went up
later to change his clothes, that £2lo~b.ad g,on~
THEUNIFORMED MAID brought in a pot of Ceylon tea and a vial of honey. She
poured the tea into two cups and then slinked away quietly, leaving the pot
and vial on the table.
"Drink," Dona Maria Bernardina Zabarte told Dolores. "Oldpeople
are forbidden their pleasures. I can only drink honey." She reached for her
cup, 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 to
keep out the January draft that made the old woman's bones ache, Dolores
realized that for the past fewyears that she had been dropping by to visit, the
doors were never opened. Years ago, when Dona Zabarte was stronger, they
would 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 ;:;~~I
done." 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 your
grIef. 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 painful
decision," 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 made
sur:.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.:--
'.
- -,._,'.
00
-'~~"-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, Dolores
handed it to her. Dona Zabarte opened the box and pulled out a sheaf of
photographs, She handed one to Dolores, It was a sepia photograph of Villa
del Fuego, taken in 1926, the date haVing been scribbled with a fine hand in
ink, 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 drove
our automobile past the gate of the villa, Don Egidio and!. Abeautiful place,
set off like a jewel at the foot of the mountain. And I saw this couple, your
parents, two beautiful creatures walking behind the gates, so graceful, so
white. 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 Zabarte
said. "But I know your mother and your aunt were happy to meet us, because
there was no one else from Manila. They were so full of life, your family. They
always had guests at the villa, and we were there often."
She talked about life at the villa, picking out from the China box
pictures with frayed edges, scalloped-edged portraits processed in German
studios along Calle Escolta in Manila, notes and cards kept for unknown
reasons. 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:.that
had been left her. Now, a:i~ilie'reTgooTifitseCrermemorres"ii1e photographs
held, they rekindled small events that had been blurred by distance and time,
Or perhaps the photographs brought back nothing at all, too little and too
late, and she passed them on to Dolores with the weight of loss. Here was
Dolores' father, the beatific Manuel Suarez: wearing a summer suit of white
trousers 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 and
distant, like portraits of stars of the silent movies, .,
"Jose tells me Malacanang might publish excerpts of Tla Amah a s
book," Dolores said. "Researchers from the palace have been visiting the
villa."
"I am certain," the old woman said, "they will discover it is not
your Tia Amalia's. The book was published by somebody else. You and [ know
that." She picked out a few more photographs: Manuel, in 'Striped swimsuit
along the beach, and Isabel holding aloft a huge parasol. "Detractors of my
husband made that book," she continued, almost with finality. "There were
many of them. Don Egidio made a lotof enemies, and he knew it. ~ometim~s
he 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 MantIa
he 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 al
the 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 are
more successful than we are, Old friends from Manila called him a coward, a
traitor, any new word they learned in English. And all these accusations went
on 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 pickets
here at the town plaza, and slogans hurled and effigies burned. It pained me
to watch these things happen. They called him a lapdog of the Americans,
but this was so untrue! Nobody remembers how he protested, after we settled
here, about the bars across the mountain. He built this quiet place for his
children against the raucousness of Akeldama, Ay,how he despised that name.
When the soldiers came to visit, he gave them long, passionate ~ermons about
that seedy, sinful place. He told them what the name meant in the Bible. But
the soldiers were young and were not Catholics, We had a good relationship
with them, the Americans. They sustained us through the Years,Without the
~\YQh!!.9 be no Villa del Fuego, All this ,;vould be nothing bu,t
jU~~YUilllj2land. There would be_no San Miguel. We would not b~__
IWr~." Then, remembering her earlier statement, she said, "The book was
written when we announced Jose's marriage to you. Egidio's enemies knew
this marriage would make us the most powerful family in San Miguel. Per-
, haps all over the country." She laughed quietly and with difficulty: her story
had 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 we
can hope to know," she said. She picked out other photographs, a stack of
weathered 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. The
box, lying on the lap of the old woman, wac;empty. Dolores looked at the
bottom of the pile and found photographs of herself and the brothers: how
young they all seemed then, their eyes sparkling with hope and vision and
enchantment for the world.
"I blOW," the old woman said, "how they both loved you. [ do not
know how we come to be blessed by other people's love. I am an old, old
thing. I know some things cannot be explained." She put the box down on
the 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 them
and protested that the garden would be too cold for Dona Zabarte, but the old
woman wearily dismissed her. "I am entitled to a little foolishness now, poc
Dios."
They walked hand in hand down the path to the aviary. All around
them was the polyphonic squalling of the birds and the wind whistling from
the mountain. They walked as though they had reached the beginning and
the end of the wodd. The morning sun, filtered through the leaves, dappled
the path with flecks of pale light.
THEPRESIDENT had just finished writing his inaugural speech and was relax-
ing for the weekend in Malacanang Palace when the Armed Forces Chief of
Staff, 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 and
the First Lady. The two young men had followed' the general to the study to
give the full report and wanted to know the President's response.
The President felt a pang of weariness and pain shoot through his
kidneys, and for a moment he refused to listen to the report. He had wanted a
long, 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 Lady
of 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 country
with guts not brains. "Who are involved?" he asked.
The colonel enumerated some names, many of them belonging to
various classes of the milit.ary academy. The President opened his eyes and
looked at his own son. Deep in his bones he felt his sadness ebbing, and his
breath and life seemed to ebb with it. Later that evening he could stiIIsense 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 and
eliminate this force that has plotted to assassinate the President and the First
Lady. [ call upon these soldiers to stop this stupidity and surrender so that we
may negotiate exactly what should be done with them and their men. I have
nothing but sadness for those who participated in the conspiracy. We have no
intention of hurting these people. They should realize that we are in com-
plete control of the situation."
[ HADBEENKNOCKING on jun's door for about five minutes before he bothered to
answer. I was aghast to see him. Athree-day-old stubble cast a shadow undpr
his chin; his hair was unkempt and rumpled; there were dark circles under
his bloodshot eyes, the result of successive hangovers. "Well, Ali Baba," he
slurred. "Have the thieves come to take us?"
"What happened to you, man?" I asked him. "The office has been
looking 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 I
was 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 the
whole town wanted to give a triumphant speech over the liberated television
station. 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 the
Westinghouse-built nuclear plant in Bataan. Then there were tapes of Mambo
Magsaysay and Onward Christt'an Soldiers, and-every hour Freddie Aguilar
whined 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. he
had been living a life which I realized had been completely unknown to me
until 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 just
returned); soiled clothing ~verywhere. One wall was lined with bookshelves
bursting 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.e
of soiled clothes, and beside that, partly hidden by more clothes, was a..c.om-
~L:':'~~.b.~~~' His apartment wasn't too spacious but il
gave onto a refreshing view of the city's ancient roofs of wood and rust now
smudged into the twilight. Were it not for this view the whole place would
have looked like a cave.
"Take the rest of the week off, Diaz," he dismissed me. "l think a
coup'is a good enough excuse."
"Max has been making me write statements to foreign media Iig
crazy," 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'sthe
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 clothes
off 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 I to Malacafiang. Students were holding up crowns of thorns made from pieces
on 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 he
was both. .-:
"It's going to be temporary all right," he said. "Let me wallow in
my 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 suspirating
whistle 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. Not
that 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 the
door. "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'emonilion
of what wa.~going to happen that night. He hurriedly put on Jeans and a shirt
and we ran down to the basement to get his car. Wezoomed out through the
sidestreets, avoiding EDSAwhere people had been massing to surround the
camps.
Weparked the car beside a carinderia and walked the rest of the way
of barbed wire snipped from the barricades of Mendiola. There were several
APCsin the plaza, manned by young Marines. People were everywhere, pop-
ping out ofwindows and filling up the pedestrian overpass of Magsaysay Boul-
evard. Weextricated ourselves from the crowd and finally reached the street
to the palace. There were no guards or soldiers around to stop us.
DEBRIS FROM TIlE INAUGURATION that morning still littered the palace gardens. All
week long gardeners had been uprooting carrots, lettuce and bitter melon
which the First Lady had ordered planted for her Backyard Vegetable Garden
Project. Now there were torn buntings, streamers, paper cups and paper flags
strewn about the place. Chocolate wrappers and orange juice tetrapacks floated
like ragged lilies in the fountain pond. From the balcony of the palace, the
giant face of the President flapped in the wind. Wewalked through the kitchen
gardens, which had been returfed for the occasion, and took the back route to
our office.Just that morning, when I was sent to look forJun, the place seemed
normal as any government bureau. Nowthere was absolute mayhem. Palace
servants were packing crystal into crates. Some were stuffing hundreds of silk
dresses into boxes, while others carried wicker baskets full of scented soap,
bumping into each other and scattering the soap bars all over the halls. Jun
stopped 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 scolding
him 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't
seen before. Many of them we~estragglers from that morning's inaugural
ball, still dressed in the t-shirts emblazoned with the face of Marcos and the
word Victory! under his face. Other overstaying guests were wearing their
barong 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' caflecr lr§~, 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'_,,,,.,.¥.,,:
!i~e lTJan~of ,the zeo£le ther~:.1JL afl~rnUQll IU\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 '
:.Qr!.n ~~.~!~g
, the crow?,.il'tIT1!.y'~g~.tatil"~gar9_~~ ~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'm
not staying for the fun. I'm getting my bread and getting out." Performers
for the inaugural ball had been promised a heftysum and plane tickets around
the 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 him
later, and then I rushed down to the A.S.l.A.office. Along the way I passed by
Max 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. Heturned
around 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 it
with 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 no
guards. He found the First Ladyaccompanying the President out of his room.
C'"c,::>',;:C,
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 President
down the hall. Then he walked back down to the office where I had been
waiting for him.
"Max h~ ~ off to the Herald," It?~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 our
games with the manuscript. I flipped a few pages and browsed through the
text. 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~'~~~:"'''1
He 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 seen
the President and the First Lady just a few minutes before. An unmade bed
had been pushed against a wall. There were intravenous bottles hanging over
it.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 the
halls. The general was in mufti, which was perhaps why nobody recognized
him and why his orders were mostly being ignored. Sal stepped out to one of
the 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. "Everybody explores it,
senor. Nobody conquers it. There are many expeditions and many lives are
lost. People search for gods they can venerate. In their lonely rooms they
adore 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, their
disappointment turns their love into violence, hostility, vengeance. That is
what I see. The young are spared this Vision,and are happy." He looked at
Sa!. "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 have
met before:-
'lam no one," Sa! wid.:'I don1e.~i~t."
"Here we are, in the middle of a storm, and we talk about earthly
July 1999

d
delights. Let us be strange." The general laughed. "Everything isvanishing,"
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 break
into the palace soon," he said. "Be wise and go away."
• They parted at the hallway. The entire palace was deserted now.The
general walked down to the gardens at the back and Sal turned towar.d the
gates. There was no sound but their footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
 Promised Land ~ kiH t~~rus~s. Afterthey lowered the coffin into the earth they threw a
smg~;e over It, so that the soul of the sorceress may feed on it until the
portals 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, in
a cell where no man had ever been incarcerated since it wa'i built a hundred
years ago. For a week thereafter islanders lined up to take a look at the men
DAYANG TIlE WITCH returned to Siquijor three years after the fall of the Marcos upon whom they had placed their colll3ctivecurse. The erring cousins had
government. Money and experience about the world, gained during her ex- lost all memory of speech because of their insomnia, and thus lived con-
tended tenure in Manila, made her more powerful than any other sorcerer in demned in a world of perpetual silence. They stared at sunlight with fear and I"~
town. She lived with two cousins in a hut tucked in a forest populated by
talking birds and maleficent spirits. In that solitary fortress ofmoss and fern
she kept an apothecary of her powers, lining a shelf with wondrous plagues
and medicines. She concocted potions for love and also for revenge, vials of
opiates that made one see the thoughis of angels and walk on rainbows,
~k:~~::~E~:~r~:E;~:':~
i
r,mE:!J~iib1I).&;d.th~~~~Y$11~.1U,,9riI~iDi!!a:g~~
-'''--~-'''-'-/j
perfumes that could stop the waxing of the moon and made men mad and DONAMARIA BERNAROINA UJlARTE died on a rainy afternoon in her mansion in
which were sealed in alabastrons stolen by pirates long ago from shipwrecked San Miguel. Before she died, she asked her servant to draw the windows open
Greeks, and Roman ungentaria filled with sensual liniments. Each morn- so that she could hear the sound of the rain, and she lay in bed with a rosary
ing, just before daybreak, she collected dew and the saliva of SWifts,lizard's of polished wooden beads and recited all of the mysteries before passing away.
eggs and the eyes of parakeets that had been stunned by moonlight. With They clothed her in a gown of Venetian lace which she had worn at her wed-
them'she brewed a paste that could cure anything from insomnia to broken ding, and were surprised to find that the old woman had shrunk to half her
hearts. And in the evenings, alone in her lonely hut, she read passages from size since. They buried her in a coffin of lead lined with blaGts~.atiJJ..".~,.">i'"
~-"'_.~:: ...' .._"·':'i":-;_'-'-~_.k~~:_";-~:'-~k-:"·C~"""":-;·;.'":-:-";T~!;;::'>·_·-'" "",'..0-',.-,',.' ~

the cuneiforms of Sumatra, recharging her powers and recreating worlds giant canopy of canvas and attended byhi~edrnSyrners~s.~tshelJ:la.ybe.g~~ed"
that frightened even the gods,
Here, one moonless evening, she was stabbed by her two cousins, 1
=t tOie~E'!I!!!YI¥:c,ra£IJ~~yrrr@':V~ssufi:uscd with the odor QLin.cens.e
and burnt sugar. Hawks and cranes, migrating southward from Honshu,
who wanted to attain her magic. They rummaged around for potions, amu-l roosted'onthecaJ1()py, and they had t9 (ear it down. [n N.ovember,after the
lets, anything that held the secret of her power, and stole off int0 the forest "'~. ra!Ds,tneyfOiind strange new flowers sprouting there, with petals as diapha-
with miniature replicas of viscera carved from mahogany so, that the sap I nous as rain.
"'~~"-t,:w~Jiir~:t";;;!#!'

looked like blood, a knife forged from an unknown alloy which had been .~ Brigadier ~eneral Jose Zabarte led a S2l!E.9).t~t4~~~1~~~~~~)1f:.YL~
found in a gaLleonbeached on the island three centuries ago, and more than .~ governrnent sooDjrt~r,~i§tea p,Lt5~~p,1~,~jDj.j.Q~aUstsofthg.mj!jlaJ~,aGad-
ten thousand pesos in cash, '--' emY:.E9.Li~\:e:~iI~~X?Jb,~,Lb,e.~J22~.t?g~\htMiQ\§try of Defense, surrounded
The entire island of Siquijor turned out to bury Dayang and de- by sympathetic soldiers and the international press. By the fourth day, the
clared a day of mourning. In her coffin they placed!}::.lHQ&~~~~og~~e.r_~Dq.~ general asked the press to vacate the camp and the soldiers to receiveextreme
lenoth of rope so that the murderers would fearthe\L0"Ynj.11]~~~,lose sleep unction. An hour later they were bombarded by phantom jets called in from
'#;.,~~_,_~""""'.;;O:O"~"',;L''''';'';;~$~/::;,,..,,.n;~-:-'''''_';O;:'_'''''il:~~~'i-'-'_-'-i%,~.'-.;;;.t'_;"""'_~'::;';_.V_\;',-,·"'fM0,:,_·~_·.-t.-,~$.,-,
_..ry.",-+.-.~..~_..._"....,.•, -'",;c"_",~""~,-_,,,,,,,,,,,_,.'_'-''''-.-'~'':-''-'.-,~ ..
the American bases in Subic and Akeldama. The camp was blown to rubble.
 Not one 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,
months after the coup, the general was said to have issued a manifesto frolTh
the 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~lje
gl?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~$Il1~.c.Isli1es
tha.t ,buried, e~tire. t?~ns. [l!l9
sb.iftedthecQurse ofthe Rio pel Flleg.Q.JnJhg!119Ql.b§Jh}l,tJQllowgg,Jb~ ..
}~I;JJ1d~l:s,Jotag,W.ugr§EE~~~~.,f~~2.,,~~;£~q,Lgj.~mg,ll.~u~b~.and
th~flQWiD$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 delicate
crystal and china. Half of the roof of the orphanage fell through, and the
children had to be crammed on cots in the sturdier wing. Dolores Zabarte
was last seen organizing relief missions for the orphans. Disillusioned by the
slow pace of relief work and red tape, she sold most of the heirlooms at the
villa to reconstruct the orphanage, and was said to have leftthe country soon
after. 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 to
ask the Americans to stay.~dle.:wQ~Qm~~ ~be J:eleoll~
~~;~;;;c~;~~,;~;;;;~tf9~~~~;~~~-
~everal..Y~~r§,la,l~!~RlJl!h~.D~y~l.!J~~
..lQ,.~~"nMi.g.1.l~L~~.Q.e.Y-ex"~"
~TO~Z\BA.RTEsurvived the vicissitudes of climate and calamity, but not of
Ime, 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, fighting
I I one government and then the next, guarding his inaccessible jungle with
fJ, \'ffJt(v~bt7 armories of primitive lmplements, bamboo knives and automatic rifles sto-
. len in ambushes of government troops. They found him one afternoon not
. far from the peak, in a cave where he had taken the last of his men to escape
the smouldering rivers of lava and periodic typhoons and where he had kept
a journat of his struggle written in the ancient Carolan. He had no more than
two 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@.~,.~.
~i!1Qko..»"hL~ll
..&.r.t~.asql]anQ sub¥e~iQ.o....tlJ,LLbe.c.milii~~~M.QQlllh<~a.tive
had goneoutofus~:. He. qi~q Lnj)rtsgn.!,~LthQuLthe c().mpaI4cY~QLwQJ~9L~
Jillii~J~i~ingJ2iblnQ.~QS~ ?De cS!~tgsl$s£ll~r
2lf!1..oU~!.?~f12~}~O,
PATCHIU'SA1TEMPTS to redeem Filipino pop music were met with modest suc-
~s'. u s2E2.~~~iffi~~JosIf§]!lI:@gerrcrocrneKfiS16or-·
.N<~J£ama.S"oonafferlnerevo Iution , he went back to Akeldaiiia to'reo-periffie""
-.-
Holy City Zoo. But the increasing attacks on American servicemen by com-
munist Sparrow units forced him to reconsider the business. When the Ameri-
cans pulled out of La Paz Naval Base, he abandoned the club altogether. He
went back to Manila where he established a stable of young stars for televi-
sion and eventually put up a film company specializing in saccharine, in-
fantile melodramas. He became very successful in this venture, and once
considered the idea of running for senator.
Sal X ..and ~e~1Urnersep~Eatednotlong.~ter,Me~ret~rned to
workin .Ne~·York, w~ere she became a hi01IYsu·cce:~sr~IR6o.tQi[apby'artisl,
while Sal went back cohis mfVanacOI11IT1~nityinSan Miguel ~here he stayed
despite'the:~lfSt71tfom'af~earrhglJakeand'r ah~r:.1h e cornm un ityth rivedIn
r"elativepeace for a few y~£l~' urulLaJaclioorevQlted against bisl:r;lesstanic
andoftenabsE~se protestati()Q§ £l.ndb.ro~e}\Xa,~,
This faction set up camp in a b'lrrio next to Akeldama and vowed to
exterminate all traces of political dissent in the island: not to anyone's sur-
prise it wa~ supported enthusiastically by the new military command. They
became known astheWi~a,ga~a C~~~zon de lesus.,~:b~~.n:..~T..~;r.s~~I~~~e.~
r
'wk
>b
...,.~ Empire of Memory 295
\.jJ~v
 t~ w:re es~~~i~IlY9,~~p~~9ili.gjfdt:em~b.e.islawiIhe¥.~~n~J!:1,
they (Iisl11eITlbe,r,~~!he,iUi~llmS."w0Q2se live~ they;~t~in order,to retain theIr
.P2.~$[..EicD..HIT,1~'"'theYl<l!!~,t,Q~tl~l£Epi:I~jish",~~min·h~[:§rrmrD[a
heart -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 .uotil
ilieJ 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~r1toforty-fiv~l11inH!is.-J1P_doe.v~_.gplajr:acL"cc
oQJ.~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, the
fatheLQf:t~WJ~~~dSi~cih~rtba.'<' ._'" ....,~.~~"~<.~~,~'---_.<._--_. -.«
JUN HIDALGO never managed to win back the affections of Susan Tala, who
went on to become an environmental activist fighting to preserve the forests
of Isabela, Cagayan and Palawan. He joined the newly established public
relations firm of Max Plata after the revolution, but resign~ after less than a
year. The firm became influential in the industry, and so did Max, who con-
tinued writing columns for the democratic press, initially dispensing lavish
praise on the Smiling Revolution and eventually attacking the new govern-
ment with undisguised venom. Max helped negotiate for the return of Imelda
Marcos and her children, and became the spokesman of the family in their
attempts 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 THE PlANE ARRIVES on schedule, much
, Jun was last seen scouring the islets of the Visa asIn s~a,rch..oft~et
i1l"uS?>ry~~[~~_~,9L~2m_pJ:lQ,~D.q" ~l~
e Q£!gl£1~2Lib!.~steri ous as~"afI1~cho. ;
In fiisfast letter, he wrote that he had found a smallisrananeadne perrprrrrr ~
oLqj~]~11K9se.<l,~.,15ttJ.
£[\ili1j2r9Qijly]Bommw:iTiiiliii£~wits {••.•
in"""i:~~.,-
the ..••..town h_a,.!l,Qlilll.~piqelJlj&,auheJJJ.t~QLili~,,~~nlJl-Q\,,£nd"2Lu~
",,:,,;:.,-~'''-------'-= .. - .,' '.- .,=,~
colonel simply called Elyas. It turfle t '~.'" t
Ian so~~.".~~~.~~, ..t~QL~D)lC.~£I"Q,!!~YJ],~g,_~"E.!£~_~.nd,p.£.~~[~L~::<".Q}~~
l~~~J.gt~J:,l;Iewas,ktWWllJQhl!y~neg9tiated tb~ irnP9.r\<ltiODQ[ WQm~DJrQQ1
Japan, whom he sold as prostitutes to brothels in Manila and Cebu. Later,be ....
married bne ofthe 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 on
his 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 his
memoirs. He may have read it, deep in the fever of his imminent demise; he
may have dreamed of it, stumbling into ghosts and shadows in the furrows of
his sleep.
I OfTEN WONDER if it were indeed the real manuscript Jun handed to the tleeing
President. 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 the
lives we had crammed in our prank of a book. [n his haste to carry off as
many documents outof the palace as possible,jur. inadvertently leftthe manu-
script in Malacafiang on the night the Marcoses ned the country. ( stood by
the gates watching as the crowds burst into the palace and threw out of the
balconies a confetti of speeches, music sheet~ and the pages of our aborted
book-all those lives reclaiming their secrecy,
But a'i I began, so shall I end: with a ~tOry,because there is nothing
in this world to keep liS going hilt the retelling of our lives, and of those we
-
• love.
to my sL.rprise,and I crane Illy neck
above the sea of arrivals, wondering if I will ever recognize them. Hawkers
and vendors force their grotesque souvenirs upon me, and I turn them away
and receive brusque reprobation in return. Riot police push the croweL"back
to a cordoned square. An American dignitary, I forget who, is arriving this
afternoon, 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 arm
f....
:'.,.;;~\'"'.,.,;...\\"~
__,,._""-"'_~""'~~."");lM.;/:Cl''"'-''' ••.''''"''-'''''-'-'';'~·''.-,.c-,,,,,,;·;,,-, '0,>_"';;'"~'.~""'';:;.''''''''_"'''''';.'/'';;' " ·/.c.·,·,·.::;:,'.'-, ••',,··;""""''''':·r);<.-.\,·-"'_'-,.· ...." .., ..•.__ •...• -
 dan&l~gx!,htJXb~IJ,h~~~h~lf"Q&il'~""T~ing,RWJ1.ed-~ a ~I!ng,ma~~h
r~s~;,pw'ill~gPl,1m,9cpiM~"Ju~o,i~t~hQY1~1l?
thefeatures o~a,~lJ~tly iR2~~11Qln~!~o
,·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 never
liked long flights,"
I drive the car up the ramp and we unstrap her from the chair and
pack 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 colorless
streets. Neon signs light up as we pass by, throwing shrapnels of fluorescent
kanji across our path. The Japanese bars throw their doors open, howling
plaintive melodies,
It is dark when we reach the house, a brooding, decaying structure
towering over the neighborhood's wooden houses. Bythis time she is stam-
mering incoherently, coming awake from her hemisphere of sleep. Wecarry
her fnto the house, one ann each on our shoulders, and as soon as we enter
the door she seems to revivecompletely, stares at me and then at her son, and
says, to no one in particular, to the ghosts of the house, "Nico, say heJlolp
Uncle_Al£ofISG.:!
I--.--'-"'-~-
"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 the
room, wann and soothing. "I'm back," she says. So she is. The moon rises
and stains her face with quicksilver. Her mouth curves down to a sneer, her
brows are furrowed, her cheeks are pale and veined like ancient marble. Her
ann drops and a book she has been holding on to since the plane took off
drops to the floor. I pick it up. It is Rilke's T.he, BOQte[",ti~ur~lh~_.,Q~~~
~~~~~""'
cururlledJJay it beside l1eran'd close the d.oo..r..And.so, in the
.thumbed.. ~anndd. __ '''_~,*,ft,''''~''''''~''.;'-W:"d...\~~","-'-,"~,~~''i.f,;.~~4~
"SHEINSISTED on coming," Nico says. "The doctors advised against it, but she
said 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't
drink.
"She's not in pain," he says. "It's stoppped coming, the pain. It was
terrible 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 things
turn out."
"Delphi wrote once that when you were a kid she had to force you to
take your medicine, and when you got to college she had to do it all over
again."
He laughs. Hehas Delphi'Slaugh: gurgling, infectious. "She couldn't
force me to do anything. r was horrible. I told her Iwas going to be a doctor
as 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 a
hologram in front of you. Tape recorders that can transcibe-Mom's always
wanted something like that. And dO-it-yourself laser healing, sort of like an
intelligent 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. She
makes 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 I
shouldn'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 Yamashita
of the retreating Japanese army toward the end of the Pacific War. In the
middle of the century President Marcos was said to have found the treasure
and to have been the last to know where it was. There have been excavations
in Manila, Leyte,Baguio and Ifugao. "No one ever finds the gold. It's a strange
country."
The story in particular says that digging has begun in the sand
dunes of !locos. Aprivate contractor has been allowed to conduct the digging
for 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,"
~ She sits up in bed and gives me a hug, weakly,
IS AWAKE.
"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 as
they 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 Nobel
Prize. 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 the
house, She looks out a window: an expanse of rust-stained roofs, a jungle of
electric 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 court
where 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 jagged
configuration of antennae and tin roofs, past the smoke of a passing train,
and disappears into the sky,
NICOlSMISSING. We h~ven'tseen himXgrlbJ~,~~'\,~~Jl~YlweGil:4Se
SfieisarraicrUetphr~[(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 his
father's eyes and his confidence, and also his athletic build. He has all his
father's features and his mother's soul.
I sit by the table beside his bed, looking at the photographs. Then I
notice a notepad by the phone, There's nothing written on it, but I can see the
impressions left on the topmost page, I turn the lamp on and turn the paper
at an angle and discover these marks:
7123371
Antamok
There are no telephone numbers like that in Manila, so I ask the operator to
find it for me. Sure enough, I get connected to the Dap-AyHotel in Baguio. I
am informed that Nico had been there until yesterday, and that he has gone
up to Antamok with an expedition of archaeologists looking for Yamashita's
gold.
"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, who
advise 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 to
awake, 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
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. I
You know that." --'
She asks me to light the lamp beside her bed, I find a match to light
it. Power lines have been down all day. Sirens wail in the distance. I look out
her window and see plumes of smoke rising from the eastern horizon, too'
distant to alarm us. 1\vilight blazes across the sky.
SHE ISSTILL
AWAKE when Nico arrives that evening. I begin to scold him, but she
calls 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. Nico
rushes 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 the
police."
 "They stopped us along the border of !locos on the way back and plode: a star. It fills the sky with a purple glow, it bursts into a thousand
held us for two days. They let me go when I showed them my passport. The pulsing neutrons, like a dying nova, and they cascade in tiny nickering rain-
others are still there. Great place, Uncle AI." bows, staining the roofs, the alleys, the cars, and also the faces of people who
"What did you see?" she asks him. come out to look at this strange visitation. The crowd seems unreal as the
"Strange, fascinating villages. Lots of grass huts. White sand and spreading light ripples over their faces, their arms, their clothes. It is a~ if the
coconut and palm. People with beautiful faces, faces that have learned a lot entire scene were stage-lit, and so magnificently, that even the actors are as-
of suffering and patience. Wedrank gallons of wine and they sang me songs tonished by the flood of light. In their eyes I see both amazement and fear.
I couldn't understand. It was beautifuL" And something else, star-like and undying, a sparkle of expectation. They are
She smiles, nodding her head, running the images in her mind. always waiting, waiting. They are weary from waiting, and yet when some-
"Yes,So it is," she says. She looks at him and says, "Kiss me, and say good- thing arrives, something out of the ordinary, they stagger out of their homes,
bye." We help her back to bed and leave the lamp flickering by her side. hoping this one, at last, will bring salvation, reprieve, more hope. Mypeople,
I heat some food and boil tea. Nico sits at the table and says, "I've I am here and I wait with the rest of you. I have no answers. Life is territying
decided to stay, Uncle AJ. " and beautiful.
"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 are
vill~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 about
it and be famous. Nothing noble about that." _
"It's a very gaud thing to do," I tell him. Alot of people are esca~J
in& fleeing on fragile "oa~_ This young man wan~ to stay_Goand nnd yod
world, 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 lying
by 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 had
kept and had not looked at all these years: except for the painfully mended
sleeve, it looks almost new. Wewill let Nico wear it, it will be too tight for him,
and we will remember and have a good laugh. I fold the coat and place it
beside 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-
 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 for
the Arts, he has had his work published in a diverse range of publications
including Harper~ Magazine, Columbia, Manoa, International Quar-
terly, as well as several anthologies, among them In My Life: Encounters
with the Beatles, Returning a BotiouJed7bngtl..e,Broum River, WhiteOcean,
and FlIppin ':FilIpinos on America, which he co-edited. His latest novel, My
Sad 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 teaches
at the Asia/Pacific American Studies Program at New York University and
was appointed Visiting Writer at the University of Hawaii in Manoa in 1999.
• He lives in New York City.