Orchid House (37 page)

Just then the car halted again. Another driver coming toward them motioned them over. Markus.

His car was a strange gray color, and he left it running as he came to Julia's window. “I was afraid I would miss you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You can't go to Manila. The volcano has caused catastrophic damage. The city is a mess, flights are being cancelled, and there are rumors of another coup attempt.”

Julia jumped from the car and into Markus's arms. “I guess you can't get rid of me so fast.”

“As if I wanted to.”

Julia saw someone approaching from the corner of her eye. “Emman!” she called. “Your work is not done. I'm staying.”

“Well, until the next flight,” Markus said with regret in his tone. “But we'll take every day we have.”

“Oh no, I'm staying. This was the answer I was looking for.”

Markus and Raul glanced at each other.

“Unless my presence causes a problem or danger for anyone else?”

“No, it will not.” It was Emman who spoke, standing proudly and biting his lip to keep from smiling. The morning was coming though it was such a strange reddish gray world; the tiny flakes started so subtly that they nearly didn't notice.

“Look, Emman. It's snowing.” Julia put out her hand.

“It's ash from the volcano,” Markus explained. “It's covering most of the Philippines and is expected to go across the South China Sea to Cambodia and Vietnam.”

“First time that I see snow.” Emman copied her with his hand palm up; then he inspected his hand. “We cannot make a snow-man. Maybe an ash-man?”

Julia laughed. “It's Philippine snow. And the miracle of it is also the miracle of my new life at Hacienda Esperanza.”

S
HE WASN'T LEAVING. IT COMPLICATED MATTERS. AND YET HE WAS
also strangely proud of her. The American did have Filipina blood in her after all.

It was not what his superiors wanted. There would immediately come orders that Manalo would not follow, and yet someone else might. He had to tread carefully, and there was only the slightest chance for full success.

But regardless of the outcome, in a few days, his family would be free to live as they deserved. And for that, Manalo would know his life had not been in vain.

T
HEY EITHER HAD FORGOTTEN HE WAS IN THERE, OR THEY THOUGHT
he was asleep. Emman heard them right outside his window. Only a mosquito netting covered the opening, so he heard every word.

“What are they going to do about it?”

“What are
they
? We shouldn't wait for anyone.
We
should take care of it, since he was our friend.”

It sounded like his cousins and their friends.

“Tell Rigo what you told me.”

“It was the Red Bolo group. Ka Manalo is the leader. They think Artur was probably tortured before they killed him.”

Emman sat up. His hammock rocked, and he put out his hand to stop it from hitting the window ledge.

“You don't think we should wait for orders?”

“Why should we? Would they have waited at our age?”

“Then let's figure out what we're going to do.”

TWENTY-TWO

Y
ou almost left without saying good-bye,” Amang Tenio said, walking into the room where Julia had been staring at the telephone and rehearsing how she'd tell her mother and then Nathan that she wasn't coming home.

“Hello,” she greeted him. “Come in—or should we go outside?”

He nodded solemnly. “Outside sounds good.”

As they walked through the house, she said, “I am sorry for that, for the abrupt departure that so quickly became a return.”

They settled at the outside table, and he immediately pulled out a large pipe with deep carvings covering the dark wood.

“I am told that you plan to remain here.”

She paused a moment, wondering if he approved. “Yes. I would like very much to do that.”

“Good. I was just discussing it with my friend Father Tomas, praying for ideas to make it so.”

Julia found the combination intriguing. “You and Father Tomas are friends?”

“We have been great friends for many years. We debate theology and the subject of peace and war. You might be surprised to discover that we hold many same beliefs. I light candles upon entering the church and ask for redemption through the Son of God. Father Tomas would like to make me a fullfledged respectable Catholic without my ‘warlock robes' as he calls them, most lovingly of course. And I would like to get the Father a bit out of his stiff collars and onto the veranda to smoke pipes and marry him off to one of my sisters. We do disagree about some things.”

“Where is Berdugo?” Julia asked, finding it strange to see Amang Tenio without his beloved rooster resting in his left arm. He seemed oddly thinner or missing something.

“I think that bird of mine believes himself the king of the Barangay Mahinahon. Today he remained in his cage and gave me a look of great disdain when I told him I'd be coming to town. I didn't mind too much, for his royal highness gets pretty heavy for an old crippled man to carry.” From around the handle of his cane, he unhooked a silver chain.

“Julia, I have something for you,” he said. “Even though you may be staying now, I want you to have this to remember Barangay Mahinahon, the village of apes, monkeys, and most certainly guerrillas.” He handed her a small silver pendant in the shape of a square.

“Thank you very much.” Julia felt Amang Tenio's pleased smile all through her. She latched the hook around her neck, then held the cool silver in her hand.

“Raul told me that Captain Morrison mentioned in his letters how sharp you are in business, how successful you were in your company.”

Julia thought how meaningless it sounded now, compared to the heritage of this place. She'd risen up the corporate ladder until she no longer cared and fell right back down. “Yes, I was successful . . . for a while.”

Amang Tenio reached a moment to stroke the rooster that was absent in his arms. He looked down in surprise, chuckled to him-self, and gazed a long while over the green fields.

“You also found Elena's orchid.”

“Yes.”

Amang Tenio pointed out to the land. “Iha
,
you have seen how the Barangay renews itself through our young, the old fighters passing their skills to their children. It was the same for the leadership of the hacienda as a whole. The times ahead belong to the new generation, to the children of its former leaders. I have talked to your cousins as much since they were children with the hope that every new generation learns from the mistakes of its predecessors. Children are always the new hope.

“We needed the Captain; the land needed him to heal. But he did not come as we wanted. But you came, Julia,” Amang Tenio said meaningfully, looking at her sideways.

“But—” She wanted to argue about such a grand role, but he put up his hand to keep her silent.

“You should have known these things before. You see, the time of your elders has passed. Many have hung their hopes on you. Hoping you would take a stand. They look to you to be the person your grandfather was, or someone of similar quality. Hoping that there is enough blood of the Captain in you to make you care about the hacienda as he did. I know it's an unfair expectation.”

Amang Tenio's nearly black eyes stared deeply into hers. “This is why Raul seems to have mixed emotions concerning you. One part of him wanted to believe you were the long-awaited hope, while another part felt he was only fooling himself and irritated that people were hanging their hopes on an American with no real connection to the land. And yet deep inside, he also hoped you could do something—though he doesn't even know what.” Amang Tenio paused, deep in thought. He squinted his eyes, making more wrinkles down his cheeks.

Julia felt the weight of his words, of a responsibility greater than she thought she could handle. Before she'd come, Julia would have cast it off outright. Now she considered it, half-wishing she could rise up for such a role even as she felt completely ill prepared.

“Do you like your necklace, Iha?”

Julia held it in her hand. “Yes, it's beautiful.”

“Father Tomas blessed it today. That was another purpose for my visit to the church. There is something written on the back of it.”

Julia took the pendant and tried turning it around, seeing only very small writing in a unfamiliar script. “Is that Latin?”

“Yes. From the Scripture verse of 2:10 of Pilo's letter to the Ephesians. The translation is, ‘We are what God has made us . . .'”

He reached for her hands and spoke with each word and sentence defined. “We are what God has made us. Created in Christ Jesus for good works. Which God prepared beforehand. To be our way of life.

“That will be for you, as it has been for me. Each person was made for a specific purpose. The men in the village were made to be fighters. And fighters we were. But we need to fight
for
something. Our purpose is not for ourselves, but for others around us and for the greater purpose of God's mysterious plans. Wherever the journey of life takes you, do not forget these things. Do not forget that verse that you now carry with you.”

They rose and walked through the late afternoon sunlight, shining through the palms and high wide leaves of the tamarind and banyan trees.

Amang Tenio had spoken his words to her, offering wisdom for her to hold near her heart. It felt orchestrated, this time in her life, from the emptiness at her grandfather's death to the weeks at the hacienda. Orchestrated by a plan much greater than them both.

M
ANALO THANKED TON AND SENT HIM TO BACK TO WHERE THE
other men were eating around the outdoor kitchen they'd set up. They were moving frequently, knowing any one spot would eventually be unsafe.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Timeteo said.

“Yeah, but what does it mean?”

Amang Tenio wanted to meet. The message came from one of the men of the Barangay Mahinahon to Ton and Leo at the carinderia in town.

The strangest part about it was that Manalo had been plotting a meeting with similar means of communication. It was easy to identify one of Amang Tenio's men by their distinct clothing—but how did they know the twin brothers were his men?

Manalo hadn't planned to involve anyone except Timeteo. Now all his men would know, which meant that unless he instructed them directly not to speak of it—which would incite more curiosity and at some date in the future might endanger them—he had to carry on this plan knowing that Comrade Pilo might hear of it.

“I trust Lon,” Manalo mused aloud.

“Yes. But it shows the harshness of these times that we must even consider the loyalty of our own men. We would have not questioned it before.”

Manalo nodded. “We will do this meeting, but I don't trust this situation.”

“We'll take extra precautions.”

“We always do,” Manalo said with a wry grin.

“We'll take
extra
, extra precautions.”

“Yeah, you better start praying to that God of yours.”

Manalo had actually seen a Bible among Timeteo's belongings since they'd begun sharing a tent. It was worn and had lines marked throughout. He'd been going to bed before the others for maybe a year or so. Now Manalo knew why.

Timeteo gave him a strangely sheepish look. “Who would've thought you'd be saying that to me?”

“What changed you?” Manalo asked.

“My
wife
.”

Manalo raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me. How does a whore lead you to Jesus?”

Anger flashed over Timeteo's face.

“I'm sorry,” Manalo said, putting up a hand. But the woman was a prostitute. What did Timeteo expect?

“She was forced into it by her father as a girl. The life was destroying her. I went to her for more than sex. After a while, I went only to talk. We both were seeking answers beyond what our lives consisted of. I gave her some money, and a Christian group helped her train as a seamstress.”

Manalo stared at his oldest friend for a long time. All the jokes and references about his “wife” had been to cover up that his heart had softened beyond that of even a normal man, let alone a rebel fighter. He shook his head. “Just when I thought I'd seen and heard it all . . .”

M
ANG BERTO SLEPT UNDER A TREE WITH THE LARGE CARABAO
, Mino-Mino, sniffing at his stomach. Emman approached the old man with gentle footsteps across the grass, hoping he wouldn't spook the massive animal and cause it to trample the dozing figure.

Mino-Mino suddenly bit on to Mang Berto's hat and flung it up and down in her teeth, sending the old man into fits of laughter. He jumped up and began a tug-of-war with the carabao. His hat escaped the jaws of the cow, but not without deep indentations and wet slobber.

“I thought you were asleep,” Emman said as he reached him.