Along the Broken Bay

by Flora J. Solomon

  Gina couldn’t see much of anything through the tangle of vines and thick stands of bamboo, but from up ahead, she heard Vivian moan, “Ooooh my . . .”

  Chapter 7

  SETTLING IN

  I douse the American flag with gasoline and toss on a match. In sobering silence, I watch it burn.

  —Ray Thorpe, Corregidor, December 1941–May 1942

  As she turned on a bend in the path, Gina saw the reason for Vivian’s groan. Before her were two thatched-roof nipa huts constructed from bamboo stalks bound together with thongs of rattan, giving them the appearance of giant wicker baskets. One looked occupied, with two camp chairs out front and blue-and-white-striped towels and three shirts hanging on a clothesline.

  “Lordy,” Gina murmured. “Those huts have to be infested with every critter in the jungle.” She dismounted and joined Vivian. “Tell me we’re in another bad dream.”

  “Could be worse. It comes with a houseboy. Let’s see what’s inside.”

  They each grabbed a little girl’s hand and walked hesitantly on the narrow plank that led to a landing four feet up. Maggie followed in three long strides.

  When Gina opened the door, a bird fluttered out of one of the two uncovered windows. Gina startled, and Cheryl tugged at her pant leg. “I don’t want to go in there.”

  Inside, woven half walls separated the space into three rooms. A rattan couch and chair with cushions, a coffee table, and a dining table and four chairs furnished the largest room. Along the back wall were waist-high cabinets with open shelves underneath that held wooden plates, bowls, clay pots, and a kerosene lamp. A shallow rectangular structure filled with sand and flat rocks was built into the countertop. “Any idea what this is?” Gina asked.

  “It might be a stove,” Maggie guessed, pointing below. “Here’s wood and matches. I don’t see a sink anywhere.”

  The smaller rooms each held two double beds with kapok mattresses, on one of which Leah jumped and lay spread eagle. “It’s soft,” she announced. “Can I have this one?”

  Cheryl jumped on the other. “This one’s mine.”

  The cowboys brought boxes and bags from the oxcart and stacked them against a wall. When they had emptied the cart, one man repaired the broken blinds on the windows, and another fixed the door so it would close all the way. After tending to their horses and carabao, they left with a thank-you from everyone and a bottle of brandy from Vivian.

  The girls were whining that they were hungry, and Gina evaluated the impossible kitchen. “Where do we start?” She realized how much she was going to miss Isabella.

  “Here.” Vivian put a bottle of brandy, three Cokes, a bag of peanuts, and a bunch of bananas on the table.

  “Not much of a dinner, Viv.”

  “We’ll survive. I’m too tired to look for the can opener.”

  “We’re missing a chair,” Leah said.

  Maggie stacked up boxes of canned goods to chair height. “For you, Leah. I anoint you queen of the can.”

  Cheryl giggled, and Gina smirked.

  There were sounds of footsteps on the plank, and a scrawny little man wearing khaki shorts and a buttoned-up cotton shirt came in the door. He was barefoot, and his left foot twisted inward, causing him to limp. His face was brown and lined, though he didn’t look old. He carried a large bamboo tube and a bundle of wood. He dropped the bundle and pointed to the thatched roof. “New. Keep you dry.” He smiled broadly.

  “Well, that’s a plus,” Vivian said. “And who are you?”

  He shook his shaggy head, seemingly not understanding. He pointed to the bamboo floor. “Smooth. Nice.” He showed more white teeth.

  Gina didn’t think this stranger a threat, but she was still wary. “What is it you want?”

  “I Popo. Señor Ramos say I help.”

  With what? Popo didn’t seem robust enough to be of any help. More exhausted than she remembered ever being and repulsed by this hut that housed birds and who knew what else, Gina suppressed her doubt and said with a stiff smile, “Thank you. We need help. Do you know someone who can cook?”

  “You cook. I show you.” He filled a round-bottomed pot with water from the bamboo tube, placed it on the circle of stones in the sandbox stove, pushed several sticks of wood underneath it, and lit them with a shiny Zippo lighter. “Easy. I bring you water and wood every day.”

  “He needs to wash his hands, Mama,” Cheryl said.

  Gina frowned and said, “Shhh,” but saw Popo’s fingernails were black. She made a hand-washing motion.

  “Ah.” He poured water onto his hands and let it drain through the floorboards.

  “How about that,” Vivian deadpanned. “No sink to scrub. Isn’t this our lucky day?”

  Popo bobbed his head. “You lucky. Nice here. Children hungry. You make rice; I bring you chicken.”

  “You lucky,” Gina muttered after Popo left. The girls were fussing, and she hoped it didn’t take him too long. She rummaged through the pile of goods on the floor and found the rice and two cans of peas, and then she pawed through a woven bag. “Any idea where I’d find a can opener?”

  “Mommy,” Cheryl whispered. “I got to go poopy.”

  “Of course you do,” Gina snapped and was immediately sorry for her sharp retort. She took Cheryl’s hand and in a softer voice said, “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

  Outside, Gina took in the view for the first time. Trees, brush, and tangled vines formed a solid wall of green vegetation around the entire perimeter of the cleared area. Banana, coconut, and wild orange trees filled the space between the huts, affording a semblance of privacy and sweetening the air. Along the back was a garden fenced with chicken wire. She heard but didn’t see running water. She didn’t see any activity at the other hut.

  “Mommy,” Cheryl pleaded.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Gina spotted a roof of what she guessed was an outhouse tucked behind a clump of bamboo. Approaching it, she checked for wild animals or snakes. A rat skittered out when she opened the door, and both she and Cheryl yelped and jumped back.

  “Don’t make me go in there,” Cheryl cried as she clung to her mother’s arm.

  Gina inwardly groaned. Brother, what else? She tried to make light of it. “Well! That was a surprise, wasn’t it?”

  She held her breath as she warily opened the door wider to check for anything that flew, slithered, or hopped. As she coaxed Cheryl to do what needed to be done, she fought off a cloud of black flies and blacker sadness.

  Back inside, she found Maggie trying to light the wood under the cooking pot and Vivian working to lower woven shades over the windows to keep the birds out. “They’ve built nests in here.” She pointed to several. “Did you find an outhouse?”

  “Yes. Up front behind the bamboo. Take paper and a stick.” She found a roll of toilet paper in a bag and placed it by the door. “Use this sparingly.” Seeing long faces, Gina asked the little girls, “You want to help me make beds?”

  They made up the beds with blankets and pillows. Gina pondered how many people and critters had slept on those beds. She tented them with mosquito nets, and Cheryl and Leah crawled inside and played a hand-clapping game to the words of a newly learned trail song. Gina was glad they could entertain each other.

  Popo returned with another bamboo tube filled with fresh water, and their dinner—the feathered corpse of a chicken, its head lolling to one side.

  Gina’s face went white, and she felt a giggle welling up inside her that she tried to hold in, but when a guffaw escaped Vivian, their eyes met, and hysterical laughter erupted from both, followed by Gina’s sob of despair and gush of tears. She felt everyone’s gaze. Taking a deep breath, she composed her face and dried her eyes on the hem of her blouse. “Sorry. Just a little overtired.”

  Popo stood openmouthed, his face a mask of disbelief.

  Maggie accepted the chicken with a cordial thank-you. She tossed it onto the counter and began plucking its feathers. “I’m not afraid to work with my hands.
I did enough of it working in the clinic with Dad. I learned that not everyone had maids and cooks. I’m going to think of this time up here as an adventure.”

  Gina took notice of the young wisp of a girl’s take-charge attitude. A positive attribute? A cover?

  Popo showed Maggie how to clean the chicken; cut it into pieces; season it with the garlic, oregano, and cumin he’d brought with him; and fry it in lard. He added salt, pepper, and chopped cashews to the boiled rice, and the two chastened women had to admit that everything tasted delicious.

  Before leaving, he filled a kerosene lamp with fuel and showed the women how to adjust the wick and light it. He said with that beautiful smile, “I be back tomorrow. I help you,” and this time Gina believed him.

  Later, while Gina was giving Cheryl a sponge bath and getting her ready for bed, the child said, “My head hurts.”

  Gina felt Cheryl’s forehead; it didn’t feel warm, but it was hard to tell in the humid heat. “Anyplace else hurt? Your throat? Your tummy?”

  “No, just my head.”

  “You might be overtired. I’ll see if we have medicine for your head.” She supervised Cheryl’s toothbrushing, another ordeal in a hut without a sink, and then searched through the boxes for a first aid kit and medicines, worrying that a headache was the beginning of a serious illness. Mosquitoes carried many tropical diseases, including malaria and dengue fever, both long term and debilitating. She returned to Cheryl with half an aspirin and a glass of water, wondering about the nearness of a doctor—or whether there was one.

  Cheryl rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “I want to say good night to Daddy. He doesn’t know where I am.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Sadness descended on Gina again. “Oh, honey, so do I. It might be a while, so we have to be patient. Link pinkies with me. Let’s send him a message.”

  Cheryl squeezed her eyes shut and wrinkled her nose as she concentrated on her message. She opened her eyes. “I told Daddy I loved him, and I’m going to be patient. What’s patient?”

  Gina sighed. “It means we have to wait and see what happens. Go to sleep now.” Gina kissed her good night.

  As tired as she was, Gina lay awake a long time, processing all that had happened so fast and listening to the sawing sound of cicadas, the mournful hoots of owls, and the horrific screeches of those hunted and caught. She worried about Theo, Arturo, and Isabella, who were traveling a dangerous road. Cheryl, who lay beside her, cried out in her sleep, and Gina rubbed her back until she quieted. Gina needed to be soothed too. She wanted Ray beside her. Was he alive? Was he suffering?

  It rained during the night, making everything outside drip, but inside the hut it was dry, as Popo had promised it would be. “Yoo-hoo,” someone called, and an older woman walked through the door. Built square as a box, she wore a faded blouse and cotton slacks that were cinched up by a length of rope. On her feet were leather boots. “My dears, you must have Popo build you some decent steps. Hi. My name is Edna. I’m your neighbor.”

  Standing closest to the door, Vivian welcomed Edna. “I’m Vivian. This is my friend Gina. The dark-haired child is her daughter, Cheryl, and the two blondes are my daughters, Maggie and Leah.”

  Edna pushed a package into Vivian’s hand. “Mountain trout. Best you eat it today. My brother, Marcus, and I were fishing yesterday. We missed your move-in. Have you learned how to use what passes for a stove yet? Keep an eye on it. If the clay lining breaks away, the coals fall on the wood below, and you’ll have a fire. It happens a lot. Marcus and I do most of our cooking on a grill he built outside. You’re welcome to use it.”

  “Thank you.” Vivian motioned toward the table. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Edna took a chair at the table. “I’m tickled to have someone living here. It’s been rather lonesome. Marcus and I are originally from Ohio. Where are you from?”

  “Seattle,” Gina said, “but I’ve moved around some.”

  “Atlanta,” Vivian said.

  “No husbands?”

  “Not here.”

  “That’s too bad. Marcus could use the help. The jungle would eat this place up in a week if he didn’t keep chopping it back. But I’m glad you’re here, with husbands or not, and the children are a bonus and a blessing. I can show you around if you like.”

  The families and Edna inched down the plank to the ground. She pointed to the banana, coconut, and wild orange trees. “A boy from the village cuts down the fruit for us. I don’t suppose you have a bolo.”

  Gina took her last step to the ground. “No. Do I need one?”

  “Yes, to open the coconuts and to cut back the vegetation. Personally, I feel safer with a bolo by my door—not that there has been any trouble, but you can never tell, out here like we are.”

  Open coconuts? Gina couldn’t imagine.

  Vegetables grew in the fenced garden, and Edna pointed them out. “This was here when we arrived. We cleaned it up and added a few raspberry bushes for tea.” She reached down and pulled a handful of weeds and tossed them aside. “The women from Tinian come by a couple times a week to sell fruits and vegetables, and Mrs. Bueno’s store has the basics—you can buy a bolo there. Anything out of the ordinary, you must place a special order. I’ll introduce you. She’s quite a character.”

  Gina and Vivian exchanged an amused glance.

  Not far from the garden stood an old chicken coop. “We had chickens, but they disappeared right after we got them. The culprit turned out to be an iguana. Marcus found him living in a hollow tree down by the stream. He smoked him out and shot him. That fella was six feet long if he was an inch. We ate well for a while.”

  “Did the meat taste like chicken?” Gina asked, tongue in cheek.

  Vivian frowned. “Do iguanas attack people? Are they a danger to the kids?”

  “Not usually, but watch the little ones. There are snakes and wild pigs. Coconut rats live in the fruit trees.”

  Cheryl practically climbed up Gina’s leg, and Gina clutched her, trying to hide her own disgust.

  Edna’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be afraid, honey. The critters run away when they see you coming.”

  Cheryl wrapped her arms around Gina’s neck.

  Edna started down a cleared path. “Follow me. The stream’s this way.”

  The path to the stream wandered through a forest of giant dipterocarp trees, whose smooth, straight trunks supported knotted and curled strangler vines that wound from the dark, ever-wet jungle floor to the sunlight above, forming a tangled canopy. Orchids and bromeliads peeked through the canopy, adding unexpected splashes of purple and orange. Tiny finches, warblers, and flycatchers with feathers every color of the rainbow flitted from tree to tree, along with buzzing bees, large monarch butterflies, and swarms of moths.

  Something screamed loudly enough to make Gina jump, and the jungle came alive with a cacophony of squawks, howls, and whistles. Who would have thought a jungle was such a noisy place?

  Cheryl clung tighter to Gina’s neck.

  They came to the rocky edge of a fast-moving stream. Edna pointed to a bamboo platform that held two water barrels. “That’s our shower. It rains often enough to keep the barrels full. I like to sit over there and meditate.” She pointed to a place where water pooled and then rippled over flat table-size rocks. “It keeps me sane.” She showed them the spot where it was best to do laundry and another of smooth rocks where they could catch freshwater shrimp. “The trick is to snatch them quickly from behind.”

  The women took off their shoes and sat on the rocks and let the water flow over their feet while Cheryl and Leah waded nearby in search of shiny stones. The scowl on Vivian’s face mirrored Gina’s thoughts. For years neither one of them had lived without servants. Even at the cottage Gina had hired local women to do the cooking, cleaning, and laundry, and she had always had Isabella or an amah to care for Cheryl. Edna’s matter-of-fact acceptance of this primitive life made her curious about the woman’s background. “I’m wondering, Edna . . . this p
lace couldn’t be any stranger to me than if it was on the moon; how is it you . . . um . . . get by so well here?”

  Edna picked up a stone out of the water, studied it, and put it in her pocket. “Once you’re settled, it’s not so bad. Before I came to the Philippines, my husband and I worked at a missionary school in rural China. Life was rough there too. I learned to make do with what was on hand.” She found another stone and added it to her pocket. “Missionary Headquarters ordered us to leave when the Japanese invaded in 1937. They suggested we come to the Philippines because it was ‘safer.’ So much for their advice. My husband died, and by then Marcus had moved from Ohio to Manila, so I came here. He’s principal of the Santa Catalina School, and he hired me to teach biology and botany.” Sadness crossed Edna’s face, and she sighed. “We kept the school open as long as possible. I pray for those poor, sweet girls. God be with them.” When she rose to leave, she inspected her feet and ankles. “Always check for leeches. They flick off easy enough if you find them right away. It’s harder after they burrow in.”

  Appalled, Gina struggled to stand, her little-used muscles rebelling against the horseback travel and heavy work. Calling the girls back, she and Vivian checked their feet and ankles for leeches.

  Edna handed Cheryl and Leah each a stone from her pocket and pointed out flecks in them. “Gold. You’ll find lots in this stream.”

  Edna coached the families through their first weeks of mind-numbing bewilderment and near catatonia from lack of sleep. There were days of burns and cuts, slivers, more bug bites than Gina thought a body could endure, and fear when Cheryl’s ear ached and she ran a fever. Banana leaves that Edna kept stacked in the outhouse replaced toilet paper, and reusable rags that required washing substituted for sanitary napkins. Grime under her fingernails was impossible to remove, and her hair turned to a bush without the lotions she used to tame it. They each purchased one set of clothes from Mrs. Bueno’s store.

  “These are boy’s shorts,” Cheryl protested.

  “Mine are too big,” Leah complained.