Chapter 22
DIGGING DEEPER
Mother Nature favored us with a meteor shower of fiery brilliance, a sparkling and welcome interlude in an otherwise joyless day.
—Ray Thorpe, Cabanatuan prison camp, October 1942–January 1944
Chan had a stake in Pearl Blue being successful, and he mentored Gina to get her started by supplying names of safe vendors from whom to order materials and services and from where she could purchase liquor for almost nothing. He introduced her to creative bookkeeping techniques to hide profits and cautioned her to burn all communications.
Under his guidance and Gina’s creativity, Pearl Blue became the new hot spot in town, and business quickly increased. Tonight, a weeknight, toe-tapping tunes played over the PA, and already couples were dancing, a sign of a spirited crowd. Julio would keep the music loud and the energy high, a recipe for a healthy cash flow.
Eddie’s waitstaff scurried from table to table taking orders and serving beers and cocktails. He had added several pretty young women to his staff who refilled bowls with snacks, emptied the ever-full ashtrays, and schmoozed with the customers. Gina had hired Biyu, Ling’s sister, who floated around the room, lending a hand where needed, but her real job was security backup.
Gina circulated through the crowd, dodging the waiters, bowing to the Japanese men, putting on a show, chatting, and playfully tapping the shoulders of those customers she knew. Ling prowled between the front door and the bar, and when Gina caught his eye, she gestured toward table 10, with its group of already inebriated young officers. She strolled to the table and spoke loudly over the jazzy music and clink of glassware. “Welcome to Pearl Blue. What ship are you fellas from?”
“Kongō Maru, my pretty.” The young officer pawed her backside.
Gina stepped away. Her eyes narrowed. You scum went through her head. She saw Ling step forward, but she signaled him with a slight movement of her left hand that she could handle it. “You misunderstand my establishment, sir. What you’re looking for is down the street.” She saw a flicker of rage and prepared herself for a slap, but the others at the table whooped and guffawed, deescalating the danger. Hiding her edge of anger, she smiled and said, “Have you tried the dim sum? It’s excellent with the beer.”
A lieutenant gobbled peanuts like he was hungry. “What kind of a joint you have here? Is that all you have to eat?”
“Yes, sir, but there are three choices tonight.” Gina waved the dim sum waiter over, the smell of hot sauce and shrimp making her stomach growl. “Are you men going to be in port long? You must come back on Friday or Saturday for our floor show. Lots of pretty girls—no touching allowed.” She grinned at the man with the roving hands, but his gaze had turned to Inez, who was laughing with him and refreshing his beer. Biyu and a tawny-haired waitress came to the table to bestow friendly attention and to help serve the chicken-and-shrimp dumplings, curry puffs, and vegetable buns from the dim sum cart.
The booze, the spicy food, a bevy of attentive women, and the cover of music loosened tongues, and Inez later told Gina that the men were from a fleet leaving port in a few days for Shanghai, where they were delivering airplane parts to a factory. Over the first months of operation, Gina and her staff had charmed information from army brass and navy elite about troop movements, road and bridge conditions, and ship repairs.
Inez sidled up next to Gina and whispered, “The man at table 16 asked to speak with you privately. I think that’s his wife with him.”
Gina looked over and saw a Filipino man, fortyish she guessed, unremarkable in appearance, wearing a stylish white suit and dark-rimmed glasses. His wife was dressed in a flowered suit, expensively tailored, and ruby-and-diamond jewelry. “Any hint what he wants?”
“No. What do you want me to tell him?”
“That I’ll meet him in my office. When I leave, give me five minutes, and then bring them to me.” She circled the room again before slipping away. After entering her office, she checked for anything inadvertently left out, though she was meticulous about destroying sensitive documents.
Inez knocked on Gina’s door. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Emilo Sak.”
Up close, the woman looked vaguely familiar, and Gina felt a prickle of fear. “I’m pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?”
The woman spoke first. Her voice was soft. “You may not remember me, Mrs. Thorpe. My name is Imelda. We worked on a community project together to collect school supplies for the less fortunate children in Manila. Our little girl, Ella, and your Cheryl are the same age.”
Gina’s heart thumped, and she struggled to remain composed. “Yes, I remember you. I’m Angelina Aleo now. And how is Ella?”
“That’s why we’re here.” Imelda turned to her husband.
“Please,” he said. “I know this is startling to you, but we come as friends. Two years ago, Dr. Theo saved Ella’s life—her appendix burst, and she almost, well . . . it was a hard time for us. We’ve recently learned he is working with the guerrillas. We want to help but don’t know how to contact him. Imelda remembered that you were friends with his wife, Vivian.”
Gina wondered how Emilo had learned about Theo working with the guerrillas, and she certainly wasn’t going to confess to knowing it. “I have no idea where Vivian and Theo are. I’m sorry, but I cannot help you.”
“Of course. I understand. I give you my card. If you learn more, you pass it on, please.”
Gina waited until Emilo and Imelda Sak left before she picked up the card he’d placed on her desk. It read,
E. J. Sak Industries
6543
She showed the card to Ling. “Do you have any idea who this is?”
His eyebrows rose. “E. J. Sak. Emilo Sak. He owns munitions factory in northern Luzon. You give card to Major Davy. He knows what to do with it.”
“So this guy’s for real then?”
“Very real.”
It took only a short time for Gina to pay Chan back the money he had loaned to her to get Pearl Blue started. Her good luck weighing on her mind, she purchased apples, mangoes, bags of rice and beans, three small red fire trucks, and a coloring book and crayons and divided the goods into three boxes: one for Sissy and Harry; another for Stella, Ruthie, and the two little boys; and the third for Edith and her frail mother. She put them behind the bar and said to Eddie, “When you leave today, please drop these off at the package line at the University of Santo Tomas.”
“Sure enough, Miss Gina. I’ve heard it’s nasty in there. You got a minute? I need you to go over these latest orders—something isn’t adding up.”
While Gina was helping Eddie reconcile the deliveries with the invoices, the front doorbell rang. “Want me to get it?” Eddie offered.
“That’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”
Admiral Tanaka, who had been away for weeks, was standing at Pearl Blue’s front door. Gina had read in the Candor, an underground newssheet secretly passed among certain employees, that the United States and Japan were fighting battles in the Marshall Islands. She wondered if he’d been involved. “Admiral Tanaka. Come in out of the heat. What can I do for you?”
He stepped inside. “Thank you. I came to ask a favor.”
“Have a beer while you’re here. You look like you could use it.” Fact was he looked haggard, with sallow skin and bags under his eyes. At the bar, she filled a glass with his favorite beer and skimmed the foam off the way he liked it. She wondered what favor he had on his mind—a celebration of some kind, maybe. That would be fun.
He accepted the beer and took a long drink, then rested his arms on the bar like he was tired. “My colleagues are waiting; I only have a minute. I’ll be in Manila for several months. I’m looking for a place where my friends and I can play cards. It’s pleasant in your Hibiscus and Jasmine Rooms . . . would one be available for us to use one or two afternoons a week?”
Instinctively, Gina didn’t like the idea of having Japanese officers in Pearl Blue during the day. Guerrillas
sometimes stopped by disguised as workmen, and her rehearsing dancers and musicians felt free to mock their Japanese customers, sometimes getting raunchy as they laughed and let off steam. She dispensed another beer to give herself time to think. “How many would there be?”
“Just four for poker or mah-jongg. We won’t be any trouble.”
“I wouldn’t expect you would be, Admiral.” At least not in the way he meant. But it was a dangerous request, and she scrambled for a face-saving way to refuse it. Nothing quickly came to mind. She felt his questioning gaze and forced a smile. “Certainly. It would be my pleasure.” Even before the words were out, her mouth went dry. She’d have to warn her staff.
“You are most gracious, Signora Aleo.” He finished his beer. “We will compensate you, of course.”
“There’s no need, sir.”
When the admiral left, Eddie puckered his lips and blew a silent whistle. “Words of a master manipulator. He asks a favor he knows you can’t refuse.”
“I didn’t have time to think,” Gina mumbled. She dumped the beer she had drawn down the sink . . . maybe she could pick up information for Davy. She said aloud, “Having the officers here might keep Irma off our back. She doesn’t bring those doughnuts to us out of the goodness of her heart, you know. I suspect she’s the neighborhood sentinel. It’s best we go about our business—keep our eyes open and our mouths shut.”
Days passed quickly. Admiral Tanaka had brought three officers to Pearl Blue twice now to play mah-jongg, and there had not been a problem. Gina had closed the curtain on the door to the Hibiscus Room and played classical piano music over the sound system just loud enough to block carefully held conversations.
Today Pearl Blue was quiet, and Gina had errands to run. A calesa was waiting. On her way out the door, she ran into Miguel. He handed her a letter and said, “I just came from Major Davy’s.”
Gina recognized Vivian’s handwriting. “Did you have a chance to talk to her?”
“No, ma’am. She cold and hot with malaria. Miss Maggie angry, because Miss Vivian gave her medicine to the guerrilla soldiers. Dr. Theo give Miss Vivian shots that take her headaches away, but he angry, too, because he only has one needle, and the shots hurt. It is very sad in the mountains. Everybody angry and hurt.”
Dr. Lopez had told Gina he couldn’t keep up with the medical needs of Davy’s growing guerrilla camp. “I’ll tell Dr. Lopez what you’ve said. Maybe there’s more we can do. Did you see Cheryl?”
“Yes, ma’am. She and Leah found some baby bunnies they feeding. She taken care of good. No need to worry about her.”
“Thank you, Miguel. You look exhausted. Go home to get some sleep. Spend some time with your wife and kids.”
After finishing her errands, Gina walked to Luneta Park, a large urban park that skirted the shores of Manila Bay. She often spent time there when she wanted to be alone or to find peace by lingering in the gardens or walking along the water’s edge. She sat on a bench in the shadow of the monument dedicated to José Rizal, Inez’s great-grandfather and her son’s namesake. Before taking Vivian’s letter from her purse, Gina checked for Japanese guards who monitored the park. Seeing none close by, she opened the letter.
My friend. I miss so much having you to talk to. We share so many memories. Cheryl and Leah are in their school class with Edna right now. Edna’s a good teacher, even with her meager supplies. She thanks you for the notebooks and pencils you sent in your last package.
Cheryl is excited about her birthday. She has grown two inches since the last time she was measured, and she has two new front teeth and two are missing. Red is her favorite color this year, and she asked for barrettes for her birthday. She could use shorts and shirts. She might like a coloring book and crayons. She’s doing fine, Gina. She and Leah play well together, and she’s helpful around the camp. She’s quite a little imp and keeps us entertained.
In your letter, you asked me to be truthful and tell you what it’s really like living in a guerrilla camp. I gave your question a lot of thought before I settled the answer in my own mind. I can say with all my heart that life is good because we’re free, though the manner in which we’re living is a perversion of the concept.
Since your return to Manila, the guerrilla band has grown, and we are always on the move in order to evade capture. We are now a company of men, a squad of women, and a handful of children who can quickly and quietly evacuate our makeshift hovels in the middle of the night, taking only necessities, which means guns, ammunition, food, medicines, and as many clothes as we can wear on our bodies. We trudge always uphill, climb over fallen trees, scale cliffs, slip in the mud, and hope the ever-present rains will obliterate our telltale tracks.
We’ve been at this camp for a few weeks. It’s high on a densely forested ridge and miles from the Japs’ nearest military stronghold. I feel safer here than I have in a while. The main trail leading to the camp goes straight up a cliff, and machine guns salvaged from downed American planes guard the mud-slicked and thorny side and back trails. A low rocky area in the center of the ridge forms a natural amphitheater and hides our campfire light, which is heavenly—we went many weeks without the warmth of a campfire. Our moves to new camps are practiced and efficient. A few days after our arrival here, the men had built a score of huts, Theo had set up his clinic, Edna had a working kitchen, and Marcus had arranged for ongoing transport of food and supplies to us. Both are tireless workhorses.
I’m sitting in a nipa hut, on a rough-hewn bench at a makeshift desk squeezed beside a bunk where Maggie and I sleep. Leah and Cheryl have the upper bunk, and Theo sleeps on a cot in the clinic. My job is to keep track of the camp’s duty roster and finances. Your last contribution bought us a desperately needed supply of rice, beans, blankets, and mosquito nets. Some things we can get from the local people; others Davy brings back when he raids the Japanese storehouses, but more and more we are forced to turn to the black market, where prices are skyrocketing.
Davy said to tell you a million times thank you for everything you are doing. We could not survive without the money you send and the backers you find for us, some who are very generous. Davy is checking out the tip you sent about a Japanese warehouse in the area. We could use those supplies if it pans out. He has developed into a strong but cautious leader. In the early days when there was no creed, nor rules, nor long-range plans, his philosophy had been to hit and run, often with disastrous outcomes. Many men were lost then and hard lessons learned. Most attrition now is from disease.
Theo’s staff in the clinic includes Maggie, a chaplain, and two Filipino women trained in first aid. They treat everything from gunshot wounds to foot fungus with no more than scraps of provisions and the vile-smelling herbal remedies Maggie cooks up on a primitive stove. The medical supplies and medicines Dr. Lopez is sending are lifesavers in a literal sense. I, myself, have periodic episodes of malarial fevers.
You may not know this, but some of our contacts have visited your club, and they have nothing but good things to say about it. I’m so proud of you. Thank you for everything you are doing. I miss you terribly but don’t wish you here. I’ll give Cheryl an extra hug for you.
Love in war and peace,
Vivian
Gina examined a smear on the letter . . . Vivian’s tears or raindrops? She sat for a while with her eyes closed, listening to the lapping water on the shore and contemplating how primal life in the guerrilla camp was, staying one step ahead of Japanese patrols while scrounging for life’s basic necessities, not knowing what the next hour or minute would bring. Gina’s eyes filled with tears of sorrow for her friends’ dangers and hardships, and her soul filled with guilt for abandoning Cheryl to it. She folded the letter and tucked it into her brassiere.
A Japanese soldier riding a bicycle appeared, and a prickle of fear went up the back of her neck. The brakes squeaked when he stopped. He barked in garbled English, “What is your business here?”
Vivian’s letter burned like a hot poker on h
er breast, but Gina calmly rose from the bench and bowed, avoiding the guard’s eyes, instead noticing his belt buckle, the crease in his pants, and his polished shoes. “I’m out for a walk,” she said, wondering if he had been watching her.
He parked the bike and strode toward her, coming so close she could smell the pomade he used on his hair. “Who are you waiting for?”
She stood straight but kept her eyes lowered, noticing a scar on his chin. “Nobody. I’m just enjoying the beauty of this park.”
“Why should I believe you? You wait for someone.” He grabbed her purse, and her instinct was to grab it back and run, as she might have done to a thief a year ago, but she squelched the impulse. As she watched him paw through her purse, her mind ticked through what was in it: her pass, a comb, a lipstick, a sanitary napkin, and a few pesos.
He found her pass and tilted her chin up with his fingers, and she fought not to pull away and prayed he wouldn’t notice the locket that connected her to Cheryl and yank it off her neck. At first chance, she would tuck it into the pocket she had made in her bra, it safer hidden away—as was her child. For a moment his eyes lingered on her generous breasts, and Gina held her breath. He put the pass back and shoved the purse into her chest. “You sit here, and I watch for who comes to meet you.” He got on his bike and pedaled away.
Tethered by his watchful eye, Gina sat on the bench, seething and praying no one would come to sit beside her. Vivian’s written words came to her: Life is good because we’re free, though the manner in which we’re living is a perversion of the concept—
After a while she left with no ramifications but aware of the perverse nature of her freedom. She and every blessed person on this Japanese-held island were prisoners in one sense or another, and the realization made her breath catch.
The first thing Gina heard when she opened the door at Pearl Blue was Julio bellowing, “Holy shit! Are you crazy?” She hurried to the back and saw him standing beside a delivery of clean laundry. Nested inside were rifle parts and boxes of ammunition sent from E. J. Sak Industries.
Along the Broken Bay Page 21