Somewhere in the Shallow Sea

by Dennis Macaraeg

  Danny turned to Helen.

  “A king-size bed would be great,” Helen replied.

  Danny approached the window facing Manila Bay. He could make out the tadpole-shaped Corregidor Island in his mind—the military outpost that had guarded the entrance to Manila Bay against invaders.

  He thought to himself it may be better if they returned to San Diego and let the Philippine authorities do their job and accept whatever the outcome may be. He could always make another batch of the Cube. Besides, he already knew that no one could replicate the Cube the way he envisioned it because the secret in making an effective batch lay in the process and not in the raw materials that go into it. It wouldn’t matter if Commander Berto got his hands on it, NBH Fishing Industries would soon learn that reverse engineering his invention wasn’t going to be easy. What was important now was to get to the U.S. Embassy and tell the officials about Dr. Klein’s involvement with Blake’s kidnapping so an arrest warrant could be issued. That way, Dr. Klein and his gang would back off from them.

  Danny climbed on the bed next to Helen, lying on her back and staring directly up at the ceiling. She laid her head on his arm. It was the end of the line for both of them and there wasn’t much that they could do but to follow the instructions from the government officials. With that notion, Danny felt that both of them had hit rock bottom. The only way to get Blake back alive was to get out of the way and let the people in charge handle the situation.

  Just then his phone vibrated in his pocket. Danny sat up on the bed expecting that Melchor had already contacted the government officials and was ready to give them instructions on what to do next.

  “Melchor,” Danny answered, his heart beating in his chest.

  “I just remembered meeting the general in the army who had organized an elite squad to hunt down the bomb makers in Mindanao several years ago. I believe he knows a lot about Commander Berto’s activities,” Melchor said.

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “I’d like you two to meet with him tonight. He’s hosting a fundraising event in his old mansion in the city of Malolos. Each attendee is expected to make a donation and to dress up in a traditional Filipino costume to commemorate the past. Since we’re pressed for time, you two need to attend his gala and find a way to talk to him privately and ask him to help you.”

  “But we don’t have an invitation,” Danny said.

  “I’ve already arranged everything and the head of his charity is already expecting you but you must stop by the tailor for your Barong Tagalog and for Helen’s traditional Filipina gown.”

  “When do you want us to go?”

  “Go to the hotel concierge, rent a car and leave right away.”

  * * *

  Danny and Helen were greeted as soon as they walked into the tailor shop by the owner who had a mop top haircut that looked like a throwback from the sixties with a stud earring on his left ear.

  “Magandang hapon po,” the man said.

  “Good afternoon to you, too,” Danny responded. “Melchor sent us here. I need to be fitted for a Barong Tagalog and she needs a gown for the evening.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve been expecting you. Come this way, please.”

  Danny stood straight on top of a raised platform surrounded by mirrors. With a measuring tape, the tailor measured the size of his neck and the length of his arms.

  “You’re unusually tall for a Filipino. Hopefully, I have your size,” the tailor said, as he disappeared in the back.

  When the tailor returned, he was holding a Barong Tagalog. The long-sleeved shirt was made of a transparent fabric and was decorated with an intricate embroidery pattern on the front of the shirt.

  “I haven’t worn one of these since I left the country,” Danny said.

  “You wear it over a white T-shirt and it goes well with black pants,” the tailor said.

  “How come it goes over the pants and not tucked in?” Danny asked.

  “The Spanish colonizers back in the old days required the lower class to wear it untucked.”

  The tailor held up the Barong Tagalog while Danny slipped it on. He stepped in front of the full-size mirror and studied himself. “The fabric is thin.”

  “It’s a translucent fabric—usually made from pineapple leaves—which was designed to show that that no weapon is hidden under it.”

  When it was Helen’s turn to get measured for her dress size, she stood up straight while the tailor wrapped the tape measure around her back and chest, stomach, hips and finally the length from her shoulder all the way down to her ankle.

  “38-26-38. And your height’s about five feet seven inches. Not much taller than most Filipino women. I think I have a ready-made dress that would fit you perfectly with only a few minor alterations.”

  A few minutes later, he emerged from the back room carrying several dresses by the hanger.

  “This is called a Terno, a traditional yet slightly modern look of the Filipina gown. The other one is called a Maria Clara gown. It’s more of a colonial-period dress named after the mestiza character from Dr. José Rizal’s book Noli Me Tangere, which exposed the abuses of Spanish rule and the clergy. Would you like to try them on?”

  “They’re both beautiful,” Helen said as she walked back to the dressing room.

  When she came back, she was wearing the Maria Clara dress. It looked complicated with its various different pieces, consisting of a long skirt with yellow and black stripes, a blouse with medium-length sleeves and a translucent scarf that wrapped around her shoulder. Her hair was up. Danny stared at her with a new intensity as he marveled at her new look. She flicked the folding fan open with a smooth wrist action and playfully hid a part of her face.

  “You look nice in that dress,” Danny said.

  “I’ll try the other dress,” she said, walking back to the dressing room.

  Danny was already feeling comfortable in his Barong Tagalog when Helen emerged from the dressing room wearing the yellow Terno dress. The dress tapered down to her waist and then widened from her knees all the way down to her ankles. She turned to her side as she looked over the arc-shaped broad sleeves that slightly rose over her shoulders and caught her reflection in the mirror.

  “This dress is so unique from the other dresses I’ve worn in the past.”

  “The sleeves are sometimes called butterfly sleeves,” the tailor said.

  “I think I would like to wear this one,” Helen replied.

  * * *

  At the domestic section of the Manila airport, Dr. Klein compared the tail number on the twin engine parked on the tarmac to the picture on his phone that one of his men took back in Jolo airport. Confident it was the airplane he was looking for, he walked up to the two men fueling the aircraft.

  “Excuse me. Do you know who owns this airplane? I’m interested in hiring one for an upcoming trip,” Dr. Klein casually asked.

  One of the workers told him that it was owned by Magiting Aviation and pointed to the hangar located at the far end of the terminal. Dr. Klein politely thanked the man and hurried to the office.

  The office was empty when Dr. Klein and his two assistants walked in the front door. He tapped the bell on the desk to call someone’s attention. While waiting, he scanned the large map of the Philippines on the wall and felt a bit frustrated that he had been chasing Danny across the country but still hadn’t caught him. The pilot who flew Danny and Helen to Jolo Island and back to Manila emerged from the back room. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, a three-bar epaulet on the shoulders and navy blue pants. One of Dr. Klein’s assistants, the burly man with the curly hair, immediately recognized the pilot as the one who helped Melchor get on the plane and nodded to Dr. Klein. Wasting no more time, Dr. Klein lifted his shirt and showed the pilot the gun tucked in the front of his pants.

  “I need you to tell me where I can find Professor Rodriguez,” Dr. Klein asked with a straight face.

  “Who are you?” the pilot asked.

  “Let’
s say either someone who is about to do business with you or someone who is going to blow your brains out.”

  The pilot’s eyes widened with fear.

  “I really don’t know where he is. He just showed up at the airport with a couple of people. No one tells me anything. My job is just to fly people to their destination. I don’t ask any questions.”

  “Not a good answer,” Dr. Klein said, reaching for his gun.

  “Isn’t he in the hospital? Why don’t you look for him there?”

  “There’s a gazillion hospitals in Metro Manila. I don’t have time to comb through every one of them.”

  Scared for his own safety and running out of options, the pilot fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it until finding the driver’s number who picked up Danny and Helen when they arrived earlier in the afternoon.

  “I’m really sorry but this is all I have. You can ask the driver where the Professor is.”

  Dr. Klein, sensing that the pilot was telling the truth, put his shirt back over his gun. “If you’re fucking with me, I’ll come back here and kill you. Got it?”

  TEN

  They eventually arrived in Malolos—a city in the province of Bulacan—though it took them almost another hour to get out of Manila’s congested traffic. After parking the fire-red SUV on the side of the mansion, Danny stepped out of the vehicle, reached for Helen’s hand, and assisted her down. She looked elegant in her yellow Terno gown.

  The mansion was large and had a rather grandiose aura to it. The bottom floor was made of bricks and concrete, while the second story was constructed of wood with large sliding windows made of a square-pattern of semitransparent capiz shells. The windows were opened all the way, allowing maximum cross ventilation to quell the hot and humid tropical summer.

  Some of the guests were arriving in a kalesa—a horse-drawn carriage with large wheels with yellow spokes. The women entering the mansion wore Maria Clara gowns with silk umbrellas resting on their shoulders, looking elegant as the men looked noble in their transparent Barong Tagalog shirts.

  “Glad I picked a nice gown,” Helen said.

  The host was waiting by the main entrance wearing loose red trousers and a long-sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows. He escorted Danny and Helen straight to the back of the mansion. The courtyard was surrounded with rows of orange gumamela flowers, ferns and bamboo. Guests chattered among themselves with drinks in their hands. Since they knew no one at the party, Danny and Helen stood around idly listening to the rondalla—a string orchestra comprised of guitar, banduria and octavina players playing a traditional Tagalog song. A server with a tray of cantaloupe drinks and avocado shakes approached the couple.

  “This party is impressive,” Helen commented as she took as sip of the avocado shake.

  “It reminds me of celebrating Nochebuena when I was young,” Danny replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “Christmas Eve. We would eat queso de bola, which is an Edam cheese ball, ham, and steamed rice cake wrapped in banana leaves. We would also hang a parol—a kind of star-shaped lantern—outside the house.”

  They were halfway through their drinks when an elderly gentleman wearing a Barong Tagalog walked up to them with a slight limp. Thinking he was the man that they needed to meet, Danny said, “Good afternoon, General Rosales.”

  “Oh no. Not me. I’m the one in charge of the fundraising. Call me Martin.”

  “Is it possible to see him now? It’s regarding an urgent matter,” Helen said, handing him an envelope containing five hundred dollars in cash as their donation to the Preservation Society of Historic Homes and Churches.

  “Let’s go see him now,” Martin said.

  When Danny and Helen arrived, General Rosales was standing in the middle of the living room next to a large table made of Philippine mahogany. He was slightly shorter than Danny but had a large frame that told of an army man who had spent his entire military career on the field. Yet from his thick eyeglasses, Danny could tell that he was a scholar as well.

  “General, these are the people your friend, Professor Rodriguez, spoke to you about,” Martin said.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” General Rosales said, offering his hand.

  “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to talk to us,” Danny said, gingerly reaching for his hand. “My name is Danny and I’m an oceanographer from California.”

  “And who would you be?” Mr. Rosales asked, turning to Helen.

  “Helen Glass.”

  As much as Danny wanted to get straight to the point, he knew it was better to ease into the conversation. Even though Americans don’t typically beat around the bush when conducting business, this attitude was frowned upon in most Asian countries. In fact, most of the time it was construed as downright rude, so Danny circumnavigated the real reason for their visit with the general.

  “General,” Danny said.

  “Please, just call me Manoy. It’s easier to pronounce than my real name. I’ve retired from the army already. I’m just an ordinary citizen now.”

  “Is that your nickname?” Helen asked.

  “Yes. Short for Manuel. It makes me feel younger. We Filipinos like to use nicknames a lot,” General Rosales said, reaching for a glass of water from the table.

  “I’m honored to be here and impressed by what you are doing here to keep our traditions alive. Events like this will help ensure that future generations won’t forget about our past. Helen was impressed by your reenactment of this important period of Philippine history,” Danny said.

  “It is my pleasure to have you as my guests. You look elegant in your terno. But, if I may ask, why aren’t you wearing a Maria Clara?” General Rosales said, looking straight at Helen.

  “I almost picked one out while we were at the tailoring shop, but I just fell in love with this gown’s wide sleeves.”

  “Maria Clara was actually one of the characters in a famous book. She is the symbol of Filipina femininity. But she was supposedly half-white.”

  “The tailor mentioned this to us in the store,” Danny said.

  “Wearing the Maria Clara instead of the Terno would have been more appropriate for you since you are white,” General Rosales said.

  “Maybe I will have the chance to wear one at your next party.”

  The general smiled at her remark.

  “You have a very accomplished family, sir,” Danny commented, looking up at the many laminated diplomas hanging on the wall.

  “My children’s little attainments,” General Rosales said, trying to be humble.

  “It’s not easy to graduate from a four-year university,” Helen added.

  “Education is a gift we can give our children that can never be taken away. My son is now a lawyer with a practice in Manila, and my daughter graduated with an accounting degree and now lives in Canada with her husband and children. My wife and I fly to Toronto whenever we miss our grandchildren.”

  “Do you ever think of living abroad?”

  “Oh, that’s not for me. We may have many problems in this country, but this is where I belong.”

  General Rosales’ phone rang.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he walked into the adjacent room.

  When he was out of earshot, Helen turned to Danny.

  “Can’t you just get to the point and tell him why we’re here?”

  “You can’t just tell people what’s on your mind right off the bat. It’s not how things are done here.”

  “We don’t have time. The longer this takes, the longer Blake suffers.”

  “The general knows we didn’t come here just to hear the rondalla play. The last thing we need is to look like ugly Americans walking into his house demanding favors and accommodations. You have to understand…he has nothing at stake here. He doesn’t care what happens to Blake and has no motivation to help us. Please trust me. Just smile and follow my lead. Beating around the bush is a sport everyone here is expected to play. And to get Blake back we n
eed to play it well,” Danny said.

  They heard the general’s footsteps growing louder.

  Danny and Helen went back to playing their parts, admiring the large portrait of a military man posing with his blue uniform and sword.

  “That’s Emilio Aguinaldo, a fearless young general renowned for his battles against the Spaniards,” General Rosales said, entering the room. “He started fighting as just a young man without much knowledge in military tactics. But with great bravery and leadership he persevered and won many battles against the occupiers.”

  “You eventually won your freedom from Spain, right?” Helen asked.

  “With the help of the United States, the first Philippine Republic was established in 1898. Actually, just a few miles away from here at the Barasoain Church our founders wrote the first Malolos Constitution. It is said that everyone on that day dressed in his or her best costume to celebrate our independence. Just like what you see here today. It was an important time in our history that I’m trying to keep alive by perpetuating our customs and traditions. Unfortunately, the new Philippine government roughly lasted for two years.”

  “That’s when the new republic started fighting the Americans, isn’t it?” Danny asked. Though he was well versed in the country’s history, he wanted to keep the general talking.

  “Yes…the Philippine-American War lasted about three years, and the United States ultimately became our new colonizer. We endured more than forty years of American rule. The Americans did send teachers and opened up education for everyone, but we wanted to rule ourselves. And just when we were on the right track to independence, the Japanese invaded in 1941. And then Imperial Japan became our newest occupiers. It wasn’t until the end of World War II that the Philippines finally became independent.”

  General Rosales’ cell phone rang again. He fished it out of his pocket and answered the call.

  “I think I’m needed outside. My guests will be insulted if I don’t spend more time shaking hands, kissing cheeks and making toasts.”

  With General Rosales leaving the room, Danny knew he had to make his move. There was no more time to waste.