Orchid House

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  Manalo’s thoughts ran the gamut of possibilities. Perhaps Amang Tenio wanted to blame the Red Bolos—but why, when they actually had orders to eliminate her if no other solution could be found? What if this was some kind of test from higher up—did they really distrust him that much? Or had they been lied to and brought to this meeting to be ambushed? The code between guerrilla fighters had been broken before, though he could hardly believe it of the famous fighters of the Barangay Mahinahon.

  Manalo motioned for Timeteo, and his old friend came forward. Manalo glanced beyond the American’s car to where Paco and his son blocked her vehicle. This could be bad. And for now, no one was leaving.

  But something was definitely not right.

  And the sky looked like blood.

  EMMAN STARED WITH THE FIERCEST GAZE HE COULD MUSTER AT THE leader of the Red Bolos. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his ears were ringing or pounding like a heartbeat or both; he wasn’t sure.

  He’d put them all in danger. He should have listened; it was the most basic rule of a soldier—follow your superior’s order. But he’d thought Miss Julia was safer with them, especially going to where Amang Tenio would be.

  Then Emman remembered his cousins talking about Ka Manalo. He was the man responsible for Artur’s death. They wished to avenge him, and now Emman was here. Perhaps this was his great opportunity to show his worth.

  Little Kiko was climbing out of the truck. Emman put his hand out to stop him, but the boy got off balance with his wooden gun in hand. Kiko grabbed at the gun and Bok tried to grab him, while from the corner of his eye Emman saw the guerrillas react, both theirs and the Red Bolos.

  He lifted his rifle and pointed it directly toward the chest of Ka Manalo.

  JULIA SAW AMANG TENIO, AND THE FOUR CHILDREN REMAINED planted in front of the white Packard. Then Kiko started to slide off the side of the car. She tried to grab him as the others responded.

  The old man’s face was contorted in alarm as he hurriedly tried to gesture the children to lower their guns. The bandits were fast and well trained. The moment they saw the children aim their guns, they immediately drew their own firearms.

  Julia sank lower in her seat as Amang Tenio shouted for her to get down. The gunfire began. Strangely, a gun sounded like the pop from Pop! Ba-ba-bum-bum in the song they’d just been singing. Her heart felt cold with fear. She could see Kiko standing with a stunned expression; she wanted to move, but she couldn’t make herself get to him.

  Then she was moving, just more slowly than her brain wanted to go. Grabbing the back of his shirt, Julia pulled the little boy over the side of the car and into the front seat, where she pushed him down into the floorboard.

  Suddenly the driver’s side door opened, opposite the side where the gunfire had started and abruptly stopped. Bok peered in and said, “Miss Julia, come on.”

  She hesitated, and he motioned again. “Emman said to get you.”

  Julia no longer saw the men down the road; not seeing them was more terrifying than seeing them. As she left the car and followed Bok into the thicket, she was afraid they’d reappear at any second.

  “Where are Kiko and the other boys?” she asked. “I thought they’d follow.”

  “I’ll go see,” Bok said, but Julia grabbed his arm.

  “Not without me.”

  “Just for a minute, Miss Julia. Two are louder than one.”

  More gunfire dropped them to the ground, and Julia crawled beneath the fans of a large stand of ferns. Bok had disappeared. Birds were flying in the air and cawing in anger at the disturbance, and if not for their reaction she might have wondered if it had all actually occurred. The jungle settled into an eerie silence.

  Everything had happened so quickly. She waited, feeling the impact of their sudden peril. The cool earth brought a shiver through her perspiring body as she huddled beside a hollow tree trunk. Julia listened intently, but the loudest sound she heard was her own heartbeat. Then a bird chirped, the familiar call she’d heard often from the hacienda porch. As the sound drew closer, she suddenly heard a very low whisper, so close she jumped and nearly screamed.

  “Miss Julia?”

  A small hand reached through the bright green leaves, and she took it.

  “Come on,” Bok said in a hushed but fearful voice. They moved rapidly through the brush. Julia had no idea which way they were headed, back toward the car or deeper into the jungle, but then Bok stopped and lifted back a makeshift lid. Together they slid into an old underground bunker, virtually invisible in the jungle. They crouched inside and closed the hatch above. Light filtered through the bamboo slats and foliage growing over the top. Bok wiped his face, and then she saw blood.

  “You’re injured,” Julia exclaimed, leaning close to examine him.

  He shook his head and turned to show he was okay. He sat very still as Julia stared at him in concern until suddenly round tears came spilling from his eyes. His lips shook and he sniffed.

  Julia took his small body in her arms, setting his gun awkwardly away from them. He shook silently against her shoulder for a long time with his fingers rubbing one of the shells of her necklace between his thumb and fingers. When he finally pulled back, his cheeks and the shoulder of her blouse were smeared with dirt, tears, and blood. Bok looked embarrassed, but Julia took him into another embrace.

  “It’s okay,” she said over and over again.

  Finally his empty sobs fell still, and he remained against her until Julia thought he’d fallen asleep.

  “People were shot,” Bok finally whispered, his shoulders shaking anew.

  “Who?” She pulled the boy away from her, trying to see his face in the low light.

  “The leader of the other group and some others. Emman got shot in the leg, but I think he’s okay. And—”

  “Emman!” Julia wanted to rush out of there and help, not cower in a hole in the ground. “Who else?”

  “My godfather,” he said, and large tears once again fell from the boy’s eyes, and he buried his face against her shoulder.

  “Amang Tenio? Are you sure?”

  The boy nodded his head. “They killed him.”

  IT CAME TO HIM AS HE STARED UP AT GREEN LEAVES THAT MOVED in the breeze. The sky was an odd color. And then a knowledge came over him that he was made of earth and becoming earth again.

  Manalo didn’t wish to die. He longed for mountain roads and to be an old man with a pipe telling stories to his grandchildren, going fishing with his oldest friend. And yet now, as his life bled into the earth around him and he heard the gunfire and shouts of Timeteo and others he didn’t know, he knew it was right, that he must die. His family was not free with him alive. And though Malaya would long for him always as he would her if she’d left him first, his wife would understand that it was their joint sacrifice for their children to be free.

  There was something he and Timeteo planned. Ah yes, not quite this, but the same effect. His friend would take care of his family. With him dead, the chain would break now—his son would not seek revenge, for Timeteo would give him the letter. His son would not follow in footsteps that dripped in blood.

  What have you done with these years that I’ve given to you?

  Someone was talking to him. And he saw who it was. And he remembered, knowing who spoke as he knew no one else in all the world.

  “I’m not going to live.”

  “What, what did you say?”

  Take care of them. You must be the one to tell her. Tell my sons the stories, but tell them I want them to be fishermen or farmers. Tell them to have many children. Let them love. . . .

  Manalo thought he was speaking, but he realized his lips would not form those words. Timeteo stared into his eyes and gathered it from him, this he believed.

  “When did he get here?” Manalo asked, gazing beyond Timeteo. “Who?” Timeteo said. Ah, so his friend heard that time. The gunfire had stopped. A car sped away.

  “You must go,” he told Timeteo.

  “N
o. I will not.”

  He wanted to say that if he didn’t go he would be arrested, or the men of the Barangay Mahinahon would take revenge and who would tell Malaya and they may not be assured of her safety or that she’d be taken care of.

  The only word that came out was “Go.” Manalo then asked, “Where are we going?”

  Timeteo thought he was speaking to him.

  I’ve failed at everything and always while trying to choose what was right. And so it ends. Manalo thought or heard it said that it wasn’t the end, but only a beginning; in spite of his failures, there was still time to redeem, though much had been lost.

  What did it mean? Manalo could not tell. But he would go there, he knew, and find out.

  And as he went away, to walk awhile, he whispered good-bye to a girl with the silkiest black hair—and he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his wife or one of his daughters. And in the end, it didn’t matter. He loved them both and someday would find them again.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Nightfall came, and from a great distance Julia and Bok heard more gunfire, the sound of automatic rifles in a barrage that lasted only a few minutes. Then some scattered shots and again, silence. Julia prayed silently, hidden in a dirt hole with a young boy in a country far from all she’d ever known. She thought of her mother, and of Nathan, and of the concerns she’d filled her life with while living in the States. And then she thought of the people here she’d come to love so quickly.

  Bok made the birdcall a few times with his head outside the hatch. Finally there came an answer. The next moment Emman appeared and, once he’d joined them in the underground bunker, turned on a flashlight. He took Julia’s hand and helped her outside.

  “What happened, Emman?”

  “It is over now, Miss Julia. I am sorry I was so rough with you.” He brushed off dirt from her shoulders.

  She couldn’t see his face. “Is Amang Tenio dead?” she asked.

  Emman didn’t answer. He turned the flashlight off again. “Take my hand and come quickly. Markus has a car at the road.”

  They shuffled through the jungle to a road that wasn’t far from the hatch. Emman signaled with his light, and a truck rumbled to life.

  As they approached the truck, Julia saw Markus standing at the open passenger door. He ran to them and took her into his arms.

  “Are you okay?” he gasped, pulling her tighter. “If anything happened to you . . . oh, Julia, I’ve been searching for you every-where—”

  “I’m fine. Especially now,” she whispered close to his ear. The strength and warmth of his body made her wish she could disappear inside of him. In the dim light, she saw that Emman was limping heavily, struggling even to walk. “Markus, Emman is hurt!”

  Raul was already grabbing Emman and helping him to the back of the truck. Bok jumped in behind him.

  “We’ll get him help,” Markus said, helping her into the truck and then getting in beside her. Raul climbed in on the driver’s side. “Emman insisted upon getting you and Bok out of the woods. We’ll take him and the others to the hospital now. Then I’ll take you to the hacienda.”

  “The others? More are wounded? What happened, Markus?”

  “We must go quickly,” Raul said gruffly. His voice softened as he put the truck in gear and they moved forward. “I am very glad you are okay.”

  “Thank you. But shouldn’t we have Emman up here with us?” She turned to search for the boy through the back window.

  Raul shook his head. “He’ll want to be with the other men.”

  “One of you must tell me—is Amang Tenio dead?”

  Both men were silent for a moment, which answered her question. Dread and grief flooded through her. Closing her eyes, Julia leaned back in the seat. Then she looked quickly again through the back window. “What about the other boys?”

  Markus took her hand and held it firmly. “There were a few injuries, but Amang Tenio was the only one of ours who was killed. One of Ka Manalo’s men shot him. The boys couldn’t save him.”

  Raul told her what had transpired after that. The rest of the Red Bolo group retreated in the wrong direction and went straight to the advance of the younger men of the Barangay Mahinahon, who were on their own mission of revenge. Very few of the Red Bolos escaped.

  “The local police and national army are already investigating. You will be asked some questions.”

  But Julia heard very little more. She leaned into Markus. How she longed to rest within his arms for hours or days or even a lifetime.

  She let the tears come. Amang Tenio, the wise man she had drunk tea with, who had given her the necklace she wore . . . that man was now dead.

  EMMAN’S LEG ACHED. HE’D BARELY BEEN SHOT; UNDER DIFFERENT circumstances, he might have been proud of his first battle wound.

  They would have forced him to the hospital, but Emman knew it was time for him to disappear. He’d jumped from the truck when it slowed for a turn, and hurried into the foliage in case Bok or one of the other men had seen him. The pain in his leg was nothing. A deeper pain engulfed him, and he was lost within its throbbing truths.

  In the deepest part of the night he’d gone to his tree. What a struggle it was to reach his usual branches. There he found a full pack of Marlboro Reds, still sealed, in the crook of the tree where Bok always sat. It was the boy’s offering to him, just as Bok had nightly sneaked up to leave a token for Miss Julia. Emman had been jealous that Bok thought of doing that for her. He knew she thought it was probably him instead. But it was always Bok, the kindhearted kid who so often thought of others. And to make Emman feel better, he’d left Emman his first full pack of cigarettes.

  But nothing could make him feel better. Ever.

  They’d find him at the tree eventually, he knew. And he could never return to the Barangay Mahinahon, not even to get his belongings. His yo-yo was tucked inside his jacket pocket, and he felt guilty even for that and the cigarettes. Why should he have anything good now?

  He knew a better hiding place, one he’d found when he was a small boy and his mother died. He often went there to feel safe, and after a time, he was able to go back to the others as if unscathed by it all. Awkwardly he climbed back down and headed for Mang Berto’s garage.

  Morning came too quickly. He rested against the soft vinyl and wrapped his leg so no blood got on the carpet, even though he had chosen the oldest and least-restored car in the back of the large building. He was both hungry and thirsty, but he couldn’t leave this hiding place in the daylight.

  Then he heard her voice right outside the car. “Emman?”

  He wanted to run.

  Instead he cried. He cried and cried, and she held him like a baby. Magnum, P. I. would be ashamed. No private investigator, let alone a warrior or a leader of a guerrilla group, would act this way, and yet he couldn’t stop.

  “Amang,” he whispered.

  Miss Julia was silent a few moments, and he looked up slightly to see the expression on her face.

  “Yes, Emman. It is a terrible thing.”

  “I failed in my assignment.” He tried to explain in Tagalog, then remembered that she couldn’t understand. His choppy English could never express what he wished to say.

  “Listen, Emman. You aren’t just a man, you are also a boy. And all men and boys make mistakes. Your mistake wasn’t the reason for Amang’s death. Don’t you think God holds all life in His hands? He knows when and where life will begin and end.”

  Emman leaned into her arms again, hanging on tightly. How good it felt to be held like that.

  “Things are changing at the hacienda, Emman. And it’s time you were able to be a boy again, just for a while. Then you can go back to being a man.”

  He felt weary, so weary of the weight. “Okay,” was all he could muster the strength to say. And Miss Julia helped him stand up and walk into the light of day.

  EPILOGUE

  A life and a homeland. And on a violet evening, a grand fiesta brought hundreds to the lawns
, rooms, and courtyards of Hacienda Esperanza.

  On the front stairway, the singing of schoolchildren ended to grand applause. Father Tomas gave the opening prayer, and the fiesta began.

  Julia found her mother on the upstairs terrace.

  “It is exquisite,” she said, leaning on the railing.

  The evening light filled her mother’s face with a soft glow—Julia had never seen her looking so winsome. Below them, children and adults alike laughed loudly as they played patentero on the lawn. The guitarists played a Spanish tune. The yards could barely be seen for the decorations and people. Unlike the day of her grandfather’s funeral, when it was all white flowers and table cloths, this evening was filled with color. The arches, eaves, and gates were covered in colorful paper flowers made by the hacienda children. Soft yellow lights wove through trees and wound like candy cane stripes up the palm trunks. The tables closest to the house were already laden with food.

  “I was so angry that you didn’t come home,” Julia’s mother said softly.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you, Mom. I’m sorry that it did.”

  “It wasn’t just about you, really, though of course I’ve missed you. And I deeply regret not coming for the wedding. I’ve spent a large portion of my life bitter about this faraway hacienda and my father’s love for it. And then it stole my daughter as well—with the help of a handsome Filipino attorney. But it was the best thing that could have happened. For all of us. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to realize it.”

  Julia put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. She and Markus had agonized over the decision to marry without her mother’s presence, though she had reluctantly given her blessing. They’d had a small, intimate Filipino wedding . . . meaning everyone from the hacienda, Barangay Mahinahon, and Markus’s large family attended. Emman even rose to the occasion and stood beside Raul in the wedding party. Julia’s roommate and best friend, Lisa, came from the States, and while it was bittersweet not having the rest of her family there, time was softening the hurt. And now her mother was here, standing beside her. Once again Hacienda Esperanza was a land of hope.