He also started seeking closeness with whoever was giving it away. Women for the most part, but the higher he was the less difference it made to him. On one trip, he started hanging out with a sailor twice his age. The man talked of loneliness, stress, sickly, penniless parents and his efforts to take care of them. Steven looked up to him, spent a lot of time listening to his learned wisdom, and spent time letting him soothe some of his inner loneliness.
At the end of the voyage, his friend ditched him, apparently dashing off the boat early. One of the other crew that knew the older man better…and knew he and Steven spent a lot of time together on this voyage, said, “Leo? Yeah, I saw him leave earlier. His wife and three kids met him as he disembarked. They do that every time he comes back otherwise he heads to the nearest bar and doesn’t come out until they find him.”
That had been Steven’s lesson in humility. He’d cleaned up his act and quit being so passive about his direction. A couple years later he’d met Bettina.
#
“Okay, you’re right. I’ll see it through. I need to find out what’s going on. What went on,” Benjiro finally answered.
“Tell me you’ll do it in a smart way. Don’t stomp in there like a proud man scorned and demand answers,” Steven said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. That won’t work with him anyway. He’s like a lead-lined bank vault. If there’s something he doesn’t want to discuss, the door’s closed and even x-ray vision glasses aren’t going to lend any insight.” He shook his head and continued, “Then there’s times when all he does is talk. I guess it comes with being around a long time. There’s lots of stories in there so he can pick and choose. Who knows, maybe he is the right one. Life can get complicated the longer you’ve been around.”
“Maybe you’ll find out the markings are nothing. I hope so,” Steven said. “If not, maybe we’ll find something that will lend understanding to Julia’s death, or heck, maybe you’ll find something I can use to warn Boris…if I ever see him again.”
This holiday season with Marge made him more aware of how small his original family was now. Fully half of them were gone. Sophia and Julia were not coming back, but he wasn’t going to believe his brother was lost to them forever. He never lost hope of seeing him again.
#
The next day Benjiro headed to Tokyo to see Tomakita. He had a month left before he was again committed to work. It took most of the day to get from San Antonio into Manila International Airport, but Steven arranged it so that Marge and Bettina accompanied him and Benjiro. He did it by suggesting they eat at a special restaurant in the city.
“You know I don’t run a restaurant, Steven. It’s a café. There’s a big difference. People that live in the rural Portland area wouldn’t spend the money to keep a restaurant going. I feed people real food. Breakfast, lunch, and a couple times a week, dinner. Then coffee in-between, along with a few baked goods. Nothing special,” Marge insisted.
“I understand, Auntie, but I still want you to try this place. I can’t believe people in America don’t like noodles. I thought all you westerners ate noodles?” Steven replied. He wanted to win the argument simply to get her to come along. Gilberto had already declined because he wanted to rest from their celebratory meal the night before for Benjiro. It would be a perfect time to talk to Marge about the coins.
“Yes, most people like noodles, but they like Italian noodles. Asian noodles aren’t that popular. Spaghetti is one thing; Ramen is another,” she replied.
“Aw, come on, Auntie,” Bettina said, chiming in. “Konnor will be in school and Dad will be sleeping. You’ll end up cleaning up the entire day if you don’t come with us.”
“Who said I wasn’t coming? I wouldn’t miss it and you know I like Ramen, I just don’t see myself serving Ramen noodles to a bunch of rural Oregonites on the Lewis River,” Marge replied.
Steven rolled his eyes and the four of them got ready to leave.
#
The dinner was lovely. The restaurant specialized in Ramen, which was generally a pretty straightforward dish, but they did it with flair and fresh, interesting ingredients. There were four specialty dishes, each one focused on a specific ingredient or type of ingredients. Steven was a big fan of Ramen and had tried all but one, which focused on squid. Squid ink was infused in the noodles, as well as the broth. It made the noodles black, or at least a dark grey and the broth nearly opaque. After tasting it he decided it also made the dish a bit salty.
“Auntie…Marge…we have something we want to talk to you about,” Steven said as they were finishing the noodles.
“Sweetie, I could cut the tension with a knife around you three on the way to the airport,” Marge replied. “I was hoping you’d break down sooner or later and spill whatever is bothering you.”
Bettina laughed and said, “We’re not very good at keeping secrets, and this is one we’ve kept for months now.”
“Well from the looks of you, it has nothing to do with adding to the family. Tell me what’s on your minds.”
“We need your advice,” Steven started.
Between dessert, which was a baked chocolate brownie with drizzled hot fudge and caramel, and coffees, Steven and Bettina told Marge the story of their vacation earlier in the year with Konnor and his friend Christon.
Steven told how he and the boys had gone exploring, or more accurately, looking for a place he remembered visiting with Gilberto shortly after his mother passed. How they found what he thought was the same cove and how the two boys discovered a number of Spanish doubloons.
“Wow, that’s great!” Marge said enthusiastically when Steven finally revealed the discovery.
“Well, it is and it isn’t,” Steven replied. “I’m not sure I have to explain to you how difficult it would be for a normal Filipino to come up with what is probably Japanese war horde gold…and actually get any money from it.”
Marge thought about it for a minute. She’d been coming to the Philippines for years and knew the politics and things that went on there pretty well. It wasn’t the same as living there, but she had a good idea of what the climate was like for the majority of the population. Those represented by Gilberto and his family.
She finally replied, “Yes, I suppose it could be a challenge to get anything out of it…not to mention to do it safely. Too bad it isn’t in the US; there are a great many numismatists who would be very interested. I’m sure they’d willingly pay significantly more than the going rate for gold.” As soon as she said it she saw the light go on in Steven’s eyes and she followed up with, “Oops, I fear I may have stuck my foot in my mouth.”
“Not at all, Auntie. That’s what we’ve been thinking for months. If it could be sold, and invested, in the US, there’s enough money there for a good college education for both Konnor and Christon,” Bettina said.
“Oh, but honey, I know it’s not a pirate’s chest full of booty, but how am I going to get it home?” Marge asked.
“How about a chocolate?” Steven asked, handing her a gold foil-wrapped chocolate coin in the shape of a Spanish doubloon. When she simply looked at it he said, “Go ahead, unwrap it.”
Marge did, and saw that there was indeed chocolate inside the gold-colored foil. She looked at Steven.
“Here, have another,” he said, offering her another coin that looked almost identical.
“Goodness, that’s a lot heavier than this one,” Marge replied, the unwrapped chocolate coin in her right and the still-wrapped coin in her left. “I don’t suppose I should unwrap this one, huh?”
“It would save me the trouble of wrapping it up again,” Steven answered in agreement. “Have you heard the Yamashita war horde stories, Auntie?”
“Of course I have, Steven. I guess I figured they were mostly stories told by treasure hunters,” Marge answered.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Steve said. “I guess I might have thought that to a large extent, too, until Konnor and Christon dragged these coins back to me while I was lying on a sec
luded beach north of Bataan.”
“I know you know about the Bataan Death March, Auntie,” Bettina said, continuing where Steven left off. “Well, it took a bit of thought and a lot of time, but I found a memorial slash tourist spot in Bataan province that sells souvenirs, including gold foil-covered chocolate Spanish doubloons. If you eat the chocolate, the wrappers go back over the actual doubloons pretty well. Well enough, I think, to not be able to readily pick out the real ones from the, well, from the real chocolate ones.”
Steven had handed her another chocolate coin, still in its foil wrapping. Marge just looked at the two foil-wrapped coins in front of her.
“They come tied in a little mesh bag of ten coins. All you need are the names of a couple of affected friends back home, looking forward to the souvenir you’re bringing back to them in honor of their relative who lost their life in the march,” Bettina said, finishing her argument.
“I don’t know anyone, off-hand, with relations in the death march, but I don’t have to think long to come up with a good friend whose uncle was a POW on Corregidor Island. Her two kids have read his story and this would be a very appropriate souvenir for them,” Marge said. “I would love to be part of helping initiate my godson’s education fund.”
“You don’t know what a relief that is for us,” Steven said. “Christon’s parents will be glad to hear it, as well.”
“Let’s talk about something that doesn’t make me anxious now,” Bettina said. “I’d like to show you the picture album Konnor made for me from his trip this summer with his dad.”
“I’d love that,” Marge said.
Steven smiled tightly, thinking, Now we move on to something that makes me anxious.
Even though it had been many days since they’d returned, the subject of Konnor’s abduction in Hong Kong had not been discussed. No one, including Konnor, had brought it up. Steven was afraid Bettina might not let him take their son anyplace without her ever again. Maybe Konnor was scared of the same thing. He knew he had to have the discussion with Bettina before he left on the next voyage, but he didn’t relish the tongue-lashing he was likely to get and decided the shorter amount of time she was furious with him before he had to go sailing, the better.
Volunteer Appreciation
It was Bettina’s Monday morning, this week, anyway. She tended to work a lot of shifts no one wanted because she didn’t work at all when Steven was home. When he left again she moved back to her mother’s house in Manila, with Konnor. It was actually a great set-up and the breaks reenergized her for work that was difficult and often emotionally draining.
She walked into the breakroom her second evening back. There was one other person in the room, an elderly woman, weeping into her folded hands on one of the tables.
It was a hospital. A very large one. There were lots of good reasons to be sad and Bettina had been involved in many of them over the years. But it was still uncomfortable for her to see another person in pain and not at least offer her support.
“Hi, Missus, is there anything I can do for you?” she asked the weeping woman.
Snuffling and trying to put on a smile, the woman replied, “No, don’t worry about me. I’m being silly. I’m a volunteer here at the hospital.”
“Oh, well hello, my name is Bettina. Where do you volunteer?” Bettina asked.
“My name is Lorraine. I’ve volunteered all over for years,” she answered, drying her eyes. “I’m in the maternity ward right now.”
“Oh, I worked maternity for a long time. It can be one of the happiest places in the hospital, but not always,” Bettina said.
“You’re right. I’m actually crying selfishly, not because of anything going on there right now,” Lorraine said.
“I’m sorry, Lorraine. Is there anything I can do?” Bettina asked again.
“Are you a mother, Bettina?” Lorraine asked her.
“That I am, Lorraine,” Bettina answered.
“And I bet you’d do anything for your child, correct?”
“Of course I would, Lorraine.”
“I am a mother too, Bettina. My only son passed away a while ago. A mother shouldn’t have to live longer than her child. Sometimes the maternity ward is the saddest place of all for me.”
“While I haven’t walked in your shoes, I have a feeling for how sad that must be. I’ve seen it before,” Bettina replied, thinking of Gilberto.
“Thank you, Bettina, you’ve been a dear. I often wish my Orlando would have chosen to move back to the Philippines with us instead of staying behind,” Lorraine said. “I’ll let you have a break now, without an old lady crying and bothering you.” And she gave Bettina a warm smile and got up, leaving the room.
Bettina didn’t have a photographic memory or anything, but Orlando was a name she remembered for two reasons. The first, of course, because her sister-in-law was married to a man called Orlan. It wasn’t short for Orlando, but considering the second reason, that her other sister-in-law was found dead in China with a man by the name of Orlando, it was enough to make the name stick out for her whenever anyone used it.
After her break, she decided to swing by the administration office and check in with her girlfriend. There was a big volunteer appreciation party coming up as part of the ongoing end-of-the-year Christmas fever. Maybe she’d just check the list of people being thanked this year.
There was only one Lorraine on the list. Lorraine Bautista, volunteer for fifteen years. Wife of Luis Bautista, former Philippine Office of the Ambassador, SE Asia. She wondered if they had ever been stationed in China.
Reengagement
Benjiro would be back in Japan in a few days and Tomakita wanted everything to be perfect. He felt ten years younger since the transplants. New liver, pancreas, and this one wasn’t even planned, cornea. He had 20/20 vision again. That meant he could see like he could fifty years ago. It all made him smile.
His new doctor said the things he’d been exposed to in the war would keep eating away at his body, but if he was able to continue to find donors, they could replace as things failed and keep him alive…did he say indefinitely? Probably not, but Tomakita said it over and over in his mind.
Having energy again was invigorating. He had a spring in his step, he saw clearly again, literally, and it made him feel like spreading his wings again, or rather like he had wings again instead of leaden limbs. Before the procedures he felt rather like he was just going through the motions. On his return to Japan, he’d gotten in touch with the young captain who’d provided his organ donors. The results he was experiencing were enough incentive for him to consider a strong investment. They’d met briefly in the airport to agree upon the basics of a few next steps. Captain Zimmerman would make another trip to the school in the Philippines and Tomakita would contact his doctor in India about a potential business deal.
Maybe he’d even plan a trip to the Philippines himself in the future, now that he had a few new ties there. My boyfriend, liver, pancreas, corneas and a new business venture, he thought. Hell, maybe he’d be half Filipino in the future, as well. He chuckled at the thought.
For nearly fifty years he’d avoided the Philippines and all open talk of it because of what happened there during the war. He’d seen many a solid Japanese soldier go from war hero to scapegoat. Persecuted for war crimes just because Japan had lost. It still made him flush and his left eye twitch when he thought about the good men he’d lost without being able to stand up for them.
Tomakita—well, his name was different then—had been in the Philippines when the kill-all order had been received. He did his duty, as ordered, along with his men. They left no survivors. At least none that would ever talk about it. Before that he’d harvested the healthiest of the prisoners and sent them back as unpaid labor in his mine. The one he’d had to leave in order to fight in the first place. It was only fair that he was compensated. Those with more to lose had to have the right to gain more, as well. The Triad connections he’d made during the war had served him well
and he’d make sure it continued that way into the future.
#
Benjiro arrived at the airport a half-hour before his schedule. He had two more crushes of people to navigate before getting free and looking for the escort Tomakita promised from the airport to his house. First passport control.
He’d been a traveler since he was a child, with his father and mother back and forth between Japan and the Philippines annually. His father traveled all over Asia speaking about astronomy, but he and his mother were generally included only in trips to his mother’s homeland. His father was a noted astronomer, author of several textbooks as well as a couple of popular culture books about the stars, and taught in several universities as a guest lecturer on the subject every year.
When he’d waited through the lines in order to have a life-long, miserable public servant glance at his face, glance at his passport photo, ask him why he had visited the Philippines, ignore his answer, and stamp his page, he waded through the sea of people to wait for his luggage, then negotiate customs.
As soon as he was able to make life miserable enough for his parents, his father in particular, he was granted his wish and left to his own devices. After that he went to the Philippines a couple more times, always doing everything in his power to stay near the Ramos family, and Steven in particular. His life got very messy for the twenty years before he’d called on Steven again, asking for help to extract him from the constant, drug- and alcohol-induced yo-yo of ups and downs his life had turned into.
Together, they succeeded. It took him another year to realize the credit was really his own and to stop laying everything at the feet of the person he’d idolized since childhood.
One Fish, Two Fish, Big Fish, Little Fish_Silver Dawn Page 14