by P. F. Kluge
I couldn’t help smiling, walking out toward the moorings, looking for a boat named Graceland II. That would be Chester’s doing, all right. I liked the idea of seeing him again, of surprising him. Though I was his senior—and his boss—I’d fallen for him like everyone else. Chester was living on the Graceland II, the realtor had said, taking fishermen out after marlin or escorting tourists up to some uninhabited islands north of Saipan. He was doing well, the realtor told me: he’d hooked up with some of the hotels. Now, standing there, I heard hammering inside what looked like a yacht to me, and guessed that somewhere inside, Chester was at home.
“Yo, Baby Elvis,” I shouted. “Come on out here, cherry boy!” I liked reunions. When the past comes back at you, when you hear your name in a crowd of strangers, we say what a coincidence or small world but what we feel and don’t say is that maybe our lives make sense, there’s a script around somewhere, with a pattern. And an ending.
“Biggest Elvis!” He came flying over the side the way he used to hurtle onstage at Graceland. Paint on his T-shirt, oil on his jeans, sawdust in his hair, he threw himself into my arms and just held on, bouncing up and down, like we were heroes of a game we’d played.
“Where have you been?” he finally asked.
“I’ve been away. Oman.”
“Oh, man is right. Where?”
“Chester!” a voice sounded from behind. “You should invite Biggest Elvis on board.” And then it was my turn to see that if you go around surprising people, you get surprised yourself. Christina was standing there.
“Welcome aboard, Biggest Elvis.”
“Not so big anymore,” Chester said. “God, we’ve talked about you.”
“We’ve got some catching up to do,” I said. Then I looked at Christina, a shade darker than I remembered. She was smart, not just in the head, but smart all over, the way a ship is smart. Or a captain. “I’m glad you made it here.”
“Made it?” Chester asked. “She was here waiting for me. She came to Uncle Pete’s funeral. We buried him off the boat. The way he wanted. Out there. What he called the deep end of the pool.”
“He called me,” she said. “Only two weeks before he died. Sent a ticket. Wanted to see me.”
“She came, she saw, she conquered, just like in Shakespeare,” Chester announced. “Papers, contract. Local sponsor. Which she don’t need anymore, of course, now that she’s got me.”
I looked from him to her. I was slow, I guess. I wasn’t expecting so much happiness, so fast.
“Funerals aren’t the only ceremonies we’ve had aboard the Graceland II,” Christina said.
“We missed you that day,” Chester said.
At dusk, they took me out of Apra Harbor, around the north side of the island, Chester at the controls, Christina cooking down below. Chester was surprised I hadn’t heard about Dude. Dude had made it, by God, in Hollywood. He was in a series called Intruders, not a starring role but enough of a continuing part to get him on the cover of TV Guide with some other people, even if his head was where the mailing label usually landed. He played a rock star’s bodyguard and—this was wild, Chester said—he did Presley bits on the side, all the time. Later, Chester showed me a tape which had Dude come crashing through a window into a room of crack manufacturers, drawing a gun, and asking them, “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”
“He calls all the time,” Chester said. He glanced in at the shore. “He’s due in this week. Local boy makes good. He’ll want to see you. He’s always asking about you. What I think, he’s sorry about the grief he used to give you.”
“You tell him we’re fine … even. And give him my best.”
“He says he owes you.” Then he peered in at the coastline, looked left and right. “This is where we dropped Uncle Pete off at,” he said. “We got married in the same location. I figure he wanted what was best for us. I’m not sure how it worked out for you. Dude’s been wondering too. He asks about you all the time. We stepped into an inheritance. And you hit the road.”
“It had to end sometime, Chestnut,” I said. “Nothing lasts.”
“Our thing didn’t end, though,” Chester said. “It just kind of got stopped. You know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes I feel a little cheated. But not by you.” And now I gazed north, into gathering darkness, at what might have been a light on an island, or a ship at sea. It hadn’t been easy looking for people who might be anywhere. But I was closing in.
“I miss it,” Chester said. “Those nights. I hear it was a bad place and it had to go. I hear it from Christina. She must be right. And what did I ever know?” He hesitated, thinking over what he said and, maybe, what he was going to say. Chester looked comfortable at sea. I’d cross the Pacific with him, no problem. Till we hit signs and traffic at the mouth of the harbor. “Here’s what I know,” he said. “We didn’t open up that base and we didn’t shut it down. We went there and we lit it up. The three Elvises. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ever forget.”
Christina brought chicken adobo, rice, from down below. Beer for me, coffee for Chester. “She’s making it happen,” Chester said. “She does the bookkeeping. She links up with hotels. And now we’re talking to these other groups. Eco-tourism. There’s islands up north of Saipan. Some empty, others got a family or two. Some of them are volcanic. I don’t mean that’s how they were formed. I mean, that’s what’s happening right now. They’re cooking, Ward, they’re boiling over and it’s something to see. Uncle Pete got a couple fifty-year leases up there, all of one island and a chunk of a couple others. That’ll give us something to do, for a long time. You ever need a place, you come too.”
“You could live on the beach,” Christina said from below. “A black sand beach at the end of the world.”
“I tried that once,” I said.
“Try again,” Christina said.
I was halfway down the dock, headed to my car, when Christina came running after me.
“I almost forgot this,” she said, handing me an envelope addressed to Chester Lane, attention: Biggest Elvis. The handwriting had the ornate, naive style I’d seen on letters that Olongapo women sent to the States, to AWOL lovers and absent fathers, trying their luck in a lottery with no mercy. “It came months ago,” she said. “We advertise sometimes in the newspaper. Our address is there.”
“Thanks. …” American stamps. No return address. Cancellation indistinct.
The bulge of the envelope told me the letter was long, probably written over a period of days and weeks. I’d seen that before too. Writing kept the girls busy, in the heat of the day or the early part of the evening, waiting for the customers to come. These women had a lot of time on their hands.
“I saw her,” Christina said.
“Saw?”
“Your Malou.” Those two words paralyzed me. I could walk through crowds of maids forever. I could look everywhere, what the lawyers call “diligent search.” I could ask old friends, go back to familiar places. On my own terms. It’s one thing to send signals into space, time after time. It’s another to hear back.
“At the airport,” Christina continued. “I picked up a party of visitors we are taking to the northern islands. I was waiting outside but I can see into the transit lounge. She was there. …”
“And …”
“It was Malou, sitting there. Quiet. Maybe she was sleeping. She wears what she always wears. The jeans, the T-shirt. The hair is under a baseball hat. She sits alone. No one is with her. That I can see.”
“Going where?”
“In transit,” she answered, a little abashed by my intensity. “I’m sorry, Biggest Elvis. I thought maybe I should not tell you. You would have so many questions.”
“You didn’t see where …”
“My party came,” she said. “And the flights from Guam go in every direction. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to … snap.” I patted the envelope. “This might help.”
“Dude comes from Los Angeles the day after tomor
row. We will go out on the boat. You can talk. You can sing. An Elvis reunion.”
“Could be,” I said. “Could be I’ll have something to sing about.”
II
Whitney Matoc
DEAR BIGGEST ELVIS.
I do not know if you will ever be receiving this but maybe sometime you are wondering what did ever become of your old friend from P.I. This is Whitney. The thin girl. “The worst lay in Olongapo.” SMILE. Now you remember me? Always bothering you for book to read. I’m having so much to tell you and about where we are going and what has happen to us. Even if this letter never get to you, I have to say. Best part of my day is when I write to you. Or night. I’m feeling better even if you never are reading this.
Graceland goes bad after you are gone. We are having local band dressed up as outsider, as Beatle and Rolling Stone. Battle of Band, they call it. But, Biggest Elvis, is same band. Those guy are only changing their cloths in back. A junk act, Dolly says. So businesses goes away. Many girls leave and nobody is caring. We are not Graceland anymore. We have twenty girl and some of these girl do anything. Biggest Elvis, they don’t even go to V.I.P. lounge anymore, they go right under table for b.j. and nobody say, not here, upstair, please.
We sit around jukebox at night, and we hope things get better if our three Elvis come home. We are wondering if you bring, balikbayan boxes for us. You know what is balikbayan box? Big box of gift overseas worker bring home from Saudi, toys and stereo and duty free thing. I’m only hope you are coming soon. With many paperback books, I hope.
Biggest Elvis, I’m standing on the sidewalk the night that Graceland burn. I’m cry. Father Domingo from Subic City, he is there. What for, you cry, he say. I do not answer but I cry for us because I know you are not coming back, you three guys, and I’m not seeing you nevermore. When you are here, I grow, I learn something, I read and talk more and I am not just the worst lay but I am also Graceland girl. Customer pay other girl to do monkey business. With me, sometime they pay to have picture taken, only sitting at table. They use some other girl for mickey mouse.
Baby Ronquillo come to us next day after fire. She does not have to do anything, she say, no obligate, but as special favor to our group she will arrange overseas contract, good job in U.S. Commonwealth. “UNDER AMERICAN FLAG,” she says. What kind of job? Waitress, hostess, cultural dancer kind of thing, she say, in brand new restaurant that is very classy place, very classy customer. Not like Olongapo. Plus we have American citizen for boss. “We go with customers?” Dolly is asking. No, no, waitress and hostess and cultural dancer, you seat people, you serve food, you sell drink, you dance, you talk sweet talk. After that, Baby say, is up to you. For Ms. Malou she offer another kind of contract: bookkeeper at construction company, building golf course and vacation home.
We talk all night, after that. Elvira does not want to go. But she has big problem. The Sheik—you are remember that guy?—is going to be Brunei ambassador someplace. So no more part-time local wife in Olongapo. No more shopping trips. Priscilla wants to go. Nothing for us here, she say. Dolly is needing money for her children. She will leave the children with her mother in provinces. Life is cheap in provinces but is not free. Dolly will go. Everybody is almost agree. Then we hear someone laughing at us. It is Lucy Number Three. You remember Lucy Number Three? So many night, she take my customer, thank you, she say. And I say thank you, Lucy Number Three. Lucy Number Three is very quiet. You remember her t-shirt? LESS TALK—MORE ACTION. Very tight t-shirt. I’m thinking you remember.
“Cultural dancer? This is what they tell us for our contracts. This is what they tell us, so we can tell ourselves. Cultural dancer. Pretend name. It’s okay for me. I am ready. But I’m not fooling myself about cultural dancer. My eyes, they are open.”
Now everybody is afraid and feeling bad. We worry, what Lucy Number Three say is true. Newspaper is always telling bad things happening to Filipinas overseas. Sex slave, women in cage. Deported, pregnant, with Arab baby. Now maybe this is happen to us. Maybe better we stay in P.I. This is what we are thinking, until Ms. Malou speak.
“My eyes are open,” Ms. Malou says. “I will go. And I go alone, if it comes to that. But I will tell you what I think and then you decide. If you do not come, I will go alone.” Oh, Biggest Elvis, she speak soft but she is strong and everybody listen. “We spend all our lives waiting for someone to rescue us. Every time the fleet sails in, everytime the door to Graceland opens, everytime someone gives a smile or a tip or talks to us in a nice way, we are full of hope, we are asking is this my chance? Is this special? Is this someone for me? We spend our lives like this. Always waiting. Waiting in doorway, at table, at bar. Waiting while we are on our backs. Or knees. Will he come back? Will he ask for me? Will he even know me? Or remember my name? Now I tell you I’m finished with waiting. I don’t want a man to rescue me. I’m going to America. Not the real America, but the beginning of it. The beginning of America. It is an island. We know islands. It is Catholic also. Our color skin, our kind of hair. Our weather. But they are American citizens. I’m going.”
Biggest Elvis, now Malou walks over to Lucy Number Three. “You are right, maybe, about cultural dancers. What they write for isn’t what they want. But what they want isn’t what they get. That’s the game. That’s the way.” Then Malou looks at all of us. “We are women. Some of us, first we use the body, then we use the brain. Others, first the brain, then the body. That’s the way …”
Malou is our leader. She is so calm and strong. In the next day, she help with arrangement. We take loans from Baby Ronquillo to pay for tickets and processing and placement fee. Very expensive. It scares me, I am owing 50,000 pesos before I start. Maybe I will be rich girl later! But now, so poor! And I worry. I still see Lucy Number Three laughing about cultural dancer. Also—excuse me—I wonder about Malou. Why is she the one who convince us to go? All the rest of us, we have got nothing. We are nothing. Bad girl, nasty girl from Olongapo. But Malou is bookkeeper and manager, not hostess. And also, she has you.
We are silly when we leave. We make joke. Filipinas going to America, laugh all the way. And it does not take so long. Three hours only and we are in Guam airport. Still plenty joke. We try perfume in Duty Free shop, all kind from France, and scarves and handbag, watches and jewelry. Elvira spend Sheik money to celebrate. Is only traveler checks, she says. I do not buy. Biggest Elvis, my contract with Darling Enterprise pay $300 per month and I am going to spend nothing until I pay my loan to Baby Ronquillo. Almost five month, that will take.
Next flight is very short. I sit at window I can see the island soon. Biggest Elvis, it is so small, ocean all around. I am thinking I will see resort hotel on beach, tall building with plenty tourist, like in VCR tape of Elvis concert from Hawaii. I am remembering swimming pool and garden and waterfall and fountain and flower everywhere. But we land at airport in boonies, Biggest Elvis, and a woman named Darling is coming there to meet us.
Mrs. Darling is fat now and she don’t care. She wear tight white slack and t-shirt. She don’t care but I think she was sexy girl once. Now, maybe sexy still, but not so pretty. Not needing to be pretty, because now she is boss. She has husband named Gregorio who come over a minute while we are waiting for our baggages and he is like the wife. Handsome once but now also he don’t care.
“He looks pregnant,” Dolly says in our language. He wear his belt very low, leave room for his belly which go out in front of him, like it is looking for food and beer and the rest of him comes along too. Gregorio use his belly like Elvira is using her titties, at Graceland. The sun is hot and the road is dusty on this island and the people watch us pass. They do not smile or wave. They only look. Another shipment from the P.I. Another delivery. And now we are scared. So small a place.
Our boss, Mrs. Darling, is nice at the start. She smile plenty. She likes the looks of us, I think, especially Elvira and Lucy Number Three, and me. Priscilla and Dolly she is not so sure. Is asking how old they are. Malou is riding up in front of truck
. We are in back. “Mind first, then body,” Lucy Number Three says, when she sees Malou in front. Lucy Number Three is strong. Elvira is crying in back of truck. Elvira likes taxis and limos.
“This is not good,” she says. “This is mistake. I don’t like how they look at us.”
“Let them look all they want,” says Lucy Number Three. “You are cultural dancer.”
Mrs. Darling stops truck outside construction site, with buildings and equipments inside fence, for building new golf course for Japanese. Wire fence runs all around and inside are buildings with plenty Filipinos, cooking and washing, sleep and play chess because it is Sunday afternoon. A guard sit by the gate, also sleeping.
“They keep us like prisoner,” Elvira say.
“It is a work place,” Priscilla says. “They have tools and supplies inside. Need to keep people out. Same as in P.I.”
“Keeping us in.”
“Same as in the Philippines,” says Lucy Number Three. She is waving to the men inside. Malou will live across the street from labor camp in house with Filipina nurse and schoolteacher. House is new but wood was never painted. I’m feeling a little bit sorry for Malou but only for a while. I tell you exactly how long, Biggest Elvis. Ten minute. The time it take to drive to Darling Resort and Disco Club. It is just like inside construction site. The ground is dirt and puddle, the main building is in front and in back is long narrow building, sit on cement blocks, wooden sidewalk along the front and five rooms, with a door and a window. The building is pink. And a fence is all around. The place is like barracks. No woman ever sleeps in this place before me, I can tell. Only some Filipino guys. A picture of Jesus is on the wall of my room and the picture is moving, a piece of electric wire goes back and forth and when I walk over the whole picture move because the wire is tail of a rat who jump on floor and run out door. Jesus picture covers a hole in wall. I walk outside, shaking. I look at dirty yard and fence where guard is sitting. I walk in back where ocean is. Beach is rough, all sharp stone. The waves come in, big and noisy and the island give them punch in stomach, says stay away from here. So we have fence on three side and ocean on four. The ocean is fence too.