by Philip Teir
‘Thank you. I’m sure it will be splendid,’ replied Katriina.
A long narrow corridor with terracotta floor tiles led to a staircase. They made their way up to a hallway on the top level that was lined with a number of doors. The man went over to the third one, took out a key and unlocked the door. Then he waited for Katriina to enter first.
There was a bed, a TV, a small desk and a toilet with a shower. It looked much like every other room of its type she’d stayed in before.
‘If you need to use the Internet, we have WiFi here. You’ll find the password on the desk. Are you hungry?’
‘No, I think I’ll just rest for a while.’
‘Okay. I need to get back to work. Our driver will come to pick you up in three hours. We’re going to have dinner with the head of the university and one of the personnel managers at the university hospital. I’ll leave you to rest now. I hope you will be comfortable here.’
The man left the door open as he left. Katriina closed it and then went over to look out of the window. The courtyard was deserted, but she was overwhelmed by a floral scent – there must have been thousands of flowers. Then she sat down on the bed. The sheets were newly pressed and felt a bit scratchy. She took off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, feeling cool relief in her feet, though she didn’t dare look at them. She was sure she must have blisters. Should she sleep for a while? She’d never been good at taking short naps; she was too restless for that.
The tropical air pressed against her temples even though the room was apparently air-conditioned. She had to visit at least five different hospitals and three schools, but she was glad to be travelling alone. She wouldn’t have to maintain a certain image of who she was. She lay on the bed, listening to her own breathing amid the silence in the room. The sun and the heat rested on her eyelids, and she relaxed. The red colour that she now saw led her far away, back to her childhood, to her room on Högbergsgatan one morning at the start of the summer holidays. Her mother was at home, and Katriina was ten years old, lying on her bed and trying to hold on to the dream she was having when she heard her mother talking to someone in the hall.
The memory lasted only a second, maybe two or three seconds, before the scent of the flowers erased the scene and reminded her that she was on a business trip.
After dinner that evening she had no energy left for anything else. She got undressed and crept naked under the clean white sheets, trying to picture how the week might proceed. She awoke around five in the morning and spent the early hours walking around the area. There was a park nearby, and there she sat for a while, watching the Filipina mothers with their children and the ageing retirees going through their exercises.
Katriina’s chauffeur was in the courtyard waiting for her when she came out of the building. The official work day started with a sumptuous lunch. The main course was lobsters, which sat on the serving platters, waving their antennae as everyone dug in. It must be some sort of reflex motion, thought Katriina. She listened with interest to a discussion led by a female researcher from the university hospital. The topic was the effect that the export of workers was having on the Philippines, and how this had led to a shortage of doctors, since even physicians were leaving the country to work abroad as nurses.
‘There are two sides to this issue,’ the woman said. ‘On the one hand, young people gain new opportunities for their lives, and they may return home to improve the medical practices in our country. On the other hand, many of these young women are much too optimistic. They may leave behind their families and children for an uncertain life abroad. They send money home, but they can’t afford to come back for a visit. There are a lot of children growing up here who are being cared for by their grandparents.’
The woman’s name was Maria. She was petite and serious and regarded Katriina with suspicion, which was evidently due to her scepticism about Western nations importing Filipino workers. When she revealed more about her personal story, it turned out that she was not only a doctor but had once been a political prisoner. She had served time for offering medical treatment to suspected terrorists and rebels. Katriina was surprised by what she heard. In her experience, people in Asian countries generally didn’t discuss anything that might be considered political.
That afternoon they were scheduled to visit one of the hospitals. They drove for almost an hour. The traffic was horrendous, with cars honking nonstop, and the humid air was heavy with exhaust fumes. People of all ages swarmed around them and crowded the streets. They drove through a shantytown district where Katriina saw people praying, groups of kids running around and people riding bicycles loaded down with sacks and rubbish.
At last the car stopped outside a big building surrounded by a wall. When they went inside the hospital Katriina felt everyone’s eyes fixed on her. She was probably the only white person in the whole place, and the patients, in particular, stared at her as she walked along the corridors.
It was a run-down hospital. Katriina glanced into one of the rooms and saw what looked like a coconut being used to hold an IV container. Nurses were everywhere. In some of the rooms people were praying, and the whole place was hot and damp with a strong hospital smell from cleaning agents and medicines, disease and bodily fluids.
They stayed for two hours, getting to know the staff and some of the patients. As usual, little time was spent on the real reason for their visit. Instead, they talked in general terms about the differences between Europe and the Philippines, about the disparities in standards and practices, and about training and procedures. It was frustrating, since Katriina knew that her primary goal was to establish contact with the recruiting offices and educational institutes that attracted interested nurses. But she also realised that some of the work would have to be done from Finland, after she returned home. For now it was enough for her to meet as many people as possible, hoping that they would remember her later.
When the visit was over, she was driven back to where she was staying. In the evening she decided to take a walk. Waiting outside the iron gate was Danilo, the chauffeur who had driven her around all day. He was shorter than Katriina, a man in his forties with a somewhat boyish appearance, which made her constantly aware of how she spoke to him, enunciating her words slowly and carefully, as if he might have a hard time understanding.
As soon as he saw her, he rushed over to the car and opened the door.
‘No, no, I’m just going for a walk. You don’t need to drive me anywhere,’ she told him. She stood there on the pavement, wearing a blue dress that felt so cool after spending all day in the car and inside the sweltering hospital.
Danilo closed the car door. They conversed in English. He had a decent command of the language, speaking in short, somewhat staccato sentences.
‘Mrs Paul, I can drive you if you are going out …’
‘No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m just taking a walk in the neighbourhood. Are you here every day?’
‘Not every day, Mrs Paul. Sometimes I drive other people. But they told me that I should be ready. If you want to go somewhere.’
‘But surely you’re not expected to sit and wait for me all day? Didn’t they give you a schedule of my meetings?’
‘I am sorry. All I know is that I must drive you if you need to go somewhere.’
‘I’m the one who should apologise. I’m not planning to go anywhere else tonight. So you don’t have to drive me. And if there’s somewhere else you need to be, please feel free to leave.’
Danilo looked at her for a moment, as if he were pondering whether to believe her or not. Then he thanked her, got in the car and drove away.
He was her chauffeur for the rest of the week. After a while Katriina had the feeling that he was the only person with whom she had any real contact, the only one with whom she’d reached beyond the chit-chat stage, even though he was not especially talkative and gave only terse replies to her questions. She found out that Danilo lived on the outskirts of town, that he was married and had on
e child, and that he’d been a chauffeur for five years. Before that he’d worked in the restaurant business, but he preferred driving – or maybe he was simply stating the fact that driving was now his job. Katriina didn’t always understand his English. He drove her to the hospitals, to dinners, to the university. Every evening she would go straight to her room and to bed because she was so worn out from the strain of maintaining the courteous facade that was required during all the meetings with strangers.
On Friday when Katriina came out into the courtyard, she found Danilo standing next to the car. He was having a smoke, his eyes fixed on the ground. When he saw her, he quickly tossed the cigarette away and opened the door. She hadn’t asked him again why he never went home in the evenings. It didn’t seem right to question him. Maybe he was paid an hourly wage to stand out here all day, waiting for her.
Today she was attending yet another luncheon. One course after another was brought to the table; the amount of food seemed endless. Katriina drank only water with the meal, and she did her best to discuss in concrete terms the work required in the months ahead. Everyone at the table seemed in high spirits, a mood that she recognised from business dinners back in Finland. No one really wanted to talk about work; they just wanted to enjoy the food and drinks, since somebody else was paying for them. The guests included people from the local unions and the university, as well as government officials. Katriina had the sense that she was treading water. How was she supposed to get anything done if she couldn’t get these people to discuss details? She was still feeling jetlagged, or maybe she was coming down with a cold. She was having a hard time breathing, and she found herself picturing what would happen if she suddenly fainted. When the meal was finally over and Katriina was once again seated in the car, Danilo asked if he should drive her home.
It was dusk, with an amazing sky filled with clouds gathering in the most astonishing shapes.
‘Would it be possible to drive around a bit to see some more of Manila? A little detour? It doesn’t have to take very long. I’m sure you want to be getting home to your family.’
‘There is no hurry, Mrs Paul.’
‘Is there some area that’s not so touristy? Someplace you’d personally go if you weren’t working?’
Danilo paused to think about this. Katriina was just about to say that she’d changed her mind and they could drive straight back when he started up the car.
‘It is a bit of a drive. But I think I have an idea what you mean,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ said Katriina, leaning back. It didn’t really matter where they drove. She just didn’t want to return to her lonely room. She realised that she missed Max, but it was too expensive to ring him, and besides, she had no idea what time it was in Finland.
They drove for ten minutes, maybe fifteen. First through the city’s wide streets with all the neon lights, then on the motorway, until finally the traffic thinned out, and they were driving along the coastline with a good view of the sea. The water was a gleaming deep blue and purple. The night got darker as they drove, and Katriina had no idea in what direction they were headed, but she decided to simply sit back and enjoy the drive.
After half an hour they reached an area that looked like one of the shantytowns they had previously driven past, although here she saw more signs of an infrastructure: a few shops open for the evening, people gathered on the street corners, music coming from car windows. A town. They kept driving, entering a neighbourhood with very narrow streets. Danilo didn’t say a word, and Katriina began to feel slightly uncomfortable. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, not this sort of complete isolation, this unfamiliar district in the middle of nowhere. She’d pictured a brief detour before returning to the building where she was staying. There were hardly even any streetlights here.
Danilo stopped the car and turned off the engine. Katriina didn’t say anything.
‘This is my neighbourhood, Mrs Paul. I grew up here. And I still live nearby. My sister has a restaurant here. If you like, we could go in and have a look. So you could see how the local people live.’
The restaurant didn’t resemble any place that Katriina had ever visited, but she felt as if she’d seen it in pictures, maybe in a travel brochure, or in a dream. It was small but packed with people of all ages: women in tight dresses, older men having a drink and young men who were already well on their way to becoming just like them. A waitress wound her way between the tables, and customers shouted their orders. The place smelled of beer, food, sweat and cigarettes. In one corner a small band was playing some kind of salsa music. People turned to look at Danilo and Katriina when they came in.
Danilo went over to the bar and shook hands with the bartender. They exchanged a few words, and he nodded in Katriina’s direction. After a moment he came back with two beers, telling her ‘this is on the house’. He seemed happier than when he was driving, more self-confident, at home in his own daily milieu.
They sat at a table for a while without saying anything. Danilo looked around the room before fixing his eyes on two big-busted women wearing neon-coloured tops. They were standing near the jukebox in a corner of the room, watching the band. Danilo noticed that Katriina saw what he was looking at, but that didn’t seem to faze him. Unperturbed, he continued to stare at the women.
‘So this is your sister’s place?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She is in the kitchen. Working. She might come out in a little while.’
They each drank a beer as they waited for the food Danilo had ordered.
‘Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters?’
‘Five.’
He leaned across the table so she could hear him above all the noise.
A woman who had to be Danilo’s sister came over and set plates of food in front of them. She looked like her brother and was about the same height, but twice as wide. She also had childish features but her face was round, which made her look older. She was probably Helen’s age, in her thirties, or maybe closer to forty. Katriina ate some of the chicken, which tasted strongly of garlic, and the soup that was flavoured with ginger. She was already very full. Danilo ate as if he hadn’t had a meal in a very long time. When he saw that she didn’t intend to finish her chicken, he ate that too. After he was done, he excused himself and went out to the kitchen.
Katriina looked around the room. No one seemed to be paying much attention to her. The young women over in the corner were dancing, and two men at the bar had turned their chairs around and were trying to get their attention. There was a hot and sweaty atmosphere, voices came from all directions in a rising and falling cacophony.
When Danilo finally emerged from the back room, Katriina could hear him yelling, his words terse and staccato, exactly the way he normally talked, but angrier. Without understanding what he said, she could tell that he was shouting insults at the kitchen. He slammed his fist on the bar as he walked past. Then he turned around and yelled something else.
‘I am going to drive you home now, Mrs Paul. Now you have seen a little of the real Manila,’ he said, sounding almost aggressive.
Katriina nodded, and they went back to the car. It had started to drizzle. As they drove away from the area, she realised she would have to make a real effort to stay awake on the way home.
They left the town behind, and the whole time Danilo kept his eyes fixed on the road, without saying a word. All Katriina wanted now was to get back to her room. She longed for the white sheets on her bed, wanting nothing more than to rest after the heavy meal and the loud music.
They were approaching the sea. Danilo was driving fast. Katriina didn’t dare lean forward to look at the speedometer, but she guessed they must be going over 120 kilometres per hour.
It was just as they came over a small hill, in a curve with poor visibility, that she felt the thud. Not enough to stop the car, but strong enough to make Danilo react. A few seconds later he stomped on the brake and slowed down until they came to a halt. He turned off the engine.
<
br /> A heavy silence settled over them.
‘What was that?’
Danilo didn’t answer as he opened the car door and looked back. The only thing Katriina could see in front of them was the small section of road illuminated by the car’s headlamps. On one side was the sea, on the other a darkness that could be a forest or a field; it was impossible to tell. Danilo didn’t speak as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed, then reluctantly started up again, and he backed up a few metres.
‘What do you think that was? An animal?’ asked Katriina.
‘I do not know, Mrs Paul. We hit something.’
He backed up further. Twenty, fifty metres, and then parked the car on the verge.
‘I am just going to see what it was. Will you wait here?’
Katriina was now feeling nervous. Wait in the car? She didn’t want to do that. She was in the middle of nowhere in a foreign metropolis, and she didn’t know a soul. It was dark and anybody might drive past.
‘I’d rather come with you. Is that all right?’
‘Okay,’ he said. She got out of the car and followed him through the beams of the headlamps, which lit up the rain.
Katriina thought about how she’d tell this story to Tuula once she got home. (‘And then we ended up in the middle of nowhere, and I mean really nowhere, and he could have been a rapist or a psychopath …’) But her thoughts were interrupted when she saw Danilo stop. He was looking down at the ground as he lit a cigarette.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
When she came up beside him, she saw what it was. They had run over a dog, medium-sized, with grey fur, or at least it looked grey in the dark. The body looked intact, but the snout had been crushed. The animal had been tossed into the air, and it was now lying on the other side of the road. Its tongue, ear and nose were covered in blood. A dead heap of flesh and fur.
‘What bad luck,’ said Katriina, and Danilo glanced up at her. ‘But it must have happened fast, don’t you think? I wonder if he belongs to anyone.’
