Game of Wit and Chance_Beginnings

by R. Scott Tyler

  Another sip of the amber liquid washed over Ciro's throat and Luis simply continued eating his meal.

  "What I need, my friend, is a Chinese contact whom I can trust with my market that has the business savvy to be a true partner in development. Ideally, someone who already has contacts and understands what doing business in China requires." One final sip drained his second bourbon. He contemplated ordering a third, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed with Luis Bautista was to get sloppy and either hand out more information than he intended or forget just what was said tonight and 'confuse' the situation later. He took a short sip from his water glass instead.

  "Is there a specific product you will focus on for this export / import business, Ciro?"

  "Not a single, specific product, Luis. Rather I'll focus on the agricultural, mineral and uncommon trade markets."

  That gave Luis all the information he needed. It was to be, as was so typical with these petty thieves and chieftains, an endeavor in some unmentionable black market which was probably doomed to failure with no plan or organization. However, he had a personal problem for which Ciro's situation might just relieve him.

  "I may have the perfect contact for you, Ciro. He's based in Shanghai and his name is Orlando. Orlando Bautista."

  Orlando spent his entire childhood in various parts of Asia outside of the Philippines as his father performed different services for the Philippine government wherever he was stationed. He was nearly fifteen before his parents realized he was fluent in Mandarin Chinese and Shanghainese. When Luis retired, Orlando insisted on staying behind in Shanghai. He had finished college, for whatever good a Chinese degree in marketing would do him, and was doing freelance jobs for various companies marketing to the Philippines. Although, what Orlando knew of the Philippines, other than its language, even Luis thought was a bit slim. He really was more Shanghainese, after all.

  The thought of getting Orlando involved in a true Philippine project, for however short an amount of time it might last, picked up the old State Department Director's mood. Not only would he be more self-sufficient…he'd been wiring home for money lately…but he may even be tempted to return to the islands in the future. That would make Mrs. Bautista very happy and anything that made Mrs. Bautista happy was bound to make his life easier.

  The two businessmen discussed some of the specifics that Luis wanted to know regarding how safe this enterprise might be for his son. Ultimately, the answer was that the mayor was at the front of it, which made it very important for him to provide his employees a degree of safety as well.

  They parted a little after 10:00 p.m. with Luis heading out to wave down a tricycle. Ciro shook his head and decided to walk a little way before hailing a cab. He was a little drunk and his stomach was complaining about the skewed percentage of alcohol to food he'd ingested. Putting his nose in the air he turned the next corner and spotted what was making his mouth water. It was a street vendor selling Isaw Manok. Ever since he was a child, this continued to be his favorite food. If ever there was comfort food for Ciro, it was grilled chicken intestines. Stepping up to the vendors cart he saw these were grilled to crispy perfection and glazed with a sweet and spicy sauce that made his already over-sized nose flare with anticipation.

  #

  Orlan stayed at the Grand Shanghai to finish hanging the remaining decorative ironwork and was quite pleased that the restaurant owner was on site this evening. When he was seated in the cramped space the owner called an office, but which looked more like a second storage room, he presented the final bill for his work.

  “I might need some time to finish my inspection of your work,” the restaurant owner said, without lifting his eyes from the bill.

  “You know very well that my work is all of the highest quality, since you’ve seen all except these last few pieces for some weeks now,” replied Orlan.

  “Still…”

  Orlan could see that the owner would have liked to carry the bill for a while. Even more likely, he figured he’d like to forget about it all together.

  “The mayor likes my work very much. He asked me to stop by his office.”

  That got the owner to look up.

  It was late when Orlan got to the Ramos’ residence, but Katie was waiting up for him. When he showed her the cash from his completed installation she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.

  Orlando 1982

  Orlando was the trusted contact that the Mayor needed in Shanghai. He was Filipino, so naturally he would choose the correct side. He also had political contacts through his father, as well as others built on youth and ambition.

  Orlando’s early Shanghai days engrained in him the usefulness of the block police. They were well positioned and deeply embedded in the neighborhoods, knowing everyone's needs and schedule and making it their own business. They were also generally underpaid, over-burdened with bureaucracy, party members and opinionated about capitalism. Armed only with Yuan, or better yet some foreign hard currency, one could acquire a lot of information from certain captains. The trick was, of course, to ferret out the ones amenable to dealing as well as those in possession of what was needed.

  Orlando pursued Julia with enough patience and determination that he soon was accompanying her back to her apartment on her late evenings… for her safety. It was not long before he met her block captain, Lian Cho. Whether Captain Cho was an individual with a capitalistic mind or a dedicated associate party member was wide open. Orlando would have to find out for himself if Captain Cho would be more likely to provide information to the communist party to enhance his standing or even get himself promoted, or if he would do anything from turning a blind eye to providing the appropriately funded contact in need of whatever it was one was selling.

  #

  One evening, Orlando showed up at the club with two old Chinese men in expensive business suits. Julia was in the middle of her set and in the middle of a song. That never seemed to stop him from making a big fuss as he was being seated by waving to her, blowing her kisses and worst of all, croaking out some part of the lyrics for whatever song she was singing at the moment. He had the worst singing voice she'd ever heard for someone that constantly sang to himself. If her voice was that bad and it was going through her head constantly she'd commit suicide. In spite of it all, a smile crept over her face and she gave a little wave back. He was a pudgy Filipino that treated her sweetly, reminded her of home and brought her nice presents.

  The two Chinese men sat somber faced through the remainder of her set and then politely clapped for five seconds when she was through. She waved to the audience and began to make her way off the stage and over to the table where Orlando and his guests were sitting. There was a good crowd tonight and she was wearing the red dress Orlando had bought for her. Red was very good luck in China and he had specifically requested she wear it tonight. It was shiny and tight, with hundreds of sequins individually attached by some elderly Chinese woman with eyesight that had long ago failed beyond six inches, Julia figured. There was something to the whole good luck thing though. Every night she wore it the tips poured in. She was considering having a new wardrobe made in nothing but the color red.

  When she got to his table Orlando stood up, as did the Chinese men, and gave her a kiss and a solid pat on the ass…he could be a bit possessive at times. He introduced the Chinese men by name…she had never taken Orlando for an intellect, but he was good with language and the only Filipino she knew that could get along almost entirely in Chinese…and each of the now smiling Chinese businessmen, in turn, shook her hand.

  "These guys have a jazz and opium joint in the Western district. It could be very lucrative for you if you were to sing there," Orlando said.

  "Opium. No Orlando. I told you before, bring me one of these rich businessmen that wants to produce a Filipina rising jazz star, not one that is going to land my ass in a Chinese jail." It wasn't the first time Orlando had proposed getting her gigs in opium clubs. Opium was a bi
g deal in China, used by a lot of people, and pretty popular in other parts of Southeast Asia as well. Both she and Orlando had mastered the art of arguing in Tagalog and saying no with big smiles on their faces. It worked pretty well to camouflage the feelings behind words that their guests did not understand anyway.

  Julia spent her break sipping the expensive, peach flavored champagne that the Chinese men bought her while smiling and laughing inanely at the jokes that passed between the three men. Orlando had translated the first couple and then gave up and just left her there as an ornament. Finally her piano player made his way back up onto the stage and started to play slurred little vignettes of what she would sing in the next set. With a wave of relief she swallowed a bit more champagne and began her attention getting walk back up to the stage. Most of the salon quieted down in her wake and watched as her hips shimmered their way to the stage.

  Steven's 1st Visit to Shanghai 1982

  As was nearly always the case, Captain Cho was on the street smoking a cigarette. He was smiling and waving when Julia and Steven's rickshaw arrived in front of the apartment. Helping her out of the low ceilinged cab, Captain Cho winked and smiled conspiratorially, looking in Steven's direction. His nicotine stained teeth were slightly too large for his mouth and subsequently made him look a little bit like some farm animal that should be patted on the head and given a sugar lump.

  Julia extricated herself from his helpful, but wandering, hands and made introductions.

  "Lian Cho, this is my kuya. My big brother." She inclined her head to her brother, who was getting out on the other side of the rickshaw cab.

  "Steve, this is Lian Cho. He is the block captain here." Steven noticed the goofy look disappear momentarily from the man's face and saw quick calculations being made.

  "It's very good to see you. Please let me know if I can be of any service to you during your stay, Sir Steven." Captain Cho let go of Julia's hand and came around the cab to tower over Steven. At least that's what it felt like to Steven, who was pretty average height in the Philippines. Captain Cho towered over him by almost a head.

  Doing the one thing that helped him forget his shortish stature, Steven stuck out a strongly muscled hand in a global greeting. While modern sailors didn't have to do any rowing, hard work abounded ship-board and he was always pulling a rope hand over hand to move, cover, uncover, tighten or stow something on the ocean going vessels. He liked to shake hands because he believed, like his mother, that you could tell a lot about a stranger from their handshake.

  Captain Cho was at first hesitant, but quickly the horse toothed yellow grin broke out again. He put the damp end of his smoking stick in his mouth and wrapped longish, yellowed fingers around Steven's outstretched hand.

  The grin became a bit more forced when Steven showed him the grip with which a young, hardworking sailor was equipped. Steven's hand came away just a little bit damp from Captain Cho's sweaty palm, and based on the smelly cigarette the block captain sucked on, he was sure it would smell of nicotine.

  While he learned a little from the handshake, it didn't seem to impress the gregarious party policeman much. With a wink Captain Cho asked, "Can I see your papers, Steven? Just a formality to humor an old police captain. I need to keep all those other families safe, as I do your silken throated sister, you see." Julia gave an imperceptible nod to go ahead and Steven smoothly pulled papers out of his left rear pocket and handed them over for Captain Cho’s review.

  The papers went without hesitation or review into a well-worn notebook which resided in Captain Cho's breast pocket. Bowing ever so slightly, he said, "You can pick these up from me anytime in the block office, Steven. Have a good visit."

  It was Steven's turn to give an imperceptible, negative shake of his head to Julia when he saw that she was going to argue the confiscation of his documents. She turned to Captain Cho, smiled and then walked into the building with Steven.

  #

  The building was older, but had been well built. It was originally designed and intended as a multi-family dwelling, so it was much less ornate than the homes confiscated during the cultural revolution.

  All along the exterior wall of the building there were small shops with capitalistic minded individuals trying to figure out how to sell something that the typical passersby might want. Steven noticed a dentist sandwiched between an herbalist and a woman selling scarves. He guessed that if the person with a toothache wasn't gutsy enough to risk the pliers and needle on display on the dentist's table, he or she could pick up some clove oil, or even a whole clove, sidestep the dentist, then pick up a scarf to tie the jaw together while the remedy worked its magic.

  He was happy to step inside the building because his jaw was starting to hurt just thinking about toothaches. Having had a toothache on a ship at sea, it brought back less than happy memories.

  Just inside the front door was a common area with people camping on floor, tables and whatever chairs there were. It was mid-afternoon so most of them were sleeping. Steven had to step over the legs of a couple of old guys fast asleep, their mouths open, drool puddling where it would. They both looked like they were repeat patients of the dentist right outside the door.

  Julia's apartment was on the first floor; one floor above ground level. Steven was quite impressed, really, that this young girl had somehow finagled an apartment on the ideal floor. It was above the ground level so the riff-raff weren't literally sleeping against her front door, but only one flight up. The building had ten stories above the ground level and was a walk-up. Tenants on the tenth had a little bit of a view and didn't have to worry about exercise, but he figured their apartments were furnished with the lightest furniture available.

  Her apartment was a tiny one bedroom with two east facing windows. "It's perfect because I'm almost never home in the evening anyway. This way I get to see the sun come up, and once in a while, I see the moon as well." Shanghai could have some pretty great sky colors whenever a body of light was near the horizon, what with all the pollution diffracting light every which way. There wasn't any air conditioning or heat, yet, but Julia said the building super had promised it to her when she moved in. Three months ago. "Anyway, like I said Kuya, I'm not here that much. It's fine."

  "I'm sure it's fine, little sister, at least it is your own and not fixed with a swinging door as was that place we lived in after…well, after she died."

  "You don't have to protect me from Mama's death, Kuya. It's been many years and I only see her face now in pictures." She stepped away from the open window into the tiny kitchen area and added water to the tea kettle. "If Daddy hadn't sung songs to her every day that I was with him, I might not even remember her name."

  Even after all of the years his mother had been gone, Julia still had the power to make him sad when she spoke of Sophia this way. He knew it was different for her. She wasn't even one when Sophia died a painful death. As the first born son, almost five years old, Steven would never forget the day his father told him that his mother had gone to meet her maker. Gilberto then brought him to see a little plaque on the ground at a local cemetery. "Okay, I'm sorry I brought it up. Make your kuya some tea, please. My throat is parched." He flipped off his shoes and sat down sideways, with his back against the wall, on the cushioned bench in Julia's tiny living room.

  While she began to heat water in the kettle for tea, Julia asked. “Kuya, why did you give your papers away?”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t,” Steven replied. “I long ago learned to only carry copies of my papers where they can be easily found.”

  “I don’t understand, Kuya,” Julia said.

  “Well, if anyone notices the copies and asks, I simply tell them that is all the ship’s Captain allows and I direct them to the dock if they want more,” Steven answered. “Of course I have all my papers with me and more copies back on the ship.”

  #

  Later, Julia began dinner. He had requested a traditional Filipino meal and Julia was happy to oblige him. Being the youn
gest, Gilberto was constantly babying her and that included in the kitchen. He loved to cook, but wasn't a very good teacher except when it came to Julia. Sometimes Steven wondered if their father didn't want to teach his children his recipes for fear they would not need him anymore. If your children need you to feed them delicious food, they will stick around forever, might have been his mantra. With Julia, Gilberto knew there was never a chance of her sticking around. She was too good a singer and someone would discover that one day and take her away. So Julia was taught to cook.

  “How long this time?” Julia asked as she prepared dinner.

  Steven replied. "It was three months, this time." He got up from the couch, stretched and wandered into the tiny kitchen.

  Julia open the fridge, removed the cap from a bottle of beer and shooed him out.

  He laughed, "I guess being on a ship for so long makes me unaware of personal space. I can usually stretch my arms and touch at least two people at all times. Your kitchen is spacious, in relation." He chuckled again, "Anyway, all I wanted to do was see what smelled so yummy."

  "You know what it is, Kuya, it's Pancit like Daddy makes." Julia told him.

  "Yes, the way the favored child is taught, huh?" They both chuckled at that because Julia knew her siblings were jealous of the attention their dad paid to her, and especially the time he spent with her in the kitchen.

  "Somehow my Pancit is never quite as good as his. I don't know if he had a special ingredient he never told me about?" Julia said. "It's probably the totally random way that he added spice and soy sauce that enhanced his flavors!"