by Tom Anthony
“You got it. We have a heavy bag to leave with Joel. Don’t want to haul it along to Manila; rather put it all in a bank vault.”
Thornton parked near the bank on Bangoy Street in front of an onion wholesaler; the sweet-sour smell of the merchant’s inventory was not unpleasant, and waited while the guard helped Elaiza into the bank, carrying a large, olive-drab canvas bag.
She was back in a half-hour. “Did you get it all counted and deposited?” Thornton asked.
“Not enough time to count it exactly, but we guess about two and a half million.
“Good enough. Starke hardly took any for himself, maybe a few thousand. Let Joel count it.”
“He will. He put the bag in the vault and locked himself in with it. He’s sure to be in there for quite a while. Over the next week, he’ll put it into seven different accounts for us, three here at Union Bank, and two for each of us in The Bank of the Philippines. Some accounts in my name and some in yours.”
“Perfect. When we get wherever we’re going, we can make transfers of less than ten grand at a time to stay under everybody’s radar screen for money laundering.”
“Which, by the way, Tomas, we are not doing. We are completely legal.” Elaiza did not want Thornton to get involved with anything sticky, not anymore, and not to get any wrong ideas about her after all this together. “I just wanted to remind you we have done nothing bad. And now we’ll be OK for a long time.”
“You’re right. I just want to avoid international electronic snoops. Anyway, I have a credit card with a big limit and first-class tickets waiting for us at the airport. We can go a long way. And maybe we can do some good things.” He surprised himself when he said it.
They dropped the jeep off at a Task Force Davao checkpoint at the entrance to the airport; Liu would get it back eventually. They were early for their unplanned flight.
In Manila, it was a short taxi ride to the Paco Park Hotel. “Your General Hargens only reserved one room for us,” Elaiza noted when they checked in.
“He has great sources of intelligence, part of his job spec,” Thornton teased, and took Elaiza by her arm, his casual touch calming her while they walked up the two flights of steps to the first floor of the hotel and circled around the pool to their room. The bellman looked suspiciously at the two guests who had no luggage.
Alone in the early evening with nothing planned, they took a long shower and then sat by the open window, warm city air drafting up as the first street lights came on, sharing a cool Australian white wine served from a carafe on the table. Elaiza even took a sip. Finally they had time to talk. He told her about a time the previous April when he had spent a long weekend in Manila visiting Colonel Liu, lasting into the May Day weekend. It was obvious the way he told the story that they had had fun catching up. Thornton called Liu his best student, and Liu made Thornton sing old German army songs with him at parties, songs sung badly, but with good pronunciation.
“Tomas, your involvement with Colonel Liu and his friends makes you too visible. Better stay off everyone’s radar screen,” Elaiza said.
“It’s OK. Develops contacts for my business.” Thornton thought it was no big deal.
“Hanging out with those old generals serves no purpose, other than to satisfy your ego.” How could she build a life with him? He would always put himself in danger of being kidnapped or eliminated. And where would that leave her? Lovingly, she told him specifically what she was worried about.
“But you work for the embassy. That makes you involved too,” Thornton rejoined, not following her logic.
“I did work for the embassy. I had a job I was proud of. With Hayes gone, who’s my boss now? I haven’t heard from anyone lately. Anyway,
I’m not involved with the ‘Generals of Manila’ as you pretend to be.” Elaiza was concerned that Thornton was about to get involved again in dangerous activities and drag her along with him. Their new life could be idyllic if he would just settle down. But that was not like him: he would need to do what he called the “right things.”
“I agreed with Hargens to locate the Turk. We did that,” Thornton said. “That was all. Now, no more need for the Schloss Code and such games. The Filipinos have the NPA in their sights. We have nothing more to report.”
“So you’re done.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, we’ve got the money and we’re not going to give it back, no matter what Hargens tells us tomorrow.”
“I wish none of this had happened, that no one had died, except maybe that Turk.” Elaiza had had enough of this line of conversation.
Intoxicated neither by booze nor drugs but only by soft music, memories, and the uncertainties of lives always too brief, Elaiza slid into bed and pulled a thin sheet over her head. Thornton left her alone for a while, then sat down beside her and massaged her feet to calm her. One thing led to another until mey were both asleep.
The next morning Thornton woke early and looked at Elaiza sleeping. Her bare body was clean, unmutilated by piercings or tattoos. Tennis and Tae Kwon Do had burned off any body fat she might have had, with only a bit visible as one feminine curve just below her abs under her tight brown skin, skin that was the same color and texture from head to toe, her only tan lines, not really tan but latte, visible where she wore wrist supports when she played tennis. She had showered the night before in herbal essences, and in the dampness of the warm morning breeze the scent of her hair was enhanced by her slight perspiration, mingled with a few lingering drops of Innocent Angel. Thornton hoped she would not wake for a while. “Give me a full body hug” were her first words when she looked up sleepily. They missed the hotel’s buffet breakfast.
On their way to the embassy, they walked single file with Elaiza leading the way. It was easier and faster in the city to move in a column formation of two, just as they had in the jungle. The sidewalks were constricted by beggars and peddlers intruding into the right of way, but the encroachers were less insistent with their sales pitches when Elaiza was leading. She could tell them, “No, thank you” in a courteous way, while Thornton would not always be so polite. It was still better to walk than to take a taxi. The streets were already noisy and hot, the traffic smoky and congested. They crossed Paco Park and continued all the way to the plaza in front of Manila City Hall. As there were no benches or cafes offering a place to sit in the open and empty square, they squatted Asian style on the periphery of the plaza and ordered fried bananas, served on bamboo sticks from a sidewalk snack stand, and talked.
After they had eaten, Thornton felt an uncommon uncertainty surge through his system. He had no answers to the questions Elaiza had raised again about their future, and that bothered him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a gracefully carved stone water fountain, and to give him time to contemplate, walked over to it to read the faded, weather-worn inscription: “The First Cavalry Division reached this point in March 1945.” The First Cav had been Thornton’s unit in Vietnam in 1967. Vietnam was long ago and forgotten, with no meaning to this generation in this country or maybe in any other country now, and the Second World War, which had rescued the Philippine Islands from the Japanese, was probably not remembered by the last two generations. At what point in history do past events cease to matter? He walked back to where Elaiza was still squatting and said to her, “You’re right. Many events we can’t control. God grant us the wisdom to accept them. Let’s walk on to the embassy. They should be open by now. We’ll figure it out. By the time we get there, they’ll be ready for us.”
At the American Embassy they were cleared quickly through security checks by the military police team at the gate to the political section and sat down side by side on an uncomfortable old wooden bench. It wasn’t long until a marine corporal opened the big glass door leading to a broad hallway and motioned them to follow him to General Hargens’ office.
The world had not changed much since the Philippine Army had put an end to the civil war in Mindanao, and that was good, but worthy lives had been lost or perma
nently changed. Countries like Venezuela, Russia, and France were having their own internal troubles, the war in the Philippines was seldom mentioned in these countries, and the Middle East hardly cared about a civil war in outpost Mindanao.
“Hello Thornton, Elaiza.” The general stood up and crossed the room to them. ‘Job well done. Congratulations.”
“What’s new, Luke?” Thornton returned the handshake. “We’ve been out of contact for a while.”
“They’re still counting, but it was a big battle. At least a thousand NPA killed at last report. The Filipinos lost only fifty-three. There will be more on both sides. The Philippine Army is exploiting their victory by moving into the villages of the NPA, and they’re not in the mood to take prisoners.” Hargens always made his reports military.
Liu knocked lightly on the door and entered. “Guten Tag, Herr Professor,” he said jokingly to Thornton. “Fraulein Otakan.”
“Oh, Herr General.” Thornton was surprised. Martin Galan had pinned a shiny new star on Liu’s collar at a quickly arranged ceremony in the Officer’s Club at Fort Bonifacio. “You got here quick.”
The new general had overheard Hargens. “Many more of our citizens would have died in the next years. Not only people killed in combat, but think how many millions still waste away their lives, no work, no hope, living with disease or dying at the subsistence level without the most basic medical treatment. Thank God we took out so many of the NPA right at the start with our artillery. That broke their back.”
“Yeah, you almost took us out too, with your lousy aim! Reggie, I mean, Brigadier General Liu,” Thornton admonished his friend, the newest one-star general in the world, “your country will have to wrestle with who is God, or whatever you call whoever it is that you worship, for a long time, and you’re not going to achieve enlightenment overnight. You just won a civil war. Now see if you can do your jobs and manage the peace.”
“By the way, sirs, it wasn’t that easy.” Elaiza recalled vividly how Mahir Hakki looked as he died. How Major Hayes looked just before he died. Juanito lying in the hut. Images she would never forget.
“We know it wasn’t easy, Miss Otakan. But you’ve done well and been noticed. I understand there is an embassy staff promotion in line for you.” Hargens surprised her with the secret.
“That’s news to me. What would I be doing?”
“Taking over tech ops, what Hayes did before,” Hargens confirmed. You’d be assigned back here.” It would be a big promotion for her.
General Hargens let Elaiza consider and looked at Thornton, “Tom, stay on with us. I’ll write up a long-term consultancy agreement. After all this, there will be some tidying up to do. I know you can write great reports that will keep Charlie Downs and DOS satisfied. And both of you would be assigned right here, working in Manila.”
It took only a second and brief eye contact between Elaiza and Thornton, who answered. “No, thanks, Luke. We’re going to L.A. We’ve done our time in Mindanao.”
On their way to the airport, Thornton and Elaiza stopped for an early dinner at La Tasca and were seated in a booth on the second floor. The classic old restaurant was almost empty as it was early for dinner in Manila, especially in a Spanish-style restaurant. The three-guitar band gave the two guests all their attention with Granada and other tourist standards until Thornton requested Sombras, Nada Mÿs, which the lead sang beautifully, then moved away after a good tip to continue with romantic songs in Spanish from across the room. Shadows, only shadows, nothing more, Sombras, Nada Mÿs, the words hurt and reminded him of other places. Thornton held Elaiza’s hand in his against her bare leg under the table. In the Spanish ambiance, they ordered paella for two with a bottle of reasonably good Rioja and listened quietly to a few more songs before they spoke.
“So, what do you think the final head count will be, Kapitan Tomas? Happy with the results of your little war?” Elaiza did not like to witness the death of any living thing. It was OK to kill in combat when the alternative is to be killed and the cause is just, but she was saddened by the deaths of so many of her countrymen, of whatever religious or political persuasion. She did not blame Thornton, but was glad it was over.
“This little war would have happened whatever I did. But I can do the right things, and we came out financially well off.” Sometimes she was hard to talk to.
“No more reports from us to the embassy?”
“It’s over.”
Elaiza frowned and looked around the room, “And you will stop such nonsense forever?” she asked.
“What’s next for us? What happens here? What happens next in the Philippines, after we leave?” Elaiza was thinking about the family she would be leaving behind, the aunts and uncles, cousins, and her old father living alone.
“Nothing has changed here, nothing ever will. A new generation of guerrillas will rise up to avenge their fathers. The Philippines will retire ten more old generals and promote a dozen new ones to take their places. Another generation of peasants will mature into poverty.” Thornton felt the inertia of the system, keeping everything in place.
“Why, why does it have to be that way?” Elaiza really wanted to know.
“I’ve been thinking, maybe it doesn’t. How about we make some good use out of the money. We’re already OK. Do you remember the mango tree and the old farmer, his handicapped wife?”
“Sure. It haunts me.” Elaiza was surprised he would bring up that particular image. “Why did you think of it now?”
“I have an idea,” he answered. “Let’s get the check.”
On the way to the airport, the idea in Thornton’s head kept him ruminating and the words that a West Point general, former President of the Philippines Fidel V. Ramos once told him, reverberated-”Caring, sharing, daring. Many have to work together to make a difference.” That vision would change everything for him and Elaiza—and for some others who would never expect it.
“Elaiza, let’s scratch the flight to Los Angeles. What do you say we fly to Cebu?”
“I’m always ready for the next place, whatever you have in mind. We can fly to L.A. anytime, and I’ve never been to Cebu. I hear it’s a beautiful island. Let’s go!”
“We won’t be there long,” he told her.
He was right. Once in Cebu, Elaiza bought two ferry tickets to the city of Butuan. Now back in Mindanao, she negotiated with a taxi driver to take them into the Agusan Valley and to the place they had left only two days before.
Tomorrow she would tell him.
40
Dreams
During the long taxi ride to Prosperidad, Thornton closed his eyes and dozed in and out of daydreams. He had visions of the old farmer back in Toril cutting down the tree. The taxi hit a bump, and Thornton woke to look out the window and saw only green jungle and the bumpy brown road; the mango tree was gone. That’s when it all came together. “Elaiza,” he looked for the right words, “let’s plant some trees.”
He thought she might still be sleeping, but she asked, “What are you talking about? Are you dreaming?”
“Maybe. I saw that old man cutting down his mango tree. It made me think, and yes, maybe dream. What if we used the cash we have to buy as much land as we can, and taught farmers how to use it best?”
“But what will we do?”
“We can live OK. What would you think about living right here?”
“I’d live with you anywhere, you know that, but now I think you’re nuts.” She continued. “How about getting an apartment in Singapore, or going back to Toril where we have a house already and all our stuff, maybe Southern California; I don’t care, heck, even Kestely, Hungary, would be fine. Anyplace, but why choose here? Here is easy for me, difficult for you.”
“Well, let’s just stay right here, in Agusan, and let’s buy that land along the Simulao River and plant mango trees. I might like a new challenge.”
“Aren’t you getting risky with our child’s future?”
Thornton was dumbfounded, and his jaw droppe
d.
Elaiza liked her surprise and smiled, but with an embryo starting to twitch inside her, she had to think about security, for her and for her child into a long future.
Thornton finally caught his breath. “We can do it, for him or for her. We care about others. We can dare and we can share. Remember what we’ve seen. Think about the people we’ve seen in these villages. The shoe shine man with his box, a simple woman dressed in jeans, white tee shirt and floppies, the girl walking to nursing school in her white dress, and countless other images, even your own uncles and aunts. What future will any of them have?
“We can still do anything we want,” he continued, “but so could a lot of others. The government tries to do projects, but bureaucracy or even corruption messes it up. What if we gave the land to the farmers?”
“You sound like a communist NPA. I thought we just beat them?”
“And we can beat them again, at their own game.”
“So how do you do all these wonderful things?”
“One seed at a time.”
“Then let’s find that farmer and start a mango plantation with him.” Elaiza’s eyes sparkled. “I can help. I like the feel of the earth in my hands, and you will be teaching our child. You’ve already planted that seed.”
Epilogue
The sun rose quickly and an already warm mist shrouded the workers in the field. It was best to get the heavy work done early. Pushing nicely rooted mango seedlings into loamy soil, Elaiza Thornton was getting dirt under her nails, and it felt good, and pure. She was warm inside, feeling the child growing strong in her womb, and smiled to herself. She looked up at her Kapitan Tomas, a few meters ahead of her, hoeing the warm earth to prepare it for the seedlings. He stood up from his work and shaded his eyes with one hand, squinted into the sun and looked upwards into the distance. She followed his gaze to where a large bird struggled to rise against the wind. Reaching altitude, Kabayan floated gracefully in mid-air for a moment, but this time, he did not fly alone. No longer the last Philippine eagle, Kabayan had found his mate. The two swooped downward together to gain speed, then rose and disappeared behind the far tree line.
