BUS REPORT 11
That July, Navidadians were startled by the appearance of a new cluster of stars in the night sky to the south. Roughly rectangular in shape, this grouping of one second-magnitude star with five third-magnitude stars was noticed because of its situation in a darker part of the sky where elderly islanders could not recall having seen any light before. The stars were much discussed among the populace at large, and the Navidad Science Council received letters inquiring what these stars might be. Were they new American satellites, for example? The Science Council, comprised entirely of high school science teachers and Ministry of Education officials, was stumped and embarrassed. Astronomy as they knew it had no ready explanation for the sudden appearance of new stars. One council member suggested they might be supernovas, but the odds of multiple supernovas occurring in close proximity seemed extremely slim.
The Science Council thought to forgo pronouncements pending further communications from abroad, but such a refusal to deal with local issues and inquiries ran counter to its very raison d’être. Thus, rather than offer a scientific explanation, it was decided they would try to preserve some semblance of authority by naming the constellation ad hoc. However, before they could convene their two-thirds quorum, the very day after the stars were first sighted in fact, locals coined a nickname, which rapidly gained nationwide acceptance. This meant, in most people’s view, that the name seemed to fit. Officials had little choice but to adopt the popular name, but then proceeded to act as if they’d invented it themselves. They held an “unveiling” of the new appellation—their first and last press conference ever—and the headline in the following morning’s Navidad Daily read:
NAVIDAD SCIENCE COUNCIL OFFICIALLY PROCLAIMS
NEW CONSTELLATION “AUTOBUS MAJOR”
Whatever nomenclature might later gain currency among the international scientific community, the Science Council opted to let the “bus” name ride in Navidad for the time being. Not that there was any law against something so controversial going unnamed. Yet despite their conviction that this was big news, not one report on the new constellation filtered in from overseas. The Central Bureau for Astronomical Telegrams (CBAT) of the International Astronomical Union (IAU) was silent on the subject; the major news agencies and wire services issued no press releases. The few operative parabolic antennae in Navidad positioned to pick up electromagnetic spillover from Filipino, Taiwanese, and Japanese satellite broadcasts gleaned nothing about any new constellation.
Four days after the appearance of the new stars, the Science Council started to have doubts. If what should have been the biggest topic in astronomical history since the Star of Bethlehem guided the Three Magi to the infant Christ attracted no attention whatsoever, then, just possibly, these stars were only visible from Navidad (the council member who made this suggestion was also, of course, alluding to the three “island kings” Gaspar, Baltasár, and Melchor that comprise the Republic of Navidad). Were they even stars? The council debated the question back and forth, and finally resolved to take a closer look at the phenomenon. They would conduct observations using the twenty-inch reflective telescope donated by a Japanese corporation to Baltasár High School. A prudent decision, if a little late.
The fifth night clouded over, much to everyone’s chagrin, but on the sixth, a clear sky brought even greater disappointment: for where the five stars had shone two nights before was now only darkness—Autobus Major had vanished! Just gone, after all that commotion—and such lovely stars they’d been too! Was it just some freak light display, people wondered, put on for Navidad’s viewing alone? A prank pulled by that other wayward bus, showing off, swerving across the night sky with its high beams on?
The Science Council was in a spot. The stars had not been visible from any other country. What they’d taken for astral lumina from thousands of light years away had in fact only been a few kilometers in altitude. It was too bad they hadn’t been quicker with the high school telescope or hadn’t had a spectroscope to analyze whether those were true stars or man-made light sources or some other heretofore-unknown heavenly bodies.
Just then, word came from Melchor Island three hundred kilometers away that the same phenomenon had been sighted in exactly the same position at precisely the same time as in the capital. Effectively, there was no parallax. Would the mystery ever be resolved? A more immediate problem, however, was that they had gone and officially announced the finding of a new constellation. What to do? Someone suggested they simply pretend the whole affair had never happened. But no, they couldn’t do that in good conscience. Thus, several days later, a single-line retraction appeared in the back pages of the Navidad Daily:
As of today, the Science Council officially denies the existence of the constellation Autobus Major.
“Looking for something?” Itsuko asks incriminatingly.
She’s been caught in the act.
“It’s not in that cushion. Better not cut it open or you’ll get stuffing all over everything. Nothing inside but kapok anyway.”
Améliana accepts the advice without protest and slides the blade back into its sheath, but can’t think what to do next. Will this woman squeal on her to President Guili? And how will Guili deal with her?
“Stay right where you are,” says Itsuko, then leaves the room. She’s probably gone to call someone. Will she alert Island Security? Tell them she found her snooping around late at night in the inner chambers where she doesn’t belong, with a knife in her hand? There’s no possible defense.
But then Itsuko quickly returns from the next room, looking resourceful. She’s fetched something shiny, sharp, and menacing. It’s an awl, the one the President uses to punch papers for binding with string instead of stapling—an old Japanese filing system that Guili’s partial to. Just what does Itsuko think she’s going to do with that thing? Duel against her package knife?
“Don’t cut the cushion, okay?” repeats Itsuko, then walks toward the President’s portrait and kneels down beside a thick grass mat in front of the scroll. She thrusts the awl diagonally into the dark fabric edging of the mat; it goes in easily, all the way up to the handle. Now she heaves and the mat lifts. So it wasn’t attached to the floor, only set in place like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
“Don’t just stand there looking. Lend me a hand,” says Itsuko.
Améliana helps grab the raised edge of the mat, then slips her fingers underneath. She can see rough floorboards below. Itsuko now tosses the awl aside and joins Améliana in levering up the mat to face level, and there on the subflooring is a plain brown envelope the size of a magazine. The grass mat is bulky, but not too heavy; Améliana can manage it single-handedly while Itsuko reaches for the envelope.
“I believe this is what you’re looking for,” says Itsuko, handing it over, then grabs the mat. Quickly, Améliana accepts the envelope and Itsuko lowers the mat, tamping it back in place with her foot. Not a trace remains of their exploits except for the envelope in hand.
“You take it,” says Itsuko. “It was time for somebody to come along, so when you showed up, I knew it had to be you. I told myself, this is the girl who’ll change everything. That’s why I helped you.”
Améliana just listens. She had no idea this dour old woman could see so much.
“It’s time for a change. I could see it coming,” repeats Itsuko in a low voice. “The man’s been sitting on top for too long. But he slipped up, lost his nerve when he shouldn’t have. He’d come so far without any big mistakes, then he went wrong. What he did after the last election was unforgivable. Doesn’t matter how incompetent his successor might’ve been, he should have let him have his turn. But no, he couldn’t do that. Oh, it’s been quite a show while it lasted, I’ll grant you that, but now it’s over.”
Améliana eyes the envelope. Should she open it here and now?
“Go on, take a look. Wouldn’t want you thinking I’d give you
a forgery. Better you make sure and be on your way.”
There’s no telling when the President might return, but Itsuko seems unconcerned; it’s almost as if she’s certain he’ll be at Angelina’s until morning, even though he’s never once done that before. What makes tonight so different?
Améliana kneels down on the firm grass mat and opens the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper written in English, though she already knows what it’s all about:
AGREEMENT
Matías Guili (hereinafter referred to as “Party A”), and Paul Ketch in partnership with Peter Joel (hereinafter referred to as “Parties B”), do by their respective signatures on this document enter into a solemn and binding Agreement as set forth in the following terms and conditions:
1.Party A hereby engages the services of Parties B to dispose of the current President of the Republic of Navidad, Bonhomme Tamang.
2.Party A leaves the choice of ways and means of dispatch entirely to the discretion of Parties B, and promises to have no further word to say on the actual execution thereof, with the provision that Parties B shall make every effort to make the said demise appear to have occurred owing to natural causes so as not to arouse suspicion among the public at large.
3.Only once the above conditions are met, i.e. when Bonhomme Tamang has been safely disposed of without arousing any suspicions of foul play, shall Parties B be deemed to have fulfilled their duties as per this Agreement.
4.In return for the successful completion of those duties, Party A guarantees the following compensation:
a.Parties B shall be allowed to stay at the premises run by Angelina Lasan Carmena and there provided with room and board (not to include sexual services) for as long as they so desire.
b.During their stay, Angelina Lasan Carmena shall provide Parties B with as much beer and twelve-year-old I.W. Harper bourbon whiskey (not to exceed an average 32 ounces between both persons per day) for as long as they so desire.
5.For the duration that the above conditions are in effect, Parties B shall not take leave or otherwise vacate Angelina Lasan Carmena’s premises without the prior knowledge and permission of Party A.
6.Similarly, for the duration that the above conditions are in effect, neither the contracted Parties A and B nor Angelina Lasan Carmena shall intentionally reveal the general or specific contents of this Agreement to any outside interests.
We, the undersigned, do hereby undertake this Agreement in good faith.
Along with the date are three signatures: one easily recognized as that of the President of the Republic of Navidad, Matías Guili, followed by two scrawls decipherable only to someone who knows the names Paul Ketch and Peter Joel. There is no indication of Ketch and Joel’s nationality or any other particulars. Can an amateurish document like this be legally binding? Can Angelina, implicated by name but not her own hand, be held in any way responsible? No matter, that’s not an issue at present. The main thing is that Améliana has what she was looking for; now she can take action.
“Thank you,” says Améliana.
“It’s not my doing and it’s not yours. Just things taking their course. I’ve lived a long time. First in my country, then in this one, I’ve had decades to observe the man from far away and close up. It’s taken me years, but I think I finally get how things are with him. I may be standing on the bank of the river, but you’re sailing down the middle. I hand this over, you take it and sail on. Natural enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” is all Améliana can say. She’d have liked to ask Matías his views on the subject, but there’s no time now. There will be another place for that, another time.
“You go now,” prompts Itsuko.
Améliana gets up, bows hurriedly, then leaves. Watching her swift exit, Itsuko mutters gleefully to herself, “Princess flees castle with secret missive in hand. House ransacked and plot uncovered. Ever-vigilant lady-in-waiting sees off princess … If only it were snowing outside, this could be a real kabuki play.”
BUS REPORT 12
That year, the village of Placia, a thirty-minute walk from Colonia, was plagued by a curious disease. Those afflicted would wander through the village, each via some fixed arbitrary path; some, known as “express” cases, moved at a faster clip than the others and went straight from one end of the village to the other without stopping; still others went back and forth to Colonia once a day. Obviously contagious, though no pathogen was ever isolated, the disease gave those afflicted a somehow “squared-off,” “boxlike” appearance with bright, gleaming eyes; hence the malady came to be known (reasonably enough) as “busitis.” Aside from running around and not working, however, there seemed to be no other noticeable symptoms or harmful side effects. And since most families typically had one or two slackers who never worked anyway, people may have talked, but no one took it very seriously. Moreover, the epidemic was very brief; according to the regional health authorities, the worst of it died down after only three weeks, and ten days later the last remaining case had completely recovered with no visible aftereffects.
Nonetheless, other reports claimed that even years later, certain of those afflicted still developed bright “headlight” eyes after dark. Likewise, rumor had it that several mothers who became pregnant during the epidemic gave birth to babies with ever-so-slightly “angular,” “blockish” features. Husbands in Placia are not normally known to be jealous, so the children were accepted and raised with love, though inevitably some of the womenfolk continued to whisper about that “sexy bus.”
Eleven AM. Angelina wakes for the second time. Ordinarily she drags herself to bed around four and sleeps until after eleven, but last night wasn’t an ordinary night. Nice though it was to share her bed with Matías for two nights running, after plying him with champagne and hashish he fell fast asleep. It’s not unusual for him to forego sex, but to simply conk out? Certainly, he’s never slept through the whole night here before.
She felt a little uneasy leaving Matías alone like that, but once he dozed off she went downstairs to the salon. What a strange night it was. The young islanders who had arrived in twos and threes suddenly all found themselves partying together. Soon the girls were joining in the fun. The Americans and Filipinos had already withdrawn to private rooms with their chosen companions, but the remaining seven locals showed no sign of leaving. Even Ketch and Joel, who never mingled with the clientele, were drinking and chatting with everyone. At one point, Joel got up and started dancing. Others took partners and joined in. The place was hopping. Angelina sat watching from the sidelines until, satisfied that everything was happily under control, she returned upstairs to find Matías still asleep. He looked positively serene—a face she’d never seen on him before. She lay down beside him, not to sleep, but just to curl up for the rest of the evening.
Then, in the early morning hours, she hears Matías groaning in his sleep. He’s sweating and batting at his head with one hand; he must be having a nightmare, seems to be in pain. Angelina tries to rouse him, but he just keeps struggling. She shakes him harder. It’s like hauling up a drowned man from the bottom of the sea. Finally he wakes, looks around, disoriented, then sees her and is visibly relieved.
“What a weird dream,” he says. Though blurry-eyed, his voice is returning to normal.
“What kind of dream?” she asks.
“I was in a boat on a stormy sea, rocking this way and that, waves rolling over me … The ocean was so big, the winds so strong, the boat … ”
“It’s okay, you’re fine. No ocean here.”
“…like that boat, the sacred barge from the Yuuka Yuumai.”
“From the festival?”
“Hey, what time is it now?” he asks, suddenly wide awake.
“Five thirty. Want to sleep some more?”
“Did I sleep that long? Incredible. What’s going on?”
“It’s a firs
t, all right,” agrees Angelina, noting the hint of anxiety in his voice.
“I’m going. Got things to do in the morning,” he says, and bolts out of bed.
Angelina also rises and helps him get dressed, then sees him to his limo parked in the deserted back lane. The cool night air is refreshing. Heinrich is asleep in the driver’s seat. Matías gets in without a word and wakes his startled chauffeur, who promptly drives him home.
On the way back to the bedroom, Angelina pauses halfway along the corridor and peeks through the curtain into the salon. The young customers have all fallen asleep in their chairs, each with his arm around a girl sleeping by his side. None of them took private rooms, but still she finds this frieze—fully clothed fawns with nymphs en déshabillé—rather touching, really. It’s as if the whole lot of them had been sprinkled with fairy dust. Ketch and Joel are nowhere in sight; they must have gone to bed.
Angelina closes the curtain and returns to the boudoir she shares with Matías. She could use a little more sleep herself. Just a few minutes, she thinks, and has barely lain down when whatever fairy strafed the salon sprinkles her with the last of the magic dust, and she’s out like a light.
The next time she wakes up, it’s almost eleven. She’s been sleeping in the “Matías boudoir,” not her own bedroom? Lying there, she remembers the previous evening and all the odd things that happened. Matías conking out like that, so many local customers all at once—not that she can distinguish the various island facial types and mannerisms. The girls forgot all about business they were having such a good time. Must be more fun when the johns are their own age. And so much booze too. Did those island boys make it home? She just hopes somebody stayed sober enough to collect on the bills. Come to think of it, isn’t it odd that she went to sleep so early herself? Usually she stays up to the very end.
The Navidad Incident Page 29
