The Navidad Incident

by Natsuki Ikezawa

  The bus stops in the middle of the plaza. The door opens and out steps the Foreign Office staffer, followed by the Japanese Ministry of Welfare liaison, then the Japanese veterans one by one. The applause stops, though the many watchful eyes continue to bathe the old boys in goodwill. They’re still wearing the same dark woolen suits, so totally wrong for the local climate, identical black leather shoulder bags, and even more out-of-place white hats marked with a single red stripe; but what impresses everyone most is how healthy they all look. Their cheeks have color, their posture is good, there’s a spring in their step. Why, they’re even a little tanned. Those in the crowd who were at the airport for the delegation’s arrival will later remark how surprisingly rejuvenated the old codgers now seem.

  Another thing the Baltasár citizens can’t fail to notice are the somehow knowing expressions on the old soldiers’ faces as they file off the bus. Not without reason: the bus may have chosen its own wayward course, but they were only too glad to go along for the extended joyride. There’s a conspiratorial gleam in their eyes.

  The veterans line up before the makeshift stage. Compared to when they’d just arrived and stood at attention at the airport, their present formation is slightly more relaxed and casual, less imperial military and more Third World, as if the tropics have seeped under their skin. Mr. Ministry of Welfare is also visibly invigorated. The young Home Office staffer, looking relaxed like someone just getting off work, breaks away from the group and ambles around behind the Fife and Drum Corps to greet a colleague in the crowd, then rejoins the others onstage. Now, as if to start his shift, out of the ranks steps Executive Secretary Jim Jameson, who promptly mounts the stage. Everyone goes quiet.

  “President Guili is occupied and couldn’t be here today, so I’ve come in his place,” he begins in English, which the Ministry of Welfare man translates into Japanese for the benefit of the veterans. “I’m not much good at speeches, but I’d like to welcome back the delegation and say how glad we Navidadians are to see everybody looking so well and happy.”

  The old soldiers are moved to hear this. Some stare up at the sky transfixed; others pull handkerchiefs out of their suit pockets and unabashedly mop their faces. They give the impression of having just returned from some grand adventure.

  “When I heard that the bus had disappeared, I was quite honestly worried. But as there’s not a soul in this country who could mean you any harm, we felt sure you were still alive and well somewhere. Every day, we heard different reports from people who’d sighted you, so we knew you’d be back in due course.”

  Although unpracticed at public speaking, his words do seem to touch these sentimental old men.

  “You’ve had a rather special experience on these islands, which I hope will encourage you to help cement relations between our two countries.”

  With that, Jim Jameson steps down. Unlike the time at the airport, however, the usually adroit Mr. Ministry of Welfare shows none of his career polish and actually seems to be at a loss for a follow-up. The short notice and the President’s absence have also left the local bureaucrats in the lurch. Who’s running this impromptu homecoming ceremony anyway? The Japanese vets go into a huddle, then one of them finally steps onto the stage to speak. Everyone is relieved it’s not the long-winded infantry captain who caused so many heatstrokes last time.

  “Hello,” says the speaker. “Putting aside the purpose that originally brought us here, we’d just like to thank the people of Navidad for giving us such a warm welcome and showing us such a good time during our extended visit. I imagine we’ll have a chance sometime to tell you all about what we saw and did these many days, but for now I’d simply like to say that, looking back on it all, these have truly been the happiest, most enjoyable days of my life.”

  Behind him the veterans all nod in agreement. His words speak for the entire delegation.

  “The truth is, we’ve all had second thoughts about what we did on these islands so long ago and about coming back here decades after the war. All our old convictions have been shaken, and after lots of time for reflection on this trip, we’ve had a profound change of heart. It’s a long story, and we’ve plenty to tell the folks back home. But for the moment, let me just say how nice it feels to be in tip-top shape again. On behalf of our entire delegation, I’d like to finish with a simple word of thanks to the people of Navidad and to His Excellency President Matías Guili, who is absent today but was kind enough to meet us on our arrival, for giving us this chance to change our thinking.”

  The whole plaza resounds with applause. The crowd’s reaction to the mention of Matías Guili is measured, but the veterans don’t seem to notice. Again, Jim Jameson mounts the makeshift stage.

  “Well, then, this concludes our little ceremony to mark your safe return. Please have a good night’s rest in a comfortable hotel after spending so long on the road. Your flight to Japan is scheduled for noon tomorrow, though we hope you’ll come back and visit this country again before too long.”

  Another round of loud clapping.

  “And will you, uh, be taking the bus back to the hotel?”

  The veterans all shake their heads; they’ve had more than enough bus riding for now, thank you. Or maybe they’re afraid of going missing again.

  Slowly, the Ministry of Welfare man leads them off on foot toward the Navidad Teikoku Hotel, as finally, on baton cue from the stocky boy conductor, the patient Fife and Drum Corps raise their instruments and strike up, not the Navidadian national anthem nor an unrecognizable Kimi ga Yo, but that old standard When the Saints Go Marching In, an island favorite. The rejuvenated veterans pick up their step to the bouncy two-beat melody and wend their way through the crowd.

  Matías does not emerge from his private quarters. He sees no one and does nothing. Official duties he’s relinquished to Jim Jameson. The executive secretary can surely handle all the outward trappings of the office, and whatever else behind the scenes he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Enough is enough, the game is over anyway. Whether everything simply evaporates or somebody somewhere takes a beating because of it, what does he care? Should anyone come raging up to the villa demanding to see him, Jim Jameson can turn them away. The man’s a rock.

  He hardly eats. He leaves most of his morning sashimi on his plate, skips lunch, and only has instant noodles for dinner. He must look a fright, but doesn’t look in the mirror, so who knows? At night, he sleeps. Not his abnormally deep dreamless sleep, but the ordinary human variety. He dreams more than seems decently possible, sometimes seeing long-lost faces from his past. Waking is hard, although if he knows he’s dreaming he can’t be sleeping very soundly. Compared to his former narcoleptic states, he’s only floating on the surface, his body scarcely half submerged in the waters of unconsciousness. He doesn’t blank out anymore; he knows exactly who he is when he wakes and doesn’t need notes or portraits to revive his sense of self. He’s become a normal human being.

  Itsuko looks after him like before. He’s told her to go easy on the meal servings, and after seeing how little he actually eats now, by the third morning after his appetite died on him, she’s reduced the portions drastically. She doesn’t mother him with unwanted urgings to eat to keep up his strength. If he tells her all he wants in the evening is a Cup Noodle, that’s all she brings. On her side, Itsuko merely observes this shut-in Matías who seldom even bothers to look out the window.

  He knows that witnesses must have come forward with hard evidence for the Melchor Council of Elders to reach such a harsh decision. He’s even guessed it was Ketch and Joel and the written contract that incriminated him. With Améliana the agent on a mission—she and her seven slippery siblings, if they even existed. Yes, but how the hell did she lure Ketch and Joel away from Angelina’s? How did she get hold of that agreement? Did Itsuko lend her a hand? No islander would ever think to look under a tatami mat, that’s for sure. Then there’s the question of
why Angelina would let those two leave. And why Améliana was so intent on bringing him down. Who is she? Who’s behind her? None of Tamang’s feckless lot could have put her up to this.

  Do these questions cloaked in doubt and vague supposition even mean anything? Whether Itsuko was involved or not doesn’t alter the reality of his situation. Maybe she’s got a grudge he doesn’t know about, but she still prepares his meals, punctual as ever, lays out clean underwear for him every morning, tidies the futon. Shut in or not, he can still lead a normal existence thanks to her. Can’t ask for more than that. Even if she did help Améliana, he doesn’t see her hightailing it back to Japan. Or even leaving the villa, for that matter.

  How’s Angelina doing through all this, he can’t help wondering. Now and again, for minutes at a time, he misses the sound of her voice, the way she talks, her voluptuous body, her amazing woman’s intuition and wisdom within certain bounds, the sum total of her attractions. Yes, but he still doesn’t want to go see her or even leave the villa. What could he possibly say to her? And what would knowing the reason why Ketch and Joel left her premises do for him? What was there left to talk about? The days ahead are steeped in silence.

  What was Améliana up to now? That day when she suddenly appeared and announced the Elders’ verdict, she didn’t say another word; she just walked right out of the office. So where was Améliana now? Did she and her gang of seven go back to Melchor? She didn’t even mention quitting her job, iffy as it was. She might not have had a contract, but technically she was still employed.

  More and more, he feels like he’s hanging in thin air.

  Late at night in his private quarters, Matías tires of staring at the same old walls and lights a candle, then stares at the flame and waits for Lee Bo to come. Unless he performs this little ritual, the Palauan prince who died two centuries before in England will not appear. Like all ghosts, Lee Bo knows the dead should not interfere much in the affairs of the living. Their role is simply to look on, to enjoy the petty ripples that engulf the living, a pleasure not unlike watching a movie or reading a novel. Occasionally one of them might reveal himself to a favored character and talk about this and that, but he mustn’t spoil the drama or discuss those parts of the pageant that the living cannot see. Never commenting on tomorrow’s share prices nor on winning horses (not that Navidad has either a stock market or a race track), what counsel they might give is always from a step or two back. No, they come only when called, often not showing their faces even then. Whether the ghost is elsewhere or simply otherwise occupied, there’s just no telling.

  Matías hasn’t seen Lee Bo since the fateful day Améliana strode into his office and delivered the Elders’ pronouncement. He’s had to work up to it; he didn’t want to risk even more confusion. Matías is never quite sure what to make of the ghost and his passing comments; a trusted confidant, but such a reluctant augur of things. No spiritual adviser, he’s more like a much older friend—Lee Bo was born in the 1760s, Matías in 1928—one who has made his fortune and long since retired.

  Still, with all the pain and uncertainty that has befallen him, Matías has regrets and anxieties he needs to get off his chest. Some moments he’s on the verge of erupting in anger, at others he yearns for a strong shoulder to lean on. Never given a proper opportunity to exonerate himself—that’s what’s so unfair. Though the more he considers it, what possible defense could he have offered? The Council of Elders didn’t even deem his testimony worth hearing. Maybe rightly so. Who is he to doubt the wisdom of the Elders?

  He’s had too much to think about, thought all he can and then some. Now he’s calmed down enough to want to hear what the ghost has to say. The time has come.

  A youthful face wavers within the candle flame, and by the time Matías looks up Lee Bo is sitting across from him the same as ever: poised, contented and all-knowing, though in no hurry to speak. Still, the fact that the spirit chooses to appear at all must mean he still feels favorably toward Matías. Or is it just mutual curiosity, a performer-and-viewer thing? Whatever the case, Matías is always grateful for Lee Bo’s visits, regarding his mere presence as a stroke of good fortune.

  “Rough seas you’ve been sailing,” observes Lee Bo.

  “You can say that again. Unfortunately I’m the one who made a mess of things, but still it all came down so suddenly.”

  “Améliana cut your rigging, did she?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it. Suddenly she was just here and the whole room was full of those damn butterflies. She was even holding a bunch of bua flowers.”

  “Aye, frangipani.”

  “Nice to look at in a garden. Lovely smell. But in the hand of a caller, the flower of rejection,” says Matías almost under his breath, as if searching for the words from a distance. “I tell you, the instant I saw them, something in me died. Seeing her come with those flowers that morning was the worst thing I could’ve imagined. She wasn’t just plain mad at me for what I did after the Yuuka Yuumai. No, that pose, that expression on her face, I knew she was acting on behalf of something bigger, either the Yoi’i Yuuka or the Council of Elders.”

  “Twin straits,” intones Lee Bo.

  “Well, it wasn’t the Yoi’i Yuuka. Wasn’t any spiritual transgression, but a secular crime. Améliana merely held out that bunch of flowers and repeated, ‘We withdraw all respect for you.’ My heart just stopped, the blood drained out of me. For some time I’d had a feeling something was up, but I had no idea it could be this bad. I sank in my chair, couldn’t even move. I thought I was going to pass out. How could the Elders do that to me?”

  “Ah, the living can scarce see e’en one pace ahead,” sighs the apparition.

  “And you dead can?” snaps Matías, almost by reflex, then realizes the absurdity of his outburst. “No, we living can’t see a thing.”

  The two of them fall silent, as if waiting for something to say. There are moments no words can bridge.

  “It all started with that torii gate,” mutters Matías.

  “And the bulletins posted about. Followed in due course by the motor carriage vanishing. Then your meeting a young woman at Angelina’s.”

  “Were they all part of one scheme?”

  “One scheme? The world is not so discrete as you might believe. Shew me an individual! The living, the dead, the thoughts and desires and longings of so many, layer upon layer, o’er time they all act as one.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Oh no? If ’twere not so, how should the Yuuka Yuumai draw in so many people? You yourself made full use of the principle—how else could you have fared so far as a politician in this land? And fared quite well, did you not?”

  “You think so? The people were just them, the people, to me. I alone was an individual with free will—or so I thought.. Though maybe I was nothing more than the forces I tied together. I can’t hold it against Améliana for what she did. She was bound up with other forces themselves.”

  “One cannot hide things from gods and ancestors.”

  “So there’s no place for me to run?”

  “In the ultimate sense, no. There is, tho, the path of not running.”

  “But not still as president.”

  It’s the first time Matías has spoken out loud in days. He’s needed Lee Bo here to bring himself to speak. He’s the sole friend Matías can really trust.

  “No way can I lose the Elders’ respect and people’s support and still act as president. Everybody would just laugh at the sight of me. Island Security’s gone and disbanded, old ladies have beaten up Katsumata. Suzuki’s gone straight back to Japan with his Brun Reef Oil Depot plan. No government clerk will give me the time of day. They’ve even torn down all my official portraits all over the country and burned them. Why, there’s not a single petitioner out in front of the villa.”

  “All this you know?” asks Lee Bo.
>
  “Well, partly educated guesswork. I haven’t lost my powers of deduction.”

  Another silence. Both of them stare at the candle on the table.

  “Where did I go wrong? At what point did I fail? With which decision?”

  “All questions arising from your own personal perspective. Seen from Navidad as a whole, you were merely the helmsman of the hour, whether it was you needed Navidad or Navidad you. Precious little does it matter now, such stuff is politics.”

  “I shouldn’t have had Tamang offed, is that it? No man should dispose of his political enemies? Was I supposed to just sit by quietly and watch that idiot play havoc with everything I made? Just let him confiscate all the funds I raised? It wasn’t just the money, dammit. After all that effort to squeeze investors in Japan and who-knows-where, to just go and shit on so many possibilities, it was criminal!”

  “You call him—”

  “That’s right, a criminal. Tamang was on a rampage. I even went and met with him before it was too late. Oh, I tried to explain—why I was taking a percentage off the top of every ODA package, how I’d put those funds to use over the next twenty years—but did he listen? The fool had no notion of politics today, not a clue about economics. A country this size, government’s just a fancy decoration. He couldn’t get something so obvious through that thick skull of his: money calls the shots in industrialized countries, bureaucrats in socialist countries, and the army in developing countries. Good thing Navidad’s so small we can only choose one of these. It’s all we can do just to have our day in the shade of someone else’s big umbrella and not find ourselves underfoot. Getting by while getting out of the way, pandering to pretexts of world peace, creating channels for their money to flow this way—it all takes capital. But try to tell him, the idiot wouldn’t hear a word of it. He probably thought I was stashing away millions to retire in luxury. Hey, if I wanted a harem of a hundred young Filipinas, I could have that right now. I tell you, the man had zero political imagination. Couldn’t see what was going on around him, in this country, in this part of the Pacific, how the world was going to look in the next few years. No idea. Never should have become president. No, dying was the only choice for him.”