by John Muir
CHAPTER 14
FIRST DAY BACK
APUAO GRANDE ISLAND, SAN MIGUEL BAY, CAMARINES NORTE.
The banca continued south-east. On its right was Canimo Island. They were less than fifteen minutes from Apuao Grande.
T.A. thought about why he chosen to come back to the same place. It was his third visit, though it would be only the second visit with Malou. After the second visit his relationship with Malou was severely strained. It was not because of any third party involvement that he was aware of anyway. He just never seemed to quite get the intimacy or communication that he wanted or expected out of a relationship. Malou seemed more distant and aloof at the end than at the start, only speaking to him when he asked a direct question. Even then she irritated him with her habit of not directly answering questions. Or she would answer with a question. People who did this had always irritated him. It was as if they were afraid of revealing some deep secret. Often Malou's stock answer was "What do you want to know for?"
T.A. could not think either of any general or particular reasons for this estrangement with Malou. She never opened a conversation. It was always him that initiated conversations. Although she was generally always quiet, he had put that down to her lack of confidence in English. That reason had worn thin as he had also experienced her vitriol in plain and simple English quite clearly when she wanted to use it. He was sure there had to be something else. He had to get to the bottom of it before he left this time. If only he could get close to her emotionally he could quite happily spend the rest of his life with her. At the moment there were still too many uncomfortable things.
Quinapagayan Island was now to their right a few kilometres away and Little Apuao was clearly visible just ahead. T.A. heard one of the banca crew telling a passenger that a sand spit now joined Little Apuao to its larger neighbour, Apuao Grande. Within minutes they would be at their destination and T.A. knew he would be falling into bed soon after.
He looked into the sea through the shadow cast by the boat's hull and wondered how deep it was. Occasionally a reef would pass seemingly perilously close underneath the hull. The light refraction made it seem only inches below. He hoped the banca captain knew the route through the corals. T.A. did not know how he would manage to keep all his camera equipment dry if the banca sank. He remembered on the previous visit he worried about the shallow reefs but then he had worried about how to save Malou. Now the cameras had taken priority.
The freshness of the sea-breeze was having the reverse of its usual effect on him. Normally he would be feeling sleepy with all this fresh sea air in his lungs. Perhaps as a smoker he appreciated clean air more than non-smokers. Despite his lack of sleep he was feeling wide awake. He was sure it would not last long after they arrived.
The tall masts of the resort hobie-cats were visible on the beach of Apuao Grande. Sighting them brought back memories of the nights lying on the beached trampoline covered outriggers of the hobie-cats. They were a strange type of yacht, technically he presumed they were a trimaran. Twin beams extended each side from a central hull to outriggers on each side. A trampoline type of material covered the area between the beams from the central hull to the outriggers.
After sunset the restaurant staff dragged the beached hobie-cats to a position above the high tide mark. During their first visit they went for walk a couple of hours after the evening meal. They discovered the trampolines were comfortable to lie on. After that, the visit to the trampolines became a ritual, always choosing the trampolines furthest from the restaurant, They watched the myriad of stars in the unpolluted night sky and frequently drifted off to sleep.
As the banca passed Little Apuao, T.A. saw the narrow sand spit that now joined Apuao Grande to its smaller northern neighbour. It barely looked a metre wide in some places. Perhaps this time he would explore the smaller island with Malou.
Immediately the banca pulled into the beach in front of the resort two resort staff ran a long plank from the beach to an outrigger of the banca. By the time the guests began disembarking, the banca crew were already throwing stores to other Filipino staff standing waist deep in the clear water. A few guests watched from where they were wading or sheltering under umbrella huts. T.A. checked his watch. It had taken forty-five minutes from Mercedes.
Previously the manager had always greeted new arrivals. Today he was absent. Malou managed her own way down the plank. T.A., part way on the plank clutching his camera bag, felt a moment of panic when the banca slipped back a few inches with the surge of a small wave before settling its hull down into the sand again.
From the beach it seemed nothing had changed.
The sun sheltered beach beer hut, 15 metres away from the main building, was still the same. By late tonight its two metre table would be covered in beer bottles and over-filled ashtrays. The thick plank seats around three sides of the table would be groaning under the weight of guests in various degrees of intoxication. The jet skis sat in front of the lockup shed which formed the southern wall of the beer hut. Old truck tyres, cleverly cut and inverted, provided additional and comfortable seats nearby.
To his right, past the area of the flat sand-covered volleyball area, the line of accommodation units and nipa huts were narrowly separated from the north-west section of the main restaurant. The southern side of the restaurant had three sides covered to protect the 8-by-4 billiard table, table tennis tables, dart board, bar, and some bar-seats and information boards, against the prevailing elements. The remaining east and west walls up to the kitchen and TV room were covered with a frail trellis but otherwise open to the elements. The internal horse-shoe shaped bar and restaurant area all looked the same.
The west entry to the main area was always wide open. No doors, simply a three-metre gap left of the paint-peeling trellis wall. Only a small step up onto a grey concrete slab showed separation between beach sand and the restaurant.
He never understood the plan leaving such small gap between the bar and the southern part of the restaurant. It only contained two tables and was rarely occupied. The bar service area inside the U was barely enough for two people to pass. Fat Filipinos need not apply. The counter surface area was covered with small dark brown tiles. Set about waist height, the patrons' side extended out to allow stool seating with the patrons' knees pushed under the overhang. T.A. remembered once or twice leaning back on to the bar and the sharp edges of the tiles digging painfully into his back.
It was too early for lunch, so apart from the few working Filipinos, the place was deserted. The established guests had already wandered away to do their thing or sleep late in their residences or nipa huts.
T.A. made his way to the left, past the vacant restaurant tables, towards the office reception area backing against the wall at the centre of the northern part of the building. That was the only other place where solid block walls were located. Passing the open kitchen cooking area to his right he stood back to watch the others check in and looked around still trying to spot any changes. The video room was still to the left of the office. Perhaps there might be a change in the available DVD’s. They were kept in the lock-up cabinet just outside the video room.
Against the wall on a desk behind the reception counter was the radio transmitter which was the only means of contact the restaurant had with the outside world. To the right of that was a door marked 'Office Staff Only'. From experience T.A. knew this was where restaurant records, stores, guests' valuables and games equipment were stored.
Beyond that another extension abutted the north-eastern side where the local craft shop and general store were located. But access to those was outside at the back of the restaurant where they overlooked the pool.
The open plan was a necessity in this climate to allow any breeze to pass through the trellised sides, airing what would otherwise be an unbearably muggy enclosure. Beyond the concrete path at the back was the 14 metre by eight metre swimming pool. The concrete path surrounding the pool and the raised edge of the pool could get so hot that slow feet got burnt in
getting to the cool water. The seating edge was always too hot, except after sunset.
Although they were staying in one of the dozen or so private homes on the island, situated 100 metres south, they still had to complete check-in formalities. He did not recognise any of the staff currently on duty. He had not expected to see very many, if any. It was a high staff turn-over industry and there were very few that had left an imprint on his mind from previous visits.
When his turn at reception came around, T.A. put his valuables in the safety deposit box and collected the house key. The three bed-roomed Nipa house where they were spending their time belonged to the Brooke family, friends in Australia. Although it was fully equipped with stove and fridge, T.A. and Malou had always eaten at the resort restaurant. That reminded him that he had never sampled any of Malou’s cooking. She said she could cook, but saying and doing were two different things.
One of the helpers at the boat picked up their bags. He immediately showed obvious stress under the weight. Deciding to change carrying style, he then tried balancing one bag on his shoulder while carrying the other.
With the struggling helper leading, T.A. and Malou made their way through the open back of the restaurant, around the swimming pool, past two small umbrella huts, then south along the coconut tree lined path. The trailer wide path was also unchanged. Its tracks deepened by the tyre wheels of the vintage tractor and the long shallow trailer it pulled. The tractor was the only motorised vehicle of any description on the island. When it was out of service, as it often was, the same trailer was drawn by a harnessed carabao. T.A. felt the carabao was more consistent with the mood of the island.
Their house was about one hundred metres from the restaurant and the first private house on the left of the path. There were only fourteen private homes. Seven each side of the trailer path. Unfortunately theirs was not on the seaward side of the path. The Simpson house opposite effectively blocked a full view of the sea.
The steady background hum of the cicadas was typical of the tropical nature of the island. He had forgotten how loud they were. Then he remembered they got louder at sunrise and sunset.
When the house came into view, there too it seemed nothing had changed, except the lawn was more established. T.A. felt good about being back. A quick glance at Malou's face did not show that she felt the same thrill that he did. He would let it pass.
The bag carrier was first to arrive at the back door. Obviously relieved, he simply let the bags drop onto the concrete porch. T.A. was pleased he had kept the camera bag to himself. The porter reached out to T.A. for the keys and with practised ease opened the door.
Following Malou inside, even the lounge furnishings were in the same place. T.A. wondered if the two little geckos scurrying up the glass panel of the door in fright at the intrusion, were two of the same little group that were here before. It felt like he had come back to a second home. The bag carrier moved through to the main bedroom with the bags. T.A. followed. He thought about the lack of a mosquito net, but that worry was immediately allayed when the bag carrier reached into the wardrobe and dragged out a net. Malou muttered something to him, which he obviously understood and seemingly enthusiastically replied in a high pitched voice. He started up a constant chatter with Malou while tying the corners of the mosquito net to various strategically placed hooks.
Malou made up the bed. T.A. took no notice of, or interest in the proceedings and began to re-explore the rest of the house. Yes, it was good to be back and he did not give a damn about how Malou felt about it.
Within minutes they had finished fitting the net and making the bed. When they returned to the lounge the bag carrier had a big smile on his face as he looked at T.A. In response T.A. felt in his pockets and drew out a twenty peso note. The bag carrier waved his hand in protest suggesting objection to taking it.
"Please," said T.A. pushing the money into the porter's hand. The bag carrier accepted, then with a wave he left. T.A. and Malou were by themselves.
"Didn't you recognise him?" asked Malou.
"No."
"He was the one who was looking after the lawns when we were here last time. He thought he remembered us, but wasn't sure it was us. I thought I recognised him, that's what I was asking him."
"Oh," responded T.A. too tired to be really interested.
"Remember? He is from the local barrio. Last time we were here, he had applied for a job training as a chef at a restaurant in Manila. He didn't get it. Now he is one of the cooks here at the Swagman Restaurant."
"Ah ha," again responded T.A., "the face didn't look familiar. I've been wondering who else might still be here from our last visit. Maybe even some of the same visitors."
In the silence of tiredness they began to unpack their bags. Malou grabbed the towels and proceeded to the shower. When T.A. heard the water begin running, he turned on the wall mounted bedroom fan, aiming it directly at the bed.
While he waited for Malou to call that she had finished he wondered if he would ever become used to cold showers. This shower was far more sophisticated than most he had taken in other remote areas of the Philippines. Some resorts had a forty-four gallon drum of cold water with a tin to pour the water over the body. This had a proper overhead sprinkler even if it was only cold water.
Within seconds of T.A. finishing, they were in bed. Sleep overtook them both before they even thought of kissing.
