“As children they would play among the coral caves, collecting shells and watching the bats pour from their darkened upside-down slumbers as evening turned to night. But ever since her ritual ceremony into womanhood, the chieftain’s daughter had avoided the young warrior so determinedly that it only inflamed his love. He would do anything to have her as his beloved wife.
“The chieftain, however, sought a marital treaty with a neighboring tribe, hoping to secure peace after years of skirmishes. When the young warrior sought the chieftain for his daughter’s hand, he met with scoffs and insults. ‘What can you offer the tribe by such an alliance?’
“The entire tribe mocked him for such initiative. He went to the coral caves for three days. When he returned, he walked through the huts, where all his fellow tribesmen stopped in their work of making stone arrows and spears to watch him and went to the chieftain.
“‘I will have your daughter as my own,’ he announced. ‘If you marry her to any other man, I will kill you and him and take what is mine. I will be gone for a time and a time after that, but I will return and you will give her to me. I will have something to offer the tribe when I return.’
“No one spoke, not even the chieftain. The young warrior’s fierce determination impressed them to silence.
“As he walked away, he saw the flap of the girl’s hut door stir, and for the briefest moment saw her eyes upon him. It was all he needed to endure what was to come.”
Lola Gloria stopped and took a sip from a drink that Lola Sita had placed before them without Julia even realizing it.
“The young warrior set out in a boat of his own making, first scouring the coastlines as he moved from island to island. At times he went inland upon those strange lands and searched for food or fished along the foreign coves. He saw other primitive tribes and once stayed a week with a group of friendly villagers, speaking through drawings and hand motions. At his side he wore a pouch, the contents of which no amount of curiosity or coaxing could persuade him to reveal. And every night without fail, the man dreamed of pink flowers with a touch of yellow climbing up a rock cliff—and also of a door flap and a glimpse of brown eyes upon him.
“During this time, the chieftain’s daughter would walk to the coral caves every morning. She would pause on the shore and stare long at the horizon. Sometimes she stayed overnight in the caves, which worried her father at first, but then he ignored it because of more pressing matters at hand. Two warring tribes had formed an alliance.
“The chieftain’s greatest foe came asking for his daughter in marriage to form an unshakable treaty. Despite the rationality of such a political move, the chieftain hated the other man. He loathed the idea of marrying his daughter to such a vile man, who treated his other wives with disdain and cruelty. And in his mind he continued to hear the parting words of the young warrior every night before he closed his eyes.
“At long last, after a change of many seasons, the young warrior turned toward home, ready to claim his bride. When he arrived at the island, it looked just as it had when he’d left it. His steps were determined, as they’d been two years earlier. He carried in his hand an orchid blossom to where the chieftain sat in his chair staring out to sea. But the chieftain would not look at the flower or at the man.
“It was then that the young warrior gazed around and saw that the tribe was half what it had been, and none of the warriors remained. The children and women looked starved and haunted. He crouched low to hear the chieftain’s hoarse whisper.
“‘You would be dead also if you had not left us.’
“‘Where is she?’ he asked.
“‘She is dead.’
Julia’s face fell, and Lola Gloria smiled and patted her arm.
“The warrior stood. ‘Where are the ashes of her funeral fire?’
“‘There are none. He took her, and she is dead.’
“‘I will find her yet.’ The warrior stood and looked back to the sea. His legs still felt weak on solid ground. ‘Why did he not kill you?’
“‘He has. Is this not the worst death of all?’
“The young warrior had not slept in many days in his determination to return to the island. He went back to the beach and turned his canoe over, still dripping wet and swollen from the months of sea. Neither man nor boat would rest that day. As he prepared to heave the boat into the water, a young boy ran down the steps to him.
“‘Where are you going now?’
“‘To find her.’
“‘But they say that she is dead.’
“‘She is not dead. I will find her.’
“The boy looked at him. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘She is not dead. She lives at the coral caves, though only her mother and I know this. We fear her father will give her to the chieftain if he knows she lives. The warriors of our village did not die in battle—at least, not battle with flesh and blood. They died in a battle against the gods of the storm—the sea, the wind, the sky. A monsoon came while you were gone. The chieftain believed it was a curse sent by you or the other chieftain for his delay in sending his daughter.’”
The house shook suddenly with a torrent of wind and rain as if for emphasis. The other sisters laughed and muttered nervously as Lola Gloria continued.
“The young warrior ran quickly to find her. She was waiting at the cave opening, her long black hair dancing in the breeze off the sea. Above her, pink orchid petals dangled from the vines.
“The warrior took her hands and told her, ‘In my dream, I was instructed to take the petals of this very flower and leave them all over the many coastlines. After a time, I would return, and where I found the vine growing and flowers blossoming again, that would be our new land. I have found that place. It is a long journey, but we must go and begin a new life there.’
“The young woman said, ‘I, too, have dreamed while in the coral caves. I was told to prepare for your return, and you would take me to a foreign land to begin a new life. I am ready.’
“From the village, they brought the boy, the girl’s mother, and a few others. The chieftain refused to leave and died alone on the cliff top gazing toward the horizon. And as you have guessed, the land of the hacienda was first inhabited by these young lovers. One of their descendents married a child of the One-Armed Spaniard.
“They arrived at the hidden cove that Elena and Cortinez discovered later. They came to this land with nothing. Do you know what it is like to have nothing?”
“No, I suppose I do not.”
Lola Gloria smiled then. “They did not either. Because in fact, though they came with few earthly possessions, they truly had everything.”
The other women, though unable to understand the English telling of the tale, had been lulled into a comfortable silence while Lola Gloria spoke. Lola Amor dozed in her chair as Aling Rosa and Lola Sita set dough to rise near the warm brick and adobe oven.
“Darling Iha,” Lola Gloria said, putting her hand over Julia’s. The old woman’s hands, covered in age spots, felt soft and sure. “All these stories are a part of you, because you are part of the hacienda. We are the generations, the hands and feet, the heart and the soul, the blood flowing through a land that has been on a long journey and all of us with it. The heart has been missing for a long time. A new heart has come to bring life once again. You, my child.”
Julia didn’t respond. How could she explain that she couldn’t stay?
Suddenly she became aware of a pounding sound from without. It had been going on for a while, she now realized, but with the howling and crashing of the storm, they hadn’t recognized it for what it was: someone was knocking steadily on the front doors.
Aling Rosa caught on at the same moment and put out her hand and shushed them sternly.
As a group they jumped up and crept from the kitchen, oil lamps in their hands.
Julia held the lantern high to see the visitor standing outside as Aling Rosa opened the large wooden doors. The young man’s hair and face were drenched in rain, his clothes m
uddy and sticking to his body. The Tres Lolas hung back, huddled together, while Aling Rosa demanded to know what he was doing there.
Julia felt she should probably take over, but she had a language barrier, and Aling Rosa seemed to be doing just fine, handling the situation like a courageous mother bear protecting her own.
“He insists on speaking to Raul,” Lola Gloria translated for Julia. “He says he won’t leave until Raul comes.”
“Does he need a towel? Should we let him come in?”
“Let us first see Raul’s reaction.”
The man wiped his dripping hair from his forehead, selfconscious beneath the stares of the five women. Julia recognized him, perhaps from the fields. Then she recalled, he was the handsome man from the jeepney who had known who she was. He had attended her grandfather’s wake, but she didn’t remember him at the funeral.
Raul came to the door, rubbing his eyes. When he saw the young man shivering in the doorway, a look of surprise moved over his face, and he quickly ushered the stranger inside. He peered into the darkness before helping Julia push closed the heavy doors.
Lola Sita had disappeared and returned with towels.
“Go back to your cooking or sleeping,” Raul said to the women. “I will take him to the study, and we will discuss this in the morning.” He looked at Julia. “Let me talk with him.”
Julia nodded her head. The man gave her a steady gaze and then followed Raul to the study, leaving a trail of mud and water in his path.
ON THE SAME DAY, BOTH TYPHOON YUNYA AND MOUNT PINATUBO wreaked havoc onto the northern provinces of Luzon, Philippines. As the mountain shot its colossal ash cloud into the air, the cyclonic winds of the typhoon blew in, greatly exacerbating the damage. Roofs collapsed under the waterladen ash—some areas were practically raining mud.
This was the news coming in, and Manalo, his men, and some villagers surrounded the radio in the carinderia, listening to the reports. They’d spent the night in the basement of the sympathetic owner, not knowing their country was suffering from more than a simple storm.
Manalo wondered about Malaya’s extended family. She’d certainly be frantic, wondering if they’d been evacuated. How he wished to be there for her, to comfort and reassure her.
In the morning Manalo went outside to a wet world. The sky was clear with some remaining clouds from the storm, but according to news reports it would soon be covered with ash. In the north, the day was like night. Manalo stretched his arms and watched villagers picking up pieces of roof and cleaning up debris that covered the muddy streets.
The country was in turmoil. The work of his life had amounted to little. Things weren’t any better; in fact, they were worse! And now God Himself—if he too believed in God like Timeteo—was raining down His wrath. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that the one of many volcanoes in their country to erupt was right in the path of the U.S. Air Force base—and even more so in the prostitution capital of Angeles. Even God wanted the American soldiers and the vile professions out of the Philippines! Manalo was thinking like a regular Catholic, he thought with amusement.
Then he saw them coming down the street. They were covered with mud and walking with the weariest of steps, but Manalo recognized them at once. His best friend and his oldest son.
Manalo stepped into the street, stunned. They stopped before him. “What are you doing here?” he said to Aliki.
Timeteo sighed heavily. “I couldn’t stop him. He followed me, and then we met the storm.”
“I’ve come to join the fight, Father,” Aliki said with pride.
And as Manalo held his boy-turned-man in his arms, he knew the world had most certainly gone mad.
TWENTY
Julia awoke late in the day to a silent world outside. There was a unique quiet after the storm, even with the birds singing happily of their survival. Everything was drying out in the wane sunlight. Branches and coconuts, palm fronds and broken tiles littered the courtyard and lawns around the hacienda house.
She was finishing her breakfast and looking again into her grandfather’s logbooks when Lola Gloria came to speak to her.
“Miss Julia. There is a dispute between two women. They ask you to help them, to mediate the problem, and to give decision to stop their disagreement.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You are the doña of the house. This is usually my role, or that of the head of the family. But with you here, they wish for you to mediate.”
Julia closed her grandfather’s book with a thud. She’d been reading about energy options like hydroelectricity by water pressure, solar panels, and a modernized windmill.
“But I’m no mediator.” Julia wanted to laugh, except that Lola Gloria appeared to be completely serious.
“They had an argument over a pig. Whatever you decide will be respected.”
Julia sank her head into her hands. “I can’t decide such a thing.”
“Please, Iha, do consider it. Such things unresolved can cause friction for years to come, and these two have been friends since babies. They are young women, they made jam with you, and of course they attended the Captain’s wake and funeral. Your decision will not be questioned.”
Julia found Raul working on a ladder against the house, supervising some workers as they cut down a broken tamarind branch that dangled precariously against the roof. Broken tiles littered the ground around the ladder.
“The phone lines are down,” he said. “The storm and volcano erupting in the north caused a lot of damage. It always happens in storms such as these. But at least the electricity is back.”
“More eruptions, eh?”
“It was the eruption,” Raul said.
“How long for the phones?” Julia asked. She couldn’t keep putting off her departure—and her family would undoubtedly be worried when they heard about the eruption.
“It could be today, or it could be a week.”
“Great,” she said under her breath. “Raul, I don’t want to interrupt, but I guess some women are here. They had a dispute and are asking for help in resolving it. Is that something you have done in the past?”
“At times. But with a woman in the house, they would wish the matter solved by you.”
“That’s what Gloria said. But I can’t do that.”
Raul leaned an arm on the terrace roof and held the side of ladder, looking down at her. “I told them you might not like it.”
“You knew about this?”
Raul smiled at her rising anxiety. “Go and hear what they have to say. I will come with you.”
“No, this isn’t something I want to start. I’m leaving soon.”
He came down the ladder and gave final instruction to the workers. Julia recognized one as the man who had arrived the night before in the storm. When she’d asked Raul earlier in the morning about the mysterious nighttime visitor, the foreman had simply said that he was a confused young man and had come to ask forgiveness. For what, Raul apparently wasn’t ready to admit to her.
“Yes, you are leaving soon,” he said. “But until then, why not help as much as you can?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she accused.
There was an actual smirk on Raul’s face.
“Why would I enjoy?” he said solemnly as he reached the ground, but again she caught his amusement.
The two women arguing in the back courtyard stopped immediately when they saw Julia and Raul step around the corner. Each held a child on her hip and greeted Julia enthusiastically. One had a beautiful smile; the other woman was plain, but spoke a few words of greeting in English. They wore faded but clean dresses with aprons and flip-flops. Their hair was pulled into neat ponytails.
Raul spoke to them, and they immediately began talking again. Julia sensed the quick anger that grew between them. Raul held up a hand, and their speaking ceased.
“This woman,” he said, pointing to the one with the beautiful smile, “says that several years ago they made an agreement to buy a you
ng sow together. They purchased it with money earned from selling vegetables at the market. The plan was to breed the sow and sell some of the piglets and grow others to be butchered.
“The other woman says they had agreed that the first litter of piglets would be hers and the next litter would be the other woman’s to sell or keep, whatever she chose. The sow birthed a large number of piglets, and she believes her friend is afraid the next litter will not be as large. That is the disagreement. They’ve been arguing about it for a week, and their families are being divided.”
Both women stared at her; then they began to speak again, waving their arms and moving close to her. The children in their arms began to cry, so the women only increased their volume to be heard. Julia felt their breath on her face, and her neck tingled as they moved in even closer. They expected far too much.
Raul did nothing.
“Wait, wait,” she pleaded with arms up. “Raul. I can’t do this.” They were waiting for her response.
“No, really. I cannot decide on something like this.”
Raul looked disappointed.
Julia turned and walked quickly away, moving through the courtyards and gardens down the pathway through the staff housing. She could smell a mesquite fire and fresh laundry flapping in the breeze. Some boys looked up from playing marbles in the dirt and said hello as she passed.
What did they expect of her? She was only a guest, there for a few days longer. Her grandfather was buried, her job nearly done. What kind of place was this, where she couldn’t do her own laundry, but she was expected to make a life decision for two women she knew nothing about? If she made a mistake, there could be animosity between childhood friends for life.
Julia walked by a small section of land given to the staff to farm for their own use. She hadn’t explored this area on her daily walks. She continued down a pathway to the rice fields where grass-covered divisions cut the fields, into squares with milky water filling the insides. A few workers with wide triangular-shaped hats were bent over, walking slowly through the water.
Orchid House Page 24
