The Trafficked djm-2

by Lee Weeks

  ‘Come on, Becky, I would like to show you some of the work we do here and introduce you to the staff.’

  ‘That would be great, Father. I would love to see around.’

  By the time they reached the door, Becky had ten girls hanging off her arms.

  ‘They think you’re a film star!’ said Father Finn. The staff-a group of four women and two men-had been patiently waiting to be introduced, smiling hopefully at Becky and Mann. Father Finn ushered them forward. ‘Mann, you remember most of these people, I am sure?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mann did the introductions. ‘Becky, these two lovely ladies at the end are Jenny and Clementa, they do the cooking.’

  Clementa was a robust-looking woman in her sixties. Her ample breasts were contained in a pink T-shirt but not supported by a bra and were resting on the waistband of a white apron tied around her waist. She was head cook. She spoke very little English but was so overcome and embarrassed that she hid her mouth as she smiled, to disguise the fact that she had two front teeth missing. Pretty-faced Jenny, her assistant, gave them a big toothy smile and a small curtsey.

  ‘Here is Maria-she is the housekeeper, keeps us all in line,’ he said, whilst introducing a woman no taller than a child but with the sinewy outline of one who never stopped working. ‘And this is Philip, the gardener, the newest addition to the refuge, who does a great job, as you can see…’ The young man eyed Becky over as he thanked Mann for his praise. ‘…and this wonderfully pregnant lady is Mercy, with her husband Ramon.’ Mercy was a no-nonsense-looking woman with the strong, pretty features of a woman of Spanish ancestry. Her husband, Ramon, was a man in his prime, with broad square shoulders and a handsome face. Mercy looked ready to pop. Her tight round stomach was a source of great joy to all those around, including the children, who kept rushing up to touch it.

  ‘Mercy and Ramon met here at the refuge, they were street children. Now they are responsible for setting up all the resource centres around the country. We now have twenty-five working cooperatives in the rural areas-all as a result of Mercy and Ramon’s hard work.’ Father Finn was obviously immensely proud of the couple. ‘You will see them when you come to Angeles. Like me, they are only visiting here in Davao and we have to get Mercy back home before she pops.’

  They stepped forward to shake Becky’s hand. Mercy smiled and shook her head. Her English was very good. She remonstrated with the Father: ‘It is always a team effort. Please, come in, and welcome to our refuge.’

  Mercy led the way through the first building into the second, which was a large high-ceilinged room with paintings and posters that the children had produced all around its walls, along with handicrafts they had made.

  ‘It has taken a few years to really take off, but now we have outlets all over the world. And we send representatives to tell schoolchildren about our work.’

  ‘Come inside and meet the rest of the children,’ said the Father.

  From the corner of her eye Becky saw a small boy standing in the corner. He did not rush forward with the other children. He had a broad forehead and newly shorn hair that stood up bristly and black. His eyes were dark and smudged. His thick eyebrows were pinched together, giving him the look of someone carrying a weight of sorrow and pain on his small shoulders.

  The father caught sight of him and went and knelt in front of him. ‘Eduardo! How is my brave boy today?’

  Eduardo did not speak.

  ‘He is doing fine, Father,’ Mercy answered.

  Father Finn turned the little boy’s arms over and examined his wounds.

  ‘Getting better already, Eduardo. Soon you’ll be as handsome as that man over there…’ He pointed to Mann.

  Mann held his hands up in a surrender gesture. ‘He’s much better looking than me.’

  Eduardo was not taking any notice of the Father or Mann, because he was staring transfixed at Becky.

  Father Finn traced his line of vision. Becky smiled and mouthed ‘hello’.

  ‘You have an admirer,’ Father Finn said when he came back to join her. ‘Eduardo can’t keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘He’s so little to have suffered so much. It must be heartbreaking for you, Father, he looks so ill.’

  ‘The scars will heal, and one day he will smile again and then my heart will break with joy. One day we’ll have justice for him. I fear for his life unless I can make sure he is by my side twenty-four-seven. It’s going to take years to bring the government to justice. They are going to make it as difficult as possible.’

  ‘Is it really possible to recover from an ordeal like he’s been through?’

  ‘He will never forget, and we cannot undo the damage that has been done, but we will give him a home for life and look after him, that’s the best we can do, no? Come, Becky, we don’t often get visitors and the children want their autograph books signed. Sit here please.’

  Becky thought he was kidding until she saw the children and the open books and eager pens waiting for her. She dutifully sat on the battered sofa in the open-plan lounge area, which was tile-floored and white-walled. The children had created a Filipino history frieze that ran around the walls. As she sat and chatted to them and looked at their pictures, Eduardo inched closer until he was sitting so close to her that he was touching her, and all the time he kept his eyes glued to her face. When she stood to follow the children and be shown around the refuge, he slipped his hand into hers.

  Mann left them to show Becky around; he’d been to the refuge many times. ‘Have you got Internet here, Father?’ he asked. ‘I can get it on my phone but it’s painfully slow.’

  ‘Of course, when it works-brown-outs are still the plague of the Philippines.’

  Mann was in luck. The Internet was almost as slow as his mobile, but it was working. He checked his email and worked through it all until there was one left in Mann’s email tray. He almost deleted it as spam-he didn’t recognise the sender-but decided to open it.

  BLANCO sends you greetings and he has a presentfor you…press Here to collect your gift.

  Your time is running out.

  Mann clicked and waited. An image appeared. It was Amy Tang with a noose around her neck.

  38

  Maya lay very still and listened to Rosie.

  ‘Do as you are told, Maya. Do not fight the Kanos. Give in. But not in here…’ She tapped her head. ‘Keep in here safe. Then you will see your mamma again. Do whatever they want, then you will live…’ She smiled and reached around Maya and pulled her closer.

  Maya’s eyes were wide as she stared out at the dawn that was trying to break through three small slats. They were too high and too narrow to see out of properly. They were meant purely to feed air into the stifling room. Rosie resumed her coughing so fiercely that she shooed Maya away with her hand and spat blood into her blanket. When she was finished she smiled at Maya’s concerned face and reassured her with a shake of the head. She waited a few minutes until she regained control of her breathing, then resumed her whispering.

  ‘When you see the Kano coming towards you with the buzzy stick you must put something in your mouth quick, before he pokes you with it. Put anything you can in your mouth-even your hand if you have to-because otherwise you will bite your tongue and you will break your teeth. And, listen to me, Maya-keep a picture of your mama in your head. She will be looking for you, Maya. I know that she will be.’

  ‘Is your mama coming, Rosie?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Maya. My mama sold me to this place. It is too late for me. There is no one to come for me. But yours is on her way, I am sure. Never give up hope, never.’

  Then Rosie fell asleep with her arm around Maya. Maya knew she should go back to her own bed now that the Kano would be coming soon, but Maya did not want to wake Rosie and she could not bear to leave. When she heard the Kano’s footsteps on the stairs she hoped if she laid very still the Kano would not see her. But the Kano saw everything. It was too late for her to run back to her bed. Now they would both pay the
price of disobeying.

  39

  Wednesday had not slept. She lay on the piece of hard-board that was her bed and watched the dawn filter weakly through the cracks in her cardboard house. She heard the children outside getting ready for school. She heard the baby crying opposite. She knew that right now she would usually be watching Maya sleeping soundly beside her, and she would get up first and light the stove ready to make them tea and heat water for rice. There was only work for Wednesday to get up for now. Her eyes were sore; her breathing hurt in her chest; her stomach ached for her child. Her whole life was pointless without Maya. The love for her child was the only love Wednesday had ever known. She did not remember the mother who had sold her to the Colonel. She had no memories of any affection. She had grown up sitting on the Colonel’s lap, sleeping in his bed. She was like a lap dog. One night the rage overtook him and when Wednesday awoke the sheets were covered in her blood and her stomach was agony. He had drugged and raped her. From that moment on she was no longer his pet. Wednesday was sold to a Japanese man with tattoos all over his body. He had been horrible to her-he had shouted at her and beaten and raped her until she learned what she had to do. She had to crawl on her hands and knees to him and tell him that she was his dirty little Filipina, she was not worthy of him. Then he would show her some gentleness.

  After the Japanese came the old Caucasians, the young ones, the blacks, the whites, the Asians, and anyone else who could pay. Wednesday lost count of how many she had sex with and she lost all hope…until the day when Father Finn banged on the Dutchman’s door and rescued her from his bed. Until that day Wednesday had thought her heart was dead. But when Father Finn had picked her up and marched out of there with her under his arm, he had changed her life forever and showed her what it was to care for another person, to risk for another and to open your heart and love another. On the first night she had sat with the other children at the refuge she had known her life was just beginning. It was the happiest she had ever been. She learned to play. She learned to laugh. Father Finn was her world. He was a hero to her. He taught her to read and write. He told her how smart she was and made her believe she could be anything she wanted. The Father was always telling her she could stay at the refuge as long as she liked, and she would have done, had she not discovered she was pregnant. She had no idea who the father might be. She had only just begun to have periods and had not known to use contraception. She felt her stomach grow hard and become round and she knew she could not spoil it all now. She felt the shame of it. She had to get rid of it. She knew the Father would never agree to an abortion. She knew he would want her to have the baby. But this was Wednesday’s chance of life. She had to get rid of the baby. She ran home to Davao, to a woman in the Barrio Patay whom everyone knew as an abortionist. But Wednesday’s flight was in vain. When she lay on the woman’s floor, her legs open and the woman’s fingers inside her, she felt the baby flutter. Wednesday knew it was too late for an abortion now. The baby was calling to her. It knew it had a mama and Wednesday knew she was it. Now she prayed with all her heart that Father Finn could be her hero again and rescue her baby.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. It was then she heard the clamour from outside in the alleyways. Someone was calling her name. A small boy that she knew as Pepe was standing at her doorway.

  ‘What do you want, Pepe? Is it washing for your mama?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have a message for you.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘A man stopped me-a Kano. He said I was to tell you something.’ Pepe hovered at the door. ‘He told me I was to say that you must go to Angeles, the Colonel is waiting and he has your daughter.’

  ‘Aye!’ Wednesday clutched her fists to her chest. ‘Maya? He has Maya?’

  Pepe nodded.

  ‘What else did he say? You must try and remember everything, Pepe, please…’

  The boy rolled his eyes skyward as he tried to recollect word for word what the Kano had said.

  ‘He said tell her to come alone-no priests. If you come with priests he will slit her throat.’

  40

  Maya pushed back the hair that fell over her eyes. It was morning and she knew that she should wash her face and brush her hair. She knew her mummy would not let her look like she did. She could see the bathroom but she had to wait for the Kano to come and unlock her cage, then she would carefully carry the bucket from the back of her cell and empty it in the toilet. She pushed her hair back and tried to make it stay behind her ears. She missed Rosie. She knew it was her own fault that they had got caught. She had known the Kano was coming but she didn’t want to leave Rosie’s side and so the Kano had seen her and he had beaten her and put her in the cage. Maya’s cage was opposite the bathroom. It was four foot deep and three foot wide. At the back of it the cockroaches ran. The Kano came twice a day. He brought her food. Maya had to reach through the bars to get it-the Kano put it too far for her, so that just her fingertips could touch it. It hurt her arms to stretch so far. He shouted at her in English. Maya did not understand what he was saying. She had only learned a few words in English. She could count to ten and sing a song called ‘London Bridge’ and she could tell someone that she was from the Philippines and that her name was Maya. Every day the big Kano came into her cell and poked her with the buzzy stick. The pain was worse than the jellyfish that had stung her when she went swimming with her mother. Afterwards her teeth hurt and her bones ached. She shivered. She tried to hold thoughts in her head for as long as she could. Maya could see her mother’s face when she closed her eyes. She squeezed them shut and tried to think of nothing else.

  Maya watched the big bald Kano come up the stairs a few feet from her cage. His massive legs were like a monster’s. His back was bare and a huge bird flew across the skin. He glanced her way then he went on into the bedroom where the women were. In a minute Maya would hear the chains clanking as he released them; soon she would see the women pass by to wash. But today there was screaming. Maya covered her ears. It was a terrible sound to hear the Kano beating someone like a dog being whipped. Maya shut her eyes and ears as hard as she could. When she opened them she saw that the Kano had Rosie by the hair and he was dragging her into the corridor. Maya held tight to the bars as she watched Rosie being punched and kicked. Rosie was not making any sound. There was just the noise of the Kano hitting her. Maya looked out from her cage, watching wide-eyed. Then the Kano stopped hitting Rosie. Rosie was lying on the floor; she was not moving any more. The Kano’s chest moved up and down as he breathed hard. The veins in his head stood out like worms. The other women were crying. Maya moved to the back wall, where she sat as small as she could in the corner. The Kano knelt down in front of her cage and beckoned her forward. Maya didn’t move. She pulled nervously at her T-shirt and chewed her lip and pressed herself back hard into the wall. He beckoned again.

  ‘Come.’ His fingers snapped open and shut.

  The Kano had to be obeyed. Rosie had told her; always do what he wants and then you might see yourmama again. Never disobey the Kano. Maya inched forward. Only keep your heart your own. They cannot take what is inside your heart and head, but give themthe rest, give him the body, otherwise they will take itanyway and they will kill you. She took one step forward, then another. When she was near enough the Kano reached through the bars and pulled her by her T-shirt until she was squashed against the bars, then he reached behind and pulled Rosie forward by her hair and pushed her face against Maya’s. She had no eyes left with which to see Maya. Maya’s seasoning was nearly complete.

  41

  ‘You understand there will be no turning back.’

  Two men faced one another in the damp-smelling basement that had tables and chairs stacked in the corner, spares for the restaurant above. People passed by on Wardour Street outside. Only their calves were visible as they walked by the barred windows set at pavement height.

  The younger man was bare-chested and his feet were shoeless. His skin was smeared in dir
t.

  ‘I understand. I have made my choice. I come before you a poor man with nothing.’

  The older man wore a white tunic with a red stole around his neck, and around his waist was a white sash. On one of his feet he wore a grass sandal.

  A third man, dressed in black robes, stood in front of an altar covered in a red cloth, on which stood an idol of Kwan Ti, the patron saint of triads. Joss sticks burned jasmine incense in golden holders. Triad weapons: eight throwing stars, four bone-handled shuriken and a spiked chain were spread out upon the red altar cloth, their bright steel incongruous in the gloom and dirt of the makeshift triad lodge.

  ‘I have made my choice.’

  In front of the statue of Kwan Ti was a rolled piece of parchment on which was written an agreement, a treaty, an allegiance. It had been witnessed by the three men and now it needed to be signed. But no pen would do the act, blood must be their bond. Each man would spill his blood into a cup and it would be sipped and shared amongst them. Then the parchment would be burnt and the contract would become binding. Two men had already bled into the golden bowl-one remained to commit the act that would seal his fate. The older man handed the small carved-handled shuriken, its tip especially sharpened for the job of cutting flesh, to the young man. His face intent on the job, his muscles tense along his arm, he swiped the blade across the inside of his forearm and held it out for the older man to catch the drips.

  Now, the smell of the burning paper filled the small room as its cinders floated in the air, and Micky’s arm still dripped blood.

  42

  ‘Come, sit on my lap.’ The Colonel patted his leg. The Colonel and Terry were sitting on the balcony at Lolita’s. They sat by the metal railings, looking down. The place had been done out in a builders’-yard style, there was a lot of sheet metal and iron cladding.