by Lee Weeks
Tonight she would start the search for her daughter.
The tailor stopped eating and took up his tape measure. Wednesday glared at the boys who leaned on their tricycles outside.
‘Wssss…’ they called, to get her attention, and nudged each other as they eyed up the new girl in town.
The tailor measured around her waist, hips and bust. He measured the length of her crotch and his hand lingered. ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘I am hungry.’
‘I will get you something to eat and you can sit here and eat it if you like.’
Wednesday waited till his eyes met hers, as he was folding the measuring tape, then she looked deep into them and mouthed the word No.
He shrugged and told her to come back in an hour. She went down the street to a cafe she had known as a child. The old woman serving looked twice at her.
She went to sit at the counter and waited until the old woman came shuffling over to serve her. The woman stopped and scrutinised Wednesday.
‘I recognise you. Long time ago.’
Wednesday smiled and shook her head. ‘Just arrived.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Davao.’
The woman went and returned with a bowl of rice and fish.
‘What about you? Have you been here for long?’
The old woman set the bowl in front of her and snorted.
‘Long? Thirty years. I was a bar girl myself, when the Americans were here. Things haven’t changed much. Not so many of them here, but plenty of others. That’s where I thought I knew you from-long ago there was a child who looked like you. Then, I thought I saw you again, the other day. A child who looked just like you or the person I thought was you. She was with the Colonel. Just the way you…’ The old woman stopped and looked hard at Wednesday. Wednesday reddened and looked away. Her heart was beating so fast she thought the old woman would see it pounding. ‘Oh well…old eyes play tricks, huh?’
Wednesday smiled and thanked her and got down from her stool. She looked at the old woman who was now busy frying chicken. Wednesday knew she had been recognised. Now her time here was going to be very precious. She picked up her bikini from the tailor’s and headed back to Lolita’s, ready to spend her first night as a dancing girl.
46
At its busiest time, between ten and twelve, Lolita’s had over eighty girls working the floor. They took it in turns to dance for the clientele in groups of fifteen. They had choreographed routines, matching outfits, and they took centre stage in turns to perform. The rest of the time they milled about waiting to be invited onto tables. When the girls weren’t dancing, and there weren’t enough punters in to warrant them all being out, they sat in a crowded room at the back of the club. They chatted in groups, some dozed, others fanned themselves-there was no air-con and their bikinis were sweaty.
The talk tonight was of the fight. Peanut was still not able to work and Comfort was blamed by the other girls. Comfort had a corner all to herself and an empty seat next to her. Wednesday instantly recognised her when she walked in. They had been children in Angeles together. It was Comfort who had replaced Wednesday in the Colonel’s affections.
Wednesday hoped Comfort wouldn’t remember her. Comfort had seen so many girls come and go, maybe she wouldn’t. She went to sit with her.
‘Hi. Mind if I sit here?’
Comfort gave a shrug.
Not even a second look, thought Wednesday. I’m safe.
Comfort glanced over at the other girls to see if she was being set up-by their lack of interest she assumed she wasn’t. She figured she could trust the new girl not to attack her. Comfort wasn’t feeling good about the fight either. She had already agreed to give Peanut some of her wages, otherwise she would have nothing to send home to her mother who was looking after Peanut’s baby boy.
‘Why aren’t you in a bikini?’ asked Wednesday.
‘I don’t dance here. I work the bars at the end of the Fields.’
‘Are they all owned by the same person?’
‘Yes, the Colonel owns most of this street.’
‘What’s he like? Is he good looking?’ she asked, feigning ignorance.
Comfort laughed cynically. ‘No. He’s mean and he’s ugly, but he’s the boss.’
‘Have you been here a long time?’
Comfort buried her face in her hands fleetingly, then sat up and gave an ironic smile.
‘Forever. This is my home.’
‘Does the Colonel have a wife?’
‘Huh!’ Comfort’s shoulders shook with laughter. ‘Yes, he has. She is a little girl; he carries her around like a doll.’
Wednesday couldn’t help the gasp that stuck in her throat, and for a moment she could not speak. She looked away for a few seconds so that Comfort might not see how that little girl’s face matched Wednesday’s.
‘And will he be here tonight? Will he watch us dance?’
‘Who knows? Probably not.’ Comfort got up to walk away. ‘But if he is in, he’ll want you. He wants everything new.’
The ten girls filed out and stepped on to the elevated bar that they were expected to dance on top of. Most of the men sat around the long, oblong bar. A few of the tables were occupied. Wednesday was the fourth in the row; Mamasan Mimi had told her what she had to do. They had four poles between them; they took it in turns to dance on them. She would have to wait her turn for the pole. She didn’t mind. They hadn’t had poles when she used to dance, but her moves were the same. She began gyrating her hips slowly to the beat. She was a good dancer. She caught the attention of a noisy table of young men from the UK. They were indulging in the hair of the dog, talking about the previous night’s escapades and getting themselves in party mood. When she finished her dance she was called over to their table. They made room for her to sit in-between one of the drunkest and a sullen one. She tried to make conversation but was ignored by the sullen one. The drunken one touched her breasts.
‘No can touch.’
‘Yes can touch,’ he mimicked. ‘Can touch as much as I want.’
He fondled her roughly. Wednesday squirmed from his hands and pressed him firmly away. His face was purple with drink. His breath stank. He nuzzled into Wednesday’s neck and tried to remove her bikini top. The others around the table laughed. She pushed him away harder this time.
‘Hey, you’re a strong girl. Look at these muscles!’ The lad across the table reached over and held up Wednesday’s arm. ‘Fuck me-that’s more like it! Come and sit over here and I’ll give you an arm wrestle.’ The lad pulled Wednesday out of the clutches of his drunken mate and she scrabbled over laps to sit next to the arm-wrestler. He cleared the table and set his elbow on it. He held tightly to Wednesday’s hand.
‘Ready steady go!’
They both held each other’s eyes and Wednesday could see that he was going to let her win. She played along and finally she pressed his hand flat to the table. A cheer went up. They kept drinking. It was getting late; she had to be out by the time the Colonel came in. Wednesday had to make a move on her lad. She slid from the table and began a private dance for him. His eyes fixed on her as she spun her body around the pole. She never took her eyes from his. She walked onto the centre of the stage and leaned her back against the pole and slid down it, opening her knees wide. She had been taught to dance by the Colonel and the mamasans when she was a girl. She could still open her legs into the splits. She dropped into a straddle and turned into a scissor splits. She rolled over and pulled herself up on the poll before arching her back and bringing herself slowly to standing. She wiggled her hips like a belly dancer as she moved towards him and jiggled her breasts in his face as she straddled his lap. His face was lost in lust. He pinned her to his lap and ground her to him. She could feel that he was hard.
‘You better take me home, big boy. I gonna private dance for you.’
Mamasan Mimi was called. Negotiations were made and Wednesday was bought out for five ladies’ drinks-the system that got around the su
pposed illegality of bar fining, which was the payment given to the bar to buy a girl out for sex. She went to change. Her heart was in her mouth. She had run away from this work nine years ago, now she was back where she started, but one of these lads might be able to help her. If she told them her story, one of them might help.
Back at the hotel she tried to get the sex over with, but he was in no hurry. Wednesday tried to engage him in conversation in the hope that he would want to know something about her, that he would care what her life was like, that she could tell him about Maya and he would help. But when the sex was over he went to sleep. At dawn he awoke and wanted sex again. At nine she decided to leave. She felt the hopelessness of it all. Soon the Colonel would find out she was here, and she didn’t know if she could face him again. It had been years since she’d seen him, but inside she would always be that little girl he had owned. The Colonel would come and get her and she would never get her baby back. He had told her to come alone and not to contact the priests. Those had been the Colonel’s orders — Pepe said: ‘tell her to come alone-no priests. If you come with priests he will slit her throat.’
But now, Wednesday realised that she could not do it alone and she could not afford to face the Colonel; she did not have the strength to do it alone. She would call the only person she had in the world to help-Father Finn-and ask for help from Mann and Becky. But she would try one last thing before she did that.
She dressed quietly and slipped out of the hotel room. She walked down Fields Avenue to the police station and asked to see the officer in charge. Three police officers watched her walk in. They stood and watched as she gave an account of Maya’s disappearance to the sergeant and what she knew about her whereabouts now. The sergeant wrote down what she said.
‘Okay Wait here.’ He left Wednesday standing at the counter. The three policemen stared at her. One of them tried a conversation.
‘What do you do back home in Davao?’
‘I take in washing.’
‘Your little girl goes to school?’
‘Yes, every day. She is very clever.’
‘You are a good mother to come and find her. You have a husband?’ Maya shook her head. ‘You should-pretty girl like you.’
The door of the police station opened. The sergeant reappeared from his office. Wednesday turned. The Colonel was standing behind her.
‘You bastard!’ she screamed. ‘You pig!’
‘Call me what you like,’ said the sergeant. ‘You are nothing but a whore, and you insult the man who pays our wages. Get out of here. We will not help filth like you who can’t even look after their own children.’
47
‘Enough! It’s time. Go and fetch her…’
Brandon left.
‘No one ever escapes me, Wednesday, you should know that.’
The Colonel lifted Wednesday’s head so she could look at him. Her face was puffed up like a football. One eye was completely closed, burnt by a cigarette in the eyeball. The hair had been torn from her head and left her scalp bleeding and raw. The door opened and Brandon walked in, pulling Maya by the arm.
The little girl stood for a moment, startled by the terrible thing she saw before her-unable to recognise her mother. The Colonel lifted Wednesday’s chin and it took Maya a few seconds to realise it was her mother. Then she cried out and desperately tried to reach for her.
Wednesday looked at Maya and tried to speak but she could not; her mouth was swollen, her teeth broken from the electric shock torture. Brandon hadn’t put the piece of plastic in her mouth to stop that happening. But then, he didn’t have any reason to worry if her teeth were broken and he ruined her looks. She was never going to be for sale again.
She tried to smile at the child. Poor Maya, to see her mother like this. Poor Maya, she thought. She could see that the child’s eyes were full of fear as she whimpered. Mama, Mama.
The Colonel picked Maya up by one arm and held her aloft like a rag doll, then he pretended to drop her before catching her around the waist and holding her tightly to him. She screamed and cried out for Wednesday.
‘You want your daughter back? Here she is.’
‘Mama. Mama.’
The Colonel laughed and nodded in the direction of Brandon, who went to stand behind Wednesday’s chair. Wednesday looked at her daughter and tried to speak, but no words came-blood spluttered from her mouth and ran in a trickle. But she had the strength of the dying and the determination and focus of a mother knowing that she is the only chance to save her child. She thrashed and bellowed-hoarse and strange her voice came out, distorted in her anguish and desperation. She shook violently.
The Colonel tutted.
‘What can you offer me, Wednesday? You had your day. I took your cherry and I took your daughter’s-one whore begets another.’ He licked Maya’s face and laughed as the child sobbed in small breaths.
‘Mama…Mama.’
The Colonel walked to the far wall.
‘But, you came alone, as I demanded, so I will give you one last chance to win your daughter back…it’s only fair…If you can get here and kiss my feet, you can have her. If you don’t make it-then she’s mine.’ He ordered Brandon to cut Wednesday’s bonds and free her from the chair. ‘Come and get her, Wednesday.’
Wednesday lunged forwards. Brandon stuck his foot out and tripped her and she hit the floor. He placed a foot on her back. He took his knife and sliced the long blade through the back of her right thigh, just above the knee. The hamstring snapped and curled. Maya screamed and turned away as Wednesday let out a muffled scream and clutched the injured leg as she dragged herself onwards towards Maya. She tried to stand on her left leg but Brandon kicked it from beneath her and she crashed to the floor again. He stepped forward and sliced through the other hamstring. She let out a tormented cry of anguish but still she pulled herself along with her hands like some freakish animal, bald, bloodied and crippled, she pulled her weight on her hands and elbows. She stopped within reach of the Colonel’s feet and looked up at him. Maya held out her hands to her mother. ‘Mama, Mama’
Wednesday extended a hand to touch his feet. Brandon dragged her head backwards.
The Colonel stared down at her. ‘Look at me, Wednesday. Look into the eyes of your God.’ He kissed Maya on the mouth. ‘And take a last look at your daughter and know that I will have her, body and soul, until she is no more use to me, then I will kill her.’
Wednesday let out a cry of anguish but no sound came out; her vocal cords were cut as Brandon slit her throat.
48
Shrimp turned to look over at David White who was slumped against the wall behind, doubled over in pain, White glanced up and raised a hand as if to say that he was all right, just winded. Shrimp studied him for a few seconds to reassure himself that was the case before he looked back at his two assailants. They had landed a few metres apart. One was now doing his best to stand and crawl back towards the Centrepoint exit, dragging his right leg where Shrimp had delivered a sweeping kick that had smashed his ankle bones. Blood ran freely from a ragged wound on the side of his shaven skull where there was still a clear outline of Shrimp’s boot. The other man lay still with his eyes shut, his chest barely rising and falling.
Shrimp made a move towards White and helped him stand upright. He looked shaken but not hurt, thought Shrimp. Shrimp looked down at himself and instinctively brushed the debris from his new jeans. He looked both ways of the tunnel. There were footsteps coming from the Centrepoint end but they were small strides, slow pace-not threatening. He looked to the other end of the gloomy tunnel that stank of wee. The three small groups of rough sleepers blinked back in the gloom.
Shrimp steered White towards Tottenham Court road tube. A drunk stood swaying as they passed
‘Hey you…’ He waved his bottle in Shrimp’s direction. ‘You put up one hell of a fight, so you did…’ he grinned.
Shrimp looked back over his shoulder to make sure there would be no more fighting needed that day. One
of his assailants had already made it out of sight; the other was just trying to stand. ‘Fucking good fight, I said.’ The drunk’s words followed them down the corridor as the rough sleepers mumbled their agreement and turned to watch them go.
49
Mann and Becky sat in the old four-seater Cessna 172 and watched Puerto Galera come into view. In the distance they saw a faded purple banner draped lopsided across the roof of the small airport terminal. Becky had been very quiet all through the journey, and when Mann checked on her she looked ashen.
‘Thank you, Remy. The lift is much appreciated.’ Mann was sitting in the co-pilot seat.
Remy looked more Mexican than Filipino. His luxurious thick black hair, lightly dressed with coconut oil, sat on his head in waves of black. He also had an impressive handlebar moustache ‘No problem. I have to see my wife’s cousin who lives here. I am always happy to help the Fathers; they do a great job. I was a priest myself, you know. Got caught up wid a woman-same old story, huh? Ha Ha…’
He started singing the words to ‘Come fly with me’.
Remy Bulgaros was doing his favourite thing-singing Sinatra songs and flying his planes. They were in safe hands; Remy knew how to fly almost any small plane there was. This was one of two he owned. The other was used for crop spraying and extinguishing the odd small fire. He lined up the plane with the runway and put the flaps down.
‘Don’t worry if it’s a bit bumpy, huh? It’s a good wind today, great for the beach, not so good for small planes.’
Mann glanced behind and saw that Becky’s knuckles were white as she clutched the seat belt. Her head stayed absolutely still whilst her eyes flicked side to side as the tops of trees came into view. He heard her sigh with relief as they touched down and taxied off to the hard standing area. Remy parked up and switched off the engine.
