by John Muir
CHAPTER 3
ARRIVAL
Benigno Aquino Airport, PASAY CITY, METRO MANILA
Sleep again eluded him for most of the flight. Though it was only an 8 ½ hour daytime flight from Sydney, he had wanted to sleep if only to avoid communication with the other passengers. Too many were getting intoxicated from the free alcohol. The more the flight progressed the more intoxicated they became. Some became obnoxious bores.
As usual he had requested a window seat to avoid the inconvenience of being beside someone with a weak bladder, or excessive drinking co-traveller, stumbling over him frequently to get to the toilets. This time it turned out he need not have worried. His unknown travelling companion to his right on the aisle seat also seemed to sleep or feign sleep for much of the trip. The only time that passenger stirred was for the two meals. Perhaps he too was feeling uncommunicative.
Collection of his baggage and passage through Immigration and Customs went smoother than ever before. He easily spotted the attendant outside the nearest exit door holding the Swagman Hotel placard. The double automatic doors opened at his approach and he was immediately hit by the heat and humidity of the outside temperature.
The placard holder waved at an assistant wearing a Swagman Hotel T-shirt. The assistant quickly relieved T.A. of his backpack and escorted him to the bus. The usual sea of waiting faces was outside the building, held back by the flimsy barriers. Being first on the bus he had a choice of any seat. It also meant he would have a long wait before the bus departed. The driver would wait until the last of the passengers had been cleared from this flight in case there might be more prospective custom for the hotel. That meant more commission for him.
After 45 minutes, and nearing 8:00 P.M., the bus pulled away into the Manila night for the slow traffic crawl to their destination. T.A. remembered the notorious reputation of chaos of traffic in Manila. He wondered if the other two passengers sharing the air-conditioned mini-bus had seen it before. He nestled into his seat as comfortably as he could for what he knew would be a long slow trip.
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The hotel check-in went quickly. He put his airline tickets, passport, cash and some other valuables into the reception’s personal security box. Within minutes he was enjoying a shower in his room on the third level. The hotel, though owned by Australians’, did use the American system for numbering the floors. The British system began with the ground floor, the next one up being the first floor and so on. To the Americans, the British ground floor was their level one. It was a part of the American culture that he agreed with.
As he began to dress he realised the curtains were open. His room overlooked the narrow alley which separated the Swagman from the larger Bayview Prince Hotel. He had stayed at the Bayview Prince on his first ever trip to the Philippines. That hotel had been through massive renovations since he stayed there and increased their room rates accordingly. The windows of the guest rooms at Bayview looked into those of the Swagman, and vice versa, so unhidden activities in one could be seen by the occupants of the other.
He was not hungry but did feel like a drink. One of the effects of flying on him was he always felt thirsty afterwards.
Downstairs, in the combined restaurant bar, he ordered his favourite drink in the Philippines, calamansi juice. Green in colour, the calamansi is a round citrus fruit the size of a large thumb. Though half of it is filled with seed, the juice squeezed from one is about enough to fill a teaspoon. The juice of six or seven calamansi in a glass, then filled with water and adding sugar according to personal taste, is like a mixture of limes and grape fruit. The most refreshing and quenching drink he had ever had. Also he loved it with hot water. Many locals drink tea with calamansi as Europeans drink tea with lemon or lime. Hot it is supposed to be good for sore throats. Hot or cold it is supposed aid in weight loss.
Sipping on his cold calamansi he looked around for any familiar faces. There were a few people he had seen before, but none so far with who he wanted to spend time.
About 10:45 p.m., he was about to give up and return to his room when Ben, the manager of the Apuao Grande resort emerged from the side office and walked through the lounge toward the small separate ‘Aussie Bar’. The resort on Apuao Grande was one of the many owned and operated by the Swagman Hotel company.
“You’re looking well Ben,” said T.A. as Ben approached.
Ben nodded, not recognising T.A., and walked on. Then stopped a few yards past where T.A. sat, turned and walked back.
“Bloody Hell. It’s you. I often wondered if we’d ever see you again after the events at Apuao Grande.”
“Yeah, back again. Hoping it’s a little less exciting this time.”
“Some of the old hands often ask if I’ve seen you.”
“I guess I’ve got lots of thing that I’m back here to find out. I don’t know what happened to everyone after I went bush. I’d like to find out a few things.”
“Got a few minutes? Asked Ben.”
“Sure.”
Ben signalled to one of the waitresses.
“Bring us....,” he looked at T.A., “my shout, what’ll you have?”
“Whatever you’re having,” replied T.A.
“Bring four San Miguel stubbies to the office. And then I’m not to be disturbed for 15 minutes.”
“C’mon,” said Ben, and led the way to his private office. “I’ve been the manager here in the Manila Swagman for about six months. I don’t think the resort will ever recover.”
T.A. let him go on.
“Oh, that’s nothing to do with the hostage thing that happened. The resort was virtually blown apart by a cyclone along with most of the personal houses about three months later.”
“Tell me Ben, does anyone really know what the hell went on?”
T.A. eased further back into the well padded and comfortable chair across the desk opposite Ben. He watched while Ben tidied a few papers and put an extra ashtray on the desk. The drinks arrived and they both lit up their own choice of cigarettes. It seemed Ben was trying to gather his thoughts. Eventually Ben started.
“Well, in some ways, things appear to have happened on Apuao Grande just as they did at all the other resorts. The NPA (New Peoples’ Army – military wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines) just suddenly vanished. Everyone had been locked in the tennis court. Some people noticed the guards seemed to be gone. A few crawled under the wire where Pater had got out and some Japanese scaled the fence. Some of the tourists that had escaped the round-up eventually came out of hiding. Someone smashed the padlock and let everyone out. Because of all the cheering, the Philippine Army soldiers hiding on Little Apuao, emerged and came across the sand spit. Apart from the soldiers, our release seems pretty much the same as happened everywhere else. Well that’s what it seems from the newspapers.”
T.A. nodded.
“But our staff at the island was subject to quite a bit of questioning, as were the locals. Quite a few bodies were found, killed by all manner of means. Four Filipinos, not locals, and four Arab looking guys.”
“Oh?” responded T.A. “What happened?”
“Nobody seems to know.”
“That’s not even counting the dead Arab with his head cut off floating in a banca offshore and the poor mutilated young local girl they found dead with him.”
“Oh?” This time T.A. did not have to feign his surprise, it was something he was not aware of.
“Because of your beaten up condition and the bullet graze on your head, people seem to think you might be the reluctant heroic tourist.”
“Hell no”
“Well what happened to you?
“After I got out I thought I might have linked up with Pater or someone, but I never saw anyone.”
T.A. noticed Ben eyes narrow at that statement and try and hide a grin. Did Ben know he was lying?
“I never really even saw the guy who beat the crap outta me or even remember how I got shot.”
Ben’s eyes were still narrowed. Maybe it was only hi
s way of concentrating on T.A’s story.
“I never found out what happened to Pater. Is he still on the island?”
Ben looked even harder at T.A., then down at a large calendar pad on his desk.
“No. The authorities think he must have tried to swim away. They never found his body. Sharks, drowning, who knows?”
T.A. had to look away to prevent giving a clue that he might know otherwise.
“Everyone else safe though?”
“Well no actually. That German couple, they disappeared. One of the Filipino’s that had also gone bush reckons he saw them getting away in a banca on the first night of the takeover. But they never turned up anywhere else. That one is a mystery.”
The faces of the German couple flashed into T.A.’s mind.
“The Army queried everyone about who had first aid knowledge after you turned up. Apparently whoever patched you up really knew what they were doing.”
T.A. nodded. He would like to know as well.
A dim memory of pink Reboks flashed into his mind. He sat up and after a few seconds he realised he had his mouth open as though ready to speak. He shut it. He had not thought of the Reboks since the incident happened.
“Thought of something?” asked Ben.
“No, just each answer seems to give me more questions.”
“That girl you were on the Island with telephoned a few times for several months after the incident to find out where you were. She said her letters to Australia were being returned unopened. What happened there? She was the one who found you in the bush and got that Filipino fellow to haul your big arse to the restaurant before the Army flew you out on a chopper.”
T.A. remembered too vividly the real circumstances of who found who and subconsciously let out a sigh of disappointment.
“A long story Ben. It didn’t quite happen the way she seems to have told it. It’s a bit personal.”
Ben nodded as if he knew.
“What happened to the dog, Fred?”
“Recovered fully, but then just disappeared about three months ago. He’d gotten a lot slower after his injuries. Probably taken by a python.”
T.A. shuddered at the thought.
They both sat in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.
A knock at the door signalled the arrival for the pre-arranged interruption.
“Well T.A., it’s really good to see you, and looking healthy. I really mean that. You were a bloody mess the last time I saw you. We’ll talk some more after I get some work done.”
T.A. nodded, as they shook hands before he left. He had wanted to ask more questions but he did not want to reveal that he knew as much as he did.
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