Orchid House (22 page)

“That night would be spoken of for years to come. New miracles were discovered and most all could have been expounded upon in the retelling except that the miraculous was so profound, embellishment became ridiculous.

“The paella seemed to never end. The cake, though cut a thousand times, still had the upper layer. Some say it was similar to Jesus's feeding of the five thousand, but others feared heresy at such a comparison. Still others said that by giving God His due glory and prayer, such a miracle was only praise to Him and His power on earth and not of pride to Elena.

“The anniversary of that night became the annual hacienda fiesta, a celebration of those who lived and worked upon the land. And Elena's paella was the main dish, her orchid cake the dessert. And so every year Cortinez and Elena disappeared for several nights and returned with the Elena orchid.”

Markus took Julia's hand and turned it over carefully, then slowly made the shape of the orchid in the palm of her hand. “That is how Lola Gloria draws it whenever she tells the story.”

“Are the orchids in the field from the Elena orchid?”

“Oh no. Every attempt to transplant the orchid has failed. And it's actually been decades since anyone has brought the flower to the house, from what the Tres Lolas tell me. The Tres Lolas believe that when next the orchid is found, the hacienda will again come alive.”

“Is it that difficult to find?”

“Apparently. I don't know.”

“And do you think it really exists? It's not some mythical flower?”

“Oh, it certainly exists. My grandmother is from the hacienda,and she and my grandfather fell in love here when he worked as a temporary field hand. Our grandfathers were friends; in fact, Captain Morrison helped finance my grandfather so he could study at the University of the Philippines, which is the most prestigious school in the country. My grandfather became a lawyer—I interned at his firm before he died.”

Julia couldn't see Markus's face well in the low lights. “So what happened to Elena? Did she and Cortinez marry?”

Markus smiled, she could see that well enough. “You've become infatuated by the story as well, I see. Yes, yes indeed. They lived here at the hacienda where they raised, I believe, four children—you must ask Lola Gloria to be sure. But I know that Elena the Cook is one of your great-great-grandmothers.”

“Are they also buried in the cemetery?”

“Well, no. Apparently their bodies were never found.”

“What do you mean?”

“The legend says that the night of a beautiful blue moon, when very old, Elena and Cortinez went walking in the night. The kitchen maid saw them holding hands in the garden. Trackers later found their pathway all the way to the same cliff overlooking the sea. And there the tracks ceased. For a long while, villagers believed they'd return. But those in the hacienda knew that they were truly gone. Their presence had left, and the kitchen felt the absence.”

The story over, Julia walked Markus to his car. He insisted that he had no choice but to drive back to Manila, though Julia expressed her worry about his driving so late and after such a long day.

Markus paused a moment. “Do you want to know the fate of Amerel?”

“Yes.”

“He remained the most beautiful man wherever he lived. But his interest in charm and desire waned completely after Elena. He desired nothing and yet had continuous propositions. He created offense and anger wherever he went. Some believed he desired men instead of women, but it was simply that he lusted for nothing. And soon enough, wherever he went, word would come about his childhood cowardice and his role in Elena's story. And so a folk story began where Amerel was the beguiling villain like the beautiful Lucifer himself. It is said that he scarred his face with his own knife and lived out his final years in an isolated nipa hut on an island in the Visayas. But I do not know if that is true or not.”

Julia smiled in the soft light of the night.

“This is a land of myth and folklore, Julia. And strangely, when I am here, I believe every bit of it as truth. The longer you are here, the more you will feel the same. You will see.”

They reached his car, and Markus shook her hand gently.

Julia felt a strange vitality run between them. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Santos,” she said, smiling.

“And you, Julia.” He opened the car door. The interior light shone on his face, and Julia had a sudden urge to walk forward and kiss him.

She took a step back. Recalling her conversation with Nathan at the coffee shop, she said, “Markus, you wouldn't happen to be a rice farmer, would you?'

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “That's an odd question.”

“I have my reasons.”

“I live in Manila and practice law, but I do own some fields. So yeah, I guess you could say I'm a rice farmer. I hope that's not a bad thing.”

Julia covered her eyes with her hands and laughed to herself.
Of course
, she thought.

FOURTEEN

T
he next days brought a slow succession of activity to the hacienda grounds. Manalo's men reported on the preparations for Captain Morrison's body to arrive within days. They kept a record of the comings and goings. Raul was ever on the move all over the hacienda.

The Barangay had their men at the border and sweeping through the plantation, making it difficult to stay for any amount of time. They were formidable foes, that was certain. Other than the Moros in the southern province of Mindanao, Manalo had not met with such skill and discipline. He worried about his men who'd grown lax and weary of jungle life, that they were not the fighters they had once been.

Paco reported to him after he studied the structure of the house and learned the room location of the American woman. Manalo himself remained miles away in the surrounding mountains as they gathered information and came up with plans.

Trouble was incited in the town. Bar fights, the burning of some abandoned cars, some tourists attacked, a few shops robbed, and an owner terrorized.

Manalo was angry about some of the excess and angrier still to learn that it wasn't the Red Bolos who were responsible—the mercenaries had been invited to town. What was Comrade Pilo thinking? And though Manalo feared what occurred when incompetence and undisciplined mercenaries mixed, some of the created chaos was necessary. For Paco reported that through-out the town, people were talking about the return of Captain Morrison as eagerly as the return of President Marcos Ferdinand's body had been despised. Many viewed the Captain as a symbol of hope, change, and progress. If they only knew what democracy bred—greed, selfish ambition, more poverty, and gaps in the class structure. But belief was hard to crush. It was a delicate matter. Chaos and fear could divide, or they could create alliances.

Everything was culminating at the funeral and wake. The mayor was coming out. Corruption fed and clothed the mayor of San Juan. The people would be gathered there to see their hope returned. And the American woman would of course be there—and must not be drawn into the land, but learn to fear it. And soon enough, the death of the missing boy would be revealed, and hopefully Manalo's plan would work.

If Manalo received the word, they would assassinate the mayor, or anyone who posed a threat. Anyone. The mercenaries might be blamed, but this untrustworthy bunch wouldn't keep the secrets of the Communists, and Manalo saw the critical nature of the coming days as he stared into the night sky and analyzed all these insomniac thoughts.

One thing was essential—the American woman had to leave the Philippines as soon as the funeral was over. Her continued presence was a threat that the higherups would not tolerate. In all his years as a rebel fighter, Manalo had never killed a woman. He dreaded such a thought, was unsure if he even could. But others would not hesitate. And with his family in the clutches of Comrade Pilo, he was in no position to argue.

Manalo had hoped all night that Timeteo wouldn't delay his return from speaking with Comrade Pilo, and when he heard the footsteps, he rose quickly to meet him on the perimeter of the camp.

Timeteo's face was hidden in the darkness, but his voice sounded heavy as he talked about the meeting. “I met not only with Comrade Pilo but afterward with one of his bodyguards who owed me—don't ask why, it's a long story.”

“Does it involve a monkey?”

“Of course, doesn't it always?” he said lightly.

It was their inside joke, because Timeteo had once paid a debt with a monkey for the debtor's daughter. He had won the monkey in a different gambling game. But the monkey was mean and tried to bite the girl, so Timeteo had to pay the debt in double for the misdeed.

“Okay, give me the bad news.”

“There has been major chaos in the leadership in Manila and abroad.”

“What has happened?”

“The Old Man is dead, and a viable leader is not easily found to replace him. But also it is the effect of the foreign crisis in the Communist movement.”

“Yes, I know it does affect us, even here in our jungle existence,” Manalo said wryly, thinking of the Communist countries that had fallen like dominoes in the recent years since the wall of Berlin came down.

How did men like himself and Timeteo live in such conditions and remain subject to decisions and plans made by men in palaces in Beijing or Moscow?

“What did you see as having the greatest effect on us?”

“Well, no one trusts anyone now. They want assurances of loyalty, and the measures of such have been extreme at times. While the Leftist students at the University of the Philippines march around and gather support, or at least respect, the fighters have the eye of suspicion on us—leaders are digging through both our pasts and our recent maneuvers.” Timeteo was quiet a moment. “We can talk of all this in the morning, if you want. I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I know where they are.”

Manalo felt a cold chill in his veins. “Does Comrade Pilo know that you know?”

“He does not. What do you want to do?”

“If I go, then it will be noticed and viewed as disloyalty.”

“What if I go?” Timeteo said.

Manalo put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Yes. Timeteo, go and see her for me. Let me get the backpack of gifts for her and the children, and we'll give them some money. And set a time that I can call her or she me on a public telephone.”

Poor Timeteo didn't hesitate to leave after just arriving, and Manalo didn't even ask him to get some hours of sleep. He wanted his friend to reach Malaya as quickly as possible. His best friend knew this without saying.

Manalo still couldn't sleep. And though a part of him didn't know if he deserved it—what guerrilla fighter did—he was thankful to have the feeling of hope once again.

“I
COULD SWEAR YOU'VE BEEN GONE FOR WEEKS.” NATHAN CALLED
in his night, her early afternoon, surprised to find out she was sixteen hours ahead of him.

“Yeah, I guess for me too,” she said. “It's such a different world here.”

Julia wanted to tell him how she walked the grounds when the morning dew was still fresh on the earth, and that every morning she found a gift outside her veranda doorway—a trinket or new type of fruit. She wished to tell how she'd explored the old coconut groves with the massive piles of shelledout hulls. A few times she'd stopped by the garage and handed tools to Mang Berto as he scooted beneath the belly of one of his cars. Or how sometimes she was drawn to the path near the overgrown orchid fields where the flowers grew through a mass overgrowth of vines and foliage. She'd discovered a small spring there in the thicket and wondered if it ended at the fishpond. She planned to find out before she left.

Instead, Nathan told her about the accounts he was getting in his freelance advertising business. A few of his new clients were enough to make his competition green with envy. “We have more work than we know what to do with.”

“You aren't doing the business alone?” she asked, already guessing what he hinted at.

“No . . . I am,” he said. “And if you want to be part of it, it's yours.”

Julia stood at the kitchen wall where the telephone was attached. The Tres Lolas and Aling Rosa were in the kitchen, doing their usual cooking routines. Something simmered gently on the stove and filled the room with a fragrance that made her mouth water.

The past few days had been full of peace and solace with such quiet routines. Raul came and went with the hacienda's business at hand, answering her questions about operations over a cup of barako coffee, or leaning over the map he unrolled on his desk.

And then there was Markus. The Tres Lolas talked conspiratorially and said, “Markus sure comes all the way out here a lot suddenly.”

“Julia, I miss you. I want you back in my life.”

He
wanted her back.
He
missed her. Hadn't it always been about what he wanted? Mostly that was her fault, she knew. Julia didn't voice her wants and desires, and so Nathan didn't see how much of their life together had been ruled by him, his feelings, his wants.