Orchid House (11 page)

The Far East. Southeast Asia. The stretch of Philippine Islands. The Province of Batangas. In her mind, Julia remembered the world map and envisioned coming closer and closer to the pin-point of space that the hacienda occupied like one faded star in this brilliant night sky.

These days on this side of the earth were foreordained, she felt, to bury her grandfather, assess the lands, and seek a new path for her future.

The night bird called again, a haunting cry. A breeze rustled the fanlike arms of the palm trees.

Julia knew that much lay in store beyond her three goals. And how she wished to know, what was this secret of the orchid?

H
E'D BE THERE IN MINUTES NOW
.

Manalo stood up in the back of the truck and felt the brisk predawn air slap his face and fill him with the scent of the jungle. He always loved that moment when night made its turn, like the turning tide out on the sea. It was the change of night to a new day, a shift in the atmosphere that could be felt if one sought to perceive it.

The road sign announcing the village ahead sent a rush of adrenaline through him; he felt sixteen again and newly in love.

Only six hours earlier he had been in Manila. Then Comrade Pilo told him he wouldn't be going with his men. Instead of heading to the mountains surrounding Hacienda Esperanza, he was given one day and one night with his family. He'd left at once.

The children surely slept; he would love to see them in their beds. How he'd love to watch Malaya sleep as well. Tonight he would. He would make love to his wife this morning and again in the night, and then he'd watch her sleep and memorize everything about his children and wife to take with him until he saw them again.

And the next morning before he left, Manalo would make love to his beautiful wife one more time and hope in several months he'd hear of another child growing inside her. He worried about her when she was pregnant, especially after his sister's death in childbirth, but she had always wanted six children. He never saw her so happy as when she was pregnant, rubbing her round stomach with joy and glowing with excitement.

He wanted to see this house they'd lived in for six months—a house with running water and a plumbing system. She'd thanked him, knowing he'd pressed the issue after the shanty they'd been in for three months before that. If he had to live apart from them in the jungle, a fugitive from the government, and he couldn't put them in the type of house they deserved, at least they would not live in squalor.

On the phone she'd told him her routine. How he loved just to hear her voice and know of her schedule—it was something he took with him during the days and night of separation.

The baby who was not really a baby now would rise first. The older boys liked to stay out late and would sleep half the day if their mother let them. They resented the moving from place to place, and he'd no doubt hear about it again on this trip. At seventeen and fourteen, they didn't want to change schools again. Aliki was material for a university. Rapahelo would rather flirt with the girls in town and hang out at the arcade or basketball courts. And then there were the twins, his sweet girls of seven years. He wondered if they still liked putting ribbons in their hair and climbing all over his back for horsyrides.

Manalo spotted the welcome sign for the small village and gave the roof of the truck cab a quick pound. He hung on at the rapid deceleration, then tossed out a backpack and hopped out after it himself, giving a one-handed wave to the driver. Never had he returned to the family without gifts. He collected them for months until he saw them—telling stories of the origins and his most recent adventures.

The cocks already crowed as he approached the village. On the porch of a closed-up
sari-sari
store, a dog rose up and stretched, letting out a bark when it saw him. Manalo whistled, and it came cautiously toward him until he patted its head.

“Tell me where Kalye Rondolo is, old mutt. You know the streets here,
hindi
? And what kind of watchdog are you anyway?” He hoped the dog he'd sent the family a year ago did a better job than this one.

The village could hardly be called such, with its few houses and one café grocery. His boys were unhappy with such seclusion and spent as much time as possible at school and in the larger town nearby. At least that's what they'd said on his last phone call.

Manalo turned down a narrow dirt road and dropped into a valley where a morning fog hovered in the air and the scent of wood smoke welcomed him toward home. His pace quickened.

Even after so many years together, Malaya's skin felt glorious; it mystified him how it could be so soft. And the scent at her neck, the depth of her eyes . . .

Then he saw the house down in a thicket of dark trees. He couldn't see wood smoke or any light coming from the windows. Maybe she slept in with the weariness of motherhood upon her.

He jogged now, the pack heavy on his back ready to be unloaded and the gifts distributed. His heart beat hard more from anticipation than exertion.

If his men could see him, the hardened fugitive leader of an insurgent Communist group, running toward his family, nearly giddy with anticipation, he'd never hear an end to their mockery.

Manalo came to the stairway of the porch and stopped suddenly. Instinct bred from years of warfare forewarned him. No roosters crowed the sun to rise; no dog barked. The house didn't breathe life.

He quickly evaluated any danger. His mind flashed to the corpse on the floor—the boy from Barangay Mahinahon. Could it be coincidence they were headed toward that very region? He thought of Comrade Pilo wanting to meet him at Manila Bay, and the sudden and unusual reprieve to see his family. His men were without their leader and traveling to a new region, or perhaps were still in Manila. Manalo remembered how he had once stood inside an empty house as an assigned assassin, with the photo of the man he was to kill. He'd done the job, followed his orders, not allowing himself to question who had been the human behind the glassy, empty eyes. Was someone waiting inside for him in such a way?

Within seconds, Manalo sensed he was alone here. No one waited to put a bullet in his head. He knew before he walked inside that there was no one there at all. He wandered the empty rooms, trying to gather the presence of his family. There was a kitchen, sala, CR, and three bedrooms.

Along a windowsill he found a line of army men lined up. His foot kicked something soft. He picked up a stuffed animal and breathed in the scent of a toy well loved.

They'd left quickly, and recently. The smell of Malaya's cooking lingered in the kitchen. The brick oven was cold, but not as cold as it would be if left empty for more than a day.

The ache of being that close, hours close, overwhelmed him and brought him to his knees. All he knew was the house was empty. And his family was gone.

SEVEN

P
rimitive extravagance. The hacienda house was a mixture of the primitive—Julia thought as she struggled with a small handheld pail as her “shower” in the clawfoot tub, drawing warm water from the deep clay vase at the side—and the extravagant—she looked about at the goldleaf fixtures and intricately carved wooden doors and baseboards.

In her morning exploration she had also discovered the orchid design throughout the house in the carvings of wood and in many paintings. One of the paintings lining the stairway had a beautiful border of orchids surrounding a couple standing with the hacienda house in the background. Julia stared at the portrait, wondering who these two were in the lineage of the hacienda.

Drifts of lilting conversation with occasional bursts of laughter greeted her as she went outside to an open courtyard at the back of the house. The three sisters sat along one side of a thick wooden table.

“Miss Julia,” Lola Gloria called out.

Julia tried out her new acquisition: “
Magandang umaga
,” and immediately felt like a fool.

She was rewarded with surprised expressions and applause.

“In case you cannot remember, I am Lola Gloria, and my sisters are Lola Amor and Lola Sita. Aling Rosa is your head cook and our best friend—she is like another sister, though she is a little younger. She is also the wife of Mang Berto, our mechanic and the great lover of your grandfather's car collection. Did you sleep well, and find your breakfast?”

“I slept fine—a little messed up on days and nights. And I did eat. Thank you to whoever brought the breakfast and coffee. It was wonderful.”

Julia had found a breakfast tray in her room after her morning “bath.” Coffee with rich cream and sugar, French toast with mangoes and powdered sugar, a juice she guessed to be pineapple, fresh cut papaya and strawberries, and a hibiscus flower in a small blue vase.

“Your breakfast and hot water were taken up by Lola Amor,” Lola Gloria said and then spoke in Tagalog to the younger sister across the table.

Lola Amor smiled and nodded. “Yes, Miss Oo-lia,” she said. “Welcome you.”

“Lola Amor was more interested in cooking and tending the garden than doing her studies. Her English is not too good,
hindi baate
? English no good?”

“English no good,” Lola Amor repeated as she took a puffy bitesized pastry from a platter on the table. The cloth-covered table displayed several platters of pastries, coffee cups, bowls, and at one end, a large pile of some sort of green bean.

“My English better, no good too,” said Lola Sita. “Aling Rosa very bad English. Mang Berto very good with Captain Morrison. Eat
pandesal
.”

She handed Julia a small pastry.

Julia took a bite and announced to the expectant faces, “Yes, this is good. Very good.”

“Please join us.”

“Coffee? Tea?” Lola Amor asked.

“Oh, I left my cup upstairs. I'll get it.”

“No, no, remain here. Aling Rosa will get you another,” Lola Gloria said. “And did you find your surprise upstairs on the veranda steps?”

“No, I came down the inner staircase.”

“Oh, there was a mango sitting there. I'll get it for you later. I think you might have an admirer.” Lola Gloria smiled slyly. “But we are holding hopes for you and Markus. You are not married, no?”

“No, I'm not married,” Julia said with a smile. Already the women were trying to set her up with someone. “Is this Mr. Markus Santos you are referring to?”

At his name, the other sisters giggled and whispered to one another like young girls.

“Yes, he is our beloved Mr. Markus Santos—the hacienda lawyer.”

“My grandfather spoke highly of him as well. I guess they talked often on the telephone.”

“We try finding that man a wonderful wife, but he is not interested in anyone we recommend.”

Julia wondered if it were Markus who wasn't interested, or the “recommended” women. But the sisters seemed to think this Markus was quite a catch. They went on describing his attributes through Lola Gloria's translation and own contributions as if selling him on the spot, laughing and smiling.

“He spent many summers here as a boy; his family lived here for a time as well. We taught him how to cook! He wanted to be an astronaut; oh yes, Lola Sita reminded me of the spaceship he built with Mang Berto. Aling Rosa was so angry at them for the mess they made.”

The women talked and laughed some more.

“We don't see him so much now. He's busy trying to make our nation a better country—fighting against many of the corruptions we've endured over the years. But I think he needs to slow down now and fall in love. Do you have a boyfriend in the States?” Lola Gloria asked.

Julia hadn't thought of Nathan all morning. “No, I don't,” she said, and then realized her answer would only spur their match-making plans.

“A beautiful girl like you? Oh my. When Markus sees you . . .” The sisters chatted together excitedly, and Julia put her hand over her eyes.

Aling Rosa returned with a cup and poured Julia some coffee, moving the cream and sugar across the table to her.

“Do you know where Raul is?” Julia asked to distract the women. “Today I'm meeting him to talk about the financial status of the plantation . . . you know, fun things like cash flow, products, and other assets.”

Lola Amor had a blank expression, while Lola Gloria and Lola Sita acted as if they understood fully. Aling Rosa reached into a sack beside the table and pulled out a handful of the beans.

“I have a list to complete during the days I'm here.”

Lola Gloria patted her hand softly. “Well, leave some room to breathe, dear girl. You Americans are always so busy, but do you live any longer? Probably you live less, even if the years are longer. And Raul is in the fields today. He will return after the noon hours.”

“What does he do in the fields?”

“Not sure today. I thought they were burning some cane fields, but there is no smoke on the horizon.”

“The plantation grows sugarcane?” Julia asked.