Orchid House (29 page)

As they neared the village, Emman as lookout pointed toward the various wreckage that greeted them on the side of the road: an old and rusted Japanese tank with overgrown vines hugging its carcass; ancient military trucks; rusted guns and artillery. All stood silent, never to fire a shot again. There were even two remnants of warplanes, Japanese by the faded orange circle on the tail, probably shot down during the war. They were like war trophies, kills proudly displayed in a gruesome but riveting death pose.

Othaniel had warned Julia about the spectacle of war trophies. During the early years, he said, decapitated Japanese heads and dead bodies used to adorn the road until Captain Morrison with the mayor slowly convinced the villagers to take them down and bury them.

“It took a long debate for the guerillas to bury their enemies,” Mara explained. “Bitterness ran deep. The Japanese killed many of the men's wives and children and comrades. It was their only revenge, and the burial the smallest step toward healing what cannot be fully healed. Your grandfather spoke to them about God's commands to forgive, which he compared to an order from a ranking officer. It was a foreign concept to them, as it really is for all of us when we are in pain. Revenge, not forgiveness, is our natural response.”

Mara brushed back some loose strands of hair that blew into her face. “My uncle told me that when the American soldiers came to the Philippines, it shocked many Filipino soldiers to see them in church, praying, lighting candles, and going to confession. Most Filipino men considered religious service something for women and children. Then they saw these war-toughened soldiers whom they admired, like your grandfather, kneeling in prayer at church. It had an effect on them.”

Miguel pointed forward where Emman also pointed. “Look, Julia. We are here.”

They passed through a metal arch surrounded by high canopies of lush green trees supported by gnarled brown branches. The arch read Barangay Mahinahon. “Grampa” passed beneath the archway and between the rows of small houses at the side of the narrow road.

Their arrival attracted immediate attention, drawing men from sitting at tables to a standing position. Their stares were curious but intense, and Julia noticed the guns on their shoulders or in holsters hanging on loose belts at their waists.

The road opened up to a larger area, a plateau on top of the mountain, where more houses were erected in a circular fashion. They drove deeper inside the town until they reached a circular area where a monument was constructed—a gazebo adorned with wooden sculptures in the middle, statues of men with fearsome dispositions wielding rifles and raising their arms in defiance. Mang Berto circled the rotunda twice as Mara and Miguel told Julia that the three leading statues were the sculptures of her grandmother's brother Miguel Guevarra, the primary leader of the guerilla group;Diego, and Julia's own grandfather, Captain Morrison, the guerilla's American attaché.

The group then turned right to a mid sized convenience store, a larger sari-sari, where more men were gathered, sitting on wooden benches. On the left side was a large open-air billiard hall, while at its opposite side was a
carinderia
, or diner. Mang Berto parked the car at the side and proceeded to honk the car's horn until some men from the billiard hall came over to greet them.

“
Berto kamusta!
” the curious men greeted Mang Berto and Raul.Raul rose stiffly from the tricycle as the children piled out. The vil- lage men came ambling toward the car in their thin white sandals and shirts, many of them even shirtless in the humid air. Conversing in their strongtoned dialect, it sounded like they were shouting at each other, but Julia knew this was normal conversation to them.

“Nandyan ba si Amang Tenio?! Eto kasama ko si Julia, galing Amerika. Apo ni Kapitan Kano.”

Mara, who had become Julia's official translator for the day, explained that Mang Berto was telling the men that the grand-daughter of Captain Morrison wished to pay a courtesy call upon Amang Tenio.

Hearing this, the village men were even more intrigued and came closer to Julia and Mara sitting in the convertible. They leaned close with smiles that grew larger as Emman and the rest of Julia's young bodyguards surrounded the car and postured protectively, motioning the men back from such a famous lady.

“
Gwapa Kana
,” Julia heard again and again.

“That means ‘gorgeous American,'” Mara said under her breath, as they got out of the car.

The cousins were greeted by name and with hearty pats on the back.

“None of us has been up here in years. They're pretty excited to have us, the guys especially. And to have you arrive—well, this will be talked about for years.”

The commotion grew as some women appeared, mothers with children pushing in between, curious to see what the fuss was all about. Julia was surprised at the disproportionate amount of men among the few women and children.

“Hello. How are you?” a man bravely greeted Julia, drawing the laughter of the people surrounding him, amused at his attempt to speak in English.

“I saw you at the funeral,” another said.

“Are you liking our village so far?”

“Yes,” she said, though they'd barely arrived.

The brave among the village men routinely pushed themselves in front to speak to Julia and Mara.

“I am Pedro,” or Carlo or Ramon, they introduced themselves, doing their best to speak in Tag-lish—a Tagalog-English hybrid language. Julia surprised them with her own few Filipino words like
magandang hapon po—“
good afternoon”—or
maganda
—“beautiful.” These words never failed to give joy and laughter to those who heard them, like parents hearing their child's first spoken words.

While waiting for Amang Tenio, Francis decided to recount Julia's “gorilla village” misunderstanding to the villagers. They all listened attentively at first, with expectant smiles, wanting to hear about the young American's impressions of their home. But as it dawned on them that they were in fact being called gorillas, the smiles slowly crumbled into frowns, leaving a sea of uncomfortable silence and disturbed glances.

Even Emman and the child bodyguards appeared offended by the story. Midsentence, Francis stopped his cheerful retelling as Othaniel, shaking his head, nudged him sharply with an elbow. Francis turned left to right with a frozen smile. Julia could feel her face turning red, but there was no place to escape.

Then, amidst the silence, a lone, uncontrolled laugh exploded. Everyone looked around as the enigmatic old man with a red fighting cock in his arms pushed his way forward. And with that, the others roared in laughter as well.

“Good morning, Iha,” said Amang Tenio, as he took her hand and bowed slightly. “Forgive my people—we are not that humorless that such things can offend us. It seems it has become a tradition to tease our visitors. And truth be told, it was funny to watch you blush so red. But then, I don't think your lolo would appreciate our making fun of his dear one.”

“They were only teasing?” Julia asked with a confused grin, afraid he was just saying so to make her more comfortable. But when she saw the mischievous looks, especially on Emman's face, her mouth dropped.

Julia looked into the face of Amang Tenio. Years beneath the sun had weathered lines around his eyes. A cigar handrolled in black paper was tucked into the corner of his mouth.

Amang Tenio studied her intently as well, as if trying to both learn her history and predict her future as only a shaman could. “Come, come, have you eaten? Are you hungry?” he asked them. “Let's go to my house, and I will serve you merienda.”

“
Apo,
we just ate,” said Mara. “We came to pay respects to the parents who lost their young son.”

“Ah, yes,” Amang Tenio said. “I am sorry to say that they are not here. They have gone to the relatives of Artur's mother for a few weeks. It has been a terrible thing.”

Julia wondered, as she had when first hearing of the boy's death, how they were certain he was deceased. Raul had simply said that it was known, but had not explained. That Amang Tenio had said it and that a body would not be coming—this was the end of the discussion for the family. But for the men of the Barangay Mahinahon, the killing of their own would always be a call for vengeance. The exterior of Amang Tenio and the men at the village was humorous and inviting. But Julia knew by now that these men were warriors above all else.

Now Amang Tenio's eyes lit up. In a dignified and affectionate voice, he said, “
Mga anak
, children. I will be very happy to take you around the village. Follow me.”

EIGHTEEN

W
alking through the streets with Amang Tenio leading the way, Julia found a village unlike anything she'd ever seen. Its roads were lined by hulking acacia trees with huge dark trunks spreading their branches into an arching canopy of green that shielded the group from the harsh sunlight. Amang Tenio pointed upward where electric lights, a multitude of small ten-inch globes, were woven through the branches. He explained that the globes were made with white translucent
capiz
shells.

“At night they serve as the town's lampposts. During the Christmas season, the women and children line the globes with colored tissue paper to make it more festive.”

Having expected fortifications and run-down quarters, Julia was happily surprised to be greeted by a rustic hamlet cut from the mountain jungles itself; a community that had achieved a refreshing balance between man and nature.

The rows of homes beneath the trees were mostly made of wood in a traditional Filipino rural construction with rooftops made of woven dried
nipa
leaves. Tall wooden windows slid open and closed on indented grooves to provide a cool ventilation system. They were designed with a pattern of small square cutouts filled with the same white translucent shells that allowed soft light to pass through. Most of the houses stood on wooden pillars, about four feet above the ground. Each house had a small front yard adorned with a humble garden and protected by a simple bamboo fence.

The farther they walked from the town center, the more undeveloped the town became. The side roads turned into brown compacted soil. From time to time they passed a troupe of chickens pecking and scratching the ground unattended, looking for food. A brown piglet surprised Julia as it suddenly appeared from nowhere—they both squealed in fright, much to everyone else's pleasure.

Two smiling old men shouted a warm and friendly hello from their wooden bench under a lush tamarind tree, where they sat playing checkers. Julia noticed that the wooden board was obviously homemade; the chips they used were ordinary bottle caps. Amang Tenio introduced Julia and the cousins to them.

“Iha . . . you are so . . .
maganda
—you know, beautiful,” one of the men said, gawking. His thick black hair was frozen in place by a floweryscented pomade. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt and carried himself confidently. “I knew your lolo. He was the last of our commanders, and it is a sad thing that only in death could he come back. Our family visits your Lola Julianna's grave
severyarawngpatay
. . . how to say . . . the Day of the Dead. We keep it clean and with flowers.”

“Thank you, from my entire family,” Julia said. “I was told how the guerilla villagers have taken care of our ancestral graves in the absence of my grandfather. I know how much he appreciates this even now.”

The other man gained Julia's attention and stuck out his chest, saying, “Yes, your lolo gazes at us from heaven. Captain Morrison was good man. He was fierce as soldier and loyal friend to his men. My father fought with him.”

“And mine did as well,” the first said again, giving her a look of charmed flirtation that made Mara nudge Julia's arm. “We were his bodyguards.”

“Ah, like Emman and the others are mine,” Julia said. She thought of these two older men as boys following her grandfather. She pictured Emman as an older man retelling stories of his younger years over a game of checkers with one of the other boys.

The second man continued, “And my
kumpare
is right, Iha.You are so
gwapa
and very
matangkad
!”

“Don't bother the woman now, and hey, I am taller than you! So stop dreaming,” teased Red Shirt.

“That so, but I'm much more good-looking than you!” countered the other.

The group erupted into laughter at this exchange, including Julia. At home, two older men vying for her attention would have made her uncomfortable, but these two were just funny and lovable.

Francis nudged Julia and pointed to Emman, who appeared to be sulking. He was not at all amused at the flirting older men. But seeing Julia looking at him, he immediately shook his head and smiled, as if to apologize for his two elders.

“Do you like my home?” he asked.

“Yes, Emman. It is like nothing I've ever seen. I like it very much.”