Authors: Michael Wood
Chapter 10
Cities sleep in different ways: some soundly, some fitfully. Manila has nightmares.
Leni and Vilma are late and running. Sales have been poor because they have been busy digging the company out of technical holes. Yul doesn’t want to hear excuses, and has been threatening the sack.
Last night they worked till midnight in a food factory, trying to repair a damaged resin floor and a damaged company reputation. They arrived home at 1.00 a.m, exhausted. They were too tired to shower. They ate two bananas, drank water, made their beds and collapsed.
Now, as a morning mist softens the edges of the harsh city, they are running late.
They gasp into Tugatog Street and, knowing they are too late for their current free ride, wave down the first jeepney they see.
Leni has just got settled in her seat, her breathing almost recovered, when she notices the driver’s eyes in the mirror. They are watching her. Her breath stops. They are familiar. She grabs Vilma’s arm. Vilma jumps, then follows her gaze. The jeepney stops in the dense traffic. The driver turns and grins. The grin is broad and toothless.
Leni leaps to make her escape through the back door. A man in a red shirt leaves his seat and bars her way. Vilma rushes to the front. A tall man with a moustache stands up and blocks the exit. He smiles at her, knowingly, like a cat that is about to get the cream.
Leni slumps into a seat. There are no other passengers. It is a set up. The driver must have been waiting for this chance for weeks. The realisation has also dawned on Vilma. She grips Leni’s hand as her eyes start to moisten.
They stare blankly ahead as the jeepney turns off Tugatog Street and heads southwards. They won’t fight or scream. They had known this would happen one day. The driver had every right to claim payment. He wasn’t a charity; he was struggling like the rest of them. It was just a pity that they would have to lose their virginity. Without it, or the money to have the hymen surgically restored, there would be no chance of marrying a decent man.
As the jeepney turns off the surfaced road and rattles through a shanty area, Vilma whispers ‘I’m frightened.’
Leni squeezes her hand. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ she says loudly, trying to be brave for both of them. Inside, she trembles. ‘Don’t resist. Try to imagine you are somewhere else, with someone else. It will soon be over. Time will heal our memories.’
The jeepney pulls up beside a large concrete bridge that spans a shallow valley. It is a sought-after location. The underside of the bridge provides a secure, dry, roof from which corrugated metal sheeting is hung, and fixed, to form the walls of better than average homes. The constant rumbling of the traffic overhead is a price worth paying.
The driver and his cohorts usher Leni and Vilma towards a corrugated door. The driver takes Leni by the arm. Close up, he looks a lot younger than she had thought. Behind the weary eyes and toothless grin, she senses a kindness. He was showing them no animosity for their failure to pay in the past. He was not a rapist. This was routine business; he was just collecting his debt.
As they step inside the door, Leni stops. ‘Can we give you money...we are both virgins.’
The driver hesitates, then, ‘Too late. My friends are expecting...’
‘Your friends?’ Leni was horrified, expecting that the driver would take a turn with each of them and then let them go. ‘We don’t owe them anything, only you.’
‘I owe them for helping me catch you. Don’t worry, they will go with her, only I will have you.’
‘No,’ Vilma shouts.
The tall man pulls her through the darkness. ‘Come on.’
They pass through a small kitchen room into a larger room. The driver strikes a match and lights a paraffin lamp. Among sundry makeshift bits of furniture, two old double mattresses lie on the floor on top of polythene sheeting. Between the two mattresses, a blanket hangs from the roof to the floor in an attempt to create privacy between the two beds. Clearly two families live here.
The driver takes Leni to the left of the blanket. The tall man and his friend take Vilma to the right.
The driver sits on the mattress and starts to undress. Leni takes a deep breath and does likewise. She hangs her dress neatly over a chair and places her briefcase next to it. She will need both in good condition if she is going to make good sales that morning.
Naked, she moves closer to the paraffin light so that the driver can see her better. She stands straight, shoulders back, head high. She looks, unflinchingly, into his eyes. She sees him swallow, then lower his eyes.
‘I give you respect,’ he says. Leaning over, he pulls a packet of condoms from under a pillow.
‘My friend also,’ Leni demands.
The driver steps to the end of the mattress and throws the packet into the other bedroom. ‘We show respect,’ he shouts. There is no reply.
*
Leni lowers herself to the mattress. A fusion of rancid smells emanate from it. She lies beneath the driver, and studies the flickering shadows cast by the paraffin lamp on to the underside of the bridge, as he takes her virginity. She tries to imagine the shadows are clouds drifting over her mama’s house. She tries to take her mind back to happy childhood days, but it is difficult to concentrate because of his unexpected urgency and the smell.
She is more concerned about Vilma than herself. Please God, they will be gentle with her. She prays to the Blessed Virgin Mary to give Vilma strength. Apart from slight shuffling noises, there is no sound from the other side of the blanket.
The driver is finished and rolls over to find a cigarette. Leni starts to rise. He holds her back. ‘Just a little break,’ he explains, his cigarette glowing in the semi darkness. Leni lies still beside him and tries not to listen to the shuffling beyond the blanket.
During the second session Leni counts the cars grumbling on the bridge overhead. A dudd-diff, dudd-diff, sound tells her that there is an expansion joint directly over her head. She can tell whether it is a car or a lorry going over by the volume of the dudd-diff. During one surreal moment she finds that a flurry of vehicles causes the dudd-diffs to keep exact time with the movements of the driver.
Leni glances at her watch, another ‘gift’ from her brother, as the driver finishes for the second time. Twenty minutes. They are almost an hour late for work. This time he lets her get up and get dressed while he lights another cigarette and continues to loll on the mattress. She looks down at him. She doesn’t hate him.
‘Will you give us a lift to work please. We will be fired for being late.’
The driver rises quickly, stubbing out his cigarette in his hand. ‘Me too! Hey Pedro,’ he shouts, ‘we have to go. Come on...finish.’ He is dressed in a flash. Clearly, he doesn’t own the jeepney and has his own boss problems.
The two men appear, fastening their clothes. There is an awful, breath holding, delay before Vilma appears, blank-faced, wet-eyed. She stumbles over something on the floor, and makes a pitiable gasp. She looks at Leni, pleadingly.
‘Don’t forget your briefcase,’ Leni orders. ‘Come on, we’re getting a lift.’
*
Twenty-five minutes later, after a visit to the washroom, Leni and Vilma are knocking on Yul’s office door. They have travelled there holding hands, in silence, recognising that words were inadequate.
‘The jeepney broke down, then there was a jam,’ Leni lies, using everybody’s stock, and frequently truthful, excuse.
Yul frowns while he searches for a suitable western cliché.
‘You must think I fell off the plum tree yesterday,’ is the best he can do. ‘Jams don’t last one and a half hours. Dallying with your boyfriends I bet. I am cutting yesterday morning’s commission from your pay, and giving you just another two weeks to pull up your socks. Go.’ He waves a dismissive hand.
Leni knows he is bluffing this time. He has no intention of getting rid of them because he needs them for next week’s visit by the British company. They are leaving his office when he shouts, ‘What’s the names of the two men coming next week?’ He always does this. It’s his way of keeping his staff on their toes. And it works.
‘Mr Elland and Mr Snodd,’ Leni and Vilma say in unison, like trained parrots.
‘And what is the name of their companies?’
‘Amtex Limited and British Nuclear Fuels.’
‘Right...off you go.’
*
Leni and Vilma step out into hot chaos. Across the city, a driver loses his job, fears about tomorrow; forgets the carnal morning. Manila’s nightmare does not need the dark.
Chapter 11
Even the beautiful, diminutive, flight attendants of Singapore Airlines couldn’t distract Hector from the discomfort of his first flight. Their constant procession of food and warm face towels served only to disturb him as he tried to find comfort and sleep. Their interruptions also meant that he had to listen to more verbosity from his travelling companion.
John Elland, Sales Manager for Amtex Ltd, was proving to be his antithesis. Tall, good looking, confident, smartly dressed, well travelled, and still only in his 30s. He hadn’t stopped talking since meeting Hector at Heathrow Airport, a place that Hector found totally bewildering.
John Elland explained that he had many projects to visit, but Hector was only required to supply technical support when promoting HD3000 to Wayne Industrial Supplies and a few government officials. He could spend the rest of the time accompanying John on his visits or do his own thing - it was up to him.
He made it all sound so simple and easy, but Hector knew it was completely outside his experience or capabilities, and the thought of it made him sick with worry.
*
The first thing that struck him about Manila, as they entered the dingy airport terminal, was the smell. Had he been a traveller, he would have recognised the warm, damp, thick, smell that announces all tropical cities.
Then there were the crowds. It was as if all Manila had turned out to greet them. A confusion of hundreds of people babbled and waved beyond the barriers; a mixture of taxi drivers, relatives, friends, beggars, people offering to carry luggage, armed police.
Among this melee they finally spotted a board saying ‘Amtex Ltd’. It was being held aloft by small, bare arms. The rest of the body belonged to the most beautiful young woman Hector had ever seen.
Leni greeted them with a practised smile and a firm shake of her tiny hand, then led them through the throng to a waiting company car. The company driver was not, apparently, worthy of introduction.
He drove at a speed and through gaps in the frantic, honking traffic that Hector found unbelievable. He gazed in shock at the soiled, noisy, decrepit, neon lit, people-plagued, city as it flashed past in the darkness of early evening. In the frequent traffic jams the car was besieged by limbless beggars and gaunt children offering one cigarette for sale. John, who had been to Manila before, advised him to ignore them, saying that they were mostly organised by gangs.
‘We are here!’ Leni announced.
Hector was dismayed to find himself looking out at ragged people sitting and lying on the pavement in front of corrugated iron structures, but then realised that the car was in a queue waiting to pull up in front of a large modern hotel called
The Sheraton
.
The adjacent poverty served to emphasise the opulence of the Sheraton. A huge entrance lobby containing open plan bars, restaurants, moving staircases, fountains, and an immaculately dressed group of musicians playing classical music, filled Hector’s wondering eyes.
Leni escorted them, via the moving staircase, to reception, which overlooked the lobby below. Here, she helped them to check in, then announced that she would be back to pick them up at eight o’clock to take them to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, where Yul was waiting to meet them. Before they could protest, she was gone.
Without any sleep for 15 hours and with his stomach already heaving with plane food and tension, Hector hated the idea, but kept quiet.
Reading his mind, John Elland said wearily, ‘They’ve obviously forgotten about the time difference. We’d better go - they’d be offended if we didn’t turn up.’
*
The Chinese restaurant turned out to be another hectic, swerving, honking, 20-minute drive across the city, which left Hector on the verge of throwing up.
His face was almost as white as his clean shirt as he was introduced to Yul and the whole of his staff, who had congregated around a giant circular table. A sea of smiling faces made it very clear that he and John were honoured guests.
Amid the constant babble, an endless parade of small dishes of food appeared in front of him on the rotating table. He forced himself to take a nibble from each, even though their strange smells caused an upsurge of nausea. Thankfully, John Elland kept the conversation going while he tried to smile and nod in the right places.
Miraculously, he got through the meal without being sick, but back at the hotel, his upset stomach, and the constant whirring of the drinks fridge, wouldn’t allow him to sleep.
*
He was lying in the dark, in the foetal position, wishing he were dead, when two sounds invaded simultaneously. One was the ringing of the bedside telephone, the other a series of knocking noises coming from outside the building. He grabbed the phone and found the bedside light.
A woman’s voice said: ‘Good morning Mr Snodd. Miss Gonzalez is waiting for you in reception.’
Panic. ‘Thank you.’ He leapt out of bed, looking at his watch. Seven o’clock. What time did they start here? He didn’t remember arranging to be picked up at seven. John Elland would be all ready and smart and waiting impatiently...Christ!
He flung open the curtains. In the semi darkness of dawn he could make out 20 or so men chipping away with hammers and chisels on a flat roof about five floors below his room. Beyond them he saw armed security guards taking up posts outside a large superstore.
A fast shave, face splash, teeth rub on the towel, and ten minutes later he was breathing heavily in the reception area. John Elland was deep in conversation with Leni, who looked so small and delicate beside him. Although her mouth was smiling, Hector noticed that her dark brown eyes weren’t. In the hollows beneath them, he recognised the shadows of permanent tiredness. He wanted to kiss them better.
After a cursory greeting, he was left trailing behind as they headed for the waiting car. They were on their way to Yul’s office where John Elland was to give the staff a demonstration of a new flooring product, which had been shipped over in advance of their visit.
On their arrival they found that the tiny office was too small to accommodate a demonstration, and decided to move out on to the pavement. Here, John Elland unpacked his sample product, which had apparently been held in customs for three days because they thought the loose, white, polystyrene packing might be drugs, and carried out his demonstration next to an old Chinese man sitting in the gutter cooking a foul smelling fish concoction on an ancient gas stove.
On the other side, hordes of young men mixed mortar and carried it up rickety bamboo scaffolding to bricklayers above. The scaffolding, and Yul’s excited staff, protruded out on to the road, but the swarming traffic and heaving pedestrians didn’t seem to mind.
Hector stood at the back of the group and took in the sights and sounds of the crazy city. Then he circled around until he could get a better view of Leni, who was watching the demonstration intently.
He watched her every movement. The big eyes concentrating, then blinking with tiredness. The generous lips pursed, then spreading at someone’s joke. The pure white teeth flashing in the morning sunlight. The delicate hand brushing back her glorious hair. The flawless olive skin, smooth over high cheekbones. His heart ached with longing. Kathleen Rinaldi had been displaced.
*
The next day, after a fitful sleep, disturbed again by the whirring fridge and the seven o’clock chisel gang, Hector managed to be at reception before Leni arrived. The company car was not at her disposal today. It was being used by Yul who was taking John Elland, alone, to meet some of their mutually important customers. It was known in Manila as ‘the bribe drive’.
Leni arrived looking worried and flustered.
‘I’m very sorry to be late Mr Snodd. The jeepneys are not very reliable.’
Hector didn’t know what to say. He had never been alone in the company of an ordinary woman, let alone a goddess like Leni. He could feel his face going red, his throat drying.
‘That’s alright,’ he eventually managed.
There was a long silence as they waited, each expecting the other to take the lead.
Finally, Leni said, ‘What would you like to do today, Mr Snodd?’
‘I don’t like being called
Mr
Snodd,’ Hector blurted. ‘Just Hector...sorry. I don’t know what to do today. Can you suggest something? Have you not got other work to do...Leni?’
He had hesitated to say her name. Now that he had, it felt wonderful. This was what having a girlfriend must be like. So close, so intimate, so in love. She was listening, paying attention to him, not turning away. His head was swimming.
‘Yes, I have a lot of work to do,’ Leni said. ‘But my job for the next three weeks is to look after you and Mr Elland..........’
‘I could help you,’ Hector blurted.
Leni hesitated. His behaviour was different to the other domineering westerners she had met. And he had a strange accent. Perhaps he was joking - the British sense of humour was famous. If he was serious, he would probably only get in her way. She was desperate to get out and make some sales.
She was regretting the three-week monetary arrangement she had made with Yul. Mama had serious money problems. If she hadn’t been tied up with the two Brits, she could have worked harder and longer and hopefully made more money for Mama. As it was, she was having to rely on Vilma having a good spell, then try to pay her back. Maybe today, however, she could get rid of Mr Snodd and make some sales. He didn’t seem to have any plans.
‘It is kind of you to offer to help me...Hector,’ she said, ‘but Yul wouldn’t like it. I am supposed to be looking after you. If you have no plans, why don’t you relax by the hotel swimming pool or do a bit of shopping. I could go and do some work and call back later this afternoon to see if you are comfortable, and Yul would never know.’ She added her sweetest persuasive smile at the end.
Hector was about to agree – he would have agreed if she had asked him to set fire to himself – when the hotel musicians started up in the lobby below.
Immediately, the sweet refrain made him clench his fists, and grit his teeth, to stop himself from crying. Madame Butterfly always had that effect.
‘You don’t like Madame Butterfly?’ Leni asked, having noticed the change in him.
Yes...no,’ Hector flustered. ‘Do you know this music?’
‘Of course,’ Leni smiled. It is my favourite Puccini.’
‘Can we stay and listen?’ Hector asked in a dream. Now he knew Leni was perfect.
‘We could go down into the lobby and listen, but we should buy a coffee,’ Leni explained.
Hector nodded and followed her. On the large mobile staircase that took them down to the lobby, with the fountain playing, and the music soaring, Hector felt like a king making a grand entrance with his beautiful queen beside him.
Leni guided him to a seat in one of the open plan restaurants. No one seemed to be listening to the music. They were talking, eating, drinking, reading, but not listening. Leni ordered coffee for Hector, but hot chocolate for herself, there being little food value in coffee. She eyed the delicious looking food, but daren’t ask, and arranged for the bill to go to Hector’s room number.
Hector sat just a few yards from the musicians, enthralled, ignoring his coffee. He had heard this wonderful music only on tape before. To see the violinists move in unison, feel the glowing golden sound wrap around him like a warm blanket, was indescribable. He started to shake inside.
‘They seem good,’ he said, trying to distract himself from his emotions.
‘They are part of the Manila Symphony Orchestra,’ Leni explained. ‘They do this to make a living in between concerts.’
Suddenly, Hector wanted to jump up to tell everybody to be quiet. How dare they speak when professional musicians were playing great music. How dare they ignore them. What else on earth, in life, could be as important as this. A master composer was ...superior. They knew the truth. They knew how we felt. They brought us messages...from...? They understood. They must be listened to.