Orchid House (10 page)

“Barangay Mahinahon?” she asked, surprised that she could repeat the name. A shiver ran through her. Raul had mentioned it earlier, and it seemed she'd heard those words before from her childhood days as well. Had it been childhood ghost stories from her grandfather? “What is that?”

“I will take you there perhaps.” He seemed to consider a moment, his look far away. “Or I will at least explain it further at another time. I do apologize that not everyone could be here for your arrival.”

“Some were missing?”

“Some of your cousins were not in attendance. They will of course attend the wake and funeral. There have been some difficulties of late. You will meet them all soon enough.”

Raul was keeping something from her; Julia detected worry in his face. Dwarfed in the presence of this house and the great unknown around her, she knew there were many secrets hidden within and without.

She'd entered something far beyond expectation, and her short time here meant long repercussions. But exactly what those repercussions might be, and what her role would be, she did not yet understand.

“W
HY DON'T YOU GO HOME NOW?” EMMAN COULDN'T KEEP THE
annoyance out of his voice.

“Did you see her?” Bok said, climbing the tree at his heels. “Can you believe I touched her hand?”

“I saw her before anyone else.” Emman wanted to kick the boy out of the tree and be left alone. She
did
have blue eyes; he knew that for certain now. But he'd been rooted in place while others reached out to take her hand and introduce themselves. The nerve of Bok to rush up before anyone else and help her from the tricycle.

The light went on in her room. Emman took the wooden gun in his hands and touched the knife at his side. He'd protect her, even if she didn't know he was here. One day soon, she'd know. And if any harm approached, Emman would be ready.

He wondered what Miss Julia thought of the hacienda house. From what he'd seen on television, not everything in the United States was grand and imperial. He wondered what her house looked like. Was it like those houses on
Beverly Hills 90210
? Or in the city like the Bronx or south LA—like he'd seen on TV shows and movies? Somehow he couldn't imagine Julia in a rundown house with gangs doing drive-by shootings.

Yet surely the hacienda would impress anyone. Just that day he'd learned more about the inside from his cousin, who had done some woodwork on the staircase. Abner said that the house had ten upstairs bedrooms, a second spacious open-air living room, and a long and large hallway that connected them all. Downstairs were the large primary
sala
, kitchen, dining room, study, parlor, and four more bedrooms. Other than the office and kitchen, the rest of the house had remained unused for over a decade. Sheets covered furniture in many rooms, and the thought of those shrouded objects—would they scare her as she stayed there alone?

Emman would stay the night nearby in case she needed someone strong and brave to save her.

Bok had finally stopped bugging him. The kid had initiative beyond his years, Emman had to admit. And when the younger boy handed him some cigarette butts only half-smoked, Emman decided he could stay.

SIX

H
e walked down the stairs, leaving Timeteo, Paco, and Frank on their beds in the darkened room. Perhaps they couldn't sleep either. They'd hear his departure as men accustomed to being wary at all times, but none would follow him.

He waved a hand in the air to stop a taxi, and as he told the destination, Manalo wondered when he'd last ridden in a cab and what fare they charged now. Walking the kilometers back to the safe house after the day he'd had did not appeal to him.

The city was still alive with people walking the streets and streaming from the malls. He couldn't believe how many malls had cropped up, and more were being built. When he'd last been in Manila, the economy struggled to such an extent that whole areas of the city were desolate. Now rich developers were being made richer, while the poor remained poor even without Marcos as the unmitigated president.

Rock bands and vendors lined up beneath the palm trees of Manila Bay. Their lights reflected onto the dark water, and far out in the bay ships both large and small could be identified by their pinpoints of light.

As he walked along the baywalk, a powerful longing came over him. He needed more than food or water or rest. He no longer desired success or power or war. What he needed, he could not have. Malaya. All he wished was to crawl into bed with his wife, put his head on her stomach, and feel her hands in his hair. Once there, he'd remain forever and cry a thousand tears.

“Comrade.”

“Comrade Pilo.” Manalo slapped his back and smiled as if meeting a long-lost friend, in case someone was watching. Their smiles were forced as they asked about each other's families and found a bench before the view of water and night sky.

“What happened tonight?” Comrade Pilo asked him in a lower tone.

“I was hoping you'd know more than I do.” Manalo would not accept any form of reprimand after the situation into which they'd been placed. “What is going on?”

“Mistakes were made.”

“Yes, that much I know. But why was that boy there in the first place?”

“The granddaughter of Captain Morrison was here today. At the Manila Hotel, in fact.” They both looked in that direction and could see the building rising up past the opposite end of the baywalk. “The young man was the driver bringing a Mr. Raul Sarmiento to pick her up. We followed, and the car broke down. Once they approached Manila, I turned the tracking over to our ‘friends.'

“They picked up the boy, which they should not have done. They thought he had information, but they did not even know the questions to ask him. Our friends do not know about the American woman, Captain Morrison, or the strategic importance of Hacienda Esperanza. And so, you know the rest.”

Manalo realized they were sitting on a bench not far from where he and Malaya had sat, oh, how many years ago was that now? Fifteen, eighteen, maybe more. He tried to keep her from his thoughts.

“What is the objective for our going to Hacienda Esperanza?”

“Under no condition can hope for the American woman or Captain Morrison be revitalized. She is the beneficiary to the plantation, but that is not legally possible because she is a foreigner. Unless contracted with a Filipino individual or enterprise, she cannot own the land outright. Their lawyers are working on that, and this is of much concern. We need the land to be sold, divided by investors, or given to the people. But the American must leave. If the hacienda gains some measure of power and her position is associated with that in any way, then the entire region will gain a stronger political stability, and we'll have lost a key region of the country.”

“So we encourage dissension.”

“Yes. Chaos, fear, retribution. The area must be rife with insurgents, but not necessarily Communists. The Muslims could be contacted, and if they can do our work, then all the better. They care nothing for diplomacy, while diplomacy is our only means of battle at this point.”

“The Muslims will kill the woman.”

“No, we don't want that. The capitalist sympathizers already have one hero, Captain Morrison. We cannot give them a martyr as well. But the sooner the American woman leaves, the better. I will negotiate with either the Muslims or our ‘friends' and see what they will do, and I will try to control their zeal.”

“Good luck with that. What about the boy?”

“Let me work on that as well. Your plan was good, to return the body. But I will take that responsibility as well.”

Manalo nodded his head in thought. This was what they needed: objectives for their mission, not obscure instructions to go to the area and see what they might see.

Then Comrade Pilo surprised him, saying, “Manalo, you won't go back to the safe house tonight.”

“Where am I going?”

“Let us walk awhile, and I will tell you. But you will not join your men for three days' time.”

T
HE SECRET IS IN THE ORCHID
.

Julia searched the pages of her grandfather's logbooks, sure she'd read that phrase somewhere. She sat in the massive bed, the books piled next to her. The softly ticking hands of the windup clock pointed to just past four in the morning.

The antique furniture in the room had brought the phrase to her mind. Carved into the thick wood of the headboard, the bed-side table, and the large wardrobe was a design Julia recognized as an orchid blossom and leaves.

The room had a scent of dampness and age, and the house around her creaked and moaned in the darkness beyond the dim glow of her bedside lamp.

Old houses make noises, she reminded herself. Hallways and staircases rarely used now sighed in either annoyance or relief at the movement and life she brought here. An outside breeze further stirred trees against the roof and eaves. Did the house wish to be alone? Or had it longed for living things to move through its empty rooms and hallways like blood returning to deprived veins and cells?

Tiredness had fallen quickly over her after meeting the many people of the hacienda and going on a quick tour. One of the older women had made her a plate of food called
pansit
—some kind of brown noodle mixed in a smorgasbord of meats, vegetables, and seasonings.

She'd eaten at a grand dark-wood
narra
table in what had once been a dining room for entertaining. And as she'd eaten, the three older women had smiled and watched every bite, enthusiastically responding when she enjoyed the meal. Julia learned that they were sisters and distant relatives of hers. They pointed out antiques and told stories through the one sister who spoke perfect English.

“You should eat some more,” Lola Gloria had said. “Dinner isn't for several hours.”

“Sleep?” another had asked; Lola Sita was her name. They were indeed doting old lolas.

The house was so large Julia thought she could get lost. The rooms were filled with treasures, some from all over the world; Hacienda Esperanza was like a museum with all its collectibles, sculptures, books, and artifacts.

Julia missed dinner; she slept so long and hard. Awakening in the dark of night, she thought of her grandfather here in this very house so many years ago. He and her grandmother had slept in the room across the hallway, Lola Gloria had told her when she asked. Her mother had been born in the same room, a fact she had never shared with Julia. After her grandmother's death, and after Julia's mother was sent to live with family in the States, Grandpa Morrison moved downstairs to the office, never sleeping upstairs again. That floor had been mostly uninhabited for over thirty years.

Julia felt small here. That was the only description she could find. Small in form and small in existence compared to this grand house full of ancient lives, stories, and memories, in a country far from home. Only once before had she felt such a sense of smallness, as a child in her uncle's boat in the rough Pacific waters beyond the point at Harper's Bay.

She reached for another logbook and carefully turned the pages. There were notes on better farming methods, how to use solar energy for the hacienda house, the best way to restore antiques. Nothing about orchids. Where had she seen those words?

The secret is in the orchid.

Her mother had a painting of an orchid and a wooden hair comb with the same carved emblem. Perhaps this had been her mother's room as a child. Once again Julia wondered why she knew so little about all of this—it was the strangest feeling, like discovering the truth of a parent a child had never known.

She almost missed it. There, in his tight script, written neatly along the bottom of a page.
The secret is in the orchid.

There was a sketch of the flower beside it, but nothing else. The rest of the page was devoted to a plan for a grain silo.

For the longest time Julia stared at the words, wishing to hear her grandfather's voice explain what he'd written there. Finally she rose from bed and opened the balcony doors, sliding the panels into a hidden slot in the wall.

The second-floor terrace was a refreshing relief compared to the pressing indoors. The air felt crisp and damp, but not too cold. By day the encompassing view included the back courtyards, gardens, the thick foliage along the eastern borders including the overgrown orchid fields, and to the west the vast farm fields ending only in the far-off mountains. Julia leaned over the thick railing with wide carved balusters secured to the balcony. The grandness of old Spain was about this house.

The scent of tropical mountains came on the lightest of breezes to touch her face and push her hair back. Above, the stars shone brightly. There was no light on the horizon in any direction, and in the deep darkness Julia spotted the Big Dipper and then the North Star welcoming her like familiar faces in a foreign land.

There was a rustle in the bushes beyond the back courtyards, then the eerie cry of a night bird. The sound was strangely familiar; Julia felt that she could repeat the bird call and that she had done so in the past. Her thoughts whirled with both the strangeness and odd familiarity of this land.