Boy Luneta 22

That was the moment I fell madly in love with the Philippines - I fell in love with Sonia - and not because of her looks, not at all - I fell in love with her soul, the totality of her being. I fell in love with things that I thought were associated with her: every Filipino; Seashells; seas and oceans; Sugar plantations stretching from sea to sea; rice paddies and water buffalos; Filipinos diving deep into the oceans gathering natural pearls; white pearls; black pearls; Philippine minerals; gold, silver, copper; copra from cocconuts; Smell of sampaguitas; balut; adobo; pansit; tocino; mango; pineapple; Sentimentality; grace; calm; laughter; noise; Sound of jeepneys; sad songs; sad stories; fiestas; siestas; jeepneys; calesas; meat markets; fish markets; vendors; night peddlers; bars; Smiles; cries; forgiveness; anger; heaven; hell; cities and the calm, calm ricefields. As calm as Sonia who stands beside me. We stood there in the calmness of Angeles night, I was wishing it would never end - how would I want to end the magic of this land, its beauty under its stars and full moon, under the spell of this magical woman, so sincere was her I felt totally impotent. How do you respond to a woman who bares her all to you? How would you caress her naked soul and her broken life? How do you mend a ragged clothing that is impossible to mend?

"I love you Sonia," I whispered. I expressed a love that did not come from my testicles, no, my dick was the least I was concerned right then. Please understand the kind of love I am talking about - Sonia did not understand it. It was my love for her being Filipino, for her country, for her bravery, for her sacrifice as a mother, for everything good and bad about the Philippines.

"If you love me", she said, "Take me with you to America."

That's all it took to drive the magic away. "I meant to say I love you in a friendly way", I protested.

"Take me wtih you", she persisted. "I'll do anything you want me to do. I'd be your slave. All I want is to get out of this place."

She coiled strands of her hair around her fingers. Looking at her in this state, I became worried about her children - she was a single mother, the lone provider for her kids. How would the future for her kids be if she lost her mind? What if one day she'd decide to end it all? What if one day, she just left this city never to be seen again? Who will take over her responsibilities? Who will feed her children?

"Cut it out!" I almost yelled. I felt so uncomfortable with this conversation now. "Sonia, I am your friend and there is nothing more to it than that."

She laughed at me.

Yes, laughed like a lunatic. "Oh you are just like the rest! You are exactly just like the rest."

She was probably a lunatic.

A drunk lunatic.

I closed my eyes unable to bear the thought - I was extremely morbid in this city.

I wanted to escape the pain, fear. I imagined Sunsets; sunrises; mountains; volcanoes.

I left Sonia in her drunk, boisterous, lunatic, magical mood.

I walked the streets of Balibago, still leery and somewhat unsteadied by the after-shocks that lingered; it was easy for me to wander at this time, it seemed people have already forgotten the recent demonstration and clashes they had - this was the fascinating trait of the people in Balibago; it was easy for them to forget. I was thinking all about these, leisurely pacing the street while anticipating one of my buddies from the base to drive by to pick me up.

I walked in the dark; the sidewalks were emptying. A few candles were lit inside houses. Lanterns were hanging on the doorways of clubs. Sweaty hostesses were fanning themselves. Sweat and make-up were melting together on their faces. Their beautiful faces were turned monstrous. Worse, they were sitting beside a wall that had been yellowed by frequent urination of passersby. The wall smelled like an unsanitary toilet.

"Joe, come to my bar. I give you blow-job." They called out- it was a sad call, the only voice in this quieting darkness.

I didn't even care.

Another after-shock disturbed the night.

And then, a window opened. It was a window made of wood slabs, it revealed a face staring out looking at me. It was the same face I saw in my dreams - the watermelon lady, the American-Indian of my dreams, the woman molested by the Japs vowing to cut their penises.This Filipino woman, as the after-shock rattled the ground, yelled in the vernacular: "Ayun! Mamayun!"

I saw her as real as the after-shock. She was yelling towards me, as if trying to tell me how earthquake is spoken in her native dialect.

I am now slowing down my narration because this is the moment - and I keep repeating this to you, now that I am alone with you Alex Maskara, with you too Boy Luneta - this is the exact moment I met Tesang, the moment that will be etched in my mind for eternity, the moment that will haunt me and drive me from America to across Asia and back to the city of Manila, this is the moment my true love acquired life.

I stood for the longest time staring at the window where Tesang was. If Sonia was the one I loved as a friend and pitied as pitiful woman, Tesang was the one who increased the beats of my heart. She filled my loins with blood. She turned me into a gentle flower and a beast at the same time.

The only sad this was, she announced goodtime from one of the windows of Ostrich Sauna and Massage Parlor. Massage for twenty pesos. Other things negotiable. Free balut and beer.

I stood there taming my animosity. I stood with a heart that was unsetteld, undecided: Should I go to her and offer an introduction? Fuck no! That would be the most preposterous civil act an American GI like me could do in a sauna bar. And I was not even drunk. Tesang was obviously waiting for a customer, a man, any man, who offered the right price for whatever service. Shall I go now? Ah, questions. Questions never end. Would I offer her a few bucks and feel her thoroughly with my naked hands, run my tongue all over her, taste her insides and then leave? Yeah, do anything as I please and then leave? Then what? In leaving shall I not also abandon my dreams of my American-Indian woman, my watermelon lady, my Filipino woman? Or, shall I stay standing right here, close my eyes and keep dreaming about her, imagining Angeles City to be a a remote island, in a far away world while I am suspended, in an empty space in front of the sauna where she was?

I could not close my eyes, the light of her candle was too tempting to ignore. I heared her voice addressing me: it was a girlish voice, high-pitched, giggly as if embarrassed - as if humiliated - the words it spoke were frightening, sending goose-bumps all over me, her words did not belong to a girl's but to that of a woman who had forsaken all: "Hey Joe, do you like goodtime?"

Is this the woman of my dreams? Yes, and perhaps you'd comment I deserve someone better. Believe me, I made a lot of comments similar to that to myself many many times. How did I fall in love with the lowest of the lows - a prostitute?

Who can really explain the workings of love? I can never explain why I am the way I am or why I fall in love the way I fall in love.

I went to her bar.

I paid the bar doorman a couple of dollars. I was offered a viewing of women lined up like mannequins in a warehouse. I was politely asked to choose my pick. "Fresh sir." "Good in bed." "Sex machine." I did not even care about the other ladies or whatever "talent" they had when I chose my pick. My eyes immediately fixed their gaze upon Tesang - the woman at the window - her playful eyes, her long black hair, everything, everything about her was a reflection of the image I've kept imagining in my mind. My American Indian, my woman, the other half of my soul and body, the container of my manliness, she would feed me watermelon and boiled eggs forever and I wouldn't mind. Oh how could I explain this love, this affection I felt for her in the depths of my heart!

My feelings towards her was made more intense and passionate by the events surrounding our meeting. When I met Tesang the first time, I was no longer the same mid-Western American boy I grew up to be. I was thrown into this dream-like world called Angeles, propelled into its conflicts and characters, right in the midst of the calm before the impending chaos brought about by the volcano. This country is a country I dearly love but it is more complicated than what I thought. There were other things going on, I barely scratched the surface of it all. But I'd try...I'd try my best to explain what it was...it was something that brought in the urgency of my purposes with Tesang.

During this time, while the volcano boiled, the Filipino-American relationship was extremely strained.Nationalism and anti-Americanism in the Philippines was at its peak. Marcos the Dictator had been purgated out of Manila four years ago and from then on, it seemed that every soul living in the Philippines wanted to get rid of everything deemed anti-Filipino. The American bases were at the top of the list.

Everyday, there were attempted assassinations on the American GIs, which did not sit well with Washington. Manila at the same time did not want to take any responsibility for American victims. Each passing day, the servicemen's confinement in the Philipines became more and more constricting to a degree that they were not allowed, as a rule, any contact with the outside-of-the-bases world. I defied that rule many many times.

"What is the point of staying in a country that do not want us?" asked the GIs.

The friendship between the two countries that lasted for nearly a century was at its lowest.

But, as I said, I defied all prohibitions. I still went out of the bases at my own peril. The closer I was to the realization that the bases were going to be closed, the more frantic I was in getting to know Tesang. I did not merely want to know her. I also wanted her to know me. Deeply. Profoundly.

I went out of the base at nights, camouflaging myself with what I thought were the typical Filipino clothes. Denim jeans, bright colored shirt, baseball cap. I took rides in tricycles and jeepneys and buses and taxis. All these I went through to be with Tesang.

But I knew there'd be an end. Just like the end of Pinatubo's serenity. Just like the end of Clark Air Base.

You know...

There were things that were thought permanent and unchanging in Angeles. The sky, the soil, Mt Pinatubo and Clark Air Base.

Who could have ever thought that after nearly six hundred years, a mountain so serene would stir and erupt to surprise the people living beside and on it? And after nearly a century, who could have thought that America would leave and vow not to return?

Angeles City turned from a swamp to a city because of the Clark Air Base.

"Why close now?" the people asked.

And then their eyes turned towards the cloud of darkness hovering the mountain. "Why erupt now?" They prayed as if God was sitting atop Pinatubo. Many farmers relied on the mountain's rich fertile soil for their livelihoods.

Who could blame the locals for their erratic behaviors, now in conflict, now prayerful, now violent, now calm? Between a volcano eruption and closure of the base, there was nothing to hang on to. Many jobs relied on the base. Many Angeles businesses thrived on the base. Though it spawned bars and prostitution, it also boosted the revenues of hotels, transportation vehicles, stores, markets. Angeles was about to suffer its biggest loss in its entire existence.

Finally, the people went past their denial. It was the time of realization. And the reality was painful.

You could see the smoke from miles away now, the government pronouncements were getting louder, carrying heart-breaking and hopeless messages: the people must evacuate.

"To where?" the people of Angeles, Mabalacat, Porac, San Fernando, Bacolor asked. Who would move their homes and properties to safe destinations? Wherever they'd evacuate, how would they manage their lives there, where would they get water, how would their electricity be run, how about bathrooms and privacy?

These were the topics being discussed in the bars, among the hostesses and local and foreign customers.

Fears of this sort, ironically, had boosted up businesses for a very short period of time. Beer was consumed as if all wanted to drink all their worries away. As if by sleeping, their losses would be forgotten and this nightmare would turn into nothing, like a bad dream to wake up from. Ironically as well, the prices of store commodities got cheaper, most owners wanted to get rid of their inventories to recoup capital quickly. Then they escaped to safer grounds like Manila.

Farmers began harvesting half-ripened fruits and immature crops. They began mass-killing their lovestock, sharing meat with neighbors otherwise selling it for much cheaper prices. And then they threw their belonging into blankets, balled the blankets and carried them on their heads as they walked, their children tagging behind, pets tagging behind children all moving towards waiting military trucks that would carry them to strange but relatively safe locations.

Others walked long treks. Others, especially husbands and fathers, chose to stay.

Washington finally started evacuating its people. At the same time, Pinatubo released its first explosion.

Alex Maskara