Diary 20

"Hey pretty boy," the wandering kids of the bay teased me. "How much for sex pretty boy?"

I just wanted to smash their heads against the seawall. They would trot and saunter along and waddle their hips as if testing my patience; after insulting me, they would huddle like bees and play marbles and soda caps; at nights, the boys would walk like old men, smoke cigarettes and wait in dark corners; the girls would put on make-up, carry small purses, wear high-heeled shoes and join the boys in their search for pedophiles.

They were virtual inhabitants of the Luneta Park and Manila Bay. Always on the run. Most have been orphaned as infants, passed from relative to relative, abused. At a certain age, they disappeared from borrowed homes and no one cared where and how they ended. Except the Sisters of San Juan De Virgen Orphanage, or the people of the Department of Social Services.

To get even, I'd scream: "The Sisters are here!"

I'd guffaw at seeing them disperse like locusts. These kids hated Orphanages!

We were no enemies of course. We just avoided crossing each other's paths during the day. They were no different from me, children struggling to make it in a cruel Manila world. They do whatever they wanted to do just like me, I do whatever pleases me.

I had a big ally among them. She was Maria, a ten-year-old Madam. She was the real score among the prosties, the smartest. She held a list of child prodigies, ready, willing and able to bring out the goods as if it was a life's mission. One day, she confessed to me how she ended up a prostie. First, she was "hit and run" by a reckless driver. Somewhere, sometime, somehow - her mother abandoned her in a hospital after the mountain of medical bills Maria accumulated after. There was no medical insurance in Manila. But she was pretty, she was the offspring of a Filipino mother and an Iranian father ( the Iranian was studying to be an engineer in Manila during that time). After she got well and was given charity crutches, she was let go by the hospital. She first started begging on the streets of Quiapo.

One day I found her dreaming along the bay. She asked me where Iran was located. I asked her why she asked. "I will see my father one day. And I will kill him", she answered.

Abandoned and alone, she was taken in by the Sister's Orphanage and grew up in their convent. But at seven, a couple from the US came to the Orphanage to adopt her. She stowed away.

"You must be crazy!" I told her. What the hell were you thinking in running away from American foster parents?"

She said she would not live in a strange land. "I still want to meet my real father and then, I'd kill him."

She ended up the leader of the kids' prostitution ring.

She whispered to me one day, "Oh, if you've just seen all the things I've done! At seven, I was already stuffing bananas in my cunt. I squatted over San Miguel bottles to pick up coins and paper bills into my vagina. Those Australians just adored me. They made a film about me you know. I made sure I made lots of money from those bastards. I made sure I was not stupid either. Have you heard of that young girl who died after the Viennese tourist forced a vibrator in her tiny vagina? That was really sick and stupid. All she had to do was scream rape. She did not know how to handle the risks."

But do not get fooled and don't be carried away by Maria of the nights. Maria was completely different during the day. On days, she was responsible. With bare hands, she built a makeshift house for all of her kid proteges. She did cooking and laundry for them. She called her fellow children as her children.

She took care of me as well. As a surviving run-away kid in Manila, when I was really hungry and penniless, she would always come up with something to help me - noodle soup, rice, corn, fish - it all put me to shame. At nights, after locating and going out with a client, she would come home with groceries - bar soap, used clothes, make-up kits, etcetera. I did not really know where she bought or taken all these. She and her prodigies helped me survived in more ways than one. They served as my look-outs, pimping me elusive, rich clients who preferred boys my age. They would whisper to my ears: "A man at the park is waiting and willing to pay, Antonio." And I would look into their faces, some of them giggling, as if all our lives is a big joke. We warned each others. They made me avoid dangerous clients. I warned them of the coming Sisters and police.

All our nightly relationships would suddenly disappear during days. Like true actors, we'd pretend like nothing had happened the previous night. They would become real children again, I, a college student. I'd pretend to get mad when I would hear them say, "Hey pretty boy . . . "

If there was one thing they loved about me were the stories I told them. Maria was the only one who knew I wove them out of my fantasias. But there was one story we all seemed to believe.

The Legend of the Lady of Manila Bay.

In the days of old, the Lady of Manila Bay had secured her position in the mouth of the city, to herald its strategic location and opulence. She had seduced the Spaniards, Americans, Japanese. When these foreigners fought one another over her, she cunningly offered a place of a duel and watched with pride, without stirring, even enjoying, as canon after canon, battleship after battleship battered her city (if only to secure her place in world history). In a way she succeeded. Who would think of the greatness of the US Navy without referring to George Dewey's triumphant Battle of Manila Bay?

And then, the final war with the Japanese had ended. She wept in discovering how her beloved city was wiped out. Everyone thought she had chosen to die. Alone, she folded into herself like a rosebud that refused to bloom, unaffected by the cargo ships unloading in her docks and the piles of garbage thrown in her water. She became blinded to the sins men began committing on her shore.

One night, when the moon was full and the coconut trees were dancing, she was awakened by the cries of a young Filipino who lost everything - his family, his town, his love, his job in the city - due to war. He begged Manila Bay to give him consolation. She turned her head and summoned the waves to roll to the young man to listen to his heart. The waves were weeping when they returned to her. She sat up and brushed her black curls with a gold comb and put on her necklace of fragrant sampaguitas. Raising her right arm she opened her giant shell and the Pearl of the Orient Seas beamed its brightness from the bottom of the sea. Goldfish, milk fish, eels, squids, and jellyfish swam synchronously around the reefs that reflected the colors of the rainbow. The shore absorbed the yellow of the moon and the white blue of the stars, transforming itself into a silvery desert. She walked on top of the sea in all her oriental nakedness. Her virgin brown breasts shone and her smile tranquilized the world. Raising her left arm, the coconut trees turned nto knights and the seaweeds became maidens. The seabed rose and produced all the treasures laid buried in it for centuries; wealth from sunken vessels of the Dutch, Chinese, Spanish, British, American, Japanese. The remains of the sailors that died in the sea came to life and bowed before the maidens, took their hands, the goddess stopped at the center and sang an angelic tune. Everyone embraced, drank, danced and laughed in remembering their forgotten wars.

Except for the Filipino that still suffered from the ravages of war so others would live in peace.

She looked at him and amidst the brightness of the Pearl and moon and stars addressed him:

Come to me my young lover, and I will heal your wounds. In this paradise where I live, there are no more suffering and loneliness.

The young man rose to his feet and waded through the water. Smiling, he embraced her, and the shell closed. He did not appear again.

The goddess is alive.



My young listeners huddled and stared at the bay, as if expecting the Goddess of the Bay to come out from the sea. I went on with my story.



As a kid visiting Manila Bay, my grandfather had given me this warning: "Never get close to the bay, the Lady is waiting to turn you into an offering to her God." I heeded that warning until I realized the hoax of the myth. It was a way to prevent children from drowning in the bay. In my teens, my grandfather kept his warning for a different reason. "Don't be smitten by the Lady. She'll lead you to a world where sharks eat you alive." While hustling, I often spoke with the Lady:"Give me a wealthy customer tonight." More than once, a Japanese had offered me thousands of yens for a good massage after asking hte Lady. There should be some truth about her. What else could explain the men roaming along her shore, gesticulating, talking incomprehensible words. Who are they talking with? "They were lured." My grandfather said. "When the Lady succeeds in getting you, she would swallow you in her bosom." This was a common fear. When a body would be found floating along the seashore, people would shrug it off and whisper: "The Lady had found a new company today."

Her power was her golden sunset. People reported visions of sea transfigurations such as diamonds and gold floating, an image of paradise, a castle of pure white, a dancing rainbow, a silk cloth dancing from sea to heaven while watching her sunset. When night descended, the Lady was said to turn into a human: a lady, a man, an infant, a mother, an old woman, an animal.

She wove dreams and fantasies, the source of many an inspiration. Sometimes you'd see a crumpled paper lying beside one of her rocks. If out of curiosity you'd pick it up, you'd discover a poem, a music score, a lover's promise or curse written on it. You'd see old men tracing images on the sand, of forgotten towns and barrios, forgotten families and friends, old mementos beneath the wall, a ring, a bracelet, a torn bill of sale, a passport, a driver's license, a knife, a gun, a packet of cocaine, a birth certificate, a land title, a mutual fund receipt. It was here where loves were formed, virilities broken, and deaths completed.

Jose Rizal, before being executed in Luneta was said to have been smitten by her - inspiring him to write the greatest Filipino poem of all time - Mi Ultimo Adios. MacArthur was so enamored with her he moved his entire family to Manila Hotel. She tempted Yamashita to hide his World War Two Southeast Asia loot on her shore. Through centuries she converted doctors into poets, warriors into lovers, conquerors into slaves.

I should have listened to my grandfather. He told me about her other powers. She could haunt you in dreams, weave images in the mind, move you places you haven't been before. I was beginning to conclude that I, too, was smitten by the Lady of Manila Bay



After listening to my tale, Maria leaned to me as we waited for the darkness to approach. I felt her soft hair brush against my skin. "Kuya," she confided, "what will happen to us in the future?"

I pulled out a stick of Champion and lighted it. I embraced her tiny frame and wondered how any man could touch her in bed. Only the sick people could do that. In my early hustling days, children like Maria made me cry. When I saw her jump into the car of a tourist, I wanted to run after the car and pull out the man and scream into his face, "You mother fucking bastard, don't you see she is just a child?" But she would come back as if nothing happened. I got used to this in the long run.

My eyes caught a new face frolicking in the bay. She was barely ten years old. She sometimes stared at us and coyly smiled. "Who is the new girl Maria?" I asked.

She pulled her head off me and looked at the new girl. "That is Elena, she rarely talks. She just arrived two nights ago and wouldn't leave my gang since then."

I shook my head. "Elena is a sweet name. Now, tell me her story."

Maria pulled her cotton dress up and crossed her legs beside me. She fixed her eyes on Elena and began Elena's story.

Dwarves's Angel

Elena was not like this three weeks ago, when the skies were still blue in Bataan where she used to live, when the fish frolicked in the quiet river, when she used to play beside the river and bathed naked under the oriental sun. One day, the blue skies turned gray and poured tropical rain with savagery over their crops. The overflowing river freed all the fish. Because of the flood, there was no food left - no rice, no fish. Everything in her town changed. Her parents searched for food in the stores to find not even a single can of sardines. She tried to help by gathering twigs for firewood but everything was wet.

A couple came and offered Elena's parents a baby-sitting job for her in Manila. They stopped their fancy car on an isolated hill close to Elena's house and hesitantly waded through the murky flood. The woman wore glittering jewelry as she covered her nose with a white perfumed handkerchief. Its odor blended with the smell of dirt that floated along their way, "She is capable of looking after the kids while my husband and I work," she said. The man was silent at first, seemingly bored by the sight of the impoverished village. His interest improved when he saw Elena. Hesitantly, Elena went with them after they paid a fifty-peso downpayment for her future services.

When she was returned three weeks later, she became different. The woman who took her brought her back to the village. "Your daughter is a thief," she claimed. "Why, she stole my gold wedding ring." Hearing this, Elena's mother wailed in shame while her father pounded his fists on the wall of their palm house. He angrily whipped her and demanded that she return the ring. She failed to do that. She was grounded, failing to show up in the fishpond and the river to play with his playmates. The neighbors whispered bad words about her. Policemen swarmed and with broken sentences, her father begged them to wait a few more days for her to return the ring.

Until one of her playmates, Bongbong, went to their hose and called her through the window that was left ajar. At first, there was no reply. "Elena, "Bongbong persisted. After what seemed forever, she spoke with a tiny voice. " I cannot play with you anymore, " she whispered.

"But why?" Bongbong asked.

"They will not allow me."

"I want to play with you", Bongbong demanded.

"There was a pause. "My father would get angry."

"Just tell me your dreams last night and I will listen here." Bongbong sat and waited beside the window.

The bamboo floor slabs creaked and the lawanit door squeaked when she emerged. "O sige," she said, "but don't tell my father we went out to play. He will whip me again."

They ran to the fishpond that lies calmly beside the cemetery and separates their house from wide rice paddies. Reaching a place called Sasa, she sat on fallen weeds and gazed lazily at the wandering dragonflies while Bongbong looked into her beautiful almond-shaped eyes. After taking a deep breath, she crossed her legs like a golden buddha, skin glowing in the water's reflection while her cotton dress blended with the muddy soil. She didn't mind it getting dirty. She tilted her face toward the sun, as her long soft black hair flowed gently with the morning breeze, barely touching her crossed legs which were as strong as the Tilapia. The fish splashed. She signaled Bongbong to keep quiet like her. Bongbong did, hoping she would tell him what happened in Manila.

She started her story with a voice that blended with the morning chirps and frog early croaks. In between sentences, she dug her tiny hands into the weeds to scoop wet mud and mold it into a castle and king and knights and angels. She elaborately sculpted a figure with crown and mantle and named him the king of dwarves. Last night, she said, the king had protected her again from the witch and monster by bringing her back to the castle which only she could see, pointing at the empty tomb behind them. "I am his angel," she said. "And then she stopped, as if holding back something. "Is that all?", Bongbong asked. "Yes," she answered giggling. She grabbed Bongbong's hand and they ran toward the river Banqueruan to bathe. Beside the river, Bongbong took off all his clothes but she didn't. That was when he realized she had changed. "It is unfair," he complained, reminding her that after his circumcision, he had allowed her to see his broken foreskin while washing it painfully in the brackish river. Besides, they used to bathe naked. Why couldn't he see here naked now? She is eight. Bongbong is seven. When her dress got wet to reveal her shape, she commanded him to look away. In frustration, Bongbong took a dive and swam. He kept on wondering. What really happened in Manila? They used to swim naked together, what was she hiding from him? Getting out of the river, Bongbong crawled behind a lump of budding coconut trees and watched her body while she bathed naked in the water. She looked like a Pacific goddess, golden and firm. On her chest was what he thought were two inverted porcelain cups. Her body appeared like a stack of rice stacks strewn in the middle by a strip of banana bark. And then, his eyes saw the red whip marks all over her skin. So that was what she was hiding from him. She caught Bongbong and threw a ball of mud in a fit. "You a naughty boy," she screamed. "You are just a baby."

She immediately came out of the river and pulled on her dress. What else was she hiding from him, asked.

"Did you steal the ring?"

She shook her head.

"Where is the woman's ring?" He persisted as she walked along the bank and stared at her clay figurines with wonder. Her skin suddenly turned pale and the twinkle in her eyes, the happy smile faded.

Bongbong sat naked near her. "Tell me Elena."

She began another story. "When I was in the city, I was imprisoned in a castle as I took care of the witch babies. One night, a monster came into my room and wrapped his hand around me while the other covered my mouth. He made a thrust into me, here," she pointed at her genitals, "and murmured cries of death and moaning. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. He wounded me so hard until I bled. And then, the witch appeared in the room and screamed at us. She beat the monster first and looked at me with burning eyes. She said I was puta."

"But we are just children, only big people do that."

Her tiny hands squeezed the clay dolls and threw them in the river. "I called on the king of the dwarves to rescue me. I was his angel but he never came." Tears rolled down from her eyes. She quickly wiped them with her muddy palms. The breeze blew her hair while hr eyes sought for the dragonflies that wandered around fragments of fallen twigs, remnants of what once were strong, healthy trees. The mountains in the distance hid the sun as the birds plucked the swarming lost fish fry from the pond. "Cover yourself," she ordered Bongbong.

Bongbong picked up his clothes and pulled back his shorts. She wouldn't even help in buttoning it. He understood. She stood beside the river in all her grace and youth. Before diving, shew begged him to keep everything secret. Bongbong nodded. Assured, she plunged back into her lost innocence while her tears blended with the quiet water.

Bongbong, unable to maintain the secret, revealed Elena's story to his parents. Learning about this, she escaped, jumping in one of the trucks that plied Bataan to Manila, she ended up here.

"So, she will be one of your prosties now." I asked Maria feeling pity for the poor girl.

"Over my dead body," Maria said. "If you think I will let that girl go through what I went through, you are dead wrong. I've reported her to the police and her parents will be here anytime soon. That Manila couple should be executed. Those fucking bastards."

"Maria, do you think her parents will come to take her back?"

We both became silent.

"Why shouldn't they, she was victimized. They better take her back. Damn them if they don't."

"I'm afraid she would end up as one of us." I looked at Elena, she was soaking her feet in the bay stooped and lonely. She ran her fingers on her lovely hair. She never talked at all. She stared at the water and seemed to get hypnotized by it.

"I'd rather let a Manila Bay goddess take her before that happens."

"Do you believe in the Goddess?"

"I have to believe in something. What else can explain the deaths that occur in the bay?"

Alex Maskara