Barrio Stories and Other Tales

Barrio

Call Me Madame Butterfly



How I became Madame Butterfly is a long story but I will make it short for you. I was in Washington D.C. working as a computer analyst when I mentioned casually to my co-workers that I am gay. After that simple admission, the homophobes and bigots of my corporate world made it hard for me to go on working with them. One Halloween night, in frustration, I went out with my gay friend Sabir from Indonesia and I drank until I no longer recognized the world around me. He mentioned there was a gay bar running a contest for the best drag; I got excited. I got into my apartment, took off my clothes, tried some sheets for a modified dress and when I was about to pull my shoes, something, something clicked in my brain. We took a taxi and went to Footlocker, and bought all high heeled shoes we could afford. I could no longer remember where we got my wig, but in the middle of Georgetown Avenue, I took off my modified dress except my underwear and walked semi-nude with high-heeled shoes hanging all over me.

When I was asked to introduce myself in the bar I said "I am Imelda Marcos." Then I strutted like a prima donna. I was voted Miss Congeniality. Someone whispered to me, "You are hotter if you dress as a geisha."

So there. I left my job and reinvented myself as the Asian geisha, the Madame Butterfly of East Coast. There is something in this Japanese persona that many Americans find exotic and I tried to perfect it. I know I'm no Japanese but me becoming Japanese is more believable than me becoming Mae West. I can't think of Imelda as exotic, no, not with her Chanels. From then on, drag shows became my bread and butter.

In Orlando, he came. I was lip-sync-ing one of Puccini's beautiful Madame Butterfly's opera songs when I saw him come. I knew him instantly. I won't forget that stare. He ordered Heineken and raised his bottle to me as a toast, sneered and gulped his beer. I kept singing.

In my dressing room, he knocked on my door. He was talking drunkenly while I was wiping the thick make-up off my face. I turned to meet him face to face. "I know you", he said. "So do I", I said. "It's a small world isn't it?" he commented. "Indeed", I answered.

He came to my show every night watching me perform. Every night I tried to exhibit my best tea ceremony, my most gracious moves, my most flexible limbs for him.

And every night he became progressively haggard. He slowly deteriorated. "I can't eat," he said. "I can't forget. I can't go home to the Philippines anymore because I know too much. I have damaged our people and in doing so I am damaged. I am so alone. And you keep haunting me."

I kept quiet.

One day, he came really drunk. "Help me," he begged. "I can no longer go on living this life. Help me."

"It would be my greatest pleasure", I said.

I took my suitcase that held my most beautiful kimono, my make-up, and my sharp knives. "I will follow where you go," I whispered.

I followed him to a dark room somewhere in an abandoned building in one dying corner of Orlando. I could smell urine. Condoms were scattered on the floor. I heard police sirens. I saw creatures scampering all around us.

"I really appreciate you helping me," he said. I opened my suitcase and donned on my beautiful kimono. I put on my make-up. I pulled out my sharp knives. "It is good you are drunk", I said. "You won't feel much pain when you're drunk. Besides, I'm gonna give you the final grace. It would be easy. Now, lets proceed with the ceremony." I handed him my long bolo with a sharp edge, my bolo from Jolo. Then, I pulled out my Batangas clasp-knife.

He said, "This is funny isn't it? As if, a heavy load is being taken off my shoulders. I've always wondered how you felt when we killed all of you in that mountain, where is it again, somewhere in the Mountain Province isn't it? Or is it Cagayan? You didn't expect to be lined up that way huh? I could remember all of your faces, you young boys who, like me, are so consumed by opposing ideologies. First you were so brave. But when the guns were placed against your heads, some of you began trembling. But not you, Madame Butterfly. I don't even know what your real name is. You seemed not to care about dying. In fact, you seemed to enjoy the whole thing. I'm not surprised you survived... I did not survive. I did not sleep since we murdered all of you. I keep seeing all your faces. I never recovered as a killer. I have suffered enough with this guilt. I must go. I must disappear from the face of the earth."

Pointing the edge of the bolo against his stomach, he thrust it deep, hard. As it penetrated his internals, he looked at me with a smile, I told him to pull the bolo upwards to slice and disembowel his body, revealing his internals that will prove his sincerity. He gave a suppressed moan and brief cry but he followed what I told him.

"Now", I said, "Now you are free."

I raised my clasp-knife horizontally across his neck. His eyes were bulging and blood was spurting like a pool from his insides. He said his final words, "Salamat. Maraming salamat."

With one stroke, I slashed the pipe of his air. He fell and his disemboweled body became tremulous on the floor and then, it moved no more. I wiped the bloody bolo and knife with my kimono and replaced them in my suitcase. I gently wrapped my beautiful kimono around his corpse.

I walked away as fast as I could.

Alex Maskara

Barrio Tales