Fifteen

Copyright © 2019-2020 by VeryWellAged

Back to What it all entails...5

Author's note: These chapters are NOT stand-alones...The story starts here.

Another lesson in economics...1

They are what… twelve, thirteen? For Christ’s sake they can’t be any older than that.

Jocelyn, that is a very sweet request, but I think your parents will be very angry with me. They will say you are all too young to be my girlfriends.

No, Sir. They will not say that!

These kids are something else. Oh, sure, I know damned well their parents would say, no, and I don’t need any more girls anyway. Their absolute conviction that their folks would be OK with it is charming, while completely nuts.

Jocelyn, I do not want your parents coming after me for breaking the law. I have not asked you to be my girlfriends and have told you, I think your parents will say you are far too young to even ask me. That, and only that, may you tell your parents. I invite your parents to be here tomorrow for only one reason, so that they and I can tell you, we all agree. Do you understand?

Yes, Sir, I understand. So, Sir, that mean you will be here tomorrow morning?

Oh, what the fuck, sure. Maybe I will have Lyn or Mel with me, but why not have the parents straighten these three out a bit?

Yes, I will come by tomorrow. And with that, I return to my walking.

I don’t stop walking for quite a while, for the simple reason that I don’t want to walk through this gaggle of schoolkids again, and I am unaware of how to circumambulate successfully a path back to the house. I am a little irritated by this matter and am grumbling to myself when I spy a little Dunkin Donuts shop on a busy cross street.

I may not be a huge fan of donuts, but Dunkin Donuts was founded just five miles from where I was born¹ and have lived most of my life. It has been part of my life for as long as I have lived. Having a place that sings a song of home right now is something I truly need.

It is a cramped little place, not more than nine feet wide. There is a small counter and four small racks to hold donuts, but only one and a half hold anything at all. There is no coffee brewed, but the guy behind the counter gamely offers to brew a pot. I feel a bit guilty. I can’t drink a pot of coffee, but accept the offer while wondering if it will even be palatable.

I order two donuts and am served a small paper cup of coffee with packets of powdered creamer and sugar. The coffee is fine, and the donuts, if not as good as I might get back in Dorchester, are fresh and fine.

In no hurry to leave, I linger over the coffee before asking for a second cup. The donuts are long gone and I am thinking it’s about time for me to get going, when a guy who clearly must be an expat comes into the place.

He smiles towards me and orders a donut and a coffee. As the coffee is already made, there is a little playful banter between the new customer and the employee regarding that, at least there was someone else to drink part of the pot. Evidently, today is the very first time that the coffee was made before the expat arrived, and there will be less to toss down the drain.

The service now complete, the expat turns and asks in an accent that announces a European origin, May I join you?

Yes, please do. Maybe our friend behind the counter still has enough for another cup for me as this one will be empty in a moment.

Ha! That will make his day! Maybe there will be an empty pot when we are finished! Yes, yes. Kuya, bring my friend a second cup!

Po², that his second cup now. He really want a third? Truly?

Yes! Another cup.

OK, Po.

My new ‘friend’ turns back to me and asks, So, what is your name and why are you here?

It turns out that my new friend is from Germany. He has been here a few years and has more opinions about Filipinos, Germany, beer, and a whole host of things than there is time here to catalogue. His name is Manfred and, though married, I gather he likes both alcohol and whores. Which he prefers more it is hard to decipher.

I am quite sure that he and I will never be close. But, you never really know. Both of us are far from home. Though they are different homes, they are not Asian homes, and in that way there is a common bond. He lives close to here and so that makes him a neighbor, of sorts.

Manfred is not a tall man but, in his own way, he stands out here even more than do I. His thick shock of red hair and incredibly fair complexion floating above a broad and powerful frame make him unique among those here, expat and Filipino.

He is doing the talking. I am the audience. Right now he is telling me that, two nights ago, he was at a resto-bar. I gather it is similar to the one I was at the first night I was here. He tells me he is there every night, as are a few other expats. They take their evening meals there while drinking the nights away in paradise.

Two nights ago, a Filipino drove up in a pickup and parked it on the side of the street such that the truck’s tailpipe was maybe just a few feet from Manfred’s table. That would not have been a problem if the pickup was not running. However, it was and the vehicle’s exhaust was blowing right at Manfred.

I guess I should note that most Filipinos do not own cars or pickups, so this was not anything ordinary. Anyway, Manfred asked the guy to turn the vehicle off or move it. Exactly how he asked it, I cannot know but, according to my interlocutor, the Filipino became incensed, returned to the pickup, removed a long iron bar, and returned to Manfred’s table. With one swing of the bar, the table was cleaved in two, and everything on the table crashed to the floor. With that the Filipino returned to the vehicle and drove off, but not before Manfred noted the guy’s license plate number.

Both of us need coffee refills. The employee is gleeful as he has just about emptied the pot.

Manfred says the owner of the Resto-bar sees everything but feigns ignorance of the incident. That, I gather, just pisses Manfred off more. He wants to teach this pickup driver a lesson.

I ask about what the cops said, but he says there is no value in asking for police assistance. Why is not clear to me.

Now Manfred’s wife, who he calls his Sweetie, seems to become important to the story. She has the plate number and the next morning calls her cousin, who works at the LTO,³ and asks for the name of the plate holder.

Sweetie, now in possession of a name and address, texts others in her family.

To bring this whole thing to a close, though Manfred was in full fettle as he went about relating all of this, by the end of the day, the driver was in the hospital having been badly beaten and his pickup had been torched. Manfred was crowing that it served the bastard right.

I remained passive. Was my new friend about to be arrested? Paybacks can be hell. But I don’t know enough about this place.

Between the school girls this morning and the telling of vigilante justice, I have a lot to consider.

I thank Manfred for his company but explain I must be on my way. I am sure we will meet again but I am not anxious to pursue it.

Retracing my path back to the house is thankfully uneventful. School is in session and so the street, though busy, is not the problem it was this morning.

I have been gone for over three hours. Mel, Lyn and Jana are all home when I arrive, and all seem to be completely stressed out. Where have I been? Why didn’t I answer their texts?

The failure to answer texts is simply result of the speaker not being loud enough and sitting in my pocket. They only started texting about twenty minutes ago. I was walking back and things are noisy on the street. I didn’t hear the phone.

As to where I was, that becomes a long discussion. I start with Dunkin Donuts and Manfred.

The explanation is slow going as my long English narrative of it is hard on them and they are getting confused over parts of it. As I complete the tale, not a one of them seems to be shocked or in any way discomforted. And the fact that they aren’t, has the opposite result upon me. It has me discomforted.

I ask why they think this is OK. At first I get blank stares. So I proceed to explain how this would be handled in the USA and how what Manfred’s family had done would land them all in jail.

OK, I think they get why I am confused. It is Lyn who tries to explain it to me.

Craig, this man disrespected the husband of a Filipina. That is a disrespect to her and her family. A family must preserve their honor. What this man did, it wrong. He would not do this to another Filipino. If he do, maybe even someone kill him. Maybe he think he will do this to a foreigner. But the family say, no. He is our family now.

So now I am scared. I haven’t mentioned the girls at the school yet. Am I about to die?

Lyn, I think I understand, and now I am worried about something else that happened today. Maybe I am in trouble.

What you do?!

I proceed to lay it all out. All I get back are smirks from the three of them.

What is so funny?

You! What you think you do wrong?

Talking to those young girls. In the USA I would probably be arrested. Why won’t the parents come after me and teach me a lesson like what happened to the guy I told you about?

You do nothing wrong. You were respectful to the girls. You not ask them to do anything. You tell them you respect their parents. Why you worried? There only two problems. But no one will hurt you.

OK, what are the problems?

The parents, Craig, they will have to not work tomorrow to meet you. That will cause loss of money, I think.

You really think they will come?

Yes, I think so.

How much money will they lose by coming?

Maybe one hundred and fifty pesos. Maybe more. I not know.

Will they be insulted if I offer two hundred to them and apologize for saying they should come?

Yes I think that OK. It right to do.

OK, Lyn, what is the other problem?

You may have three new young girlfriends!

What?

Why you say ‘what’? You know ‘what.’ The parents, I think maybe they will say it OK, you a good respectful man. Good for the girls. Good for them. One less to pay for. They still daughters, still family, but cost of food, school, clothes, that you pay for now. So better for them. Maybe not all will think this but some, yes, some.

Lyn, I do not want twelve or thirteen-year-old girlfriends.

You make mistake. If you not want, you have to say that.

I guess I was expecting the parents to fix that without my having to hurt feelings. I figured that if the girls told their parents tonight, that the girls would be told they are foolish and there is no sense to even come tomorrow, as the answer was absolutely, no.

You know, Lexi will be angry you not take her friends.

What?

You think friends of Lexi not want this? You wrong.

I don’t want anyone else!

Then why you nice to those girls today? I think you want.

I give up. So tell me. Have you ordered the dirty ice cream for Saturday?

Mel tells me they have. It is buko dirty ice cream. I gather that means young coconut flavored. It sounds good and I am looking forward to tasting it.

What have you learned about karaoke?

Evidently I have just opened the door to far more information than I care to explain here. They have found a karaoke to rent for very little money. The cost of a new device that is something like a CD player is doable, but the girls have been warned that it will be obsolete soon. For now, the decision is to rent for two hundred pesos for twenty-four hours.

I ask what we need to provide to make it work. They tell me nothing. It is complete with screen, and speakers built into a cabinet. All we have to do is connect it to electric.

As all of this has been transpiring, Mel and Jana have been busy making lunch. I am not very hungry, having consumed two donuts and four cups of coffee, all after my breakfast here. And lunch is pretty much pure starch, rice and noodles. For some reason they not only do not see it as redundant, but put the noodles over the rice as a topping.

I decide to not comment and just eat.

During lunch Lyn asks, Craig please text Manfred. We will invite him and his wife to come over.

I don’t have his number.

He refuse to give it?

No, I didn’t ask for it.

Why not? How you find him?

Why do you think I want to find him?

He white!

OK, yes, so do you think that is a good reason for me to want him as a friend?

Yes! Of course, yes.

Fascinating. Well, I don’t. Just because someone is ‘white’ does not make them someone I want to be around.

Why not? He like you.

Lyn, he is not like me. In any number of ways, he is not like me at all.

I don’t understand.

Do I go out to the resto-bar each night and get drunk?

No.

Well, that alone is a big difference. Plus, he’s German and I am an American. There is a large cultural difference between us. Germany is as far from the US in one direction as the Philippines is in another.

Really?

Well, it does depend on where you are in the USA. Where I lived, Germany is closer, but basically, yes.

Wow, I not know that. So both white but different.

Yes. Are you the same as a Korean, a Japanese, or a Chinese person?

Of course, no.

But you are all Asian.

Oh. OK. So, he not a friend?

Correct.

I think his wife not know this. I think his wife telling him, why you not have this man’s number.

I have to smile. Lyn is probably right.

Mel, what happened with your mother this morning?

Not good. You right. It what she want. I tell her, then come when father is here and not to stay, or not come at all. She say not at all. Sir, she is difficult.

Will she cause me any problems?

No, she say, she not approve but how she complain when my father the same. She say she sorry for me. I tell her she a foolish person. We use bad words.

I nod and hold her hand a bit. There really isn’t anything to say.

The rest of the meal happens, if not in silence, then at least without any need to involve me. It seems that the impending party in just two days has them both excited and freaked out. This place needs to be immaculate inside and out. So, sure, Mel’s mother isn’t coming, but her father is, and that is a very big thing.

I am home with three girls and yet I am functionally alone. They pay no attention to me. The house and grounds are getting the attention. I am left to ponder if I have made a huge fucking mistake.

It may well be that, though I didn’t miscalculate my objectives on an economic basis, the subsidiary results make the primary objective more of a problem than a solution.

My mind loops over the issues.

Too many want to jump aboard. It doesn’t matter if I am good or bad, if I have bad breath or a heart condition. It doesn’t matter if I am a drunkard, or a scoundrel, so long as they get a berth on this ship. And it doesn’t seem to have an age limit on the low end.

The matter of family honor is a concern. On one level, there is nothing wrong with it, but that’s just the surface level. Dig a little deeper and the thing is a damned nightmare. This isn’t even medieval, this goes way back. This is tribal, clan-like. There are police, but they don’t seem to matter for some reason. I really need to come to a better understanding of the value and importance of police in this culture. At the moment, I don’t get it.

It is all more than I was expecting. I am beginning to understand why. I was looking at economics without considering the cultural-societal issues that were endemic to the economies I was considering.

What do I do now that I have made commitments for these four girls?

In one way, I have made a horrible mistake. In another, it is no mistake at all. All I had hoped for, I have here.

Was I wrong to have the goal? Is that the problem? What are my alternatives?

Tomorrow morning, I am going to be walking back to that school. Just what the fuck am I supposed to do?

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