Fifteen

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

In the beginning...3

I am last to get up. Hell, I didn’t even want to get up. I am up because the girls are shaking me.

Craig, my love, get up! There much to do today!

Huh. The ‘Sir’ is now gone. I guess fucking erases the ‘Sir.’ And it has been replaced with ‘my love.’ Same reason? Does this place really run on completely different rails or am I being played?

OK, but why? What is so important to do today? I do not have any itinerary.

We must look for your house! It too expensive to stay here. We must save money now.

I am not convinced. The cost of the room is minimal. I am spending about $34/day for the room. I could stay here more than a week for the cost of a room for one night in Boston. I decide to keep my skepticism to myself and allow them to show me why I am wrong.

OK, but breakfast first and then we will look.

Yes, yes, upstairs we get breakfast. Hurry!

And we do. The fact that there are three of us instead of the one I was paying for has me worried. As we walk into the grill, I mention the change to the server who assures me that it has already been adjusted, a minor change to the bill… No problem, Sir. They are good girls. You are lucky, Sir.

I say not a word more. The breakfast is a buffet and soon enough, we are well fed. It is a silly thing, but the eggs here taste better than do the eggs back home. It is really a weird thing to note, but at the same time the difference in the taste is startling.

During the meal, I mention that I would like to find a place with at least two floors and a second floor balcony. The girls ask why. I mention the breezes that do not appear to be available at ground level. Higher is better.

When we get back downstairs, I don’t even ask about a taxi as a tricycle is called for and arrives within seconds. Instructions to Kuya are given by Lyn and we take off away from Pioneer Avenue. I think this is the direction from which I came into town yesterday from the airport. But I hold my tongue. I will wait and see.

I am right and wrong. We do go back in that direction for a couple of miles (kilometers here) before turning ‘up’ into an area the girls tell me is called City Heights¹.

The heights are truly ‘up.’ This area is more residential than the area we had been in, down by the hotel. The driver has been told what we are looking for and he seems to have some ideas.

Most of the homes are modest bungalows. Some nice and some rudimentary. But as we climb higher in the Heights I begin to notice a few two story dwellings. Some of these are more ‘modern’ in design. They have none of the Spanish colonial influences and are more geometric with more unadorned glass and steel. But we are just passing by each one. They are nice but not available.

And then, on what must be little more than a back alley, there sits a three story home in front of which the tricycle comes to a stop. Lyn leans forward and asks me if this is the type of place I might be interested in.

It is, but is it available and what will it cost? For Christ’s sake, the place is huge. Even with the difficult economy here, will I be able to afford it?

The driver will take you so you cannot be seen. The driver is sure it is available. There is only a caretaker here now. I will go and ask. If I go alone, I will get the best price. Best they not see your white face! The price will be great if that happen.

I know you don’t want me to show my face, but I need to see it to make a decision.

Craig, you have a small camera, correct?

Yes. I do have a Minolta DiMAGE X. It is a small unit that fits in a shirt pocket. It is only three-fourths of an inch thick. I am surprised she noticed it.

OK, give it to me. I take photos and show you.

And that is what happens. The driver takes me off a ways, out of the sight-line of the house, while Lyn and Jana seek out the caretaker.

I am waiting, just me and a driver, who has no English, for a good thirty minutes before the girls return.

Jana hands me the camera and says only one word, Look.

She must have taken more than thirty pictures. I look through all of them. The place is nice, but I am confused about how many rooms, and I am sure it’s more money than I want to spend.

How many bedrooms?

Six.

CRs?

Three, one on the second floor, two on the third.

How much will it cost?

You must sign a contract for a year. You can do this?

Maybe… How much?

Four thousand five hundred each month, plus you pay water bill and electric bill. It OK?

Four thousand five hundred pesos each month? Do I understand that right?

Yes, why, that too much? … Sorry I will try to ask for less, but I not sure she will do it.

No, it isn’t too much. It’s a tiny bit over $100 per month. I can get a six bedroom house for a complete year for $1,200. Damn.

Hell, yes, that works.

It is even better than I thought I could find. Even if I have to bail out of it, no harm done. I was prepared to spend eighteen days in a hotel for $35 per day. That would have cost me $630, and even if I am paying for water and electric, eighteen days compared to three hundred sixty-five days?

Shit, yes, the girls were right. The hotel was far too expensive.

The gals go back to the house and close the deal. There is a rental agreement pre-printed by the owners, who are evidently working overseas in Dubai. They have already pre-signed their part and had it notarized. It only needs our part notarized and we can have it.

The girls have gotten the name and address of the attorney. We travel there via the tricycle. And once done, we travel back to the house, with three notarized copies (one for us, one for the caretaker and one for the owner) plus enough cash for two months plus a security deposit. All in all, under $260.00. One night’s stay in a decent, but not great, Boston hotel.

We are given a set of keys and are told the caretaker will be out in under three hours. We can take occupancy after that.

The house, God bless, is furnished. I am suffering whiplash!

I haven’t known Lyn for even twenty-four hours yet.

It is barely a little after lunchtime. Yesterday at this time I had yet to enter her bar.

I am thinking about that as Jana notes that we have not eaten any lunch. Might we eat now?

Lyn suggests a ‘Chicken Hauz’ down on the highway and off we go.

Nothing like this happened to me in the BVI. There, I was seen as a tourist and nothing more. If I was considering staying on, I would have been seen as yet one more ‘sorry-ass sonofabitch’ hiding out for some reason. Another loose end with a backstory no one would care about.

Here, I am a prize. I am not sure I want to be a prize. But the difference between the BVI and here could not be clearer. And the difference between here and Dorchester? Yeh, well, these places don’t belong in the same Venn diagram. … Maybe with the exception of Catholicism. Both are bastions of the Church, though Dorchester’s flavor is Irish Catholic and here it is pure Rome.

Lyn and Jana? Are they pretty? Yes, very pretty. Are they too young? Yes, but it doesn’t seem to matter to them, so why should it matter to me? Do we three share life goals? No, of course not, but once again, does it matter?

I think about Lyn for a second. She would be out of a job in four months, and then what? Another five month stint somewhere. I just signed a contract for twelve months. Twelve months of stable housing that she doesn’t have to pay for. And maybe, just maybe, if she plays her cards right, even longer. Same goes for Jana, and Jana doesn’t even have a job right now. She was struggling. She isn’t struggling today — is she?

We might not share goals but for each our goals are being met. Is it symbiosis? Or a type of mutually beneficial parasitism? These girls will cling to me, as I provide all nutrients and they ward off all danger to them and me. Is that closer to the truth of it?

And yet, this is the very result that my plans could have foreseen, if I had thought it all through. I hadn’t.

I was only thinking about me as a single person and my financial needs. I failed to understand that the conditions I had set out might well produce what I have now.

OK, so if I accept I seem to really want this now (I know on one level I have to be an idiot to even ask the question) … but as this was not what I set out to have, is it required that I decide that I want to keep it, knowing that it was not the plan?

I should also be honest here. As anyone who knows me knows, I don’t play well with others. Never did. I am just difficult, I guess. I don’t try to be, but it seems that I am wrapped wrong.

I read that humans spend a great deal of energy justifying and supporting their group. Even very bright folks. It seems that, to belong to a group, the individual will find ways to intellectually justify why what the group thinks is right, is indeed correct, even if left to himself, he would find it wrong.

But I just don’t, or can’t. Why don’t I do that? It means I am always apart, separate, with a reputation as an asshole among many.

But, for some reason, I can’t. All I end up seeing is why each group is wrong and then I am always foolish enough to open my mouth and point it out. Like I say, I don’t play well with others.

Given that, why do I think I can get along with two sub-twenty-year-olds in a foreign land? Is my current libidinous success clouding my good judgment?

Ah, I think I know the answer. Because they do not see themselves belonging to my group. They see themselves as belonging to me. There is no group. And they are not my group. Yes, they will be my girls, but no one expects consensus.

Maybe, just maybe, this will work.

Have I been in my head the entire time traveling to the Chicken Hauz, the ordering, the serving and most of the eating? I do that way too much!

The fried chicken was damned good. I am stuffed.

The girls suggest I go back to the hotel and settle up, paying through tonight’s stay, though we will not be there tonight. They will go back to their rooms and get all their stuff before meeting me at the hotel; we will take a taxi to our house.

I think they will need a taxi, at least to move their things to the hotel, but they just laugh. I am told I don’t understand. I am sure I don’t.

I go back alone to the hotel via tricycle. The girls have taken a second tricycle towards their rooms. As I get out of the conveyance, I get a bemused look from the hotel guard.

After collecting my things, emptying the safe and making one last circuit around the room, I go downstairs and check out, leaving my bag with the concierge. I go to the bar to wait for the girls.

As I sit down, a pretty waitress comes to my table and, unprompted, asks, Sir, will you want your Jack on the rocks this afternoon like usual?

Is it fair to ask if I am well beyond surprised? I sure as hell am. I have never seen this girl before. I was only here once and the barman was a different guy as well.

How do you know I like Jack on the rocks?

Sir, you have it yesterday when you meet Lyn. We all know this. Lyn very lucky she meet you first. I wish it me who is first.

Why is Lyn lucky?

She yours. This not true?

What is your name?

Nelmelyn, Sir. But you can call me Mel.

OK. … Mel. How old are you?

Eighteen, Sir.

And you really want to be mine? Why? You don’t know me.

I dream of being the girl of a gwapo foreigner!

I am sorry, but what does ‘gwapo’ mean?

Sorry, sorry! It mean handsome, Sir. You are gwapo, Sir, truly!

Uh-huh, like I said in the beginning, I am far from handsome. No one in their right mind should be calling me handsome, but this teenager just did.

So you want to be the girl of a gwapo foreigner? That’s it?

Yes, Sir! This is my dream.

How many months have you been working here?

Four months, Sir.

And in these past four months, there have been no handsome foreigners?

Some, Sir, but they already have girlfriends, just like you now.

And in one month you must leave this job where you have a better chance of meeting foreigners?

Yes, this is true. I am sad. Kawawa!

Again, I am sorry, but what does ‘Kawawa’ mean?

I am not sure how to explain.

Just a second, I have a Tagalog to English pocket dictionary. I will look…

No, Sir! It not Tagalog. It Visayan!

Visayan? I don’t have that. I only have Tagalog and Cebuano.

Yes! It Cebuano. Same as Visayan!

I look it up. What do you know, it means ‘alas’! Alas, indeed.

So, how far can I push things? Might as well find out now. Better now than later.

Maybe you will not say kawawa. I am not only with Lyn, but with another, Jana. They are both mine. So you see, Lyn does not have me alone.

This true?

Yes.

You OK with more than one girl?

Yes, I prefer it. So you see, I am not a foreigner you really want.

Why you say that?

Well, do you want to join Lyn and Jana and be my girl too? Really?

You allow it?

You be good and no problems with the other two?

Oh my God! Oh my God! Yes! Yes! Really, you allow me?

I will, if and only if you go get me my Jack on the rocks!

Oh! Sorry! Yes! OK, I go. Yes!

She runs to the bar to get my drink and would have run back if she wasn’t worried about spilling it.

Sir, the barman say you must pay because your account here is closed. Why that?

I leased a house here today. I am moving in this evening.

How I find you?

You can ask Lyn when she arrives. She will give you directions.

You will tell her now I am joining? Truly?

You want this, don’t you?

Yes. But I am afraid Lyn will be angry.

I am not. She will give you the directions.

Two orders of Jack are disposed of as Lyn walks into the bar. Mel sees Lyn and signals to her. Lyn signals back as she sits down next to me.

Jana is with our things. You ready to go?

In a minute. I need you to tell Mel where she should come tonight.

You add her?

Yes.

OK, wait a while I will talk with her.

I guess things can go badly, but I am not expecting them to, and I am right. The two hug and kiss each other’s cheek. As they talk, they hold each other’s hands. This is not looking like a problem at all.

Ten minutes later, we are out of the Sydney Hotel. I will never return there as a guest. I don’t want to tell you how many nights in hotels I spent in the BVI. The BVI is geared for tourists. GenSan is not.

In the thirty hours I have been in GenSan, I have secured housing for a year for next to nothing and filled it with three girls, all under twenty years of age.

The taxi wends its way up Roxas Blvd., left onto the National Highway, and a right hand turn by the Fair and Square Pharmacy. This street is no more than a two-lane potholed track, a little less than a real road but more than an alley, past low roofed shelters built of coco lumber and cheap galvanized corrugated steel roofs, up, up into the heights. Through it all we are the only four wheeled vehicle. Everything else is a tricycle, motorcycle, or bicycle.

The travel is slow, as there is little room to pass and, even if we could pass one of these slow contrivances, there is another slow vehicle immediately beyond.

If I was on a motorcycle I could weave more effectively through the conveyances on this road, but the potholes are an ever present danger. I will lay odds that many such riders pay the price for attempting to thread through at a higher speed and are then betrayed by the road surface itself.

The slow advance leaves my mind free to consider my current situation.

Much of the time, we are just dealing with life as it presents itself. Choices, turns, yes or no, right or left, good or bad, which do you want, now or later… these we navigate all our lives, all day long, every day.

Living is deciding, valuing, and in the end, doing or not doing. Reflection is infrequent and on occasion confused with enjoyment. We do savor things on occasion, as reward for a choice or decision we made, but that is not reflection.

No, reflection is the hard thing. It is the system checking one’s self for our own flaws and contradictions. It is looking in the mirror, not a funhouse mirror, and seeing what is real. It is something we really don’t want to do. It means denying the right to excuse. It means seeing us as others do or will. That is never comfortable.

We don’t do that often, do we?

And even now my mind willingly wanders from that to what I can’t say to others when I return to Dorchester.

If I walk into the Eire Pub on Adams, and tell the boyos about this, this life I will possibly lead with Lyn, Jana and Mel in a beautiful three story house I am renting for a single Franklin a month, someone must assuredly call for me to be placed in a padded cell for my own protection. Clearly, I have gone insane and am completely psychotic.

In truth, it seems that way to me and I am living it. How can this be real?

Am I still sleeping in my room in the Sydney hotel following that hot walk when I first arrived? Is this all a dream? It would make a pretty sweet dream, and just maybe far more sense. It feels real. Still, I am having a problem processing it.

I, just a few minutes ago, told a girl, three years too young to drink in the USA, that if she wanted to, she could join two other girls, similarly too young, and be added to my bed. That has to be as crazy as it gets.

And yet, and yet, she is happy to be added. If this is not a dream, just what the fuck has happened? How can I make sense of this? What will my life be like? And as sweet as this sounds, is this OK? I mean, can I do this? Is this a life I want to live? Will I be OK?

Just what the fuck is happening to me?

1 - The name of a Barangay, or political subdivision. These exist both within cities and outside them. General Santos has a number of barangays within it.

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In the Beginning...4