Coup de grâce
I took a van to Tacloban late last night and spent a few hours in a hotel, but I needed to be up early. I could have driven, but didn’t want to leave my car here for days. I fly out on Cebu Pacific flight 5J652 to Manila, which leaves at six fifteen in the morning and arrives just an hour twenty later.
I am booked at the Hyatt Regency Hotel for one night. This is a trip I am taking alone.
I will get there early enough that I can drop my small bag with the hotel’s concierge, and walk the few minutes to the Embassy this morning. At least, that is the plan. I have all the paperwork with me that I think I need.
We land in Manila. Traffic here is the pits. I didn’t have to wait for my bag; I only have a carry-on. I get into a taxi before eight but, with all the traffic, arrive at the hotel long after nine! I do drop the bag and get to the embassy at about ten. There are hundreds of Filipinos queuing, but I walk up to the first guard, display my passport and am allowed through.
Eventually, a uniformed man asks me why I am there.
I want to report a fraud upon the United States of America, and I have with me a signed and notarized confession of said fraud.
And yeh, that stops the guy in his tracks. I bet no one has ever said that to him before. He tells me to wait.
Twenty minutes later, another guy approaches me. He isn’t in uniform and he asks me the same question. I give him the same answer.
May I see the confession?
I open the folder and I remove the confession with the red ribbon of the consulate. You can read it, but the original must stay with me for now. Are we in agreement on that point?
We are, and I hand it to him. We are standing in a large room. Dozens of others are milling around as he reads and I wait.
He doesn’t ask any questions as he reads and takes his time with the document. Finally, he hands it back to me.
Do you understand that, if this is a fake, you can, and will, be prosecuted?
I do.
Is this a real confession as it purports to be?
It is.
Who else has seen it?
It was presented in court, in Naval, Biliran, pursuant to my filing for a legal separation from the woman.
Did you receive the separation?
I did.
Do you have a copy of that court order?
Yes, that is in the folder here as well, as is the original NSO marriage document and my wife’s NSO birth certificate and a photocopy of her US passport.
Wait here.
And I wait another half an hour.
A guard approaches me, hands me a piece of paper.
Sir, please return here at two this afternoon. Present this letter when you return.
He then suggests I might want to go out for lunch in the meantime, and, in a simply helpful way, escorts me out of the building.
The paper is an appointment to meet with a specific person at a specific time. There is nothing more on the paper.
Back outside in the hot and sunny midday Manila heat, I am presented with the question of where to eat. There are a number of restaurants across the street and, as it is not noon yet, none are busy.
I sit down at the Bistro Michelle on Roxas and order the puttanesca and a brewed coffee. I have a copy of today’s Philippine Daily Inquirer. I try to relax, but going to the embassy is giving me the same feelings I have when I go to an attorney’s office. Still, I have chosen to do this. And so, I have some time to kill.
And kill it I do, but no one tries to kick me out. I enjoy a long lunch with far too much coffee, as I get a double espresso after the brewed coffee.
I leave in plenty of time to get back to the embassy, for my appointment. At least I think I do, but, as it is, I get in just a minute before two.
I hand the paper to a guy in uniform, who then gives me a good once over, once again, before saying, Follow me, Sir.
We walk through hallway upon hallway before I am ushered into a small room that I can only think of as an interrogation room. It is not nice enough to be an interview room. I sit and wait for the better part of an hour before two individuals enter. They give me only their first names, they hand me no cards, or anything else, and do not tell me what their station is, before proceeding to ask questions and demanding to see the paperwork.
I make the same request to them that the documents must at this time stay with me.
I get a response I am not expecting. You are in no position to make any demands, Mr. Anders. Hand it over.
Actually, I am in such a position. I have not broken any law. I have come voluntarily to report a crime. You have not identified yourselves. At this point, I am quite within my rights to make the request I have made. I am not under arrest, and I can walk out of here any time I wish. Any suggestion otherwise, would constitute a mistake on your part. Now would you like to start over, or shall I leave?
The one who didn’t threaten me, leans back in his chair, smiles and says, OK, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. We will hand the paperwork back to you but I ask that we be permitted to make copies if we deem it useful.
Agreed.
I lay out all I have on the table and they spend a while looking at all of it. One of them texts something, and waits. A few minutes later, the door opens and another guy wheels in a small copier. The guy plugs it in and proceeds to make copies of everything, while the first two start asking questions about how it all came about, her leaving and such.
They ask about the property and the house. I tell them about Ping’s problems and my assistance from the local PNP. That gets some laughs.
They ask about what I will do for a visa, and I tell them my next stop, tomorrow, is the Philippine Retirement Authority.
The papers are handed back to me, and I am asked for my contact information.
I give it, and all but one guy leaves. It’s the guy who pissed me off.
So, Mr. Anders, are you doing this because you are an upstanding patriot of the U. S. of A.?
No, Sir, I am doing this because vengeance is sweet.
You know, for the very first time today, I really believe you. OK, well let’s see if we can really fuck her up.
And he holds out his hand to shake mine.
It is after four when I finally see the sun again. Traffic is a nightmare this time of day, but I am walking the nine minutes back to the hotel.
Tomorrow I file for the SRRV Visa at the PRA. I have filled out their form, I have the other documentation and the required medical paperwork with me.
Everything else is simply a matter of forms and rules. I can and will fill out the needed forms and follow the rules. The place is supposedly half an hour from the hotel by taxi. I am giving it an hour.
I was right, it takes the better part of an hour to get there, but I get there. And I get, what I need to do, done. Mid-day, I get a text from someone at the embassy saying that they have forwarded the material to the USCIS. It is now out of their hands here.
OK, I have done all I can do, and I have proof I have filed for the visa I need to live here without a wife. Now all I need to do is get back on the plane.
The gals know I was filing for the visa. I didn’t tell them about the embassy. They are happy to know that I can live here forever without the immigrant visa. And so, all is good as I get out of the tricycle I got, once the van dropped me off in Naval.
I am home, my home, and all I had which connected me to Charline is now severed, other than a marriage license which will remain, more as handcuffs for her and without meaning for me.
Last year, I was fucking three sixteen-year-olds. But they are all seventeen now. All are a year older, as am I.
Jecim will give birth as a seventeen-year-old. That is a little bit dicey, but we will not fly to Manila with her child, yet to be born, until Jecim is eighteen or, more likely, nineteen. Still, I will bring Iren with me when we do go.
My best guess is that we will probably go at the same time I need to go with Myra. I am not looking forward to dealing with how we may be greeted at the embassy when I show up with two moms. But, it ain’t illegal and so, why sweat it? Well, technically it is quasi-illegal, but, after age sixteen, the parents are the only ones who can complain. That’s why I think I need Iren there.
But that trip isn’t for a year or two from now. Now, it is just... live my life and ignore everything else. That’s the plan.
The plan is working, but living my life means that I am at the lying in clinic where Jecim is giving birth. I am not the only one here. No, shit no, we are all here. And when I say all, I mean sisters, mother, Jomar, my gals and me. Nothing happens here alone. Nothing other than taking a shit, anyway.
We have been here for hours. I am not going to try to say that I can appreciate the pain of childbirth. I can’t. All I know is the look in Jecim’s face as she struggles with the contractions and the goofy fear that she will fail me somehow.
How can that be? Why isn’t she cussing me out? Damn, it’s hard to see her in such pain. I have never been so close to it, so involved in it before. But I am here with her, holding her hand, as she cries out. Iren has her other hand. Family. It’s all about family.
And then… we have a little boy. He looks perfectly like a normal little boy. And he is perfectly my son. He will carry my last name. He may be illegitimate, but he will have my last name and my DNA. Welcome to the world, boy.
We name him Roland Jomar Florano Anders. I decide to call him RJ. Jecim agrees, and it’s done. RJ is our first. And now, as the executor agreement that Jomar signed stated, Jecim is now the executor of the trust of the land. It’s a long way from the little maid I hired to this.
When we leave the lay-in clinic, with the rest of the family, and RJ in our arms, I look at Jecim, long and hard, and I realize, I love her. No salt. No bitter. I love her.
In two months, Myra will deliver. She is heavy with her child now and has resigned from the drug store.
RJ is not a problem for us. He is never put down. There are always ready arms waiting for the kid. He has five mothers here and then there are his grandmother, aunts, and nieces all wanting to care for him. RJ is never given an excuse to cry.
Jecim is breastfeeding him. It is the first time I have ever tasted breast milk. I gotta say, it ain’t bad.
The days are all sliding together for me, if not for Myra, whose last days seem to be dragging on far too slowly.
It has been a month since RJ came into our world. Myra is struggling in this last month of her pregnancy. She jokes that Jecim is better than she at this pregnancy thing.
The gals are giving her massages and covering her with lotion a number of times a day. I suspect that the prolonged delivery that Jecim experienced, has Myra a little freaked out.
I am on the terrace, along with Jecim and RJ, who is sucking at a tit, when I hear something from the street. As I get up from my chair, I hear, as clear as a bell, in pretty good English, which I have not heard in person for over a year, You fucking bastard!
I turn to Jecim and quietly ask her to get Jomar here immediately. I get eyebrows. At the gate stands Charline. She has looked better.
This is no longer your home and you are not welcome here.
You know what they do to me?
No, and I don’t care.
They arrest me. They put handcuffs on me. They put me in jail. They take my US passport from me. And then they deport me! They say I not ever to come back to the USA. You do that! You fucking bastard!
I say nothing. There is nothing to say. She seems to take that as an invitation to go on ranting.
Now I married in the USA, but no good. Why you do this!? Why!?
Go away, Charline. Go away and never come back.
She is just standing there. Two PNP vehicles approach at a pretty good speed, and pull up at the house. I know the guys. They have been here many times. We have shared beers, rhum and brandy. These guys and I have laughed together and enjoyed each other’s company. They are friends.
One calls out to me, Roland, this baragan1 causing you a problem?
Yes. She needs to leave and never come back. She used to live here. But she doesn’t anymore. She is my wife, but we are separated and the court finds her the guilty party.
Yes, we know this. … Ma’am, you need to leave here. It very dangerous for you to be here.
Why you take his side?
You are a very stupid woman, I think. So think of this. My superior is the godfather of his new son.
What!?!
It dangerous for you to come here. You understand now? Do not make trouble for this man. He is our friend. Go now.
He calls out to another officer. Cuff her and take her in for refusing a direct legal directive of an officer. If she gives you any trouble, use your own best judgment on how you deal with her.
I go! I go! Yeh, she finally gets the point and runs off. The guys laugh a bit, and come in for a glass of coke and some snacks. It also gives them some time to tease Jecim that she can only keep RJ until they get him onto the force, as they remind her it is a family tradition in her family.
Family. It’s all about family.
I love my family.
1 - Witch [Cebuano] (in Tagalog: bruha)