The Ark
Copyright © 2020 by VeryWellAged
Author's note: These chapters are NOT stand-alones...The story starts here.
What was and what will be...2
This is going to take a bit to figure out.
There’s a bunch I need to do at the end, like the switching the utilities to the new owner, but even then, the last bill will come after I’m out of the house. Maybe a month after. When living in the USA, the bill would follow me to my new place. This time it can’t.
I can’t simply use the bank branch closest to my new house and so handling banking issues presents some obstacles.
I need to sell and dispose of my stuff here. At least I need to do that for most of it. I’m not sure about all of it. But my firearms can’t come with me. I have four rifles: a .30-06, a .308, a 7mm Magnum, and a .22 for plinking; three shotguns: a 12 ga., a 16 ga., and a 410 for varmints; and two handguns: a 9mm and a .22. They all need to be sold.
I won’t need most of the clothing hanging in my closet. Coats, jackets, sweaters, wool shirts, insulated coveralls, wool socks, gloves, winter caps, boots, all that sort of stuff has no place in a wardrobe in Santa Rita. Even long sleeve shirts are essentially non-starters.
What will I do with the furniture, the tools in the garage, the mower, the ATV, my boat and boat trailer, and so much more? All that needs to be figured out.
There’s no way I’ll be able to live in my house as things start going out the door, but some of the clothing needs to stay until the day I leave. I’m not sure how I do that, but I’ll be out of the house long before I can leave town. I think I’m going to need some help.
I’ve been up for hours but the gals are sleeping now. They won’t be up until about four in the afternoon here. I spend the day with the real estate agent, a bank officer and my attorney. Nothing is resolved, but a plan of attack is being formed.
I think one thing I need from the agent is a place to rent toward the end of the stay. He thinks that I’m assuming far too much. The house may not really be able to move until spring, ‘so what’s the problem? After I’ve spent time telling him I’m leaving the country, he really says to me, You can live in it until you leave.
When I point out that I need to sell everything and the place will be pretty much unfurnished, long before I leave, he seems confused. He doesn’t get it.
Once again, I explain to him, I’m not moving to another town and taking my stuff with me. He is used to a moving van backing up to the house and emptying it in one huge move. That’s not going to happen this time
I told him. Didn’t he believe me?
You’re really leaving the US?
Yes, I really am leaving the US.
Why?
You married?
Yes. Why do you ask?
Never mind. I can’t explain why I’m going. Just know that I am and so I’ll need a place to stay at some point. Some place like a furnished apartment.
Normally, there are a couple of homes or apartments that are available, as furnished, in the area if you include Richland. Let me know when you think you will need one within a month or so.
I think you need to start looking next month. I really want to be out of here by mid-January the latest, if at all possible.
OK. But understand that your home will sell faster if it’s furnished.
Why? Whoever buys it won’t want my stuff.
Yes, but visually, buyers respond better to a furnished place.
Unless you can sell it before Christmas, I don’t see it being furnished beyond that.
Why?
Because I am, one way or the other, going to be gone in January and, unless you are going to move all my stuff out and dispose of it once the house sells, there is no way I can leave anything in it once I’m gone.
Are you sure you really want to leave the US? Why?
Do I need to find another agent? I have my reasons and I don’t have to justify them to you.
Understood. … So what do you want to do with your other properties?
Let’s put all three parcels of land up for sale. There’s no hurry on them. I want to set the price above current market value. If we get an offer at the asking price, I’ll take it, but I don’t want to dicker. It will be the asking price and no lower.
They may not sell for years.
That’s just fine.
I’m finally done by two in the afternoon.
Next is a stop at MickeyD’s on West Kennewick Avenue, and then just over N Ely Street to Safeway for groceries. There won’t be a need to go out to dinner tonight.
It won’t be a fancy meal, but with a pouch of premade salad, a bottle of Safeway brand garlic ranch dressing, a loaf of fresh Italian garlic bread from their instore bakery, a plastic pouch of ready-to-boil raviolis, a jar of pasta sauce, and a bottle of Pinot Noir, I’ll be just fine, with leftovers for a second meal.
And once again it strikes me that this is not the world I just left. There’s no premade green salad in Tacloban. Nor are there the pouches of ready to boil pasta or the fresh garlic bread, which is ready to pop into your oven. This is what I’m leaving. I tell myself, enjoy it now because when you leave, this is gone from your life.
Is it really that important? No, I guess not. The food is different there, but it’s fine. It’s just that here I’m in a weird way self-sufficient, and there I’m not. And no, here, I don’t need everything premade like I just bought. It’s just that it’s easier. Here, I understand how to use the things that are sold in the market. There, I more than not, don’t. There, I depend on the skills and knowledge of my gals.
I’m unpacking the bags I’ve brought into the kitchen when my cellphone buzzes.
[Cincer] You OK?
Yes. I am fine. How are you?
[Cincer] OK Lang1 They ask me when you will return. I tell them too soon. This correct?
Yes. That is exactly correct.
[Cincer] If you keep me informed, I will help to keep them from worrying. OK?
They are worried?
[Cincer] Yes, very much.
OK. I will let you know each morning when you wake up.
[Cincer] Good. Very Good. OK I get ready to work now. Love you.
Love you too.
I’m barely done unpacking the groceries when the phone goes nuts again. It’s clear to me that, each evening, I can expect something like this.
Tomorrow, I’ll need to leave for Tom’s place at around five thirty, which is eight-thirty in the morning there. I tell the gals to not text me after eight in the morning tomorrow, as I’ll visit a friend and his wife. I do not need the texts streaming in while I’m there for all sorts of reasons. So long as my phone is quiet after five-thirty tomorrow night, all will be good.
I spend much of Friday finding a place that rents a dumpster container in which I can start throwing things out when I get ready. I make another trip over to my attorney to sign a power of attorney, as things will need to be signed in my absence. I gather that the sale of the house will require my signature, and the real estate agent seems to have an idea how that can be done if I’ve already returned to Santa Rita. Maybe he’s finally accepting the reality of my decision to leave the USA.
While I’m with the agent, we talk about pricing the place a little bit on the low side if I want a quick sale. I tell him I’ll think about it and get back to him on Monday. The market is strong right now, so how low do I really want to go? I need to sleep on this for a couple of days.
I get a call from an old friend, who then comes over as I’m cleaning one of my rifles. I want them to be in as good a condition as possible when I sell them.
James is retired, just like me. He isn’t in any hurry and we just chew the fat while I get on with the cleaning. It ends up being a nice afternoon, but he hasn’t left when the clock shows four in the afternoon and my cellphone goes nuts again.
I apologize, but it’s a little awkward as I really need to respond and he’s here. There’s nothing to do but say, I’m sorry, but these are my good friends from the Philippines and I really need to answer their texts.
What time is it over there now?
Seven in the morning.
James gives me a look that suggests he thinks something just ain’t right, but he doesn’t want to intrude. Instead, he just gets up and leaves. Damn. That’s how rumors of all sorts of shit start. It’s not what is known. It’s what is surmised. The problem is that laying it all out would not solve the problem.
So, sitting alone at the kitchen table, I text with my gals. Since I told them it was early today or wait until I got home, each independently decided early is better. It’s sweet. They are asking me to take pictures of this city. They want a connection to what came before. I guess I can see that.
The texting continues for the hour. They really are worried and there’s little I can do to allay their fears. Their fears produce frustration on my end. I simply need to get back. It’s all I can think of as I drive over to Tom’s.
That, and the fact that, once again, I’ll sleep alone in my bed. I miss my gals.
The dinner at Tom’s starts up well enough. Elena has made lumpia and bihon. That’s about as basic Filipino as you can get. There’s also a bowl of afritada2 along with the white rice. Once again the afritada is nothing novel to me. The rice is different from what was served at home. But it’s no big deal.
Tom smiles at me as I simply proceed to add things to my plate. Not exactly new to you?
No. This is, of course, very good. The dishes are standard Filipino fare. It’s what you might think of as Filipino comfort food.
I grab the tablespoon and take a bite of the afritada with a little bit of the rice.
The afritada is very good!
Elena is smiling at the complement, and possibly going to say something when Tom asks, You gone native?
Excuse me?
The spoon. You really eat with the spoon?
But before I can answer, Elena pipes up. Tom! That rude! He eating correct.
Thank you. I was about to tell you that you are clearly a good cook. This is masarap3!
Thank you, Sir Ira.
Hey, she is talking to you like she used to talk when I met her in Manila.
I think she is trying to make me feel at home. … You are welcome, Elena.
Sir Ira, may I ask why you in my country for so long? You meet someone there, perhaps?
Tom is a little put out. Babe, that’s private! It’s not right to ask!
Why that? I want to know. If he not want to say, that what he will say. It proper to ask, I think.
Ira, you don’t need to answer.
Look, Tom, I don’t want to make this awkward. Elena is no different from the Filipinas I’ve met. In her world, it’s OK to ask. I respect that. … But it’s also true that a man ought to be able to keep things private he wants to keep private. I think that is true in both of the cultures. … Yes, Elena, I did meet many people there and I really like your country. I decided to figure out if I want to live there.
Sir Ira! She is married!
Elena! Tom is really getting pissed with his wife.
Tom, why a man who meets a woman in my country not able to bring her here? Because he not able to marry her! If she not, I sure she wants to come here! Yes, this is true!
Ira, you opened the door and now she has nailed you as an adulterer. See what a mistake that was? I’m sorry, my friend.
It’s OK and, no, Elena, I’m not seeing anyone who is married.
Oh! No! She too young!
Elena!
Tom! Why I not ask?
Elena reminds me a great deal of Cincer. She’s smart and quick. She’s partially right of course, but now I have to lie.
No, Elena, that is not the reason either. I really don’t want to say any more about it.
Elena gives me a good hard look. She looks at Tom and then back at me. Is she asking herself, ‘Do I want to put ideas in my husband’s head?’ All she does say is, OK, it not needed. I know now. You be careful. Maybe it OK, maybe it not.
I take a lumpia, dip it into some sweet chili sauce and take a bite. You really are a very good cook!
When you go back?
I’m wanted back before New Year’s but I probably can’t make it back until close to the end of January. There’s too much to do.
Where will you live?
On Samar, across the bridge from Tacloban. It’s a place called Santa Rita.
So Cebuano, not Tagalog.
Mostly English.
Not all Cebuano dialect?
Would you be so kind as to pass the bihon? … Tom, how long did it take you to figure out that your wife is smarter than you are?
As I’m adding some of the noodles to my plate, Tom is chuckling. But it isn’t Tom who answers.
Sir Ira, you have one like that too?
Oo.
Her name and number? Maybe, I will text her.
Her name is Cincer, but she is working at this hour. She has a bookkeeping job in Tacloban and must not do any personal texting.
Tom just about chokes on a sip of beer, before, That’s a name?
Yes, that’s really her name. And I spell it out for him.
Elena is giggling. She is well accustomed to the fanciful names of her sister and brother Filipinos. Sir Ira, I understand. I will text her before she goes to work. She really work on Saturday? But Cincer not her nickname. What that?
CiCi. And yes, she’s working this Saturday. Not all Saturdays, but she’s working today. And that’s actually the truth as she works every other Saturday.
Tom is looking at me with a pained expression. He knows Elena knows something she doesn’t want him to know and that I don’t want to talk about. I give her the phone number rather than laying the phone in front of her. I don’t want to risk what else she might see.
Sir Ira, what places you visit?
Manila, Makati, Quezon City, Pasig, Pasay, Iloilo, Tacloban and Samar.
Wow you see a lot but you not see Palawan caves, Boracay beaches, Baguio, or the chocolate hills of Bohol! You not see the famous tourist places.
I saw Intramuros.
Yes, OK, but not the rest.
True.
Tom is confused. You visited seven islands?
No, just four. The first five names are really part of greater Manila. What we call Manila is actually a metro area of many cities.
Oh. I guess I missed all that.
How long were you over there?
A week.
Oh, so you didn’t get a chance to see much then.
Now, Tom with lecherous grin from ear to ear says, No, Elena kept me pretty busy.
And, I think to myself, she kept him distracted. She wanted to seal the deal and she didn’t want any second thoughts. I bet she did, Tom. Of that I have no doubt. She’s a smart one.
What do you mean?
Elena is squirming now. She knows I know.
Oh, Tom, she just knew she was the one for you and she wanted to make sure you knew she knew it. … Right Elena?
Relief flows out the gals face as she replies, Yes. Correct!
Sir Ira, maybe you like maja blanca?
It’s a weird dessert as it uses a huge amount of corn starch and kernel corn, but it’s good.
Yes. Very much so.
Good. But I have one more question. I see Tom tense up. At this point I don’t think it’ll be a problem. The damage, if it’s damage, has already been done. What you think of the rice?
It’s not like the good rice in the Philippines.
Yes! Exactly. I tell this to Tom. What you really think. Tell me.
It’s not soft. It doesn’t clump like rice does there and it’s a longer grain. It’s the rice we serve here, I guess, but it doesn’t really work for Asian cooking.
Yes! Yes! See Tom? I right. This rice not good.
The poor guy looks at me. He is one poor, sad fella, as he asks me, Is there that much difference? I mean… rice is rice!
Yes, there’s that much difference and no, not all rice is the same. Sorry, but your wife is correct.
I feel sorry for the guy. Elena’s sharp and he just isn’t close. He has no idea what her culture is and how different it is from his. He married a body. A very pretty body who would give him sex, cook his meals, do his laundry and keep him warm in bed. There isn’t anything wrong with that. She gets to live in the States, gets a green card and maybe citizenship. They both win but, on another level, they are worlds apart. Maybe that will change in time, but I don’t know if Elena wants him to know too much.
I finally offer my thanks for a fine meal and good company a little before nine, and only drive a couple of blocks before pulling over. Cincer will be on lunch break.
Small problem here. A Filipina here figured out that there are a number of you.
She figured out that there was a smart one and she asked for your name.
Lying to her will not work but do not allow her to know the ages of Ann or Reyna.
[Cincer] What her name? How you meet her?
She is Elena, wife of my friend, Tom. She is much smarter than Tom.
[Cincer] She trick him? She bad?
Yes and no.
Yes, I think she was careful in a way so that he never really saw the Philippines while he was there, but I think she is good to him.
[Cincer] You like her?
How do you mean that?
[Cincer] Oh! Hihihihi. No, not like that. She nice?
She has her own agenda and her own needs. She was nice tonight. But I don’t really know the answer beyond that.
[Cincer] OK. I understand. Work na, my love.
OK. Love you too. Bye.
That done, I finish my drive home.
§ § §
§ § §