The Influence
VI. A Different Meaning of MILF
Chapter 35
Blue all around me. No shades, no highlights, just a uniform blue. It takes me a moment to realise that I’m in water, deep water, yet I do not panic. Instead, I revel in the exquisitely pleasurable sensation of moving effortlessly through the liquid. I feel strong, and supple, and… superior. I belong here.
The emptiness should terrify me, devoid as it is of any sign of life. But it does not; to me it is neither terrifying nor empty. There are sounds coming from all directions and I can detect and identify every single one.
Far below, a deep rumble speaks to me of a slight shift in the sea floor, creating a fissure through which hot gas now escapes, each bubble with its own unique sound pattern. Somewhere above me, a pod of dolphins pursues a school of sardines, and I can hear and understand every click and whistle as they coordinate the attack.
Coming from the surface, and almost unbearable to listen to, there is a grating, mechanical sound as one of the puny, primitive vessels battles with high waves, the vermin on it screaming and praying. Praying to what, I think in scorn, your god is not up there.
To my side, too far away even for me to see them, sperm whales dive deep, hunting. But their whistles are perfectly clear to me, coming in short bursts, as they locate and home in on their prey. I get curious and turn towards them. I push through the syrupy liquid with ease, displacing tons of it with each move of my magnificent being.
It suddenly strikes me that I’m dreaming of being a whale. I am one of the hunting sperm whales and have stopped for a moment to contemplate this glorious environment and my rightful place in it. A shadow comes up from the depths – one of my brethren, now I am sure of it – a squid nearly half its size in the whale’s mouth, the tentacles still twitching and trying to wrap themselves around the slick body, and I am suddenly overcome with an all-enveloping rage. Rage towards the squid, the whale, and all the other pathetic life forms in the sea, but most of all rage aimed at the land vermin that dare to enter my domain. I reach out and seize the whale and the squid, crushing both in my–
‘Darling, would you like to have breakfast?’
I opened up my eyes, blinking rapidly, still dazed from the weird dream. Nothing like the previous ones, certainly not violent in the same way, but still with an underlying sense of menace and discomfort.
Maybe it’s not related at all. Maybe I’m just going mental, I thought. And maybe I should just forget about it.
‘Good morning, lover,’ I replied, Kris leaning over me, her look both concerned and affectionate. ‘Yes, I’d love to have breakfast with you. Just give me a few moments to wake up.’
‘Have you had another dream?’ Kris enquired, alert as always.
‘Not sure, this was different. And probably unrelated. Yeah, definitely unrelated.’
‘You can tell me about it over breakfast. But first I have to change the dressing on your hand. It looks disgusting.’
Kris in her best mothering mood. No nonsense and loving at the same time. Although, looking at my hand, I could see her point. Miscellaneous body fluids had soaked through the bandage during the night and I wouldn’t have wanted to see it myself while eating.
‘Yes, it does look anything but appetising, doesn’t it,’ I said as I got up, ‘but I’ll do it myself.’
‘As you wish,’ Kris responded and followed me to the bathroom, pretending not to look while I urinated. ‘The boys have already had their breakfast, and–’
‘What boys?’
‘Your minders, who else?’
‘Why are they here? I’ve told BB that there’s no need to babysit me. Not anymore.’ I was pissed off by him not listening to me.
‘That’s why they’ve been giving you space. See, you didn’t even know they were around.’
‘Dammit, for how long will they be here?’
‘For as long as is necessary. Anyway, I’ve got news for you.’
‘It better be good, for once.’
Kris ignored my petulant mood, ‘Guess what I saw this morning, in the kitchen?’
‘Virgin Mary, surrounded by an otherworldly light and showing you her bleeding palms? No, sorry, what am I thinking of – that was Jesus, wasn’t it?’
‘No, you loveable idiot, I saw your rat. It had just finished the expensive maguro that you insisted on leaving for it last night and it ran away as I entered.’
‘Minnie!’ I exclaimed, then got suspicious. ‘How do you know it was Minnie, and not just any rat?’
‘Because the insolent rodent looked at me. And made noises before it scampered away,’ Kris replied. ‘Should I be worried about you? It’s just a rat.’
‘She’s not just a rat. And please stop calling her it. She’s been my companion for longer than I’ve known you,’ I was indignant. ‘I love you and that’s beyond any comparison, you know that, but I’ve also gotten very attached to Minnie. She’s a part of this house, and a highly intelligent, sensitive mammal.’
‘Fine, if that’s how you want to see it. Just make sure that you tell all your future guests that you’ve got a rat as the night manager.’
‘Let’s stop talking about Minnie and her future hotelier qualities,’ I pushed past Kris, ‘and have breakfast instead.’
The emptiness should terrify me, devoid as it is of any sign of life. But it does not; to me it is neither terrifying nor empty. There are sounds coming from all directions and I can detect and identify every single one.
Far below, a deep rumble speaks to me of a slight shift in the sea floor, creating a fissure through which hot gas now escapes, each bubble with its own unique sound pattern. Somewhere above me, a pod of dolphins pursues a school of sardines, and I can hear and understand every click and whistle as they coordinate the attack.
Coming from the surface, and almost unbearable to listen to, there is a grating, mechanical sound as one of the puny, primitive vessels battles with high waves, the vermin on it screaming and praying. Praying to what, I think in scorn, your god is not up there.
To my side, too far away even for me to see them, sperm whales dive deep, hunting. But their whistles are perfectly clear to me, coming in short bursts, as they locate and home in on their prey. I get curious and turn towards them. I push through the syrupy liquid with ease, displacing tons of it with each move of my magnificent being.
It suddenly strikes me that I’m dreaming of being a whale. I am one of the hunting sperm whales and have stopped for a moment to contemplate this glorious environment and my rightful place in it. A shadow comes up from the depths – one of my brethren, now I am sure of it – a squid nearly half its size in the whale’s mouth, the tentacles still twitching and trying to wrap themselves around the slick body, and I am suddenly overcome with an all-enveloping rage. Rage towards the squid, the whale, and all the other pathetic life forms in the sea, but most of all rage aimed at the land vermin that dare to enter my domain. I reach out and seize the whale and the squid, crushing both in my–
‘Darling, would you like to have breakfast?’
I opened up my eyes, blinking rapidly, still dazed from the weird dream. Nothing like the previous ones, certainly not violent in the same way, but still with an underlying sense of menace and discomfort.
Maybe it’s not related at all. Maybe I’m just going mental, I thought. And maybe I should just forget about it.
‘Good morning, lover,’ I replied, Kris leaning over me, her look both concerned and affectionate. ‘Yes, I’d love to have breakfast with you. Just give me a few moments to wake up.’
‘Have you had another dream?’ Kris enquired, alert as always.
‘Not sure, this was different. And probably unrelated. Yeah, definitely unrelated.’
‘You can tell me about it over breakfast. But first I have to change the dressing on your hand. It looks disgusting.’
Kris in her best mothering mood. No nonsense and loving at the same time. Although, looking at my hand, I could see her point. Miscellaneous body fluids had soaked through the bandage during the night and I wouldn’t have wanted to see it myself while eating.
‘Yes, it does look anything but appetising, doesn’t it,’ I said as I got up, ‘but I’ll do it myself.’
‘As you wish,’ Kris responded and followed me to the bathroom, pretending not to look while I urinated. ‘The boys have already had their breakfast, and–’
‘What boys?’
‘Your minders, who else?’
‘Why are they here? I’ve told BB that there’s no need to babysit me. Not anymore.’ I was pissed off by him not listening to me.
‘That’s why they’ve been giving you space. See, you didn’t even know they were around.’
‘Dammit, for how long will they be here?’
‘For as long as is necessary. Anyway, I’ve got news for you.’
‘It better be good, for once.’
Kris ignored my petulant mood, ‘Guess what I saw this morning, in the kitchen?’
‘Virgin Mary, surrounded by an otherworldly light and showing you her bleeding palms? No, sorry, what am I thinking of – that was Jesus, wasn’t it?’
‘No, you loveable idiot, I saw your rat. It had just finished the expensive maguro that you insisted on leaving for it last night and it ran away as I entered.’
‘Minnie!’ I exclaimed, then got suspicious. ‘How do you know it was Minnie, and not just any rat?’
‘Because the insolent rodent looked at me. And made noises before it scampered away,’ Kris replied. ‘Should I be worried about you? It’s just a rat.’
‘She’s not just a rat. And please stop calling her it. She’s been my companion for longer than I’ve known you,’ I was indignant. ‘I love you and that’s beyond any comparison, you know that, but I’ve also gotten very attached to Minnie. She’s a part of this house, and a highly intelligent, sensitive mammal.’
‘Fine, if that’s how you want to see it. Just make sure that you tell all your future guests that you’ve got a rat as the night manager.’
‘Let’s stop talking about Minnie and her future hotelier qualities,’ I pushed past Kris, ‘and have breakfast instead.’
●
‘Where do we go from here?’ I enquired as I stabbed the last piece of bread soaked in runny yolk – I make perfect eggs Benedict, by the way. ‘Any thoughts?’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about it, darling,’ Kris replied. ‘And considering everything that’s happened to us, I think we need a break.’
‘I’m already suspicious.’
‘No, darling, seriously. I do think we need a break, particularly you.’
‘I’m busy with the hotel and very happy with where I am at the moment – no, overjoyed actually, having a bit of normal life, or have you missed that?’
‘I know what you mean, lover. All I’m saying is we should go off on an extended weekend somewhere, enjoy the sun, have long romantic walks along deserted sandy beaches, eat the freshest possible seafood, and spend our nights fucking like rabbits on a luxury yacht.’
‘With a proper toilet?’
‘Yes, with a proper toilet.’
‘And without anyone trying to kill us?’
‘Yes, without anyone trying to kill us, I believe I can vouch for that.’
‘Where’s the catch? There’s always one with you.’
‘No catch, darling,’ Kris said, then added hesitantly, ‘other than getting you back in the water and diving again. If you don’t do it now, you never will.’
‘I see… Just because I happened to be somewhat inconvenienced by a shark once, being its expected dinner,’ I replied indignantly, ‘you think that I’ll never want to dive again?’
‘Of course not. Not you, I’d never think that, it’s just that I’ve been reading about how some people react adversely to shark attacks and–’
‘Anyway, if you recall, most of my dive gear is now at the bottom of the South China Sea and all I’ve got untouched – or should I say uneaten? – are my mask and fins.’
‘Darling, I hope you won’t get mad at me,’ Kris pouted. ‘I got you a BCD and regulator, same as you had before. And I also got us both the latest in dive computers, Suunto EON Steel.’
I thought about this for a moment.
‘Where exactly would we go?’
‘The Philippines?’ Kris asked imploringly.
‘It’s a big place, the Philippines, over seven thousand islands,’ I considered her reply carefully, all too familiar with Kris and her devious ways. ‘Do you have a particular place in mind and are you willing to share it with me now, or is it going to be a surprise?’
‘Darling, before I say anything else, can I state that our safety is foremost on my mind?’
That single sentence, had it been uttered by anyone else in the world but Kris, and I really do mean anyone else, anywhere, would have assured me of the speaker’s good intentions. With Kris, though, it meant anything but.
‘I see. And no, you can’t. I’m not going.’
‘But–’
‘Sorry, I don’t trust you. Even if you told me that we’re just going to Boracay and that the worst that could happen to me there would be a bad case of Salmonella, I would still say no.’
‘But–’
I was absolutely firm and impervious to any emotional blackmail.
‘You want to know why? Because you are the most devious person that’s ever lived. I do love you, and I’m still not sure why, but I will never, ever trust you.’
Kris appeared shocked, even managed to squeeze out the odd tear. ‘You are a horrible person and I hate you.’
‘Okay, where did you want us to go?’ I asked, my resolution already wavering.
‘As if you care, you cruel man,’ Kris stammered, hiccupping between the sobs.
‘Just tell me and we’ll discuss it, as long as it doesn’t involve the Sulu.’
Kris responded with another wail. ‘That was exactly where I wanted to take you, you brute, on a luxury yacht and away from any tourists, even the most persistent backpackers. In guaranteed safety, to empty paradise beaches and reefs littered with rare shells. Just for us. Instead, you hate me.’
I was intrigued, despite my previous experiences with Kris. Definitely despite my better judgement.
‘Where exactly, and how can you be sure about our safety? And why do I suspect that the real destination is – what was it called – Simunul?’
Asking that, I’d already lost the battle and was about to lose the war.
‘We would’ve been safe because the yacht belongs to a local man, someone I know well and trust,’ Kris said. ‘He’s a businessman, powerful and respected throughout the islands. No one would dare do anything to displease him. And we’d have protection.’
‘Protection, as in bodyguards and firearms? It doesn’t sound like a dream vacation to me, not if we have strange people with guns watching our every step.’
‘No bodyguards, just the crew. Besides, nearly everyone in the Philippines is armed.’
I thought about this for a moment. Consider me naive, if you want. I prefer trusting.
‘Okay, I give up, you’ve convinced me. Sulu is supposed to be beautiful and with no tourists it could be a nice trip. What’s the plan?’
‘We start from Zamboanga and make our way south through the archipelago. For as long as we want to, just having a good time. And yes, we could possibly stop briefly at Simunul if we get that far south. But that would only be to confirm that it was the place in your dream, nothing else,’ Kris assured me. ‘I’ve already agreed everything with the owner of the yacht, his full crew at our disposal for the duration, and I’d hate to have to cancel it.’
‘I’ve always wanted to see Zamboanga,’ I replied meekly. ‘It sounds exotic.’
Kris 1 – Alex 0. Another game, set and match lost.
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about it, darling,’ Kris replied. ‘And considering everything that’s happened to us, I think we need a break.’
‘I’m already suspicious.’
‘No, darling, seriously. I do think we need a break, particularly you.’
‘I’m busy with the hotel and very happy with where I am at the moment – no, overjoyed actually, having a bit of normal life, or have you missed that?’
‘I know what you mean, lover. All I’m saying is we should go off on an extended weekend somewhere, enjoy the sun, have long romantic walks along deserted sandy beaches, eat the freshest possible seafood, and spend our nights fucking like rabbits on a luxury yacht.’
‘With a proper toilet?’
‘Yes, with a proper toilet.’
‘And without anyone trying to kill us?’
‘Yes, without anyone trying to kill us, I believe I can vouch for that.’
‘Where’s the catch? There’s always one with you.’
‘No catch, darling,’ Kris said, then added hesitantly, ‘other than getting you back in the water and diving again. If you don’t do it now, you never will.’
‘I see… Just because I happened to be somewhat inconvenienced by a shark once, being its expected dinner,’ I replied indignantly, ‘you think that I’ll never want to dive again?’
‘Of course not. Not you, I’d never think that, it’s just that I’ve been reading about how some people react adversely to shark attacks and–’
‘Anyway, if you recall, most of my dive gear is now at the bottom of the South China Sea and all I’ve got untouched – or should I say uneaten? – are my mask and fins.’
‘Darling, I hope you won’t get mad at me,’ Kris pouted. ‘I got you a BCD and regulator, same as you had before. And I also got us both the latest in dive computers, Suunto EON Steel.’
I thought about this for a moment.
‘Where exactly would we go?’
‘The Philippines?’ Kris asked imploringly.
‘It’s a big place, the Philippines, over seven thousand islands,’ I considered her reply carefully, all too familiar with Kris and her devious ways. ‘Do you have a particular place in mind and are you willing to share it with me now, or is it going to be a surprise?’
‘Darling, before I say anything else, can I state that our safety is foremost on my mind?’
That single sentence, had it been uttered by anyone else in the world but Kris, and I really do mean anyone else, anywhere, would have assured me of the speaker’s good intentions. With Kris, though, it meant anything but.
‘I see. And no, you can’t. I’m not going.’
‘But–’
‘Sorry, I don’t trust you. Even if you told me that we’re just going to Boracay and that the worst that could happen to me there would be a bad case of Salmonella, I would still say no.’
‘But–’
I was absolutely firm and impervious to any emotional blackmail.
‘You want to know why? Because you are the most devious person that’s ever lived. I do love you, and I’m still not sure why, but I will never, ever trust you.’
Kris appeared shocked, even managed to squeeze out the odd tear. ‘You are a horrible person and I hate you.’
‘Okay, where did you want us to go?’ I asked, my resolution already wavering.
‘As if you care, you cruel man,’ Kris stammered, hiccupping between the sobs.
‘Just tell me and we’ll discuss it, as long as it doesn’t involve the Sulu.’
Kris responded with another wail. ‘That was exactly where I wanted to take you, you brute, on a luxury yacht and away from any tourists, even the most persistent backpackers. In guaranteed safety, to empty paradise beaches and reefs littered with rare shells. Just for us. Instead, you hate me.’
I was intrigued, despite my previous experiences with Kris. Definitely despite my better judgement.
‘Where exactly, and how can you be sure about our safety? And why do I suspect that the real destination is – what was it called – Simunul?’
Asking that, I’d already lost the battle and was about to lose the war.
‘We would’ve been safe because the yacht belongs to a local man, someone I know well and trust,’ Kris said. ‘He’s a businessman, powerful and respected throughout the islands. No one would dare do anything to displease him. And we’d have protection.’
‘Protection, as in bodyguards and firearms? It doesn’t sound like a dream vacation to me, not if we have strange people with guns watching our every step.’
‘No bodyguards, just the crew. Besides, nearly everyone in the Philippines is armed.’
I thought about this for a moment. Consider me naive, if you want. I prefer trusting.
‘Okay, I give up, you’ve convinced me. Sulu is supposed to be beautiful and with no tourists it could be a nice trip. What’s the plan?’
‘We start from Zamboanga and make our way south through the archipelago. For as long as we want to, just having a good time. And yes, we could possibly stop briefly at Simunul if we get that far south. But that would only be to confirm that it was the place in your dream, nothing else,’ Kris assured me. ‘I’ve already agreed everything with the owner of the yacht, his full crew at our disposal for the duration, and I’d hate to have to cancel it.’
‘I’ve always wanted to see Zamboanga,’ I replied meekly. ‘It sounds exotic.’
Kris 1 – Alex 0. Another game, set and match lost.
Chapter 36
‘Ah, don’t you love the smells here?’
‘You mean the diesel fumes,’ I replied as we were waiting for our hotel limo outside the terminal, having dodged several homicidal taxis and jeepneys while crossing the street to our allotted waiting space.
‘No, silly, the complex fragrances of Metro Manila,’ Kris said, breathing in deeply. ‘Can’t you feel them? The endorphins and the pheromones permeating the air, just as it used to be years ago, on arrival in Bangkok, getting nearly assaulted by the in-your-face smells, and developing an instant need to eat and fuck, preferably simultaneously?’
‘Sorry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, to me Bangkok is just as bad. Anyway, all I can smell is the stink of diesel.’
‘Maybe you’ll change your mind after a couple of days here.’
‘You mean the diesel fumes,’ I replied as we were waiting for our hotel limo outside the terminal, having dodged several homicidal taxis and jeepneys while crossing the street to our allotted waiting space.
‘No, silly, the complex fragrances of Metro Manila,’ Kris said, breathing in deeply. ‘Can’t you feel them? The endorphins and the pheromones permeating the air, just as it used to be years ago, on arrival in Bangkok, getting nearly assaulted by the in-your-face smells, and developing an instant need to eat and fuck, preferably simultaneously?’
‘Sorry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, to me Bangkok is just as bad. Anyway, all I can smell is the stink of diesel.’
‘Maybe you’ll change your mind after a couple of days here.’
●
I honestly can’t say that I liked Manila very much. The suite at the Peninsula in Makati was nice, the service as good as one would expect from a classic luxury hotel, but that was it. The constant traffic jams and the polluted air were horrendous, as was most of the food on offer. The hotel restaurants fortunately served all the usual international dishes as I didn’t feel adventurous enough to try the local delicacies.
Anyone coming to the Philippines is invariably disappointed in its food, unless obsessed with eating pigs. Not so much regular pork, rather a preference for offal, ears, snouts and other inedible bits. I blame the Spanish for this. Over the course of a few centuries they managed to create the antithesis of gastronomic delights in a region which otherwise boasts some of the best food in the world.
The nightlife didn’t get me excited either, despite Kris’ promises of a fantastic time in Makati. We visited two of the hottest, most exclusive clubs, according to her. Both were crammed with pampered, jaded brats jerking to loud techno music, all drinks served with tiny umbrellas. Kris loved it, shaking her bum on the dance floor while I resigned myself to the bar, trying to ignore the hellish noise. Maybe I was too old for these places. Or maybe they were just boring.
I was quite happy to leave Manila, particularly after we’d spent nearly two hours getting back to the airport, less than seven kilometres from the hotel.
As the plane took off and circled Manila Bay I looked down and wondered idly how the city planners spent their working days and if there even was a planning department in Metro Manila government. The answer was apparent – not doing much other than picking the fattest bribes to approve yet more vulgar high-rises where there should be none. If you don’t believe me, just look at a map. The green areas are gone, all except one – a bloody golf course. That one is untouchable, for where else would the crooks spend their weekends? Sorry, I meant politicians, industrial magnates, property developers, shipping tycoons and sundry other high profile… crooks.
The plane gained height, flying over a lovely turquoise sea, and I settled in for a pleasant snooze. Goodbye Manila, hello Zamboanga.
Anyone coming to the Philippines is invariably disappointed in its food, unless obsessed with eating pigs. Not so much regular pork, rather a preference for offal, ears, snouts and other inedible bits. I blame the Spanish for this. Over the course of a few centuries they managed to create the antithesis of gastronomic delights in a region which otherwise boasts some of the best food in the world.
The nightlife didn’t get me excited either, despite Kris’ promises of a fantastic time in Makati. We visited two of the hottest, most exclusive clubs, according to her. Both were crammed with pampered, jaded brats jerking to loud techno music, all drinks served with tiny umbrellas. Kris loved it, shaking her bum on the dance floor while I resigned myself to the bar, trying to ignore the hellish noise. Maybe I was too old for these places. Or maybe they were just boring.
I was quite happy to leave Manila, particularly after we’d spent nearly two hours getting back to the airport, less than seven kilometres from the hotel.
As the plane took off and circled Manila Bay I looked down and wondered idly how the city planners spent their working days and if there even was a planning department in Metro Manila government. The answer was apparent – not doing much other than picking the fattest bribes to approve yet more vulgar high-rises where there should be none. If you don’t believe me, just look at a map. The green areas are gone, all except one – a bloody golf course. That one is untouchable, for where else would the crooks spend their weekends? Sorry, I meant politicians, industrial magnates, property developers, shipping tycoons and sundry other high profile… crooks.
The plane gained height, flying over a lovely turquoise sea, and I settled in for a pleasant snooze. Goodbye Manila, hello Zamboanga.
●
Kris had to wait three weeks before I was ready to fly. I’d refused to show my face in public until my chin had healed completely and my hand deflated to its regular size, fully useable once again.
During that time, the rain had continued its regular on-off-on-again pattern, filling the pool hole to the edge with nasty looking, brown water. I’d definitely need to hire a pump to get the water and sludge out once the rains stopped, until then there was nothing to do but continue with the internal work. I’d finished another room and was elated that I’d passed the midway mark. Seven rooms done, only five to go.
I’d elicited a pledge from BB that none of his boys would attempt any kind of work even vaguely related to the house while I was away. Some of them had begun showing an unhealthy enthusiasm in that regard, enthusiasm being the keyword. I didn’t want to come back and discover that they’d painted the floors and polished the walls – know what I mean?
They would still take turns staying in the house to keep it safe from intruders. I was happy with that. Just in case, though, on the night before our departure, I did an inventory of my spirit supplies together with BB, noting the number and brands of unopened bottles and marking the levels in opened ones. He thought I was mean, I felt I was prudent.
‘You can have all the beer in the house, but leave my whiskies and wines alone,’ I said.
‘It is more shameful to mistrust ones friends than to be deceived by them,’ BB nodded unhappily, astonishing me with a quote from Confucius.
‘I don’t mistrust you guys at all, I just know you too well. And I’m familiar with your lack of refined taste. Any semblance of taste for that matter. Maybe not you, Kris has trained you well, but some of your boys would as soon drink a bottle of drain cleaner as a single malt. Oh, and one more thing,’ I’d almost forgotten the main directive.
‘Don’t piss in your pool,’ BB replied surly.
‘No, that you can do any time, be my guests,’ I answered magnanimously. ‘Minnie. Don’t scare her away again. Leave food and drink for her each evening – don’t forget the Cava, the bottle’s in the fridge – and avoid entering the kitchen at night. I’m serious about it, I expect to find her in the house when I get back.’
‘You and your rat girlfriend, you strange.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
During that time, the rain had continued its regular on-off-on-again pattern, filling the pool hole to the edge with nasty looking, brown water. I’d definitely need to hire a pump to get the water and sludge out once the rains stopped, until then there was nothing to do but continue with the internal work. I’d finished another room and was elated that I’d passed the midway mark. Seven rooms done, only five to go.
I’d elicited a pledge from BB that none of his boys would attempt any kind of work even vaguely related to the house while I was away. Some of them had begun showing an unhealthy enthusiasm in that regard, enthusiasm being the keyword. I didn’t want to come back and discover that they’d painted the floors and polished the walls – know what I mean?
They would still take turns staying in the house to keep it safe from intruders. I was happy with that. Just in case, though, on the night before our departure, I did an inventory of my spirit supplies together with BB, noting the number and brands of unopened bottles and marking the levels in opened ones. He thought I was mean, I felt I was prudent.
‘You can have all the beer in the house, but leave my whiskies and wines alone,’ I said.
‘It is more shameful to mistrust ones friends than to be deceived by them,’ BB nodded unhappily, astonishing me with a quote from Confucius.
‘I don’t mistrust you guys at all, I just know you too well. And I’m familiar with your lack of refined taste. Any semblance of taste for that matter. Maybe not you, Kris has trained you well, but some of your boys would as soon drink a bottle of drain cleaner as a single malt. Oh, and one more thing,’ I’d almost forgotten the main directive.
‘Don’t piss in your pool,’ BB replied surly.
‘No, that you can do any time, be my guests,’ I answered magnanimously. ‘Minnie. Don’t scare her away again. Leave food and drink for her each evening – don’t forget the Cava, the bottle’s in the fridge – and avoid entering the kitchen at night. I’m serious about it, I expect to find her in the house when I get back.’
‘You and your rat girlfriend, you strange.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
Chapter 37
I wasn’t too impressed with Zamboanga either, but I’d taken down my expectations a few notches following Manila and found the place just about acceptable. After all, this was supposed to be the gateway to the fabled Sulu islands. Instead, it was another gray and disorganised Asian town, somewhere between shanty town squalor and aspiration to modern urban living. New, shiny Korean cars were buzzing along paved streets trying to avoid stray dogs and suicidal chickens.
On our way to the hotel we drove by Plaza Pershing, the town focal point and bizarrely enough named after the US general who had fought in the Philippine-American war, later becoming the governor of the province. Funny people, the Zamboangueños, looking up to an invader, even naming a square after him. It was a pleasant enough square though, and as we passed it a local hard rock band was performing, doing a near perfect cover of Deep Purple’s Highway Star.
Lantaka hotel wasn’t bad at all. Located on the seafront and fairly central, yet within walking distance of the Fort Pilar remains and Rio Hondo, a vast collection of over-water shacks housing what is probably the biggest smugglers’ market in the world.
Kris had prepared me for the hotel having seen better days but I liked it, with its unbroken vista of the sea and the two Santa Cruz islands. The bigger of them, a weekend place for the locals, was reputed to be unique in the world, with a distinctly pink sandy beach, but I never got to see it for myself.
The hotel had recently renovated its fourth floor and the corner suite was available, another bonus. Thus we had settled in very nicely indeed and spent the first day by the pool. Kris had the pool guy drag a heavy wooden lounger a full circle around the pool before she finally decided on the best spot. I was happily browsing the merchandise on offer by a score of local Bajaus on tiny boats bobbing on the water in front of the hotel, selling shells and pieces of coloured corals. Most of the shells were the usual tourist tat, common enough and unnaturally cleaned and polished, but the sellers, once they realised what I was interested in, showed me some interesting specimens. Overpriced, of course, and I wasn’t in the mood for haggling so I left them and joined Kris, the late afternoon sun growing in size and intensity as it neared the horizon.
‘I hope the food here is better than in Manila,’ I said, dragging a lounger next to Kris.
‘I was thinking grilled lobster for dinner, accompanied with local roots and greens. And whatever wine they have here, I’m afraid we can’t be too choosy. At least not until we set sail tomorrow.’
On our way to the hotel we drove by Plaza Pershing, the town focal point and bizarrely enough named after the US general who had fought in the Philippine-American war, later becoming the governor of the province. Funny people, the Zamboangueños, looking up to an invader, even naming a square after him. It was a pleasant enough square though, and as we passed it a local hard rock band was performing, doing a near perfect cover of Deep Purple’s Highway Star.
Lantaka hotel wasn’t bad at all. Located on the seafront and fairly central, yet within walking distance of the Fort Pilar remains and Rio Hondo, a vast collection of over-water shacks housing what is probably the biggest smugglers’ market in the world.
Kris had prepared me for the hotel having seen better days but I liked it, with its unbroken vista of the sea and the two Santa Cruz islands. The bigger of them, a weekend place for the locals, was reputed to be unique in the world, with a distinctly pink sandy beach, but I never got to see it for myself.
The hotel had recently renovated its fourth floor and the corner suite was available, another bonus. Thus we had settled in very nicely indeed and spent the first day by the pool. Kris had the pool guy drag a heavy wooden lounger a full circle around the pool before she finally decided on the best spot. I was happily browsing the merchandise on offer by a score of local Bajaus on tiny boats bobbing on the water in front of the hotel, selling shells and pieces of coloured corals. Most of the shells were the usual tourist tat, common enough and unnaturally cleaned and polished, but the sellers, once they realised what I was interested in, showed me some interesting specimens. Overpriced, of course, and I wasn’t in the mood for haggling so I left them and joined Kris, the late afternoon sun growing in size and intensity as it neared the horizon.
‘I hope the food here is better than in Manila,’ I said, dragging a lounger next to Kris.
‘I was thinking grilled lobster for dinner, accompanied with local roots and greens. And whatever wine they have here, I’m afraid we can’t be too choosy. At least not until we set sail tomorrow.’
●
We’d finished our dinner on the terrace, a gentle breeze cooling us, and sampled the barman’s reasonably acceptable attempt at making margaritas.
‘You never told me about that last dream you had, the one you said was different. And not related to the others.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ I’d forgotten about it. ‘And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the rest. That one was just… weird.’
‘Weren’t they all?’
‘Yes, of course, but…’ I was reluctant to admit it, ‘I’ve had a similar one, years ago. A dream that I’ve never told anyone about. Which is why I’m certain that this one is of no importance.’
‘Why? What was it about, the first one?’ Kris enquired softly.
‘Look, it’s almost embarrassing to talk about, because it makes me sound like a certified lunatic. Much more than the current ones.’
‘Now I’m intrigued,’ Kris responded, ‘and I can vouch for your sanity. Do tell me, please.’
I sighed. ‘Right, once I dreamt I was a whale. Or rather, that I was inside the mind of a whale.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing!’
‘Yeah, maybe, but I’ve always thought that it was a sign of me going mental. Who dreams about such things?’
‘Perceptive, open minded people. Darling, don’t forget my Asian roots, we do believe such things are not only possible, but to be expected. How did it feel?’ Kris was genuinely curious.
‘Unbelievably weird. I wasn’t the whale itself, nothing as simple, it felt rather like I had somehow merged with it. It was an utterly alien sensation, I couldn’t even begin to grasp the thought processes of that mind. Oh yes, there was definitely intelligence there, an awareness of being, thoughts flashing around me and through me. Just totally different from anything that I’d ever experienced, and it freaked me out.’
Kris smiled at me. ‘I think that you’ve had a unique and beautiful experience. Believing in karma, as I do–’
‘I thought that was a Buddhist thing, not Shintoist,’ I objected.
‘Don’t be so simplistic, darling. Karma, kami – these are just different aspects of the same concept. Everything is energy and energy is constant. And sometimes we may partially remember one of our previous energy forms.’
‘Very poetic, when you put it that way.’ I felt mellow after the dinner and the two margaritas. ‘You’re saying I used to be a whale?’
‘Why not? Or maybe, as you were sleeping, your soul was roaming and briefly entered a whale. It’s entirely feasible, as far as I’m concerned. Whatever it was, cherish that dream. I’m envious of you, I must say.’ Kris reached out and placed her hand on mine. ‘Now tell me about the other one.’
‘It was similar, in a way, yet also quite different. In the beginning, I was suspended in deep water. Not feeling alien or anything, just being… powerful. And big. No,’ I corrected myself, ‘not big, huge. There was this whale passing me on its way to the surface and it seemed puny to me. Also, I remember being seriously pissed off. As in enveloped in a crimson cloud of pure, blind rage. Towards everyone and everything.’
‘Now that’s more like the Alex I know,’ Kris laughed, ‘whenever you run into a major problem with the house, you–’
She broke off as three vehicles pulled up in front of the hotel. Judging from what I saw over the top of the wall facing the street, black Hummers. Then we heard loud voices.
‘Ah, I believe our host has arrived,’ Kris said and looked at me. ‘Darling, be nice to him.’
‘You never told me about that last dream you had, the one you said was different. And not related to the others.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ I’d forgotten about it. ‘And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the rest. That one was just… weird.’
‘Weren’t they all?’
‘Yes, of course, but…’ I was reluctant to admit it, ‘I’ve had a similar one, years ago. A dream that I’ve never told anyone about. Which is why I’m certain that this one is of no importance.’
‘Why? What was it about, the first one?’ Kris enquired softly.
‘Look, it’s almost embarrassing to talk about, because it makes me sound like a certified lunatic. Much more than the current ones.’
‘Now I’m intrigued,’ Kris responded, ‘and I can vouch for your sanity. Do tell me, please.’
I sighed. ‘Right, once I dreamt I was a whale. Or rather, that I was inside the mind of a whale.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing!’
‘Yeah, maybe, but I’ve always thought that it was a sign of me going mental. Who dreams about such things?’
‘Perceptive, open minded people. Darling, don’t forget my Asian roots, we do believe such things are not only possible, but to be expected. How did it feel?’ Kris was genuinely curious.
‘Unbelievably weird. I wasn’t the whale itself, nothing as simple, it felt rather like I had somehow merged with it. It was an utterly alien sensation, I couldn’t even begin to grasp the thought processes of that mind. Oh yes, there was definitely intelligence there, an awareness of being, thoughts flashing around me and through me. Just totally different from anything that I’d ever experienced, and it freaked me out.’
Kris smiled at me. ‘I think that you’ve had a unique and beautiful experience. Believing in karma, as I do–’
‘I thought that was a Buddhist thing, not Shintoist,’ I objected.
‘Don’t be so simplistic, darling. Karma, kami – these are just different aspects of the same concept. Everything is energy and energy is constant. And sometimes we may partially remember one of our previous energy forms.’
‘Very poetic, when you put it that way.’ I felt mellow after the dinner and the two margaritas. ‘You’re saying I used to be a whale?’
‘Why not? Or maybe, as you were sleeping, your soul was roaming and briefly entered a whale. It’s entirely feasible, as far as I’m concerned. Whatever it was, cherish that dream. I’m envious of you, I must say.’ Kris reached out and placed her hand on mine. ‘Now tell me about the other one.’
‘It was similar, in a way, yet also quite different. In the beginning, I was suspended in deep water. Not feeling alien or anything, just being… powerful. And big. No,’ I corrected myself, ‘not big, huge. There was this whale passing me on its way to the surface and it seemed puny to me. Also, I remember being seriously pissed off. As in enveloped in a crimson cloud of pure, blind rage. Towards everyone and everything.’
‘Now that’s more like the Alex I know,’ Kris laughed, ‘whenever you run into a major problem with the house, you–’
She broke off as three vehicles pulled up in front of the hotel. Judging from what I saw over the top of the wall facing the street, black Hummers. Then we heard loud voices.
‘Ah, I believe our host has arrived,’ Kris said and looked at me. ‘Darling, be nice to him.’
Chapter 38
I would’ve expected almost anything to happen in Zamboanga, anything except what unfolded in front of my eyes while Kris leaned back leisurely, sipping her drink.
All the other guests, until now sitting at the tables around us, got up as one and left the terrace through the restaurant doors, their meals unfinished. The hotel guard that had been lounging by the entrance to the hall that stretched to the reception had also disappeared. In his place, four men dressed in black took up positions, all of them armed.
After they scanned the terrace, now empty except for us, one of them nodded briefly towards the hall, from where a fifth man emerged. Similarly dressed, in black pyjamas and headscarf, however wearing pink flip-flops instead of combat boots, he strode confidently towards us, not even glancing at the four ninjas. Two of them followed him and selected strategic spots close to our table.
Smiling as he approached, his right hand over his heart, he exclaimed, ‘As-salāmu ʿalayki, sister.’
‘Waʿalaykumu as-salām, Abu Namur,’ Kris stood up and replied. ‘This is my partner, Alex,’ pointing at me. ‘Alex, meet my dear friend, Abu Namur.’
‘Hi Abu,’ I got up and extended my hand, looking over his shoulder at the gun-toting ninjas, ‘nice to meet you… I think.’
He looked at my hand, then touched it lightly with his fingers, thumb folded across the palm.
As we sat down, Kris asked Abu, ‘Can I offer you something to drink, a juice maybe?’
‘Why don’t you try a margarita, they’re pretty decent here,’ I suggested.
Both of them looked at me as If I’d offered him a glass of bleach. Kris said pointedly, ‘Darling, Abu Namur doesn’t drink alcohol.’
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think of that, my apologies,’ I replied, realising that I’d committed a nearly unforgivable faux pas. What was I thinking of, with most of the people in Mindanao being Muslim?
‘I’m sure that our esteemed host will understand,’ Kris nodded towards Abu and raised her eyebrows slightly, ‘and forgive an infidel his lack of education.’
She signalled to one of the waiters who hovered by the restaurant entrance. The poor guy scurried towards us like a frightened sheep on its way to slaughter.
‘Yes, no problem.’ Abu replied to her, then said to the waiter without even looking at him, ‘Mango juice, fresh, no ice.’
The preliminaries over without anyone getting shot, I relaxed and tried to follow their conversation, a mix of English, Tagalog and some Arabic thrown in for good measure. I understood that the yacht, or rather boat as they were calling it (which made me highly suspicious as these two terms, in my experience, don’t necessarily have much in common), was already berthed in the harbour, with a full crew onboard, ready to sail in the morning.
‘Sorry, If I may interrupt?’ I asked. ‘Does this boat have a proper toilet?’
Abu looked at me as if I was an obtuse child. ‘Of course it has a toilet.’
‘And a kitchen?’ I persevered.
‘On a boat it’s called a galley, darling,’ Kris interjected, shrugging towards Abu in exasperation. ‘And I’m sure that you’ll approve of it, once you see it. It’s the finest boat in Sulu.’
Abu was visibly pleased with her statement and declared proudly, ‘You can see it from here, now that the ferry has departed. Come, I’ll show you. It’s at the end of the pier.’
We followed him to the edge of the terrace and looked at where he was pointing. I was expecting a European style yacht, sleek and looking like a million bucks, riding reassuringly high in the water. Instead, I saw an oversized vinta, maybe 20 metres long, with a huge sail, all black instead of the usual colourful patches, and with more than the usual structures on the deck, some of these constructed over the outriggers and making it look almost like a trimaran.
‘I thought you’d said a yacht?’ I whispered to Kris. ‘That’s not a yacht, it’s a bloody pump boat. Maybe a big one, but still a pump boat. Is it even seaworthy?’
Kris looked surreptitiously at Abu, then back at me, ‘Alex, this is probably the most luxurious and comfortable ship you’ll ever be on. Please shut up and get ready to enjoy the cruise.’
I’ve learned the implication of Kris using my name when addressing me. So I shut up.
‘Sister,’ Abu said, ‘I wish you a pleasant trip, insha’Allah, but to remind you, please…’
He guided Kris away from me, for a tête-à-tête. I pretended I was still dubiously contemplating a vacation on a pump boat while I did my best to listen in on their conversation.
I only heard the odd words and phrases, such as ‘…now repaid in full…’, ‘…dealing with Shaitan…’ (I understood that, Shaitan is the devil), and ‘…will deny any knowledge of weapons found on the boat.’ Which was enough to get me jittery, thinking that Kris had, once again, managed to screw me over and get us involved in a potentially life-threatening situation.
Meanwhile, Kris and Abu were excessively polite to each other. Abu bowed, once again with his right hand over his heart. Kris responded with an even deeper bow, her hands crossed on her chest. After which, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Abu left the terrace and the hotel. The three Hummers pulled away from the street with screeching tires, in a cloud of smoke.
The terrace was now getting slowly populated by the same people that had fled earlier, the waiters running around again as if nothing had happened. Only in the Philippines, I thought.
‘So, you’re adamant that we’ll be comfortable on a pump boat,’ I enquired, ‘the Sulu version of a yacht?’
‘Darling,’ Kris replied wearily, ‘I’m sure you’re totally clueless, being you, but I saved your balls more than once tonight. Just think about it. I’m not asking you to be grateful, however I would appreciate a bit of common sense and laissez-faire from you right now. Please?’
All the other guests, until now sitting at the tables around us, got up as one and left the terrace through the restaurant doors, their meals unfinished. The hotel guard that had been lounging by the entrance to the hall that stretched to the reception had also disappeared. In his place, four men dressed in black took up positions, all of them armed.
After they scanned the terrace, now empty except for us, one of them nodded briefly towards the hall, from where a fifth man emerged. Similarly dressed, in black pyjamas and headscarf, however wearing pink flip-flops instead of combat boots, he strode confidently towards us, not even glancing at the four ninjas. Two of them followed him and selected strategic spots close to our table.
Smiling as he approached, his right hand over his heart, he exclaimed, ‘As-salāmu ʿalayki, sister.’
‘Waʿalaykumu as-salām, Abu Namur,’ Kris stood up and replied. ‘This is my partner, Alex,’ pointing at me. ‘Alex, meet my dear friend, Abu Namur.’
‘Hi Abu,’ I got up and extended my hand, looking over his shoulder at the gun-toting ninjas, ‘nice to meet you… I think.’
He looked at my hand, then touched it lightly with his fingers, thumb folded across the palm.
As we sat down, Kris asked Abu, ‘Can I offer you something to drink, a juice maybe?’
‘Why don’t you try a margarita, they’re pretty decent here,’ I suggested.
Both of them looked at me as If I’d offered him a glass of bleach. Kris said pointedly, ‘Darling, Abu Namur doesn’t drink alcohol.’
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think of that, my apologies,’ I replied, realising that I’d committed a nearly unforgivable faux pas. What was I thinking of, with most of the people in Mindanao being Muslim?
‘I’m sure that our esteemed host will understand,’ Kris nodded towards Abu and raised her eyebrows slightly, ‘and forgive an infidel his lack of education.’
She signalled to one of the waiters who hovered by the restaurant entrance. The poor guy scurried towards us like a frightened sheep on its way to slaughter.
‘Yes, no problem.’ Abu replied to her, then said to the waiter without even looking at him, ‘Mango juice, fresh, no ice.’
The preliminaries over without anyone getting shot, I relaxed and tried to follow their conversation, a mix of English, Tagalog and some Arabic thrown in for good measure. I understood that the yacht, or rather boat as they were calling it (which made me highly suspicious as these two terms, in my experience, don’t necessarily have much in common), was already berthed in the harbour, with a full crew onboard, ready to sail in the morning.
‘Sorry, If I may interrupt?’ I asked. ‘Does this boat have a proper toilet?’
Abu looked at me as if I was an obtuse child. ‘Of course it has a toilet.’
‘And a kitchen?’ I persevered.
‘On a boat it’s called a galley, darling,’ Kris interjected, shrugging towards Abu in exasperation. ‘And I’m sure that you’ll approve of it, once you see it. It’s the finest boat in Sulu.’
Abu was visibly pleased with her statement and declared proudly, ‘You can see it from here, now that the ferry has departed. Come, I’ll show you. It’s at the end of the pier.’
We followed him to the edge of the terrace and looked at where he was pointing. I was expecting a European style yacht, sleek and looking like a million bucks, riding reassuringly high in the water. Instead, I saw an oversized vinta, maybe 20 metres long, with a huge sail, all black instead of the usual colourful patches, and with more than the usual structures on the deck, some of these constructed over the outriggers and making it look almost like a trimaran.
‘I thought you’d said a yacht?’ I whispered to Kris. ‘That’s not a yacht, it’s a bloody pump boat. Maybe a big one, but still a pump boat. Is it even seaworthy?’
Kris looked surreptitiously at Abu, then back at me, ‘Alex, this is probably the most luxurious and comfortable ship you’ll ever be on. Please shut up and get ready to enjoy the cruise.’
I’ve learned the implication of Kris using my name when addressing me. So I shut up.
‘Sister,’ Abu said, ‘I wish you a pleasant trip, insha’Allah, but to remind you, please…’
He guided Kris away from me, for a tête-à-tête. I pretended I was still dubiously contemplating a vacation on a pump boat while I did my best to listen in on their conversation.
I only heard the odd words and phrases, such as ‘…now repaid in full…’, ‘…dealing with Shaitan…’ (I understood that, Shaitan is the devil), and ‘…will deny any knowledge of weapons found on the boat.’ Which was enough to get me jittery, thinking that Kris had, once again, managed to screw me over and get us involved in a potentially life-threatening situation.
Meanwhile, Kris and Abu were excessively polite to each other. Abu bowed, once again with his right hand over his heart. Kris responded with an even deeper bow, her hands crossed on her chest. After which, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Abu left the terrace and the hotel. The three Hummers pulled away from the street with screeching tires, in a cloud of smoke.
The terrace was now getting slowly populated by the same people that had fled earlier, the waiters running around again as if nothing had happened. Only in the Philippines, I thought.
‘So, you’re adamant that we’ll be comfortable on a pump boat,’ I enquired, ‘the Sulu version of a yacht?’
‘Darling,’ Kris replied wearily, ‘I’m sure you’re totally clueless, being you, but I saved your balls more than once tonight. Just think about it. I’m not asking you to be grateful, however I would appreciate a bit of common sense and laissez-faire from you right now. Please?’
Chapter 39
We checked out of the hotel and got to the harbour without any hitches or surprises. Well, hardly any. The reception staff advised us that our bill was already taken care of and no matter how much Kris protested they wouldn’t budge. If anything, they seemed to be grateful for our departure, which I didn’t understand.
Outside, we were accosted by a shifty looking man as we waited for the tricycles to take us to the harbour. He started by approaching me, insisting that he had to see my passport. I told him politely to take a hike, then he started pestering Kris.
‘Piss off, you irritating gnat,’ was her response. ‘So what are you, DOJ? NACTAG? We don’t have to show you anything. We’re here on vacation.’
The man was taken aback, not expecting such disrespectful treatment, yet remained persistent, ‘Madam, I am indeed with security,’ he pulled out a card and held it up in front of Kris’ face, ‘and since you seem familiar with my work you must also be aware that we have the right to question anyone of interest to us. Particularly after they’ve met a known criminal.’
Criminal? And there I was thinking that Abu was just another dodgy, paranoid businessman. Of course, now everything clicked into place. Shit.
‘Known criminal? That’s preposterous,’ Kris replied. ‘Your government may have unfounded suspicions, that’s all. If you have anything concrete on him, why haven’t you arrested him yet?’
‘I must warn you, Madam, that your refusal to–’
The man turned around as our tricycles arrived, six of them, their presence announced by the staccato sound of tiny two-stroke engines. Two of them empty, the others loaded with ninjas, identical to the ones from the night before except these didn’t have any guns. Any that I could see, I should add.
Our bags were loaded on one tricycle and I followed Kris to the other one. As we sat down on the hard bench she turned to the bewildered and unhappy security man.
‘Ciao, we’ll send you a postcard. And one to your superiors in Manila.’ She actually waved at him, cheeky woman.
Outside, we were accosted by a shifty looking man as we waited for the tricycles to take us to the harbour. He started by approaching me, insisting that he had to see my passport. I told him politely to take a hike, then he started pestering Kris.
‘Piss off, you irritating gnat,’ was her response. ‘So what are you, DOJ? NACTAG? We don’t have to show you anything. We’re here on vacation.’
The man was taken aback, not expecting such disrespectful treatment, yet remained persistent, ‘Madam, I am indeed with security,’ he pulled out a card and held it up in front of Kris’ face, ‘and since you seem familiar with my work you must also be aware that we have the right to question anyone of interest to us. Particularly after they’ve met a known criminal.’
Criminal? And there I was thinking that Abu was just another dodgy, paranoid businessman. Of course, now everything clicked into place. Shit.
‘Known criminal? That’s preposterous,’ Kris replied. ‘Your government may have unfounded suspicions, that’s all. If you have anything concrete on him, why haven’t you arrested him yet?’
‘I must warn you, Madam, that your refusal to–’
The man turned around as our tricycles arrived, six of them, their presence announced by the staccato sound of tiny two-stroke engines. Two of them empty, the others loaded with ninjas, identical to the ones from the night before except these didn’t have any guns. Any that I could see, I should add.
Our bags were loaded on one tricycle and I followed Kris to the other one. As we sat down on the hard bench she turned to the bewildered and unhappy security man.
‘Ciao, we’ll send you a postcard. And one to your superiors in Manila.’ She actually waved at him, cheeky woman.
●
‘I believe it’s time you tell me about Abu, and why that man called him a criminal. Is that perchance the reason why you’re adamant that we’ll be safe, sailing down Sulu on a pump boat?’
We were spread out on a dozen large, colourful cushions on a raised platform above our cabin. The boat was chugging along slowly on a dead calm sea, Basilan island on our port side. Even I, with my limited knowledge of the area, was aware of Basilan being a hotbed of insurgents, only second to Jolo.
‘Stop saying pump boat, darling. Wasn’t I right about it being as luxurious as any yacht?’ Kris was procrastinating. ‘Our cabin, isn’t it amazing? Roomy enough, and the huge bed just made for love. You didn’t even find anything to complain about in the bathroom.’
‘The boat is fine, now tell me about Abu.’
‘Have it your way, spoilsport. Abu Namur is essentially a businessman. Yes, he’s a bit shady, but so is everyone else on his level in this country.’
‘Essentially? What’s his business?’
‘Oh, the usual, import and export.’
‘As in smuggling goods, I take it? That’s why this boat has a huge cargo holding area, isn’t it? The one covered in thick plywood sheets; I can hear echoes below every time I walk across it.’
‘Sometimes you are very perceptive, darling,’ Kris nodded, ‘there’s more to you than just a handsome face and a hot body.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Now admit it – he’s a smuggler.’
Kris sighed. ‘Yes, one of his businesses is smuggling, but he’s never directly involved in any run, he doesn’t even organise them – hasn’t done so for years. If it wasn’t for him, the market in Rio Hondo wouldn’t exist.’
She proceeded to tell me the story of a small-time smuggler who’d started out as a youth with a single boat and no crew, like so many other poor fishermen in Southeast Asia. With vast expanses of water, thousands of islands to hide on, and authorities which for the most part turned a blind eye, it was potentially a lucrative business. In fact, it’s still the career of choice for many, although the majority never manage to reach the top as Abu had done.
Over a couple of decades, he’d created a network of routes covering much more than the Philippines and the classic smugglers’ run between Sabah on Borneo and Tawi-Tawi in Sulu. He’d expanded into Indonesia and set up, as Kris put it, a franchise there.
Abu was an astute businessman, and having become filthy rich had established a number of legal enterprises through which he was moving the profits. In fact, the legal side was nowadays making more money than the smuggling, but he was still sentimental about it.
‘He’s an honest crook,’ Kris concluded, ‘he would never smuggle people or drugs. That’s why I agreed to handle his finances in the first place.’
I couldn’t but laugh hearing this, ‘Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve a smuggler as a client. But then all of your clients are crooks, aren’t they, one way or another?’
‘I’m happy you approve of my client base, darling, it makes it so much easier for me to get up each morning and deal with them.’
‘But why, if he’s just a smuggler, would we be safe on his boat? What if the competition wants to take him out? Or the local villagers decide to supplement their income by kidnapping us? Hell, forget the villagers, there are enough organised groups here that do that for a living, in between demanding a free Muslim Mindanao and having regular shootouts with government troops.’
‘Because, darling, one: there isn’t any real competition left.’ Kris explained patiently, ticking off the answers on her fingers. ‘Two: his boats are easily recognisable, particularly this one – it’s his personal pleasure craft. Three: believe it or not, Abu Namur is a philanthropist and regularly sponsors developments on the islands. Schools, medical centres, piers, whatever is needed, and they love him for it. Four,’ here Kris paused uncertainly, ‘the groups you mentioned… he’s their main arms supplier.’
‘Why am I not surprised that you’ve kept quiet about this?’ I shook my head. ‘And now I understand why that guy back at the hotel was interested in us meeting Abu. We’re having a good time on a boat that’s most likely been paid for by murderous thugs and you–’
‘This is why,’ Kris interrupted me, ‘he prefers to deal with the one group that tries to reach its goal through political means whenever possible, in fact he’s always preferred MILF–’
‘And how, may I ask, is his preference for MILFs relevant? Personally, I had him down as a goat fucker, not someone who’s into mature women.’
‘Shut up, you idiot,’ Kris looked around anxiously. ‘Do you want to be thrown overboard? Just because I’m untouchable doesn’t mean that you are as well.’
‘Sorry. I’ll go get my coat, shall I? Or do I mean goat?’ I couldn’t help myself.
‘Idiot. You’re lucky that no one’s heard you. And regarding your propensity for twisting everything into something sexual, I was talking about the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, not middle-aged tarts.’
‘Ah, I see. Yes, I may have heard about them. Not the tarts, the other bunch. Always wondered why on earth a hardcore Islamic group, its members probably more fluent in Arabic than Tagalog, would use English. Never mind the unfortunate acronym.’
Kris thought about it for a moment. ‘I’ve actually no idea. Maybe they thought it would give them the international recognition they want.’
A creaking of the planks behind us made me turn around. One of the crew was approaching, barefoot and wearing trousers only. They’d all removed the headscarves, shirts and shoes as soon as we’d left the harbour. A tough guy, short and wiry, sporting a sparse goatee, he looked like the classic Asian pirate. Good thing this gang was on our side, I thought.
‘Lunch ready,’ he announced curtly then walked away.
We were spread out on a dozen large, colourful cushions on a raised platform above our cabin. The boat was chugging along slowly on a dead calm sea, Basilan island on our port side. Even I, with my limited knowledge of the area, was aware of Basilan being a hotbed of insurgents, only second to Jolo.
‘Stop saying pump boat, darling. Wasn’t I right about it being as luxurious as any yacht?’ Kris was procrastinating. ‘Our cabin, isn’t it amazing? Roomy enough, and the huge bed just made for love. You didn’t even find anything to complain about in the bathroom.’
‘The boat is fine, now tell me about Abu.’
‘Have it your way, spoilsport. Abu Namur is essentially a businessman. Yes, he’s a bit shady, but so is everyone else on his level in this country.’
‘Essentially? What’s his business?’
‘Oh, the usual, import and export.’
‘As in smuggling goods, I take it? That’s why this boat has a huge cargo holding area, isn’t it? The one covered in thick plywood sheets; I can hear echoes below every time I walk across it.’
‘Sometimes you are very perceptive, darling,’ Kris nodded, ‘there’s more to you than just a handsome face and a hot body.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Now admit it – he’s a smuggler.’
Kris sighed. ‘Yes, one of his businesses is smuggling, but he’s never directly involved in any run, he doesn’t even organise them – hasn’t done so for years. If it wasn’t for him, the market in Rio Hondo wouldn’t exist.’
She proceeded to tell me the story of a small-time smuggler who’d started out as a youth with a single boat and no crew, like so many other poor fishermen in Southeast Asia. With vast expanses of water, thousands of islands to hide on, and authorities which for the most part turned a blind eye, it was potentially a lucrative business. In fact, it’s still the career of choice for many, although the majority never manage to reach the top as Abu had done.
Over a couple of decades, he’d created a network of routes covering much more than the Philippines and the classic smugglers’ run between Sabah on Borneo and Tawi-Tawi in Sulu. He’d expanded into Indonesia and set up, as Kris put it, a franchise there.
Abu was an astute businessman, and having become filthy rich had established a number of legal enterprises through which he was moving the profits. In fact, the legal side was nowadays making more money than the smuggling, but he was still sentimental about it.
‘He’s an honest crook,’ Kris concluded, ‘he would never smuggle people or drugs. That’s why I agreed to handle his finances in the first place.’
I couldn’t but laugh hearing this, ‘Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve a smuggler as a client. But then all of your clients are crooks, aren’t they, one way or another?’
‘I’m happy you approve of my client base, darling, it makes it so much easier for me to get up each morning and deal with them.’
‘But why, if he’s just a smuggler, would we be safe on his boat? What if the competition wants to take him out? Or the local villagers decide to supplement their income by kidnapping us? Hell, forget the villagers, there are enough organised groups here that do that for a living, in between demanding a free Muslim Mindanao and having regular shootouts with government troops.’
‘Because, darling, one: there isn’t any real competition left.’ Kris explained patiently, ticking off the answers on her fingers. ‘Two: his boats are easily recognisable, particularly this one – it’s his personal pleasure craft. Three: believe it or not, Abu Namur is a philanthropist and regularly sponsors developments on the islands. Schools, medical centres, piers, whatever is needed, and they love him for it. Four,’ here Kris paused uncertainly, ‘the groups you mentioned… he’s their main arms supplier.’
‘Why am I not surprised that you’ve kept quiet about this?’ I shook my head. ‘And now I understand why that guy back at the hotel was interested in us meeting Abu. We’re having a good time on a boat that’s most likely been paid for by murderous thugs and you–’
‘This is why,’ Kris interrupted me, ‘he prefers to deal with the one group that tries to reach its goal through political means whenever possible, in fact he’s always preferred MILF–’
‘And how, may I ask, is his preference for MILFs relevant? Personally, I had him down as a goat fucker, not someone who’s into mature women.’
‘Shut up, you idiot,’ Kris looked around anxiously. ‘Do you want to be thrown overboard? Just because I’m untouchable doesn’t mean that you are as well.’
‘Sorry. I’ll go get my coat, shall I? Or do I mean goat?’ I couldn’t help myself.
‘Idiot. You’re lucky that no one’s heard you. And regarding your propensity for twisting everything into something sexual, I was talking about the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, not middle-aged tarts.’
‘Ah, I see. Yes, I may have heard about them. Not the tarts, the other bunch. Always wondered why on earth a hardcore Islamic group, its members probably more fluent in Arabic than Tagalog, would use English. Never mind the unfortunate acronym.’
Kris thought about it for a moment. ‘I’ve actually no idea. Maybe they thought it would give them the international recognition they want.’
A creaking of the planks behind us made me turn around. One of the crew was approaching, barefoot and wearing trousers only. They’d all removed the headscarves, shirts and shoes as soon as we’d left the harbour. A tough guy, short and wiry, sporting a sparse goatee, he looked like the classic Asian pirate. Good thing this gang was on our side, I thought.
‘Lunch ready,’ he announced curtly then walked away.
●
The lunch was delicious, local flounder fillets on a bed of taro leaves simmered in coconut milk. As I poured us the remains of a Riesling, I felt the need to comment about the kitchen – sorry, galley – and its resident chef. ‘You were absolutely right, kitten, and I’m duly impressed. Definitely better food than in Manila.’
‘Of course it is, darling. I promised you the freshest seafood available, didn’t I? There are even nice cuts of beef in the freezer, if you ever get tired of fish.’
‘Not sure about the dessert though,’ I’d tried halo-halo for the first time. ‘Not sweet enough, too much ice and why would anyone put beans in it is beyond me.’
‘You always find something to complain about, don’t you?’
‘Not at all, I just occasionally miss proper European desserts. You know, stuff like Sachertorte, petit choux, apple pie, baklava.’
‘Oh come on, baklava is hardly European,’ Kris objected.
”It may not have been originally, but since the Turks introduced it to the Balkans it’s become ubiquitous throughout the continent.’
‘Too sweet for my taste, anyway.’
I left that statement unanswered. Instead I looked ahead at the unbroken expanse of beautiful turquoise seas, the sun high in the cloudless sky. We were leaving Basilan behind us on our way to Jolo, the Sulu capital, and I thought how lucky I was to know Kris and her connections. Without her, I’d probably never have seen the archipelago. Certainly not this way, on a smuggler’s boat.
‘How did you come across someone like Abu?’ I asked.
‘Through his cousin, she and I met in a club years ago. She’d moved from Zamboanga to Manila, to study at the Polytech University there. But soon after we’d met she was told by the registrar’s office that her admission papers had got lost, so I had a chat with someone I knew on the Board of Regents. And suddenly her papers were found – as it happens. Ah, Sofia, she was the sweetest thing ever,’ Kris smiled, lowering her voice. ‘Quite innocent when we met, but hungry for the world. Wanting to experience everything on offer and eager to explore her desires.’
‘And Abu?’
‘He was so proud of Sofia, he was the one that had suggested the university in the first place and was prepared to sponsor her throughout her studies. He got livid when he found out that Sofia was rejected so he came to Manila to talk to the university. But by the time he’d got there, she had already been readmitted. Needless to say, he was grateful for my assistance and, once he’d found out about my work, he suggested that I handle some of his overseas accounts. After a few years he decided he could trust me, so nowadays I have control over all his accounts and assets outside Southeast Asia.’
‘That’s serious gratitude, and a lot of trust,’ I nodded. ‘Does he know about you and Sofia… how close you were?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Kris hissed. ‘He’d kill me on the spot if he knew, and her as well; the usual family honour bullshit. I’m serious, he’d go look for me anywhere in the world, so don’t ever talk about this again. To anyone.’
‘Of course I won’t, I’m neither suicidal nor stupid,’ I replied. ‘Where is Sofia now?’
‘The usual story, unfortunately. Back where she started, in Zamboanga. She got her degree in marine engineering, then she moved back and got married. Now she’s a housewife with three kids and a philandering husband. Last time I saw her, she struggled with excess weight. And had her stunning hair covered with a headscarf,’ Kris shuddered in disgust.
‘I thought this was a matriarchal society, the Philippines.’
‘Ha, they used to be before the Spanish conquered them and imposed their Catholic, patriarchal and misogynist world view. Not that the Arab traders were any better, the ones that came to Sulu and pushed Islam down the throats of the locals. Same shit, different name.’
‘Sofia never even worked as an engineer? What a waste!’
‘Only to design this boat for her uncle. It’s such a fabulous piece of engineering, not just covertly hi-tech – most of which stuff I hope we’ll never need,’ Kris replied, ‘but also utterly comfortable as well as sexy to look at. I wish I’d had more time to spend with Sofia, maybe I could’ve inspired her to take charge of her life and make a name for herself. Do her own thing, you know, not blindly obey her family.’
I knew well what Kris meant. Going against imposed family traditions is tough enough in Europe. Here in Asia it’s nearly impossible, unless you’re prepared to break with the family.
I changed the subject. ‘How much longer until we get to Jolo? I assume that we’ll check out the place, won’t we? I must admit that visiting the home base of terrorists and strutting around town unmolested appeals to me. And my macho ego.’
‘Oh, you’ll have no problems there, they’ll all think you’re a wealthy Arab who’s come to support their righteous fight. You certainly look like one now, with your unshaven face,’ Kris laughed. ‘We just need to get you a thawb and a keffiyeh. The standard Saudi robe and headdress.’
‘Very funny.’
‘But it’s true, darling. You could easily pass for an Arab. A sexy one, mind you,’ Kris winked at me. ‘Yes, we’ll visit Jolo tomorrow morning. Today, we’ll drop anchor off a tiny island close to Jolo – the crew know the place. Too small to be inhabited but with a beautiful beach and nice coral offshore.’
‘How do you know, you’ve been there before?’
‘No, Abu Namur told me about it. In fact, he’s instructed the crew which islands to visit and assured me that they are the most beautiful ones in Sulu. And before you say anything sarcastic, I can see that you’re about to,’ Kris stopped me, ‘even hardcore smugglers can have a sense of aesthetics.’
‘I was only going to suggest that Abu knows the islands,’ I pretended to be offended, ‘because he’s used them on his runs.’
‘That too, most likely, but nowadays he just visits them with one of his many mistresses.’
‘He does enjoy life, doesn’t he, good old Abu? How about you put in a word for me, I’d be happy to take some of them off his hands every now and then. Maybe he can invite a bunch of the babes in one go and I’ll help share the duties.’
‘Keep on wishing, you pervert.’ Kris slapped me on the head, playfully yet with a little bit more force than my comment deserved. ‘It’s getting hot now, even in the shade. How about we go to the cabin to cool off? And you can show me exactly how dutiful you can be.’
‘Of course it is, darling. I promised you the freshest seafood available, didn’t I? There are even nice cuts of beef in the freezer, if you ever get tired of fish.’
‘Not sure about the dessert though,’ I’d tried halo-halo for the first time. ‘Not sweet enough, too much ice and why would anyone put beans in it is beyond me.’
‘You always find something to complain about, don’t you?’
‘Not at all, I just occasionally miss proper European desserts. You know, stuff like Sachertorte, petit choux, apple pie, baklava.’
‘Oh come on, baklava is hardly European,’ Kris objected.
”It may not have been originally, but since the Turks introduced it to the Balkans it’s become ubiquitous throughout the continent.’
‘Too sweet for my taste, anyway.’
I left that statement unanswered. Instead I looked ahead at the unbroken expanse of beautiful turquoise seas, the sun high in the cloudless sky. We were leaving Basilan behind us on our way to Jolo, the Sulu capital, and I thought how lucky I was to know Kris and her connections. Without her, I’d probably never have seen the archipelago. Certainly not this way, on a smuggler’s boat.
‘How did you come across someone like Abu?’ I asked.
‘Through his cousin, she and I met in a club years ago. She’d moved from Zamboanga to Manila, to study at the Polytech University there. But soon after we’d met she was told by the registrar’s office that her admission papers had got lost, so I had a chat with someone I knew on the Board of Regents. And suddenly her papers were found – as it happens. Ah, Sofia, she was the sweetest thing ever,’ Kris smiled, lowering her voice. ‘Quite innocent when we met, but hungry for the world. Wanting to experience everything on offer and eager to explore her desires.’
‘And Abu?’
‘He was so proud of Sofia, he was the one that had suggested the university in the first place and was prepared to sponsor her throughout her studies. He got livid when he found out that Sofia was rejected so he came to Manila to talk to the university. But by the time he’d got there, she had already been readmitted. Needless to say, he was grateful for my assistance and, once he’d found out about my work, he suggested that I handle some of his overseas accounts. After a few years he decided he could trust me, so nowadays I have control over all his accounts and assets outside Southeast Asia.’
‘That’s serious gratitude, and a lot of trust,’ I nodded. ‘Does he know about you and Sofia… how close you were?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Kris hissed. ‘He’d kill me on the spot if he knew, and her as well; the usual family honour bullshit. I’m serious, he’d go look for me anywhere in the world, so don’t ever talk about this again. To anyone.’
‘Of course I won’t, I’m neither suicidal nor stupid,’ I replied. ‘Where is Sofia now?’
‘The usual story, unfortunately. Back where she started, in Zamboanga. She got her degree in marine engineering, then she moved back and got married. Now she’s a housewife with three kids and a philandering husband. Last time I saw her, she struggled with excess weight. And had her stunning hair covered with a headscarf,’ Kris shuddered in disgust.
‘I thought this was a matriarchal society, the Philippines.’
‘Ha, they used to be before the Spanish conquered them and imposed their Catholic, patriarchal and misogynist world view. Not that the Arab traders were any better, the ones that came to Sulu and pushed Islam down the throats of the locals. Same shit, different name.’
‘Sofia never even worked as an engineer? What a waste!’
‘Only to design this boat for her uncle. It’s such a fabulous piece of engineering, not just covertly hi-tech – most of which stuff I hope we’ll never need,’ Kris replied, ‘but also utterly comfortable as well as sexy to look at. I wish I’d had more time to spend with Sofia, maybe I could’ve inspired her to take charge of her life and make a name for herself. Do her own thing, you know, not blindly obey her family.’
I knew well what Kris meant. Going against imposed family traditions is tough enough in Europe. Here in Asia it’s nearly impossible, unless you’re prepared to break with the family.
I changed the subject. ‘How much longer until we get to Jolo? I assume that we’ll check out the place, won’t we? I must admit that visiting the home base of terrorists and strutting around town unmolested appeals to me. And my macho ego.’
‘Oh, you’ll have no problems there, they’ll all think you’re a wealthy Arab who’s come to support their righteous fight. You certainly look like one now, with your unshaven face,’ Kris laughed. ‘We just need to get you a thawb and a keffiyeh. The standard Saudi robe and headdress.’
‘Very funny.’
‘But it’s true, darling. You could easily pass for an Arab. A sexy one, mind you,’ Kris winked at me. ‘Yes, we’ll visit Jolo tomorrow morning. Today, we’ll drop anchor off a tiny island close to Jolo – the crew know the place. Too small to be inhabited but with a beautiful beach and nice coral offshore.’
‘How do you know, you’ve been there before?’
‘No, Abu Namur told me about it. In fact, he’s instructed the crew which islands to visit and assured me that they are the most beautiful ones in Sulu. And before you say anything sarcastic, I can see that you’re about to,’ Kris stopped me, ‘even hardcore smugglers can have a sense of aesthetics.’
‘I was only going to suggest that Abu knows the islands,’ I pretended to be offended, ‘because he’s used them on his runs.’
‘That too, most likely, but nowadays he just visits them with one of his many mistresses.’
‘He does enjoy life, doesn’t he, good old Abu? How about you put in a word for me, I’d be happy to take some of them off his hands every now and then. Maybe he can invite a bunch of the babes in one go and I’ll help share the duties.’
‘Keep on wishing, you pervert.’ Kris slapped me on the head, playfully yet with a little bit more force than my comment deserved. ‘It’s getting hot now, even in the shade. How about we go to the cabin to cool off? And you can show me exactly how dutiful you can be.’
Chapter 40
Kris was right, Abu truly knew the best spots. If you ever get the opportunity to visit Sulu on a boat – and are reasonably sure about not getting killed or kidnapped – take it, the place is achingly beautiful.
Other than a few small boats, which all kept well clear of us, and regular dolphin escorts, we had the sea to ourselves and I’d never before experienced such absence of manmade noises. The only sounds were the splashes from the hull and outriggers cutting through the wave crests. Even the diesel engine, a whooping 16 litre MAN V8 that we used when the wind was insufficient, was perfectly silenced. The stillness was only broken once, as a small plane passed us overhead, flying low enough for Kris to identify it as a Cessna and comment that it was probably heading for the Sanga-Sanga airport further south.
We spent five days making our way down the archipelago at a leisurely pace. By late afternoon, the crew would find a safe anchor off yet another picture-perfect island, free from any traces of human interference with nature. Just us and the local wildlife, birds and lizards. Dinner on the beach and a swim in the shallows before returning to the boat and our – yes, Kris was right – luxurious cabin. Each morning after breakfast we’d continue exploring the never-ending supply of paradise islands. For lunch, the crew would drop us off at a beach with loaded picnic baskets and coolers, then move the boat to the other side of the island to give us privacy.
Indulging in yummy food and superb wines on secluded beaches, as satisfying as it seemed, was just the icing on the cake. Alone and feeling like Adam and Eve, we happily dispensed with clothes and gave up any pretence of modesty, both of us seeing it as an archaic construct mainly enforced by the Abrahamic religions to subdue its followers. Instead, we took pleasure in getting suntanned all over and enjoyed the sensation of having our bodies caressed by the gentle, warm waves in the shallows. And, seeing beautiful Kris gloriously naked and thoroughly enjoying it, I’d developed a more or less constant erection which she eagerly exploited with my enthusiastic approval and participation. Eating, resting, swimming, exploring the islands – it was as if we’d discovered each other anew and, just as Kris had promised, we were fucking like rabbits at any opportunity. Two relentlessly horny bunnies in love and savouring the experience.
Kris even managed to get me back to diving. At first, I was somewhat reluctant and – slightly ashamed to admit it – adamant in staying close to the shore, but after a couple of initial dives on those pristine reefs and walls, I just couldn’t be bothered with any past negative experiences. (Yes, the memory of a goldfish – that’s me.) I didn’t panic when I saw sharks, present and plentiful on each dive. Not just the usual reef sharks; we encountered the odd silvertips and oceanic blacktips, and once Kris even pointed out to me a juvenile tiger shark far out in open water, its stripes still visible. That one, I have to say, made me end our dive prematurely.
Other than a few small boats, which all kept well clear of us, and regular dolphin escorts, we had the sea to ourselves and I’d never before experienced such absence of manmade noises. The only sounds were the splashes from the hull and outriggers cutting through the wave crests. Even the diesel engine, a whooping 16 litre MAN V8 that we used when the wind was insufficient, was perfectly silenced. The stillness was only broken once, as a small plane passed us overhead, flying low enough for Kris to identify it as a Cessna and comment that it was probably heading for the Sanga-Sanga airport further south.
We spent five days making our way down the archipelago at a leisurely pace. By late afternoon, the crew would find a safe anchor off yet another picture-perfect island, free from any traces of human interference with nature. Just us and the local wildlife, birds and lizards. Dinner on the beach and a swim in the shallows before returning to the boat and our – yes, Kris was right – luxurious cabin. Each morning after breakfast we’d continue exploring the never-ending supply of paradise islands. For lunch, the crew would drop us off at a beach with loaded picnic baskets and coolers, then move the boat to the other side of the island to give us privacy.
Indulging in yummy food and superb wines on secluded beaches, as satisfying as it seemed, was just the icing on the cake. Alone and feeling like Adam and Eve, we happily dispensed with clothes and gave up any pretence of modesty, both of us seeing it as an archaic construct mainly enforced by the Abrahamic religions to subdue its followers. Instead, we took pleasure in getting suntanned all over and enjoyed the sensation of having our bodies caressed by the gentle, warm waves in the shallows. And, seeing beautiful Kris gloriously naked and thoroughly enjoying it, I’d developed a more or less constant erection which she eagerly exploited with my enthusiastic approval and participation. Eating, resting, swimming, exploring the islands – it was as if we’d discovered each other anew and, just as Kris had promised, we were fucking like rabbits at any opportunity. Two relentlessly horny bunnies in love and savouring the experience.
Kris even managed to get me back to diving. At first, I was somewhat reluctant and – slightly ashamed to admit it – adamant in staying close to the shore, but after a couple of initial dives on those pristine reefs and walls, I just couldn’t be bothered with any past negative experiences. (Yes, the memory of a goldfish – that’s me.) I didn’t panic when I saw sharks, present and plentiful on each dive. Not just the usual reef sharks; we encountered the odd silvertips and oceanic blacktips, and once Kris even pointed out to me a juvenile tiger shark far out in open water, its stripes still visible. That one, I have to say, made me end our dive prematurely.
●
On day six, we reached the Tawi-Tawi island group and as we rounded Bongao, the southernmost of the islands, I could see Simunul ahead of us and a scattering of islets to the east. Kris and I were on the deck, enjoying the sun and digesting another sumptuous breakfast. Having spent most of the previous night awake, trying out the toys that Kris had brought with her, we were thoroughly exhausted. She was sleeping, purring like a kitten that’s had unrestricted access to a vat of cream. Next to her, in total bliss and close to sleep, I was thinking once again how right I’d been to make Southeast Asia my permanent home and how lucky I was to have the hottest woman in the region as my girlfriend.
‘Madam, please, madam.’
I opened my eyes and saw one of the ninjas hovering over us.
‘What’s up?’ I enquired.
‘Someone follow us,’ he said and turned to Kris, who’d woken up immediately – she’s a light sleeper. ‘From last night already.’
Kris sat up. ‘Where?’
‘That boat,’ he pointed to a speck somewhere north of us. ‘We see at night. And before sun come up, when you sleep, it still there. Now it follow us.’
‘Hold on a second,’ I said, scanning the sea in the direction he was pointing. ‘I can see at least a dozen boats there, right now – how do you know it’s the same one?’
‘Darling, I think our crew are very good at their job. If they think we’re being followed, we probably are,’ Kris answered, then addressed the ninja, ‘How about, before getting to Simunul, we head for another island? And see if they really are following us?’
‘Yes, madam,’ the ninja replied. ‘But boss say you must safe. At all cost. I radio him morning and he say so.’
‘I’m sure we’re safe,’ I said and looked at Kris, expecting her to back me up, then turned to the ninja. ‘Just no bang-bang, will you, we are on a pleasure cruise here.’
The ninja seemed offended by what I’d said. ‘We not do bang-bang.’
‘Well, please continue to not do bang-bang unless we ask for it,’ I replied. My good mood had disappeared and I was already getting bad vibes about what was potentially coming.
‘Let’s just do a detour first, as I suggested, shall we?’ Kris intervened wisely. ‘If they follow, we’ll approach their boat and ask them to identify themselves.’
‘Can we have a look at the charts?’ I asked the ninja. ‘So we can figure out a less than straightforward route.’
He went to get them and Kris said, ‘Good thinking, darling. I love your devious mind.’
‘Madam, please, madam.’
I opened my eyes and saw one of the ninjas hovering over us.
‘What’s up?’ I enquired.
‘Someone follow us,’ he said and turned to Kris, who’d woken up immediately – she’s a light sleeper. ‘From last night already.’
Kris sat up. ‘Where?’
‘That boat,’ he pointed to a speck somewhere north of us. ‘We see at night. And before sun come up, when you sleep, it still there. Now it follow us.’
‘Hold on a second,’ I said, scanning the sea in the direction he was pointing. ‘I can see at least a dozen boats there, right now – how do you know it’s the same one?’
‘Darling, I think our crew are very good at their job. If they think we’re being followed, we probably are,’ Kris answered, then addressed the ninja, ‘How about, before getting to Simunul, we head for another island? And see if they really are following us?’
‘Yes, madam,’ the ninja replied. ‘But boss say you must safe. At all cost. I radio him morning and he say so.’
‘I’m sure we’re safe,’ I said and looked at Kris, expecting her to back me up, then turned to the ninja. ‘Just no bang-bang, will you, we are on a pleasure cruise here.’
The ninja seemed offended by what I’d said. ‘We not do bang-bang.’
‘Well, please continue to not do bang-bang unless we ask for it,’ I replied. My good mood had disappeared and I was already getting bad vibes about what was potentially coming.
‘Let’s just do a detour first, as I suggested, shall we?’ Kris intervened wisely. ‘If they follow, we’ll approach their boat and ask them to identify themselves.’
‘Can we have a look at the charts?’ I asked the ninja. ‘So we can figure out a less than straightforward route.’
He went to get them and Kris said, ‘Good thinking, darling. I love your devious mind.’
●
We were sailing due north through a narrow channel in the reef complex off Simunul, the islets on the reef flats covered with densely growing mangroves, and were now sure that the boat following us was not a coincidence.
Kris and I had left the deck earlier on her suggestion and were on the bridge, or rather inside a cramped hut, with the skipper and two of the ninjas, the rest of them nowhere to be seen.
We’d begun by heading straight for the main village on Simunul, going as slowly as possible to give our suspected tail the opportunity to catch up and, ideally, pass us. They did get close enough for us to see that it was another pump boat, maybe half the size of ours, but then kept their distance. Approaching the village, we sped up and continued until we reached the southernmost part of the reef, where we turned east. As we got to the passage and turned north, we could see the other boat following our route.
Whoever they were, they were not very bright, nor skilled in discrete surveillance. Unless, I thought, they were showing themselves on purpose, wanting us to see that we were followed. This made me pissed off – they were interfering with our vacation and whoever they were I felt it was time to confront them.
‘How about we stop at the end of the passage and wait for them?’ I suggested to Kris.
‘I think that’s a brilliant suggestion,’ Kris replied. ‘It’s time to find out who they are and what they want. One way or another.’
She turned to the skipper, ‘We go to end of channel, then turn, okay?’
He nodded eagerly to Kris and grinned at the two ninjas who left us to go below deck, both smiling like kids at Christmas. It wasn’t a good sign as far as I was concerned, but if anything nasty was about to happen we couldn’t have asked for better people to have on our side, of that I was certain.
The skipper gunned the engine, the boat surged forward at a speed I didn’t think it was capable of, and barely a minute later we were out of the channel, slowing down then doing a turn on the spot. I was amazed, having previously only seen ferries do that.
‘Auxiliary engines for maximum mobility – didn’t I tell you how good Sofia is?’ Kris looked at me and smiled.
Our boat now pointing towards the channel, the skipper nudged the throttle and we moved to meet our pursuers. Six of the ninjas appeared on deck with guns pointing at the oncoming boat, which was bad enough. Another two joined them, carrying a short, sturdy tripod and what looked like a fat tube. As they were securing the tripod to the deck Kris said, without looking at me, ‘I do hope that’s overkill and they won’t have to use it.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked nervously. ‘Surely not what I think it is?’
‘Oh yes, it’s an RPG,’ Kris replied, concentrating on the approaching boat.
The skipper had chosen the place well, the channel was at its narrowest here, making it almost impossible to turn. At least not quickly enough.
Using binoculars, I could distinguish at least as many people on the other deck as our ninjas, likewise armed but lying down or using whatever cover they had. They seemed twitchy and uncertain, unlike our ninjas who stood upright, confident enough and totally fearless. Or reckless, take your pick – I know what I was thinking.
Positioned between the two ninjas, the tube was now attached to the tripod and the one that had assembled it raised his arm, signalling, I assumed, that they were ready. It got misinterpreted, as someone on the other boat immediately responded with a short burst from his gun. I automatically ducked, then looked up cautiously from the bottom of the window. Our lot hadn’t even moved from their positions.
‘Silly buggers,’ Kris said, ‘they’ve no idea what they’re doing. At this distance, they wouldn’t even be able to hit a jumbo jet.’
Somewhat reassured by that statement, and with the ninjas calmly remaining where they were, I picked up the binoculars again, then realised that we were close enough for me not to need them. I could see commotion on the other boat’s deck, with everyone gesticulating and shouting at each other. Our skipper had brought the engine to idle and was as serene as if he’d been on a family outing, without a care in the world while he rolled a cigarette with one hand, humming to himself. The boat was rocking gently and for a second everything was still and peaceful.
‘I think they’re ready to negotiate.’ I suggested to Kris. ‘They’ve realised that–’
Flashes coming from the other boat, immediately followed by the sound of gunfire and thuds from bullets hitting the hut wall, made me reconsider my optimistic statement. Even the ninjas were now crouching as they returned the fire.
One of the guys by the tripod turned around and looked questioningly at us. Kris nodded, after which my perception of time seemed to slow down in a most peculiar fashion. A brief flash from the tube was followed by a whooshing sound, then the boat in front of us simply disintegrated with a dull thud. There was no ear-shattering explosion, no spectacular fireball, just pieces of the boat rising up lazily in the air then dropping down like confetti. One moment the boat was there, with people firing at us from its deck. The next, it had disappeared, replaced by unidentifiable chunks of wood floating on the surface, only the outriggers still recognisable.
‘That’s for the damage done to my car, you bastards,’ I overheard Kris saying quietly.
Wailing and screaming was coming from the water as we approached the carnage. Bobbing on the surface were the people that had moments ago tried their best to kill us. Some of them motionless, face down in the water. Others in pain, pierced by splinters of wood and struggling to stay afloat, looking at us and pleading. At the edge of my vision I detected a vague movement in the water, coming from the reef on our left, from the direction of the mangrove covered islets. Dark logs, they seemed to be at first, and I wondered idly why all of them were aligned in the same direction, pointing towards us. Then I realised that the logs had tails propelling them in our direction. Saltwater crocodiles.
I was still dazed and couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was a surreal dream. Looked for Kris and saw her stride towards the bow with a determined look, followed by two of the ninjas, one of them carrying a long stick. I assumed they were going to pick up the survivors before the crocs arrived and went to help. As I joined them, the ninja with the stick, which I now saw ended in a large hook, was standing on the prow, legs apart to keep the balance, with Kris right behind him, scanning the surface.
‘That one,’ she pointed at one of the men in the water. Screaming loudly and waving his arms frantically, he seemed less injured than the others, despite one side of his face studded with splinters. The ninja lowered the stick towards the man and – I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – hooked it in one the man’s shoulders, pulled him up and dropped him on the deck like a fish. The man’s ear-piercing shrieks stopped as he fainted.
The shouting and wailing from the water intensified, however, as the first crocodile arrived. Preferring easy prey, this one went for one of the still bodies. The jaws clamped on one of the arms, the head shook violently from side to side, and just before the crocodile disappeared below the surface, dragging the body with it, the man opened his eyes. The other crocodiles were closing in, barely metres away from us.
I turned around in horror, expecting to see the rest of the ninjas getting ready to pull up anyone still showing signs of life. Even with hooks – it would’ve been more merciful than leaving them in the water to be ripped to pieces by the reptiles. Instead, they were all looking at a dot in the sky to the west, somewhere above Tawi-Tawi island but approaching fast. As it came closer and flew over us, quite low, I recognised the same Cessna that we’d seen a few days earlier. It banked and turned north, gaining altitude.
The man on the deck had recovered consciousness, moaning and rolling his head, eyes still shut. Kris stood astride him and shouted, ‘Who sent you? Who is your boss?’
The man continued to moan feebly as bubbles of blood appeared at the corners of his mouth.
‘Who is it?’ Kris was furious. ‘What’s his name?’
The man’s eyes opened, looking at Kris imploringly. His mouth started to move but no sounds came out, at least none that I could hear.
Kris dropped down on her knees, hands on each side of the man’s head, her face close to his as if she intended to kiss him.
‘Just give me the name and I’ll take you to a hospital,’ she said almost lovingly. ‘Whisper his name in my ear, that’s all you need to do.’
She lowered her head further and to one side, her ear directly over the man’s mouth, her long hair covering the man’s face and the ugly wounds. She remained in that position for nearly a minute, listening intently. Then she sat up suddenly and I saw her expression shift from disbelief to rage, with several other emotions flickering in-between, none of them pleasant. When she stood up, her face was pure ice, something I’d never seen before. Walking away, she nodded almost imperceptibly at one of the ninjas. He stepped forward and leaned over the injured man who had raised his arms in supplication, as a child would, expecting to be picked up and comforted. He did get picked up but was then unceremoniously dragged to the side and thrown overboard next to one of the crocodiles.
As the man’s screams turned to gurgling, Kris passed me and said calmly,’ I’m going to have a shower now, there’s blood in my hair.’
Kris and I had left the deck earlier on her suggestion and were on the bridge, or rather inside a cramped hut, with the skipper and two of the ninjas, the rest of them nowhere to be seen.
We’d begun by heading straight for the main village on Simunul, going as slowly as possible to give our suspected tail the opportunity to catch up and, ideally, pass us. They did get close enough for us to see that it was another pump boat, maybe half the size of ours, but then kept their distance. Approaching the village, we sped up and continued until we reached the southernmost part of the reef, where we turned east. As we got to the passage and turned north, we could see the other boat following our route.
Whoever they were, they were not very bright, nor skilled in discrete surveillance. Unless, I thought, they were showing themselves on purpose, wanting us to see that we were followed. This made me pissed off – they were interfering with our vacation and whoever they were I felt it was time to confront them.
‘How about we stop at the end of the passage and wait for them?’ I suggested to Kris.
‘I think that’s a brilliant suggestion,’ Kris replied. ‘It’s time to find out who they are and what they want. One way or another.’
She turned to the skipper, ‘We go to end of channel, then turn, okay?’
He nodded eagerly to Kris and grinned at the two ninjas who left us to go below deck, both smiling like kids at Christmas. It wasn’t a good sign as far as I was concerned, but if anything nasty was about to happen we couldn’t have asked for better people to have on our side, of that I was certain.
The skipper gunned the engine, the boat surged forward at a speed I didn’t think it was capable of, and barely a minute later we were out of the channel, slowing down then doing a turn on the spot. I was amazed, having previously only seen ferries do that.
‘Auxiliary engines for maximum mobility – didn’t I tell you how good Sofia is?’ Kris looked at me and smiled.
Our boat now pointing towards the channel, the skipper nudged the throttle and we moved to meet our pursuers. Six of the ninjas appeared on deck with guns pointing at the oncoming boat, which was bad enough. Another two joined them, carrying a short, sturdy tripod and what looked like a fat tube. As they were securing the tripod to the deck Kris said, without looking at me, ‘I do hope that’s overkill and they won’t have to use it.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked nervously. ‘Surely not what I think it is?’
‘Oh yes, it’s an RPG,’ Kris replied, concentrating on the approaching boat.
The skipper had chosen the place well, the channel was at its narrowest here, making it almost impossible to turn. At least not quickly enough.
Using binoculars, I could distinguish at least as many people on the other deck as our ninjas, likewise armed but lying down or using whatever cover they had. They seemed twitchy and uncertain, unlike our ninjas who stood upright, confident enough and totally fearless. Or reckless, take your pick – I know what I was thinking.
Positioned between the two ninjas, the tube was now attached to the tripod and the one that had assembled it raised his arm, signalling, I assumed, that they were ready. It got misinterpreted, as someone on the other boat immediately responded with a short burst from his gun. I automatically ducked, then looked up cautiously from the bottom of the window. Our lot hadn’t even moved from their positions.
‘Silly buggers,’ Kris said, ‘they’ve no idea what they’re doing. At this distance, they wouldn’t even be able to hit a jumbo jet.’
Somewhat reassured by that statement, and with the ninjas calmly remaining where they were, I picked up the binoculars again, then realised that we were close enough for me not to need them. I could see commotion on the other boat’s deck, with everyone gesticulating and shouting at each other. Our skipper had brought the engine to idle and was as serene as if he’d been on a family outing, without a care in the world while he rolled a cigarette with one hand, humming to himself. The boat was rocking gently and for a second everything was still and peaceful.
‘I think they’re ready to negotiate.’ I suggested to Kris. ‘They’ve realised that–’
Flashes coming from the other boat, immediately followed by the sound of gunfire and thuds from bullets hitting the hut wall, made me reconsider my optimistic statement. Even the ninjas were now crouching as they returned the fire.
One of the guys by the tripod turned around and looked questioningly at us. Kris nodded, after which my perception of time seemed to slow down in a most peculiar fashion. A brief flash from the tube was followed by a whooshing sound, then the boat in front of us simply disintegrated with a dull thud. There was no ear-shattering explosion, no spectacular fireball, just pieces of the boat rising up lazily in the air then dropping down like confetti. One moment the boat was there, with people firing at us from its deck. The next, it had disappeared, replaced by unidentifiable chunks of wood floating on the surface, only the outriggers still recognisable.
‘That’s for the damage done to my car, you bastards,’ I overheard Kris saying quietly.
Wailing and screaming was coming from the water as we approached the carnage. Bobbing on the surface were the people that had moments ago tried their best to kill us. Some of them motionless, face down in the water. Others in pain, pierced by splinters of wood and struggling to stay afloat, looking at us and pleading. At the edge of my vision I detected a vague movement in the water, coming from the reef on our left, from the direction of the mangrove covered islets. Dark logs, they seemed to be at first, and I wondered idly why all of them were aligned in the same direction, pointing towards us. Then I realised that the logs had tails propelling them in our direction. Saltwater crocodiles.
I was still dazed and couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was a surreal dream. Looked for Kris and saw her stride towards the bow with a determined look, followed by two of the ninjas, one of them carrying a long stick. I assumed they were going to pick up the survivors before the crocs arrived and went to help. As I joined them, the ninja with the stick, which I now saw ended in a large hook, was standing on the prow, legs apart to keep the balance, with Kris right behind him, scanning the surface.
‘That one,’ she pointed at one of the men in the water. Screaming loudly and waving his arms frantically, he seemed less injured than the others, despite one side of his face studded with splinters. The ninja lowered the stick towards the man and – I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – hooked it in one the man’s shoulders, pulled him up and dropped him on the deck like a fish. The man’s ear-piercing shrieks stopped as he fainted.
The shouting and wailing from the water intensified, however, as the first crocodile arrived. Preferring easy prey, this one went for one of the still bodies. The jaws clamped on one of the arms, the head shook violently from side to side, and just before the crocodile disappeared below the surface, dragging the body with it, the man opened his eyes. The other crocodiles were closing in, barely metres away from us.
I turned around in horror, expecting to see the rest of the ninjas getting ready to pull up anyone still showing signs of life. Even with hooks – it would’ve been more merciful than leaving them in the water to be ripped to pieces by the reptiles. Instead, they were all looking at a dot in the sky to the west, somewhere above Tawi-Tawi island but approaching fast. As it came closer and flew over us, quite low, I recognised the same Cessna that we’d seen a few days earlier. It banked and turned north, gaining altitude.
The man on the deck had recovered consciousness, moaning and rolling his head, eyes still shut. Kris stood astride him and shouted, ‘Who sent you? Who is your boss?’
The man continued to moan feebly as bubbles of blood appeared at the corners of his mouth.
‘Who is it?’ Kris was furious. ‘What’s his name?’
The man’s eyes opened, looking at Kris imploringly. His mouth started to move but no sounds came out, at least none that I could hear.
Kris dropped down on her knees, hands on each side of the man’s head, her face close to his as if she intended to kiss him.
‘Just give me the name and I’ll take you to a hospital,’ she said almost lovingly. ‘Whisper his name in my ear, that’s all you need to do.’
She lowered her head further and to one side, her ear directly over the man’s mouth, her long hair covering the man’s face and the ugly wounds. She remained in that position for nearly a minute, listening intently. Then she sat up suddenly and I saw her expression shift from disbelief to rage, with several other emotions flickering in-between, none of them pleasant. When she stood up, her face was pure ice, something I’d never seen before. Walking away, she nodded almost imperceptibly at one of the ninjas. He stepped forward and leaned over the injured man who had raised his arms in supplication, as a child would, expecting to be picked up and comforted. He did get picked up but was then unceremoniously dragged to the side and thrown overboard next to one of the crocodiles.
As the man’s screams turned to gurgling, Kris passed me and said calmly,’ I’m going to have a shower now, there’s blood in my hair.’
Chapter 41
‘Have you gone crazy?’ I shouted. ‘That was the most callous thing I’ve ever seen anyone do! Will you talk to me, for fuck’s sake?’
I was sitting on the bed in our cabin, Kris was in the bathroom with the door open. She’d had a shower and was vigorously drying her hair with a towel. By now it was as dry as it could get yet she continued rubbing it, looking in the mirror every now and then as if to make sure it was clean. Had I been a psychiatrist I would’ve proclaimed with certainty that she exhibited all of the classic signs of compulsive manic behaviour brought on by guilt. Think of Lady Macbeth and the “damned spot”.
‘If you go on like that,’ I tried another approach, ‘you won’t have any hair left.’
Kris continued to ignore me. If anything, she was getting more agitated. Her tits, bouncing up and down with her every move, were enough to give a corpse an erection but I was not in a mood to appreciate it. And as she remained unresponsive my anger and frustration with her were building up.
‘I thought that I knew you well enough by now,’ I said, trying anything to get a reaction from her. ‘But what I saw you do out there was inhuman. You were a fucking monster.’
Kris stopped for a moment, then continued to examine her hair.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ I shook my head in bewilderment.
‘With me?’ she shrieked and came out of the bathroom towards me. I jumped off the bed and caught her as she started pummelling my chest. ‘They wanted to kill us and you’re asking what’s wrong with me! You bastard, they were trying to kill us and you…’
She collapsed in my arms, crying and wailing and shivering.
‘It’s okay, darling, you’re safe now,’ I said softly, doing my best to calm her, stroking her face.
‘Where were you before?’ she looked up at me, sobbing and dazed. ‘I needed you to hold me but you weren’t here.’
‘I’ve been here all the time but you seemed to be doing quite well on your own.’
She started wailing again and tried to push me away from her, ‘You bastard. You and him, all you men are the same.’
It struck me that Kris was in shock and probably had been since the gunfire started. I had no clue what to do but I had to do it fast, so I improvised.
‘That’s not true and you know it. I love you and he was trying to kill you. And you’re safe now, I’m here to keep you safe.’
Kris relaxed hesitantly, enough to stop pushing against me.
‘Let’s sit down,’ I guided her towards the bed. ‘I think we both need to calm down and have a rest.’
She let me pick her up and gently put her down on the bed. I puffed up the pillow for her, covered her with a blanket then lay down next to her, my arms around her to stop her trembling.
Her sobs turned to hiccups, then sighs, then she calmed down and snuggled up to me. After a while I could hear from her breathing that she was asleep.
There was a knock on the door and the head ninja poked his head through the opening. Not waiting for us to ask him to enter, I noted with irritation.
‘Madam, we go Simunul now? Is Friday.’
‘What?’ Kris opened her eyes, blinking slowly, then replied absent-mindedly, ‘Ah, yes, Simunul, fine.’
As the door closed she seemed to remember something. She got up, wrapped the blanket around her and went outside without a word. I could hear her talking to the ninja on the stairs but couldn’t distinguish any words. Giving the crew the afternoon off, I assumed, following the morning’s unexpected – and most unpleasant – events.
I was drifting off to sleep when Kris got back to bed, turned towards her as she whispered, ‘Hold me, lover, I need you.’
I was sitting on the bed in our cabin, Kris was in the bathroom with the door open. She’d had a shower and was vigorously drying her hair with a towel. By now it was as dry as it could get yet she continued rubbing it, looking in the mirror every now and then as if to make sure it was clean. Had I been a psychiatrist I would’ve proclaimed with certainty that she exhibited all of the classic signs of compulsive manic behaviour brought on by guilt. Think of Lady Macbeth and the “damned spot”.
‘If you go on like that,’ I tried another approach, ‘you won’t have any hair left.’
Kris continued to ignore me. If anything, she was getting more agitated. Her tits, bouncing up and down with her every move, were enough to give a corpse an erection but I was not in a mood to appreciate it. And as she remained unresponsive my anger and frustration with her were building up.
‘I thought that I knew you well enough by now,’ I said, trying anything to get a reaction from her. ‘But what I saw you do out there was inhuman. You were a fucking monster.’
Kris stopped for a moment, then continued to examine her hair.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ I shook my head in bewilderment.
‘With me?’ she shrieked and came out of the bathroom towards me. I jumped off the bed and caught her as she started pummelling my chest. ‘They wanted to kill us and you’re asking what’s wrong with me! You bastard, they were trying to kill us and you…’
She collapsed in my arms, crying and wailing and shivering.
‘It’s okay, darling, you’re safe now,’ I said softly, doing my best to calm her, stroking her face.
‘Where were you before?’ she looked up at me, sobbing and dazed. ‘I needed you to hold me but you weren’t here.’
‘I’ve been here all the time but you seemed to be doing quite well on your own.’
She started wailing again and tried to push me away from her, ‘You bastard. You and him, all you men are the same.’
It struck me that Kris was in shock and probably had been since the gunfire started. I had no clue what to do but I had to do it fast, so I improvised.
‘That’s not true and you know it. I love you and he was trying to kill you. And you’re safe now, I’m here to keep you safe.’
Kris relaxed hesitantly, enough to stop pushing against me.
‘Let’s sit down,’ I guided her towards the bed. ‘I think we both need to calm down and have a rest.’
She let me pick her up and gently put her down on the bed. I puffed up the pillow for her, covered her with a blanket then lay down next to her, my arms around her to stop her trembling.
Her sobs turned to hiccups, then sighs, then she calmed down and snuggled up to me. After a while I could hear from her breathing that she was asleep.
There was a knock on the door and the head ninja poked his head through the opening. Not waiting for us to ask him to enter, I noted with irritation.
‘Madam, we go Simunul now? Is Friday.’
‘What?’ Kris opened her eyes, blinking slowly, then replied absent-mindedly, ‘Ah, yes, Simunul, fine.’
As the door closed she seemed to remember something. She got up, wrapped the blanket around her and went outside without a word. I could hear her talking to the ninja on the stairs but couldn’t distinguish any words. Giving the crew the afternoon off, I assumed, following the morning’s unexpected – and most unpleasant – events.
I was drifting off to sleep when Kris got back to bed, turned towards her as she whispered, ‘Hold me, lover, I need you.’
●
The sun was still reasonably high in the sky when we emerged from the cabin. We’d silently agreed to skip lunch, neither of us in the mood to eat. Instead, we sat at the table on the deck, Kris sipping white wine and me going through a chilled bottle of vodka. Getting numb seemed like a good option. I considered asking her what the man had told her but decided against it. As much as I was itching to know who was so determined to see us dead, I felt it could wait. I wasn’t even sure that it would make much difference.
We were anchored in deep water off the main harbour on Simunul. Tiny boats were going in all directions yet each of them steered well clear of us. Seen from the boat, the village looked like all the other communities that we’d come across in Sulu. A haphazard collection of shacks on stilts, naked children happily playing and diving in the dirty water, most of it covered by floating garbage. On the shore, motorbikes and dogs (yes, supposedly haram to Muslims, dogs – together with chickens – are the most common animals in Sulu) were in competition for the noisemaker-of-the-year award. In other words: yet another ubiquitous, poor Sulu community surviving on subsistence fishing. And copra production, of course, the smell that wafted across the water was unmistakeable.
The only proper looking building was the mosque, towering over the village, and I thought that this is what every Philippine village looks like, except that further north they have churches instead of mosques. It’s quite an achievement, isn’t it, to dupe destitute people into funding the construction of the only proper structure in the village. And probably help build it as well, only to have some quasi-holy bastard move in and tell them weekly how pious they are, but only if they continue giving further donations. All in the name of a non-existent deity which, even if it had been real, wouldn’t give a shit about the poor sods. It appalled me and I thought that no matter how exotic the island may appear, I had no inclination to get closer and walk through the unbearable squalor. Then I remembered why we’d come here.
‘Didn’t you want us to see the place from my dream? Assuming it really exists?’
‘We won’t have to,’ Kris replied, her eyes focused on the open sea.
‘But isn’t that the reason why we’ve came all the way down here? To see it and find out more?’ I was surprised. ‘You were the one to suggest it.’
‘Yes. But I don’t think it will be necessary to leave the boat,’ Kris was – or appeared to be – her usual self. Composed and in control. ‘All we need to do is talk to someone. Which I believe we’ll do very soon.’
She looked towards the shore and I followed her gaze. A boat was coming towards us. I could make out our ninjas on it, once again dressed in black from head to toe but sans guns this time. In stark contrast, a figure in their midst, wearing a white robe and cap, was sitting upright with arms crossed over the chest.
The boat came alongside and the ninjas got busy holding it in place as they assisted the man in white to climb onboard. He didn’t look happy despite being treated with reverence.
Kris got up and approached the man. Draining my glass I followed, uncertain what this was about.
‘As-salāmu ʿalaykum, imam,’ Kris said with a slight nod. ‘I understand that your English is quite good? So we can dispense with interpreters, it takes too long and is not always accurate.’
The imam looked Kris up and down (now I understood why she’d put on a kaftan before we left the cabin), then glanced at me, a kafir immodestly dressed in shorts and nothing else.
‘Why am I here?’ he asked Kris, chin jutting out.
‘Relax, imam, we only want to talk to you about something that happened here a long time ago.’ Kris extended her arm towards the only table and chairs on the deck.
‘I see.’ With a slight nod, the imam walked straight to the table and sat down, looking in vaguely disguised disgust at the cooler. A man of god, sickeningly sanctimonious, and I wanted nothing more but to break his nose and wipe that smug expression off his face. I didn’t do that. Instead I sat down, poured myself another shot of chilled vodka and glared at him.
‘May I offer you a glass of water?’ Kris, the perfect hostess, signalled to the nearest ninja for a clean glass.
‘There was gunfire before, and a boat was sunk,’ the imam stated after he’d had a sip of water.
‘They were bad people, infidels. Followers of Iblīs. Nothing to do with Simunul. Or you,’ Kris was dismissive. ‘Nothing for you or the good people living here to worry about. Let’s talk about the war instead. And when the Japanese–’
‘Long before my time.’
‘Yes, I know that. But you are wise beyond your years, imam. Wise enough to distinguish right from wrong.’ Kris was laying it on thick. ‘Wise enough to know what’s in the best interests of your community… and yourself as its spiritual leader.’
Was that a thinly veiled threat?
‘I know,’ she continued, ‘that it’s tradition to pass on knowledge to the next imam, about every important event that’s ever taken place, in writing as well as orally. Which means that you, if you wanted to, could retell stories that happened centuries ago. But for now, let’s stick to the war and what happened then, shall we?’
The imam said nothing, just nodded. I raised my glass at him in salute, but he wasn’t appreciative of my friendly gesture.
‘Good. Let’s get on with it, then. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can go back home There were Japanese troops stationed here during the war?’
‘Yes.’
‘And sometime during the autumn of ’44, a Japanese officer arrived at Simunul. He was different than the troops. Am I correct so far?’
The imam reacted strangely to Kris’ question. He seemed initially relieved, then a shadow of distrust and suspicion passed across his face.
‘Yes, that is true. The Japanese were here and our people suffered badly. Men were forced to work for them or be killed, women were violated. Children hungry. Very bad times. Allah, peace be upon him, was testing his people with hardship but they kept their faith.’ The imam had suddenly become very talkative, as if he was delivering a sermon.
‘I’m sure it was bad,’ Kris interrupted, ‘but what happened when the Japanese officer arrived?’
‘He only stayed in the village for a few days. He saw my people suffering and ordered the soldiers to treat them well, punishing those that disobeyed. He made everyone think he was good, even as he was a heathen. But then he did that which is haram, may he be cursed forever. It is the way of Iblīs, to come in disguise and corrupt the believers.’
‘He dug something up, didn’t he?’ Kris queried, ignoring the religious twaddle.
‘He did an unspeakable act. He desecrated holy ground and touched one of the sacred pillars from Karim ul’Makhdum’s mosque,’ the imam replied, clearly upset.
‘Do you know why he did it? Did he tell anyone what he was looking for?’
‘I cannot say more.’
‘Cannot or will not?’ Kris persevered. ‘I’m sure you know what was buried with that poor girl, don’t you?’
The imam’s eyes bulged at the mention of this, his raised hands shaking. ‘How do you know of that? It was done in secret, many moons ago, to protect the faithful from destruction. Do not dare mention it again or Allah, peace be upon him, will strike you down!’
‘Oh, it’s not me, it’s my friend here,’ Kris nodded in my direction. ‘He has regular visions. I know, he’s an infidel, and you wouldn’t think it looking at him but he’s a holy man. Trust me, he knows more about that burial than you do.’
It caught me by surprise, hearing this, but I did my best to keep up the pretences. I assumed the grave appearance of a holy man and refilled my glass.
‘Yea verily ’tis the God’s truth. Amen,’ I said in what I hoped was a suitably prophetic voice, then raised the glass and emptied it. ‘That thing must be found and destroyed permanently. And I am the one that has been chosen to do it, by our Lord himself. A man of sin, I was given that task to prove myself worthy of salvation,’ I paused for effect. ‘The girl, pure of heart, burdened with safekeeping the world from evil even in her death, surely she deserves redemption? As do all others who have suffered in the wake of destruction brought on by this vile, unholy object. The sooner I can complete my duty, the sooner these lost souls will find peace.’
Kris looked at me in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. The imam just stared at me, mouth wide open.
‘P…p…praise be unto Allah, we are all brothers in Ibrahim,’ he stuttered finally. ‘His paths are nuh…numerous.’
I brought the conversation down to a more pragmatic level.
‘We know where this thing is going, but need to know where it came from, for me to destroy its unholy birthplace. If you can help us with that? And any other information about it would be… you know… helpful.’
‘Brother, it is my duty to help you with your holy task, I see that now. I do not know much, but what I know I will share with you,’ the imam was earnest now, eager to help. ‘This… this despicable thing was brought here over a hundred years ago. It saddens me to say by one of my own people, a trader who was often sailing far to the east, to the place of the black savages.’
‘That sounds to me like Melanesia. With Papua New Guinea being closest, wouldn’t you say?’ I looked at Kris then turned to the imam. ‘What happened to the trader?’
‘He said this thing gave him safe passage in any storm, and he did indeed prosper when all other ships were sunk. Soon after, he built a palace, took as many wives as was permitted, employed many servants. But he became possessed by it, changed in both body and spirit, and did much harm to the village until he was released from torment by his own people,’ the imam shuddered, yet appeared fascinated by the story. ‘They found the… thing in a room in his house. When they saw the horrors in that room, they burned the house down. Still, the thing was there the next day, unmarked. So they said it must be thrown into the deepest sea but no one wanted to lay his hand on it. Then the imam had a vision,’ he nodded at me in understanding, ‘and said that only someone pure of heart can stop the evil, keep it inside. The rest you know, Insha’Allah.’
‘Wow, that was… enlightening,’ I said, pouring myself another full glass and draining it in one go. ‘I believe we have more than enough information to rid the world of this menace, wouldn’t you say so, darl… I mean Kris?’
‘I think we do,’ she replied solemnly.
‘Would you like to join us for dinner?’ I asked the imam. I was in a splendid mood by now, having survived the day without getting maimed. And hearing a fairytale worthy of being included in One Thousand and One Nights was an unexpected bonus.
‘I think our esteemed guest would prefer to go home now, it’s getting late,’ Kris suggested, ever the voice of reason.
I looked up and saw the inky, star sprinkled sky. ‘Oops,’ I said.
We were anchored in deep water off the main harbour on Simunul. Tiny boats were going in all directions yet each of them steered well clear of us. Seen from the boat, the village looked like all the other communities that we’d come across in Sulu. A haphazard collection of shacks on stilts, naked children happily playing and diving in the dirty water, most of it covered by floating garbage. On the shore, motorbikes and dogs (yes, supposedly haram to Muslims, dogs – together with chickens – are the most common animals in Sulu) were in competition for the noisemaker-of-the-year award. In other words: yet another ubiquitous, poor Sulu community surviving on subsistence fishing. And copra production, of course, the smell that wafted across the water was unmistakeable.
The only proper looking building was the mosque, towering over the village, and I thought that this is what every Philippine village looks like, except that further north they have churches instead of mosques. It’s quite an achievement, isn’t it, to dupe destitute people into funding the construction of the only proper structure in the village. And probably help build it as well, only to have some quasi-holy bastard move in and tell them weekly how pious they are, but only if they continue giving further donations. All in the name of a non-existent deity which, even if it had been real, wouldn’t give a shit about the poor sods. It appalled me and I thought that no matter how exotic the island may appear, I had no inclination to get closer and walk through the unbearable squalor. Then I remembered why we’d come here.
‘Didn’t you want us to see the place from my dream? Assuming it really exists?’
‘We won’t have to,’ Kris replied, her eyes focused on the open sea.
‘But isn’t that the reason why we’ve came all the way down here? To see it and find out more?’ I was surprised. ‘You were the one to suggest it.’
‘Yes. But I don’t think it will be necessary to leave the boat,’ Kris was – or appeared to be – her usual self. Composed and in control. ‘All we need to do is talk to someone. Which I believe we’ll do very soon.’
She looked towards the shore and I followed her gaze. A boat was coming towards us. I could make out our ninjas on it, once again dressed in black from head to toe but sans guns this time. In stark contrast, a figure in their midst, wearing a white robe and cap, was sitting upright with arms crossed over the chest.
The boat came alongside and the ninjas got busy holding it in place as they assisted the man in white to climb onboard. He didn’t look happy despite being treated with reverence.
Kris got up and approached the man. Draining my glass I followed, uncertain what this was about.
‘As-salāmu ʿalaykum, imam,’ Kris said with a slight nod. ‘I understand that your English is quite good? So we can dispense with interpreters, it takes too long and is not always accurate.’
The imam looked Kris up and down (now I understood why she’d put on a kaftan before we left the cabin), then glanced at me, a kafir immodestly dressed in shorts and nothing else.
‘Why am I here?’ he asked Kris, chin jutting out.
‘Relax, imam, we only want to talk to you about something that happened here a long time ago.’ Kris extended her arm towards the only table and chairs on the deck.
‘I see.’ With a slight nod, the imam walked straight to the table and sat down, looking in vaguely disguised disgust at the cooler. A man of god, sickeningly sanctimonious, and I wanted nothing more but to break his nose and wipe that smug expression off his face. I didn’t do that. Instead I sat down, poured myself another shot of chilled vodka and glared at him.
‘May I offer you a glass of water?’ Kris, the perfect hostess, signalled to the nearest ninja for a clean glass.
‘There was gunfire before, and a boat was sunk,’ the imam stated after he’d had a sip of water.
‘They were bad people, infidels. Followers of Iblīs. Nothing to do with Simunul. Or you,’ Kris was dismissive. ‘Nothing for you or the good people living here to worry about. Let’s talk about the war instead. And when the Japanese–’
‘Long before my time.’
‘Yes, I know that. But you are wise beyond your years, imam. Wise enough to distinguish right from wrong.’ Kris was laying it on thick. ‘Wise enough to know what’s in the best interests of your community… and yourself as its spiritual leader.’
Was that a thinly veiled threat?
‘I know,’ she continued, ‘that it’s tradition to pass on knowledge to the next imam, about every important event that’s ever taken place, in writing as well as orally. Which means that you, if you wanted to, could retell stories that happened centuries ago. But for now, let’s stick to the war and what happened then, shall we?’
The imam said nothing, just nodded. I raised my glass at him in salute, but he wasn’t appreciative of my friendly gesture.
‘Good. Let’s get on with it, then. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can go back home There were Japanese troops stationed here during the war?’
‘Yes.’
‘And sometime during the autumn of ’44, a Japanese officer arrived at Simunul. He was different than the troops. Am I correct so far?’
The imam reacted strangely to Kris’ question. He seemed initially relieved, then a shadow of distrust and suspicion passed across his face.
‘Yes, that is true. The Japanese were here and our people suffered badly. Men were forced to work for them or be killed, women were violated. Children hungry. Very bad times. Allah, peace be upon him, was testing his people with hardship but they kept their faith.’ The imam had suddenly become very talkative, as if he was delivering a sermon.
‘I’m sure it was bad,’ Kris interrupted, ‘but what happened when the Japanese officer arrived?’
‘He only stayed in the village for a few days. He saw my people suffering and ordered the soldiers to treat them well, punishing those that disobeyed. He made everyone think he was good, even as he was a heathen. But then he did that which is haram, may he be cursed forever. It is the way of Iblīs, to come in disguise and corrupt the believers.’
‘He dug something up, didn’t he?’ Kris queried, ignoring the religious twaddle.
‘He did an unspeakable act. He desecrated holy ground and touched one of the sacred pillars from Karim ul’Makhdum’s mosque,’ the imam replied, clearly upset.
‘Do you know why he did it? Did he tell anyone what he was looking for?’
‘I cannot say more.’
‘Cannot or will not?’ Kris persevered. ‘I’m sure you know what was buried with that poor girl, don’t you?’
The imam’s eyes bulged at the mention of this, his raised hands shaking. ‘How do you know of that? It was done in secret, many moons ago, to protect the faithful from destruction. Do not dare mention it again or Allah, peace be upon him, will strike you down!’
‘Oh, it’s not me, it’s my friend here,’ Kris nodded in my direction. ‘He has regular visions. I know, he’s an infidel, and you wouldn’t think it looking at him but he’s a holy man. Trust me, he knows more about that burial than you do.’
It caught me by surprise, hearing this, but I did my best to keep up the pretences. I assumed the grave appearance of a holy man and refilled my glass.
‘Yea verily ’tis the God’s truth. Amen,’ I said in what I hoped was a suitably prophetic voice, then raised the glass and emptied it. ‘That thing must be found and destroyed permanently. And I am the one that has been chosen to do it, by our Lord himself. A man of sin, I was given that task to prove myself worthy of salvation,’ I paused for effect. ‘The girl, pure of heart, burdened with safekeeping the world from evil even in her death, surely she deserves redemption? As do all others who have suffered in the wake of destruction brought on by this vile, unholy object. The sooner I can complete my duty, the sooner these lost souls will find peace.’
Kris looked at me in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. The imam just stared at me, mouth wide open.
‘P…p…praise be unto Allah, we are all brothers in Ibrahim,’ he stuttered finally. ‘His paths are nuh…numerous.’
I brought the conversation down to a more pragmatic level.
‘We know where this thing is going, but need to know where it came from, for me to destroy its unholy birthplace. If you can help us with that? And any other information about it would be… you know… helpful.’
‘Brother, it is my duty to help you with your holy task, I see that now. I do not know much, but what I know I will share with you,’ the imam was earnest now, eager to help. ‘This… this despicable thing was brought here over a hundred years ago. It saddens me to say by one of my own people, a trader who was often sailing far to the east, to the place of the black savages.’
‘That sounds to me like Melanesia. With Papua New Guinea being closest, wouldn’t you say?’ I looked at Kris then turned to the imam. ‘What happened to the trader?’
‘He said this thing gave him safe passage in any storm, and he did indeed prosper when all other ships were sunk. Soon after, he built a palace, took as many wives as was permitted, employed many servants. But he became possessed by it, changed in both body and spirit, and did much harm to the village until he was released from torment by his own people,’ the imam shuddered, yet appeared fascinated by the story. ‘They found the… thing in a room in his house. When they saw the horrors in that room, they burned the house down. Still, the thing was there the next day, unmarked. So they said it must be thrown into the deepest sea but no one wanted to lay his hand on it. Then the imam had a vision,’ he nodded at me in understanding, ‘and said that only someone pure of heart can stop the evil, keep it inside. The rest you know, Insha’Allah.’
‘Wow, that was… enlightening,’ I said, pouring myself another full glass and draining it in one go. ‘I believe we have more than enough information to rid the world of this menace, wouldn’t you say so, darl… I mean Kris?’
‘I think we do,’ she replied solemnly.
‘Would you like to join us for dinner?’ I asked the imam. I was in a splendid mood by now, having survived the day without getting maimed. And hearing a fairytale worthy of being included in One Thousand and One Nights was an unexpected bonus.
‘I think our esteemed guest would prefer to go home now, it’s getting late,’ Kris suggested, ever the voice of reason.
I looked up and saw the inky, star sprinkled sky. ‘Oops,’ I said.