THE SAGA OF FRAY PACO

Mindanao to Suffer 150 MW Power Shortage Next Year, says EDC Official

2010-11-07T07:37:00.000-08:00

The entire Mindanao will experience power deficiency by at least 150 megawatts starting next year, according to an official of the Energy Development Corporation (EDC), the country’s biggest producer of renewable energy.

EDC resident manager Alejandro Catacutan of the Mindanao Geothermal Production Field (MGPF) said that there is already a shortage in terms of power requirements for Mindanao.

“Our dependable capacity is not enough to cover such deficiency,” Catacutan told Local Government Secretary Jesse Robredo in a briefing on Mindanao power situation.

Robredo, together with Cotabato 2nd district Rep. Nancy Catamco, Cotabato Governor Lala Taliño-Mendoza, and officials of the Kidapawan City government, visited the Mindanao geothermal production field where they were also informed of the EDC’s plan to construct another geothermal plant at Mount Apo.

The construction of the project dubbed as Mindanao 3, according to Catacutan, is ‘indispensable’ or ‘necessary’ to respond to the looming power crisis, which will affect Mindanao starting next year.

“Under normal power system, your capacity should be at least 20 percent over the peak demand. So, this is necessary because you should have some contingency in case a power plant bogs down or if it needs to undergo a scheduled maintenance,” said Catacutan.

The deficit in power requirement next year is between 3 to 5 percent, which, data showed, is estimated at 150 megawatts.

Catacutan said the construction of Mindanao geothermal power plant 3 is set to commence in August next year. The company needs some US$ 150 million to complete the project, he added.

While Mindanao 3 can help, it is, however, not the ‘total solution’ to the power crisis, since the plant can only produce 50 megawatts.

“In effect, it will only answer a faction of the deficit, because it’s only 50 megawatts as against 150 megawatts for next year,” Catacutan told media.
In 10 years time, data showed, Mindanao needs some 800 megawatts of power supply to meet the demand of a fast-growing economy and increasing population.

During the briefing, Robredo asked about the requirements that must be complied by the EDC before it could operate another plant at Mt. Apo. One of the issues he raised was about the permits.

Catacutan admitted the firm has yet to get an endorsement from the LGU before the project could start.

Earlier, City Mayor Rodolfo Gantuangco said he is not keen on endorsing the project after EDC was granted an exemption to pay some P45 million of real property taxes starting this year.

Gantuangco said the exemption has affected the Special Education Fund (SEF) of the city LGU, which is used to pay the salaries of some 189 locally-hired teachers.

Catacutan, however, is optimistic the city LGU will see the importance of constructing an additional power plant to respond to a bigger problem starting next year and the years to come.

“What is so nice about Mindanao 3 is that it can operate all-year round. It’s not affected by weather. Besides, Mindanao 3 is a renewable energy, so, it has less carbon dioxide emission and is very clean. We have all the advantages if we construct Mindanao 3. It will answer partially the crisis,” he said. (PNA)

Source: Zamboanga Today

HALLOWEEN AND THE DEADLY TYPHOON OF 1957

2010-10-31T09:45:00.000-07:00

Manila, Philippines. Santol Mansion.

Excerpts from THE SAGA OF FRAY PACO. Book Five. THE INDOMITABLE LUCREZIA

"Typhoon! Typhoon! Rain! Rain! Go Away. Come again another day." We would utter this in a sing song voice as we jumped up and down.

Above us, his wings glided, almost touching the ceiling. That was our 140 year old cockatoo Fray Paco. He out screeched us all by reciting the same words.

"You are a Divo. Yes you are," my Grandmother Esperanza chided him gently. "Now come down, let's say the rosary," she said sweetly but with her inevitable imperial air.

We would sit in the vast Sala -Salon. Fray Paco. as usual, stood on a cushion on her lap. He always said the Sign of the Cross in mangled Latin. We had no choice. A stream of the most horrifying oaths and curses would follow if he could not lead his family in prayer.

"In nomin Patre, Filio, et Spiritu Sanctus," begun Fray Paco In nomine Patris et Figlio et Spirito Sanctis.

When I was a child in the Philippines, Halloween or Hallows Eve was sometimes fearsome and sinister. A typhoon, packing winds of 200 kilometers an hour would hurtle down over Manila. That meant that the masked party for 300 people my grandmother would be hosting in bejeweled splendor was canceled. But we did our best to enjoy ourselves despite the winds bombarding us.

My grandmother used to lead us in reciting the Rosary.

"If it saved the day for the Christians at the Battle of Lepanto, against the Ottoman fleet, praying the rosary to the Blessed Virgin Mary will certainly protect us."

It was a clever way to get our minds of the hurling winds which never seemed to stop. We would be plunged into darkness because the first thing the force of the winds did was knock out the power lines. Hence, we found ourselves without electricity.

That was when my Uncle Michael and my Mother Camilla who both had operatic voices would break out into song. Almost all the members of the domestic staff had guitars and mandolins and they did not need to be asked to play the Rondalla. (a Castilian word for rounds of Music) Then we would all join in the songs. We sang in Spanish, Italian, Filipino, Hakka, Waray, English, Visayan and Ilocano.

We had our own generator but one never knew how long we would be without electricity so candles twenty centimeters in circumference and over six feet tall mounted on 16th century candle holders were lit. The force of nature would sometimes be so overpowering that even with all the shutters and the strong mansion hunkered down, the wind blew into any and every little crack.

We sang in darkness, but we seemed to be in the Light. I shall never forget that sensation of total blackness but being surrounded by light in the outer fringes of our gathering. The Music did that, I think. It had a transcendental power of overcoming anything negative.

We couldn't use the telephones. Dona Esperanza had walkie talkies to dialogue with our Security -Sikhs who had come to the Philippines after the Sepoy Rebellion in India against the English. Don Cesar, the Tycoon trusted them more than any other ethnic group and Bashir and Kabir headed our Security and private Army.

Our Hakka amahs held our hands and always reminded us, "In China we all dead. Houses built bad and poor."

Nothing has changed. The world is as dangerous as ever. The deadly typhoons seem to turn ever more lethal with the years. Apart from that, much has changed. Santol Mansion no longer stands. The vast land was sold to make way for a shopping mall in Santa Mesa.

Dona Esperanza, our parents, some of our cousins, Bashir, Kabir, and most of those who made up out private army have all died. Idem for our domestic staff that constituted our extended family. In particular, our Beloved Fray Paco died a few years after the Matriarch. Experts calculate that he must have been about 150 years old. What a glorious and adventurous life he led. few men and women except the members of our clan could rival him in that.

Thousands died in that savage typhoon. The lowland areas of Manila turned into Venice and Huangzhou. Except for our nude acacia, balete (similar to the baobab), avocado, mango and guava trees which still stood majestically tall in spite of everything the typhoon had put them through, all of us had lived through that fearsome Halloween Night unscathed.

AD MAJORAM DEI GLORIAM. TO THE GREATER GLORY OF GOD

Super Typhoon Megi hits northern Philippines

2010-10-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

An intense "super typhoon" has made landfall in the northern Philippines, lashing the area with heavy rains and winds of more than 225km/h (140mph).

Thousands of people in the path of storm Megi have fled their homes. Emergency services are on high alert and schools are closed in many areas.

Megi is the strongest storm the Philippines has faced for four years.

In 2006, a storm with winds of 155km/h triggered mudslides, burying villages and killing about 1,000 people.

Tropical cyclones formed in the Pacific Ocean are called typhoons, but are classified on a scale of one to five in the same way as Atlantic Ocean hurricanes.

Category Five typhoons, with sustained winds of at least 155 knots (140mph; 250km/h), are commonly referred to as super typhoons.

Forecasters said Megi was a super typhoon as it made landfall, but was likely to weaken slightly as it made its way across the northern Philippines.

'Preparing for war'

The northern provinces of Cagayan and Isabela are on the highest storm alert.

One man in Cagayan was reported missing after he fell into the fast-flowing Buntun river. The man was named as Vicente Decena, a candidate in next week's local elections.

Officials have warned that the heavy rain and high winds could damage buildings, power supplies and agriculture.

Emergency services have been stocking up on food and medicines, says the BBC's Kate McGeown in the capital, Manila.

Government forecasters say waves off the east coast could be greater than 14m (46ft).

Sea travel has been banned. The coast guard has been instructed to forbid all fishing vessels from setting out to sea in the north, says AFP news agency.

Thousands of soldiers and officers are on standby to deliver aid and rescue people stranded by the floods.

Trucks, rescue boats and food packs have been pre-positioned near vulnerable areas, said Benito Ramos, a senior disaster-response official.

"This is like preparing for war," he told the Associated Press. "We know the past lessons and we're aiming for zero casualties."

Farmers were urged to harvest as many of their crops as possible before the typhoon hit, our correspondent says.

The area in the storm's path is one of the country's main rice-growing regions.

In July, President Benigno Aquino sacked the head of the weather bureau after he failed to predict a typhoon which unexpectedly changed course and hit Manila, killing more than 100 people.

The Joint Typhoon Warning Center of the US Navy says Megi is expected to weaken to typhoon intensity as it crosses the Cordillera mountain range.

However, it will then re-emerge into the South China Sea and re-intensify as it heads for southern China.

Source: BBC News

Obama meeting hangs ally's flag upside down; No big deal though, it's only the Philippines

2010-09-28T03:14:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, the Philippines is a close American ally. A practicing democracy in Asia with nearly 100 million people. And a whole bunch more living -- and voting -- abroad in places like the United States.

And, yes, the island nation's president, Benigno Aquino III, was sitting at President Obama's left elbow at their ASEAN meeting in New York City last week. And directly behind Aquino the American staff placed the Philippines' flag, well, kind of upside down. (That's it second from the right in the photo above, the one with all the blue at the bottom, which should be at the top.)

In the Philippines displaying the flag like that means the nation is at war. Which, of course, it isn't. Not yet anyway. And the country's laws provide for a fine and up to one year in prison for disrespecting the flag.

President Aquino kindly didn't make a big deal out of such modern-day diplomatic ignorance by its World War II liberator.

When you think about such an international gaffe by American hosts, it's really pretty much the Filipinos' fault for choosing a national flag with no clear top or bottom to American eyes.

Look at the savvier Canadian allies next door, for Pierre's sake. They were smart enough to pick a lone leaf that has an obvious stem so even Americans would know which side goes down.

A couple of days after the embarrassment, a U.S. spokeswoman followed the Obama administration's Geithner Apology Protocol, admitting it was "unfortunate" but quickly adding that it was something called "an honest mistake." As opposed to a dishonest mistake like, say, not paying taxes.

With so many larger guns, a nuclear arsenal and a Harvard-educated president who knows they speak Austrian in Austria, the U.S. really shouldn't need to apologize anyway. Such a superpower can't be expected to keep track of the globe's gazillion funny-looking flags that don't have a big blue box of stars to show top vs. bottom.

Obama's meeting with the ASEAN nations was designed to bolster both economic and cultural ties with the region's increasingly powerful nations. Maybe starting with a staff class on flag recognition.

-- Andrew Malcolm

Source: LA Times

Senator Honasan

2010-05-13T01:03:00.000-07:00

Gringo Honasan has propagated the myth of the warrior-hero and used his mystique to stoke the rebelliousness in the barracks.

Gregorio “Gringo” Honasan has not only made his mark in this country; he is also an inspiration to people in other parts of the world. For those who remembered the 1986 EDSA Revolution, he was that battle-hardened hero who helped restore democracy in the country. For his comrades in the Armed Forces of the Philippines, he was that defiant colonel who fought for reforms within the Armed Forces of the Philippines. For his junior officers, he is their father figure and their mentor. For his family and friends, he is the eloquent, gentle-mannered soldier with a compassionate heart. For his opponents, Gringo Honasan is a formidable advocate of healthy diversity in a democracy. For the younger generation who did not witness the Gringo Honasan of 1986, he is the dashing, medal-bearing soldier and senator who has lent his face to a new brand of politics--- one that is pro- people and pro- change.

Gringo Honasan is indeed a man of many colors. Yet, friends and foes must equally agree: the man behind the legend is one who knows how to stand his ground when right, and to fight against what is wrong. Gringo Honasan is a staunch advocate for reforms, a gallant opponent of corruption, and a fighter for freedom.

For more information click here.

Abu Sayaaf - Freedom Fighters or Terrorists?

2010-05-10T07:14:00.000-07:00

In the rain forests pregnant with orchids and ylang ylang, a new terrorist front - Abu Sayyaf has been formed. It is in Southeast Asia, in the Philippine Archipelago, on its southern most tip, the Sulu Archipelago. It forms part of Mindanao , once predominantly Muslim until the Spanish Conquest in the 16th century. The people were Malays,with lithe bodies and shiny brown skins. They fought ferociously. The Spaniards called then "Moros" Moors, as they had called the Berber Muslims from North Africa who conquered Spain and occupied most of Andalucia for 800 years.

And then came Manifest Destiny, America desperately needed a country in Southeast Asia to fight counter act Japan's hegemony in the Pacific. The Philippine Islands, strategically positioned in the South China Sea, the Pacific Ocean and the Straits of Malacca seemed like the best way to initiate its first foray into Empire. In order to do that, Spain had to go, one way or another. Spain was less than a shadow of its former self. She had two colonies left. Cuba in the Caribbean and the Philippines in Southeast Asia. There were daily protests in the streets, continuous upheavals in government. Insurgencies were common. Spain was in deep trouble economically and politically.

An American ship "The Maine" anchored in the harbor of Havana, Cuba, mysteriously blew up. Historians today ascribe the explosion to carelessness on the part of the seamen on board rather than to an act of terrorism by Spain.

That did not stop the media, particularly William Randolph Heart who said " Just go to Cuba and the Philippines and I'll give you a war."

President McKinley was reluctant to send Commodore Dewey to Manila. He called the Filipino people "My little brown brothers". God spoke to him as well, it seems that many Leaders since the world begun have dialogued with God about their warlike intentions towards a weaker country. God has always approved. The weaker nations always fought back because God also seemed to urge them to never cease the struggle for their independence. Invaders, even enlightened ones, if such a thing is ever possible, remain invaders - from the Latin 'INVADERE" which means to enter a territory which is in no way yours, take it and hold it by lethal force.

The assassination of President McKinley cleared the way for the regal Theodore Roosevelt, the Vice President to order the conquest of the Philippines.

It was a bloody war. The American media called the Filipinos insurgents. In truth it was an all out rebellion,much like Ho Chi Minh would do 50 years later against the French, the Japanese, the French once again,and then the Americans.More than 650,00 Filipino civilians died, according to Gore VIDAL, one of America's most esteemed and charismatic historians.

The Filipino Muslims became known as Moros, as the Spaniards had called them. They were ruling various parts of the Philippines when explorer Ferdinand Magellan landed in 1521. Indeed, he was killed by Sultan Lapu-Lapu because he and his people wished to remain Muslims.

They were just as intransigent with America as they had been with Spain. Before the arrival of the Spanish, the Sulu Archipelago, Mindanao, Sabah and parts of Borneo formed part of the Sultanate of Sulu. A treaty was signed with General Bates in the early 1900's which stated that the Sultanate accepted American rule and administration. Not so claimed the Moros. The Treaty signed by them was changed and added later on. In one form or another the Moros have not ceased their centuries old struggle.

It is important to note that many of the officers and soldiers who fought in the Philippine jungles were hardened, ruthless veterans of the Indian wars back in the States.The Colt was created and perfected in order to kill endless Moros and Flip bandits (unsavory term for Filipinos).

Mark Twain denounced the war, much as Gore Vidal does today. Both found themselves in the position of finding that their articles were not being published. Censorship? You bet!

The Philippines is the only Catholic/Christian country in Asia. Out of a population of 90 million people, 80% are Catholic. In Jolo, capital city of Sulu, Muslims predominate. Now this is where the situation gets dicey. A new vicious and well organized group of terrorists who call themselves Abu Sayyaf which means" Sword of God" in Arabic hold sway. Its founder was a rabid religious leader, a Wahabi Imam Abdurajak Abubakar Janjalani. He was killed in a shoot out with Philippine government forces in 1998. Now they had unwittingly created a Martyr. His declared objective repeated ad nauseam by his followers," An independent state for the Sulu Archipelago".

The Bush administration prided itself on the success of their mission in Sulu, Hw they could do that remains an unsolved mystery. The Philippines has been and remains to a certain extent, the only official colony of the United States (1898 to 1946). Behind the black curtain of geo-political affairs, U. S. advisors are back in Mindanao and Sulu. The success bragged about by the Bush neo-cons was nothing but spin.

Should one pay attention to inflammatory statements such as "the total independence of the Sulu Archipelago" which may be just political rhetoric? No one really knows. Abu Sayyaf today has a thousand followers, according to the western media. Three to five thousand seems more realistic.Their sympathizers remain an unknown factor to us.

Abu Sayyaf should be taken seriously. Since 1998, they have kidnapped four Italians and an unspecified number of Westerners. The most recent Italian kidnapped was Father Giancarlo l Bossi, a Catholic missionary. He was held for 39 days and released after a huge ransom was paid. Everyone involved is silent about details. That is why Abu Sayyaf are so insidious. Their expertize is kidnapping. They also possess the ability of receiving huge sums of ransom money.

The local Muslims declare unequivocally that Osama Bin Laden hid in the jungles of Suu and Tawi-Tawi. How? When? Where? No one is saying.

One of the most dangerous moves Abu Sayyaf has made is an alliance with The Wahabis of Saudi Arabia.That was like an announced action. Who in his or her right mind would ever doubt that its jihadist founder would join forces with Saudi-Arabia.There's more than contradiction here. Are they not allies of the United States, replete with bases?

What is really giving the West nightmares are the theological universities that have sprung up in Indonesia teaching Islam to the Youth. They are so rabid that they make the Wahagis look like Hollywood Liberals. The recent joint venture operation in terror and struggle is the unholy union between Abu Sayyaf fighters in Sulu and Jamaa Islamiyah in Indonesia. That is what is giving some in the West who know a great deal about terrorism - nightmares.

Because of its strategic location in Mindanao and Sulu, Abu Sayyaf is the main training camp for Indonesian jihadists, That should give anyone who knows anything about geopolitics the worst jitters. Indonesia is the largest Muslim country in the world , with over 207 million people, it now constitutes the world's third largest democracy after India and the United States. So far, notwithstanding the effort of destablization by the Wahabis and other Indonesian terrorist groups, its experiment with democracy looks promising. Three elections have been held and one of them was won by a woman, Megawati Sukarnoputri.

The massacre in Bali linked to Al Qaeda and local groups killed 200 people. 300 people perished in Mumbai.Attacks in Pakistan are almost a daily occurrence. Often they go unreported unless hundreds are blown to bits.

Indonesia was an important ally in the "Containment' of Communism" during the Cold Wr. More than a million Indonesian Communists were killed during the 60's and 70's because the U.S. feared that they would attempt to take over from the ailing President Sukarno, Father of Indonesian Independence against the Dutch.

There are serious doubts among the Catholic and Christian intelligentsia that the recent bombing of a Church in Mindanao was the work of Aby Sayyaf. " We suspect that it might be a false flag operation," said a local Bishop.

In the entire history of the Crusades, the Conquest of Spain, the take over of Constantinople/Istanbul, Muslims never destroyed Churches. They converted them into Mosques. Terrorist strategies and tactics mutate especially in the 21st century.

President Barack Obama spent some years in Indonesia. His sister is part Indonesia. In his book, he writes about waking up at 4 in the morning, to the call to Prayer by the Muezzin atop their minarets. He needs to move fast. He is going to need more than lovely memories to stop the ugliness unfolding in Indonesia and the almost eternal armed struggle going on in the Sulu Archipelago, deep inside impenetrable jungles.

Good Friday

2010-04-02T00:13:00.000-07:00

(note: If you haven't already done so - I recommend you read Holy Thursday first, by way of background).

Taking of Christ by Caravaggio

It was twelve o’clock noon in Manila on an unbearably hot Good Friday. The mourning bells of the dozens of Churches and Cathedrals throughout the city began slowly tolling in agony. Twelve times.

In Santol Mansion, the six children; Lucrezia, Zita, Heinzie, Dolly, Jaime and Freckie,followed by their respective amahs, struck a bronze gong in the gardens of Santol with a heavy, ebony doy doy (hammer). Twelve times.

Doña Esperanza and the clan were seated on the first six rows of the auditorium of Ateneo University, the Jesuit University founded in the early part of the 17th century. Father James Reuter, a young American Jesuit orator, was going to deliver the sermon on the Seven Last Words of Jesus.

Uncle Matt was the only one of the clan who had stayed behind to keep the children and the amahs company. All the domestic staff was attending the “Last Words” in Quiapo Cathedral near Chinatown. The priests spoke not only Tagalog but other dialects such as Ilocano, Ilongo and Cebuano. There was a splendid Cathedral in Chinatown . The learned Jesuits officiated at all the religious services because they spoke not only Mandarin, which few Huas Chiao – Overseas Chinese knew and understood. They were fluent in Shanghainese,Cantonese, Fujianese, and Hakka.

The children and their amahs tarried in the gardens of Santol Mansion. N.B. It continued after the short explanation of the Crucifixion.

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WHAT IS A CRUCIFIXION?

The Crucifixion of Jesus, or Yeshua in Aramaic, is recorded in all four gospels of the New Testaments – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

THE Crucifixion is the most agonizing way to die by the hand of another. A human being is tied or nailed to a cross or a stake.

The Persians, with their great civilization and culture, first employed the practice of Crucifixion on their hardened criminals, their conquered peoples. The Egyptians learned it from the Persians. The Carthaginians frequently resorted to Crucifixion for their condemned. It is logical to presume that the Carthaginians, a Semitic people had exposed Crucifixion to the Proto-Israelites.

Alexander the Great brought this brutal way of death to the Mediterranean- the West. He was in awe of many Eastern practices. As is inevitable with us humans, he passed on the sublime along with the malevolent.

The Romans had obliterated Carthage. They absorbed the best and the most foul from all the people they conquered and/or wiped out.

The Persians, Babylonians, and the Proto-Israelites also employed crucifixion as the most severe form of execution.

Crucifixion was therefore not confined to the Romans. Indeed, the Roman way was beheading or the use of exotic poisons.

But, the Romans - with their cohesive yet heterogeneous Empire, their Senate, their deep love of Law and Justice, Order (as in order in the Cosmos), engineering, communications, their ideas on the Sovereign State - perfected crucifixion as a means of capital punishment.

Since they happened to be efficient rulers they had permanent stakes plunged into the ground in their designated places of execution. The victim or the condemned carried the crossbar on his back to the stake. They usually weighed between fifty to seventy five pounds. Sometimes the victim was nailed to the crossbar or he was tied to it with rope, which left searing rope burns on his wrists and legs. The crossbar and victim were hoisted into place. One way was to raise the crossbar to fit inside a notch on top of the stake so that the letter T was formed. Another method was to place the cross beam a few feet below the top, creating a cross. The imagination of humanity to kill their fellow beings, then as now knew no bounds. Where there was a scarcity of wood, the condemned was nailed or tied to a single stake in the ground.

A soldier walked in from of the condemned person, carrying a small wooden placard in which was written the crime he had committed. This sign was then nailed to the cross above the head of the condemned.

In the case of Jesus, nails eight inches long were pounded through the wrists (ulna), between the radial (elbow) and the ulna. The nails never went through the palms. The nails would have torn the palms away as they could not hold all the weight of the body.

Out greatest artists did not know this or chose to ignore it with customary artistic license. Leonardo (da Vinci) possessed an intimate knowledge of anatomy because he dissected and studied corpses relentlessly. A crucifixion by Leonardo does not exist or did not survive the upheavals of time. As far as I am concerned only two painters portrayed the Passion passionately and vividly. One is Mantegna, who shows the dead figure of Jesus sculpted in such a way that one would swear it is a fresh corpse. The other is none other than Caravaggio. He portrayed religious themes more realistically with his interplay of light and darkness.

The flagellation of Christ by Caravaggio

Some scholars and forensic experts argue that it may have been possible to plunge the nails through the wrists if the victim had a small stand for his posterior to rest upon.

I think that may have been the case when thousands of early Christians died on crosses in the Coliseum in Rome and in others similar to it throughout the Empire. Nero, Trajan and Diocletian harbored no mercy towards the believers of Jesus. Indeed, every catastrophe was blamed on them.

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The children and their amahs tarried in the garden, fascinated by the reverberations of the gong. It seemed to bounce off their majestic acacia, avocado, and mango trees. It was Freckie who broke the spell.

“I’ll race you all back to the house,” exclaimed Freckie who was a swimmer and a runner.

Heinzie, a bit plump, and Jaime, wiry and thin, refused to lose face. “Okay,” they replied reluctantly.

“I’ll join you boys,” cried out Dolly, not wanting to be left out.

Lucrezia and Zita exchanged “here-we-go-again” looks. “We’re walking back. It’s too hot for contests,” replied Lucrezia.

“I’m with her,” assented Zita.

Freckie crossed and uncrossed his eyes. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” he asked, addressing Lucrezia directly.

She ignored his remark and tried to think of Jesus.

Zita lashed out, “You’re my brother but you’re such a pain.”

Ah Wei became the referee. “No bad words on Good Friday, eh? They who wants to run, run. They who likes to walk, walk.” She put her arm around Lucrezia’s waist, turned back to reassure Ah Tat, Zita’s amah, who followed her example.

“Hurry, children,” Uncle Matt called out from the veranda as they began to walk up the grand, circular, marble staircase of Santol Mansion. “The broadcast will begin in a few seconds,” said Uncle Matt, adjusting the dials of the Philips radio. “For the first time, we are broadcasting the Agony of Jesus live. In a few seconds, we’ll be right there at the Ateneo Auditorium.”

Uncle Matt ran the radio stations and television channel owned by the Nieto Ortigas clan in the Philippines.

They waited in silence, not moving. Lucrezia clutched her white handkerchief tightly. Then, out of the Philips radio came the familiar, low, caressing voice of Uncle Matt.

“It was pre-recorded,” he told them. The announcement was in English, more widely spoken than the national language, Tagalog, or Spanish, which was known only to the elite or the intellectuals (i.e., the oligarchy).

“I wonder if the children will last three hours?” pondered Uncle Matt. He wasn’t concerned. Their amahs would insist they take the siesta if they noticed any sign of restlessness or sleepiness.

“The Seven Last Words of Jesus. The First Word from the Gospel of Saint Luke. Jesus says, ‘Father, forgive them. They know not what they do,” boomed out Father Reuters voice.

Father Reuters voice was made for broadcasting. He seduced the microphone. His voice was a rich baritone, full of colors. He’d raise his voice, then it would shake, then they had to strain when he whispered.

The Jesuit took all his listeners to Jerusalem on that torrid Good Friday so long ago, to Golgotha, Aramaic for “the skull.” This is where the Romans crucified the condemned. Jesus was nailed to the cross as it lay on the ground. Two thieves - one on his right, one on his left - were also being prepared for crucifixion.

“Let us ask ourselves: do we know what we are doing? Do the leaders of the world in politics, finance, industry, art and culture know? Do we in the church know?” thundered Father James Reuter.

The narra (mahogany) ceiling fans were whirling at their maximum speed, the volume of the radio was pumped up. Good Friday in Manila was scorching. Ninety percent humidity and not a hint of cross currents. Heaps of mangoes, tiny yellow bananas and huge, sweet, green bananas sat on a wicker basket on the side table. There was plenty of cool water and iced calamansi juice to drink. No one moved. They listened in rapt attention.

Lucrezia thought, “I don’t always know what I’m doing.”

Uncle Matt said loudly, “Our autocratic Pope (Pius XII) won’t like that one bit. That might be a barb aimed at him too. We don’t know what we are doing, we just think we do.”

“Are you not the Messiah?” mocked one of the criminals on the cross beside Jesus. The other thief berated him. ”Don’t you fear God? Both of us are guilty. We deserve to die on the cross. But he is innocent,” And then he addressed Jesus. “Remember me Yeshua, when you come as King.”

Over the airwaves, the listening audience, which, numbered in the millions, sat spellbound by Father Reuter’s delivery.

“Yeshua?” asked the children.

“Yes, that was Jesus’ name in Aramaic, the language spoken throughout Palestine, Judea and Syria at that time,” explained Matt.

Father Reuter recites Jesus’ reply in a cracked voice. ”Today, you will be with me in Paradise", from the Gospel of Saint Luke.

“The second death word of Jesus is about acceptance, forgiveness and affirmation in Jesus.”

“My belief in Jesus will inspire me to be a good person so that when I die, I shall also be in Paradise. I still don’t understand why the terrorists did not kill me four years ago in Montalban. I remember Uncle Ben yelling ’’No Victor!” I heard the blast of the gun, and moaning. And then Victor squatted right beside me and stared into my shocked eyes long and hard. I never told anyone that. He massacred all forty-one men, women and children. He only left Uncle Ben and me. He deliberately shot off one leg and one arm of Uncle Ben. What cruelty. Why? Did Jesus in some way penetrate his hard heart? I am not sure,’’ mused Lucrezia.

“I must say this,” began Father Reuter.” The women close to Jesus showed no fear, unlike some of his disciples, apostles and friends. The people typified all oppressed beings through the ages. Why do you think I am using the word oppressed? Because they were so. First by their own harsh Talmudic Judaic Rabbis and of course by the merciless Pontius Pilate.

“So, I repeat, the people were terrified and crushed except when they taunted and lashed out at Jesus. The Apostle John tells us that Maryam, Jesus’ mother Mary, her sister wife of Clopas, Mary of Magdala also known as Mary Magdalene and John himself, were standing by Jesus’ cross. John was probably a cousin of Jesus. He may have been his youngest disciple at the time of the crucifixion. We know from several accounts that Jesus loved him the most.”

“They wept in silent horror and disbelief. Jesus addressed his Mother. “Woman, behold your son.” And then to John who is the Narrator of this Gospel he said,” Behold your Mother.”

“These words are full of passion and love. Listen carefully. Jesus is saying that all women are the mothers of all the children of the earth. Then as now. Semitic cultures - Arab and Jews alike, for they are brothers - looked after their own people in times of tragedy, regardless of blood ties. In a way, they are all born of Woman and therefore sons and daughters. Even as Jesus lay dying an excruciating death, he was thinking of his loved ones.

Lucrezia was struck by something Father Reuter had left out. “Jesus referred only to mothers and sons. Why did he leave out Mary Magdalene and his aunt? That is strange.”

She recalled the words of Great-Uncle Jaime Pardo de Tavera, an influential and rich Sephardic Jew who was linked to the Nieto Ortigas clan as a brother in all but blood.” Both Jews and Arabs are in reality matrilineal societies. The women are more powerful than the men will ever acknowledge.”

Father Reuter continued. ”Darkness covered the land at the ninth hour. From Jesus’ lips a lament pierced the heavens. Eloi! Eloi! Lama Sabachtani? My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me? This is from the Gospel of Saint Mark. Father Reuter paused and then asked the millions listening “ Is this a cry of desperation? Yes!” he cried out.

Lucrezia’s vision was blurred from her tears. “Why was he desperate? Was he asking God if humanity was worth dying for?”

Amah Ah Wei was weeping quietly. Heinzie, who adored Lucrezia but had lost his eldest brother Bubi a couple of years ago, begun to cry. Soon, all the amahs were drying their cheeks and blowing their noses. Matt could not contain himself and covered his eyes with a fine linen handkerchief.

The listeners heard Father Reuter whisper hoarsely, "I thirst, I thirst.”

“To have a proper impression of the state Jesus was in, I am going to ask you to close your eyes and imagine what I am about to tell you,” said Father Reuter with ardent eloquence. The soldiers of Caiphas, the High Priest entered the Garden of Gethsemane to arrest him. They did not know who he was. He was identified by an affectionate kiss given him by Judas, his right hand man. After the shock of this betrayal, he was roughly led away by the soldiers and brought before the Sanhedrim. It was a council composed of Pharisees and Sadducees. The very rabbis he had relentlessly attacked for their corruption, greed and violence. When Jesus questioned Caiphas, the High Priest, a soldier brutally struck Jesus in the head.

“The High Priest has not given you permission to speak, much less query him.”

His captors blindfolded him and punched him in the face repeatedly. With his eyes covered, Jesus could not see and instinctively roll with the punches. The blows would have been that much more deadly. His face was unrecognizable. Like ground meat. Wait! His torture was just beginning.”

“His clothes torn and ripped off his body; Jesus was naked. What better way to humiliate a man than to show him naked before a body of his enemies?”

The faithful listening to Father Reuter seemed paralyzed. They had never stopped to think what the Passion of Christ was all about. After 11 painful years of denial, Filipinos had to confront the holocaust they had survived during the War through the agony of Christ the Savior.

Father Reuter did not mince words. He was not the sort of priest who would do that. He wanted the faithful to realize the suffering Jesus had undergone to save all of Humanity. Nothing any human being suffered would ever compare with the ordeals of Jesus. That is what he wanted them to realize. They needed to do that to move on. The bloodletting in the Orient never stopped. After the war in the Pacific, there was Korea. It had ended with an angry peace, a sort of truce with no clear Victor. Now Vietnam was in the throes of once again throwing off its foreign Masters. The Japanese had been driven off, then the French. Now the Americans had come by the thousands as advisors. The People in the Philippines did not wish to confront these realities. Theirs had been so overwhelming. He cleared his throat as quietly as possible and continued.

“Then the scourging initiated. A soldier used a flagrum, a whip made of leather thongs imbedded with sharp metals and glass fragments. Small, heavy metal balls sewn into the end of each thong ensured maximum piercing and carving out of flesh, bit by agonizing bit. The flagrum was brought down with fiendish fury against the back of Jesus. Thirty-nine lashes was the number of mercy according to Judaic Laws. The flagrum tore off his skin, pierced his tendons and muscles. Perhaps they even exposed his spinal column. Jesus’ back was a mass of mutilated flesh. He was in unbearable pain, flitting in and out of consciousness due to loss of blood and bodily fluids. Yet, he did not ask for water.”

“A robe of rough linen was brusquely placed on his butchered body. A crown of thorns was crushed with great force on his head.”

Father Reuter stopped to ask the faithful abruptly. ”Do you know what happens when that many thorns are inside your head?”

There was only a reverential and awesome silence from the faithful.

“I’ll tell you. The thorns penetrated his scalp and skull and ripped at the skin. Slivers of scalp and hair mixed with the thorns. Heavy hemorrhaging followed, along with yet more excruciating pain. Jesus was covered with spittle from his torturers who knelt before him, mocking and laughing and yelling’ Hail, King of the Judaics.”

“The sight of this young, dying man covered in blood, saliva and gore, who bore all this with dignity and acceptance, enraged his torturers even more. What did they do? He was senseless yet they beat him again and again.”

“I thirst,” rasped Jesus, as the Apostle John tells us. A Roman soldier offered him some wine; it was probably vinegar, which had been doused on a cloth wrapped around a sharp end of a lance. Jesus refused it. I will say it again. Jesus refused the assistance, as he lay on the cross. Was it because he refused to lighten his agony? Did he thirst for water? Perhaps he meant compassion? Love? Tolerance?

Consumatum Est. It is finished,” he whispered. His loved ones barely heard him. John the Apostle informs us.

This reminded Lucrezia that she longed for water for her dry throat. “Wait. Don’t be soft on yourself. Wait a few more minutes. Are you feeling faint? No, then wait!” she scolded herself.

“Remember,” pronounced Father Reuter. “Jesus was already dying when he was led away for crucifixion. That is why he could not carry his own cross. That is why he fell down three times. That is why a strong man, a stranger from Cyrene named Simon was ordered by the Roman centurion to carry the cross for Jesus.”

Father Reuter said something, which brought chills to all the millions of faithful. “We Jesuits are familiar with the physical aspects of crucifixion. Not only as medical doctors, scientists and biblical scholars. Many of us together with thousands of Japanese Catholics were crucified in Japan in the 16th century. In North America, Jesuits were once again nailed to the cross in the 17th and 18th centuries.’

‘Now listen carefully. Do you know what happened when those eight-inch long nails were hammered into his wrists? The median nerves are severed, producing a burning pain and inevitable paralysis in the hands. Once Jesus was lifted to the cross, his feet were nailed to the beam, which sank I the ground. In order to do this properly, his killers bent his knees and raised his feet so that they could lie flat against the stake. When a body hung this way, the force of gravity dragged the weight of the body down. As a result, both shoulders and elbows were dislocated. They popped out of their joints, ripping all his tendons and ligaments.”

“Oh! This is horrible. I can’t bear this,” cried out Lucrezia.

Her cousins agreed, except Freckie who called out ”You are all nothing but silly ninnies”

“Silence!” ordered Matt, who was visibly touched himself by Father Reuter’s realistic portrayal of the Agony of Jesus on the Cross.

“Freckie, I am going to ask you to go to your room unless you apologize to us.”
“Sorry,” said a chastised looking boy of thirteen.

“Those of you here in this auditorium who came expecting a sermon on the Seven Last Words of Jesus may be disappointed by my unsparing description instead of his suffering. You may leave. I will understand,” explained Father Reuter.

For a full minute, the microphone was silent.

“No one will dare to leave this auditorium. They fear the comments of their peers and their families more than the wrath of God. Of such stuff are we humans made of,” pondered Dona Esperanza with sadness and a little bitterness in her heart.

“You are all staying until Jesus breathes his last. Whatever prompted you to remain in your seats, I am grateful to God. Those of you listening in may leave the room or turn off the radio.”

No one did. On that portentous Good Friday of 1957, the faithful got a clear idea at last about the acute Passion of their Savior, Jesus Christ.

“I have not minced any words so let us go on the same way,’’ said Father Reuter.

“Jesus’ arms were now almost against his chest. The chest cavity was ever so slowly being crushed. Every breath was sheer torture. Jesus had lost a great deal of blood from the unrelenting and severe beatings, the scourging and the crown of thorns. He was dehydrated. Therefore, there would have been less oxygen in his blood. His heart begun to beat faster in a vain attempt to compensate for the oxygen, which he needed badly, but which was denied him. In order to take one tortuous breath, Jesus had to propel himself on the nails in his feet. This was almost impossible for him. Indeed, every few seconds he would pass out. His back, in pieces because of he scourging, would constantly scrape the stake full of splinters. The whole agony of trying to inhale and exhale became more intense and unbearable as the hours passed. The heart literally exploded or the man died from asphyxiation.”

“Suddenly the sky was now black. Jesus was near death. He used his last remaining breath to say,” Father, into they hands I commend my spirit.”

“He stopped breathing. Jesus had fulfilled his mission on earth. God and the Cosmic Forces had taken their son back.”

Father Reuter waited a few seconds and then explained. “Because Jesus had been savagely beaten, scourged, tortured with the crown of thorns and forced to carry his cross; he died in a very short period of time. The Romans did not break his legs to make sure he was truly dead. One of them pierced his side with a spear. There was no blood on the spear, just liquid trickled out.”

Not a sound came from the faithful at the Ateneo Auditorium. “As I look at some of you, weeping silently, many of whom I know and love, I can’t help but remember the first Holy Week we all observed a few months after Manila was liberated. Destruction was everywhere. The dust was so thick no one could breathe without a cloth or bandana over his or her mouth. The stench of death penetrated our nostrils. We moved like automatons. No doubt about it, we were all in shock. Pontoon bridges were hastily built by the US navy Seabees - there was not a bridge large or small left standing. So many of us dead, missing, maimed, mutilated and wounded. So many of our homes, churches, schools and buildings bombed if not obliterated. That did not deter us from observing the Passion and rejoicing in the Resurrection of Jesus and of our once beautiful city. God bless the Philippines. May the Filipinos endure and prevail

In the hushed auditorium of the Ateneo University, Dona Esperanza blew her nose and stanched the tears from her face. Almost everyone was occupied with the same actions. Fray Paco stood on a black silk cushion on her lap. Not a peep for three hours had ensued from his beak. Not a piece of feces had marred the perfection of the black silk. He was used to this services on Good Friday. Fray Paco had first accompanied his Beloved Don Cesar to church on Good Friday for the sermon on the Seven Last Words. At that time, the service was in Castilian. This tradition continued for 40 years. The learned Jesuits had given him the name of Fray (Little Friar in Castilian) and Paco (the diminutive of Francisco – Francis) in irony because of his blasphemous and oath filled beak. They said that he did not fully understand the meaning of the Passion but that he was intelligent enough to sense that it was an event, which had shaken and changed the world. It would continue until the end of planet Earth and perhaps beyond it. Hence, his long silence year after year for forty years during the observance of the Seven Last Words.

Father Reuter had finished his Elegy on the Seven Last Words of Jesus. High up in the hills of Santa Mesa, where Santol Mansion sat like its most magnificent pendant, the dirge of the bells tolling the death of Jesus came from all directions.

Without a word, because all of them felt cleansed and purified by the cathartic and awesome effect of Father Reuter’s words, the six cousins – Zita, Freckie, Dolly, Heinzie, Jaime and Lucrezia, together with their Hakka amahs struck the bronze gong in their garden.

Rex and Ruhr, the handsome German Shepherds, sat in perplexed silence.

Uncle Matthias followed from a distance. He was lost in his thoughts. His beautiful baby girl Teresita, she of the ebony curls and skin like Snow White had died on a Good Friday.
Her death remains a mystery. She was on her mother Fautina’s breast for over a year, which meant that Teresita’s immune system would have been strong enough to fight off any infections. Matt himself put her in her crib for her nap. When it seemed to Faustina that Teresita was sleeping way beyond her time she hurried to pick her up.

‘Dio Mio. E morta! Ma perche?’’

His family and clan wept with him long into the night of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday. Something splintered inside Matthias’ heart. He could see Faustina corroding herself with grief. After the funeral they both decided to practice birth control: the church be damned. She had lost her parents, both sets of grandparents as a result of the Japanese Occupation. She could not cope with the mere thought that she might lose another child.

“We are emotional cowards when it comes to having children of our own. Our numerous nieces and nephews really are a joy to us. We give thanks for that,” he ruminated.

He saw the pygmies Lakan and Danga. They had crouched behind the broad trunk of the balete tree nearby. They began systematically banging their heads softly against the bark of the tree, enough to bleed copiously but not enough to injure themselves seriously.

Why do they always do this on Good Friday?’ asked Lucrezia.

“It is their way of mourning. We must respect that,” explained Matt.

“It is really too damp and sticky out here,” whined Freckie.

“We can go back to the house. We have all struck the gong twelve times, said Matt.

Now the flamenco cante jondo would be played on the high fidelity system. Cante Jondo are the laments of the Andalusian gypsies, the race of Cale, who came from India in the 13th century Spain under Arab domination. Christians, Muslims, and Jews lived in such harmony that it created an intellectual and philosophical flowering hardly ever seen again.

The gypsy – Gitano- zingari chants of Good Friday are called saetas. It is a word lost in time, probably of Sanskrit origin. If you want to hear music from the depths of the soul, listen to the saetas, No other instruments are ever used. Sometimes the sound of a hammer on a nail is heard,” said Matt.

Lucrezia felt herself quivering.

“There is something atavistic about the human voice chanting from its entrails to lament the Crucifixion of Jesus. Many of them have their own beliefs, which are never revealed to us. This much we know, they are attached to the Virgin Mary. Jesus, his life and his death seem to have struck them in particular.”

"Sometimes the cantaoras (female flamenco singers) chant the saetas in unison," Zita told her cousins.

Other saetas are sang by a lone cantaor,” said Dolly.”

"Our ancestors did not come from Southern Spain,” spoke up Heinzie. "We are Aragonese, German Jewish and Chinese."

“Well? Where do you think we come from?” asked Jaime, “Aragon, Catalonia and Milan."

“No one is more mixed up racially than we are,” opined Lucrezia pointing to herself, Zita and Freckie. "Let’s see, I’m Italian, Ausro-Hungarian, Jewish, Aragonese and Filipino-Chinese.”

“I am the only mestiza (half breed of three quarters European in this group. The rest of you are really mongrels,” stated dotty Dolly with disdain.

“Look children,” Uncle Matt intervened, raising his voice over the ululating voices of the cantaoras. No one in the world is pure anything except for autochthonous people like the pygmies, aborigines, the Maoris. Inca, Yaqui, Aztec and other Amerindian tribes. We Europeans drove them away at best, enslaved or exterminated them at worst.”

Then Amah Ah Wei made one of her unfailingly true statements. 'Too much marry same-same not good. Make for idiot children and very ugly children. Look at Japanese and Jews. God love them, but difficult to find beautiful people there.”

No one replied to that. And then Lucrezia asked, “What about you, Amah and all the other Amahs?

“We Hakka first, Chinese second.” Replied Ah Wei without hesitation. After a long pause, she added, "before all, we are for Jesus first. Him we love, the son of Light who dies for everybody white, yellow, black, brown, round eyes and slitty eyes. All.”

“The tahong (fresh water clams) with fresh pieces of ginger and kangkong (a leafy, green vegetable brought from Southern China by Chinese merchants centuries ago) were delicious,” said Dona Esperanza to the assembled family members.

On Good Friday, dinner was served early in Santol Mansion. In the background, the saetas’flamenco laments still played softly on the hi-fi system. The cousins ate in silence. Tonight, conversation was limited only to the necessary. Time enough tomorrow-on Saturday of Glory and on Easter Sunday to exchange impressions and opinions about Father Reuter’s impassioned oratory.

Fray Paco, perched on a small, carved ebony chest from Tonkin muttered softly, no one knew what. Matt rose from his chair, walked towards the matriarch and slid her chair quietly. Dona Esperanza knelt beside her chair on the rare narra (mahogany) floor. With a minimum of noise, everyone followed her example. The amahs and the staff entered with their padded and embroidered silk chinelas (slippers) and proceeded to kneel as well.

“Let us recite a prayer to Michael the Archangel,” murmured Dona Esperanza.

Everyone knew it well as the celebrant and the faithful recited it at the end of every mass. It is a beautiful and powerful prayer.

“Saint Michael the Archsangel,”intoned the Mater Familias.

“Arrrkangelo Mikel,” repeated Fray Paco reverently. Fray Paco’s religious mangling was drowned by the strong voices of adults and children.

“ Defend us in battle. Be our Protector against the snares of the devil. We humbly pray, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”

As soon as they were all seated. Dona Esperasnza nodded her head discreetly at Lucrezia.

“Ah! That’s my signal,” she said softly as she rose from her chair. Instinctively, she waited for all eyes to be upon her.

“Nena, va! (Child, go),” shrieked Fray Paco.

“Trust him to always hug the limelight and try to steal the show,” thought Lucrezia in amusement. She began.

“How did this prayer to Saint Michael come about? It was the late 19th century. The great Pope Leo Xlll, while attending a Mass of Thanksgiving at Saint Peter’s Basilica, saw in a vision demonic spirits gathering on the Vatican. The Pope walked out in the middle of the Mass, gray and stunned. He headed straight for his private study. His entourage followed anxiously. This prayer is the fruit of that experience. Leo Xlll himself wrote every word and instructed that it be printed and sent to all the Bishops around the world. It is the prayer that we recite at the end of every Mass. It is an ardent plea to Michael the Archangel to drive Satan away from us, back to their dark world.”

Freckie overturned a glass of water on the table.

“That’s Sevres crystal. I hope he did not do that accidentally on purpose. He is awfully good at those tricks," mused Lucrezia.

Everyone ignored the accident. Of course the glass of Sevres crystal broke into pieces, but their Grandmother was not attached to objects, which she could replace. She was more concerned with human beings.

“Are you all right Freckie?” she asked.

He was fine. He nodded respectfully towards his Grandmother.

Camilla and Edmund, Lucrezia’s parents, smiled contentedly. This explanation had been their daughter’s idea. Her Grandmother had considered it appropriate.

The cousins were collected by their respective amahs. Their parents hugged and kissed them good night. One by one, they filed past their Grandmother, took her proffered right hand, and respectfully bent and touched their foreheads towards her had. All the amahs followed suit.

“May Jesus and the Angels bless you. I wish you peaceful dreams,” Dona Esperanza told each one in a soft musical voice.

Holy Week In the Philippines: Holy Thursday

2010-04-02T00:10:00.000-07:00

This chapter was taken from the fifth book, The Indomitable Contessina Lucrezia, which forms part of "The Saga of Fray Paco."

Fray Paco is a rare, white cockatoo captured by headhunters on the island of Nias, a part of the island chain of Sumatra. He was a smart-ass polyglot brighter than chimpanzees. These cockatoo are almost extinct today. I grew up with Fray Paco.

Manila, known as the Pearl of the Orient, had been crushed to dust under the brutal Japanese occupation and the relentless bombing and shelling by the Americans in order to liberate the city in 1946.

Military historians could not agree: Which city in World War II was destroyed the most - Dresden or Manila? The jury is still out even as I write this.

Filipino ingenuity, hard work and massive aid from the United States, their former colonial masters, came into play immediately after the war. Heavy investments from American, Canadian and Swiss multinationals helped as well. By 1957, Manila was once again a city bustling with panache and elegance.

Except for Intramuros, the superbly walled city fronting gorgeous Manila Bay that was built by the Spanish in the 16th, 17th and 18th century. Intramuros was no more. A chunk of every Manileño's heart was ripped out forevermore. The wounds of Intramuros ran so deep; no one could bear to enter it, not for curiosity and not to clear up the rubble. Everyone felt like violators. Sixty thousand souls had died there before they even had time to realize they were dead. No living thing wandered through. Not even rats and cockroaches.

In Holy Week of 1957, the Philippine peso was even money to the U.S. dollar. The country had the fastest growing economy in South East Asia. In the continent, it ran second only to Japan as the most prosperous. The rate of literacy was higher than Southern Europe's and its infant mortality, lower. Except for the world travelers such as Giovanni Agnelli, David Rockefeller and the Rothschilds, few upper class Europeans and Americans could afford to flit about willy-nilly around Europe and the United States the way rich Filipinos did.

Religious devotion among all classes of society was observed with passion. Nowhere was this lived with more ardor than during Holy Week.

I've adapted the story somewhat for my blog readers, and I look forward to your feedback – as this is the first story I've published from my Fray Paco Series; This chapter begins:

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1957. Manila. Santol Mansion. Dusk. Holy Thursday.

Lucrezia grimaced. "It's so sad. Why can't we go to our chalet in the mountains or our houses by the sea?" asked Lucrezia twisting a long, blonde curl.

"The Montebellos and the Madrigals are spending Holy Week in their seaside villas in Batangas," pouted cousin Zita.

"I mean, what are we rich for?" insisted a soon-to-be-eleven Lucrezia. "I never get to celebrate my birthday because it falls on Holy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Sunday."

"Child! Doña Esperanza and your parents always give you bang! bang! Birthday party after Holy Week," stated a shocked Ah Wei, Lucrezia's Chinese Hakka amah (nanny) and a convert to Catholicism.

The cousins - indomitable Lucrezia, fiery Zita, sweet Jaime, darling Heinzie, frightful Freckie and pesky Dolly - were sitting in the vast veranda which encircled Santol Mansion, drinking fresh Alfonso mango juice with their respective nannies. Santol Mansion was a 40-room, "Gone With The Wind" house belonging to the rich and powerful Doña Esperanza, matriarch of the Nieto Ortigas clan. She was also their grandmother.

"It's useless to complain," sighed Lucrezia.

"Right. No one will pay attention to us," agreed Heinzie.

"Maybe Jesus would," suggested Jaime.

"You're a dunderhead, do you know that?" replied Freckie angrily. "Jesus can't even help himself," he added for good measure.

“Freckie’s mean and twisted,” thought Lucrezia who detested her twelve-year-old cousin. Today on Holy Thursday she felt guilty about her feelings and tried to dispel them from her heart.

“Nonna locuta, causa finita,” Rome has spoken and that is the end of it, declared Dona Esperanza paraphrasing the Pope’s statement regarding mass murder, abortion, divorce and other crimes against humanity and against the Church. – “Roma locuta, causa finita”

Her high heels clicked –clicked on the rare mahogany floor, her big black baroque pearls swayed with the soft cadence of her hips. Her Pacific blue eyes swiftly swept past her six grandchildren and their tiny Hakka amahs. Freckie was so unruly the Hakka amahs refused to deal with him. Only Librada, a well-muscled Filipina yaya with the patience of a saint, could cope with him.

“Prayer books?”

The children and nannies hold up their hands to enable Dona Esperanza to see them.

“Fans?”

The nannies pried them out of their long pockets.

“Bladders empty? I’ll not have any child urinating in the courtyards or squares of the churches!”

The children nodded without saying a word.

“Our Sikh bodyguards have pure Manila water and cases of Coca Cola in our weapons carriers. I know this is the height of our hot season. I won’t tolerate any fainting due to lack of water or electrolytes. Is that clear?”

The silence was unnerving. Lucrezia (secretly her grandmother’s favorite) cleared her throat. “I think we understand everything, Gran Gran.”

Doña Esperanza swiveled slowly, and then she changed her mind.

“One last thing. Before you all go to bed tonight, I’d like to explain what “The Passion” of Jesus really means and why, despite our wealth, we are staying put in Manila, in this horrifying heat, observing the Passion. Let’s go, everybody.” With that, Doña Esperanza swirled and left the veranda, leaving behind a trail of lightly scented ylang-ylang perfume.

At the porte cochere of Santol Mansion, their parents were entering their respective Buicks and Cadillacs. Edmund, Lucrezia’s father, was the only one behind the wheel, her mother, Camilla, beside him. Everyone else had uniformed drivers. In the Nieto Ortigas clan, almost all its members followed the example set by their great-uncle, Don Alcibiades the banker. He pilled up success after banking success in the Roaring Twenties. He also set many precedents. One of them was to sit next to one’s driver. The clan considered it demeaning and insensitive to be in the back of the car.

Bashir and Ranjit, their giant turbaned Sikh bodyguards, lifted all of the children as if they were rag dolls. “Intjou go,” they said. By now, all the Hakka nannies were a few centimeters shorter than “their children” who seemed to grow by the day. Because many of them had been sold into slavery and prostitution as children, they recoiled from any human touch other than that from “their charges”. Without a word, Ranjit set up a ladder next to the weapons carrier where they and the children were to ride, to enable the nannies to climb inside.

The Sikhs, not being Christian, were not required to follow the Via Crucis (the Way of the Cross) with Doña Esperanza, her children and grandchildren. They kept alert in the churches to any changes in the mood of the churchgoers or unusual occurrences. Like duelists they studied every movement of the elements. They were resplendent in their pristine white Kamezz and Kurta and towered over most of the faithful.

The Catholic domestics of Doña Esperanza were active participants in the Via Crucis. All donned their blackest clothes and their expressive faces betrayed their anguish. They had all lost a relative or a beloved friend during the Japanese Occupation and the ensuing American bombing.

The Amahs always wore their traditional black silk trousers with white ramie shirts. The black sheen of the silk was unmatched by anything the West could reproduce. The Hakkas stubbornly refused to divulge the secret of the shiny black silk.

The children looked somber in plain white frocks, white leather shoes with matching white linen socks. As postwar children they had not actually heard the Mitsubishi zeros screeching eerily down toward their targets They had never heard the screams of the victims but their elders never stopped reminding them how Uncles, Cousin, Aunts, and Great-Uncles had perished in a holocaust of fire.

Dona Esperanza and the Nieto Ortigas clan dressed in black cotton or linen. This practice was followed by all the illustrious families in Manila (be they of Chinese, American or European origin).

Aunt Allegra, mother of Zita and Freckie, was always the coordinator of funerals, baptisms, christenings and the rituals of Holy Week.

Their first stop: Saint Augustine’s Cathedral. Thousands upon thousands of mutilated corpses had lain grotesquely in the aisles, altars and basements of Saint Augustine after the ferocious bombing and shelling in 1946. Pieces of shrapnel, fragments of marble and slivers of wood, which tore through heads and vital organs at a speed and force never witnessed before, killed them.

“There wasn’t a family, rich or poor, white, brown or yellow, who had not lost relatives, loved ones or friends,” Doña Esperanza would say often and sadly.

Thus, the Passion - the final hours of Jesus on earth - was something Filipinos of every color, race or creed could identify with even more than most people.

Miraculously, Saint Augustine, on the outskirts of the walled city - Intramuros, now the Ghost City, was still standing after the smoke of endless bombs had cleared. There was heavy damage to its lateral naves.

“Let’s not wait for American or Philippine bureaucracy. We will all dip into our deep pockets and do what has to be done,” said the rich.

Each family and clan competed in generosity. In less than six months, San Agustin was almost restored. The Father Superior, an outspoken critic, anti-war activist and a pious Basque from Guernica, Padre Pedro Rocha, purposely left a gaping hole about a meter in circumference. During the rainy season, the faithful were pelted with water. Superstitious Filipinos (after all, what more could happen to them?) refused to use umbrellas in church. In the summer, the sun fried their heads but no one dared open a parasol. So why did they persist in standing underneath? An act of penance? A sense of guilt? Horror at the consequences of war? Who was right? Who was wrong? It didn’t matter anymore.

The Stations of the Cross were always recited in impeccable Latin by Uncle Matt (for Mattias), Doña Esperanza’s eldest son. (She had wed at fifteen; her Latin was faulty compared to her son’s. Esperanza was self-taught, cultured and street smart, not erudite.) Everyone knelt on the uneven marble floor. The children followed the way of the cross from their prayer books, which were in Latin. Lucrezia stared at the bronze bas-reliefs realistically sculpted by an unknown Filipino master in the late 16th century and tried to think about the suffering of Jesus. Each station of the cross took about five minutes. Then they would all walk as quietly as possible, looking straight ahead until the next station: fifteen in all. This ritual would be repeated three times as the family would troop out of San Agustin and re-enter to begin once more the ritual of the Way of the Cross.

Camilla, Dona Esperanza's eldest daughter, would take over from Matt. Aunt Dahlia, daughter number two, was unable to master Latin in school so her husband Uncle Rudolf filled in the third time around and saved her “face”.

Seven churches in all were visited, creating the number twenty-one which was a mystical number for the Judaic and early Christian observers of Holy Thursday. Other than black pearls and black diamonds, no one wore jewelry. Everything was a sea of black. The courtyards, squares, the aisles inside the churches, the areas for prayer and reflection by the Stations of the Cross, wherever one gazed. Even the statues were all shrouded in black or dark purple.

Dusk came early in the tropics. In keeping with the profound religious mood, the lights emanating from the vast chandeliers were dimmed low. The sounds and whispers of thousands of faithful appeared deafening to Lucrezia’s ears. Many wept silently yet no one reacted. The faithful all concentrated on their own prayers despite their tears.

Rich and poor worshipped at the same churches. In close proximity to the Churches and Cathedrals parked trucks filled with Manila water, Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola kept a silent vigil. The Haves in silent Christian charity had quietly paid to avoid heat exhaustion and heat stroke in the Have-nots.

It was a time honored custom for the rich to leave 500 to 1,000 Pesos/Dollars anonymously in black or grey envelopes delivered personally by one of the young children of the family, into the hands of the parish priest. This was done in accordance with Jesus' admonitions regarding the Pharisees who praised themselves loudly for their generosity. Those who behaved and spoke in an ostentatious manner about their donations were sharply rebuked and quickly brought into line.

Back at Santol Mansion, part of the household staff had volunteered to stay. Most of the Sikh bodyguards and the pygmies also kept a watchful vigil. Robberies and heists took place more often than not during the observance of Lent than at any other time.

Only one-meter tall bees wax candles were lit inside the house. The gardens and the grounds looked like daylight. The Sikhs patrolled them relentlessly with the German Shepherds Rex and Fritz.

Every painting, objet d'art, statue sacred and profane, was covered in black cloth. The absence of freshly cut flowers, which adorned every room of Santol Mansion most of the year, was like a stab in Lucrezia's heart. Only Fray Paco was allowed to enjoy the sight of yellow orchids in his Jungle Room. In keeping with the Passion's spirit of reflection, no radios or televisions were turned on during Holy Thursday or Good Friday.

"Yet this is a family which can't function without music, so we shall have the most sublime sounds man ever created for God," said Uncle Matt. The Dies Irae of Mozart, Beethoven's Missa Profundis, and Bach’s Saint Matthew were played softly as background music on the hi-fi system.

The healthy adults observed the Lenten fast, particularly on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. That meant no alcoholic beverages - a heavy sacrifice for the Nieto Ortigas clan who savored fine wines and Malt Whiskies. The menu was simple, similar to what the majority of poor Filipinos ate. Small, tasty fish called tuyo, tiny freshwater shrimp fried in fresh garlic and eaten with plain white long-grained rice. Tahong, sweet water clams from the tributaries of the Pasig River was always served. A fish sauce, bagoong, made from a variety of fish eggs, abhorred by foreigners, was ever present. Like the ancient Roman fish sauce, garum, one had to acquire a taste for it, Doña Esperanza used to tell her foreign friends to no avail.

The clan's views regarding fruits grown in the temperate zone were well known.

"Poor Europeans! Having to make do with apples, peaches and oranges."

"Paradise must have been a poor place. Imagine getting into trouble for an apple."

"The serpent wasn't a gourmet either."

"No wonder God threw them out."

"They were tasteless nincompoops."

"The Philippine carabao mango is so delicious, one should eat a peach only in desperation."

"They are supposed to come from the same genus."

“So are we and the apes but look at the difference.”

“Don’t remind us of Darwin during Lent.”

“Once you tasted calamansi juice with honey, why would you ever drink lemonade again?”

Calamansi was a tiny, sweet lime which grew only in the Philippines and in Indonesia.

“Freshly squeezed calamansi juice with pure acacia honey is bliss,” thought Lucrezia, draining her glass quickly.

The majestic acacia trees which towered a hundred meters in the gardens of Santol Mansion provided the best honey. Lucrezia went into one of her reveries as she gazed at the acacias.

“Hola chicas! Hola chicas!” Fray Paco had made his entrance on a pole entwined with hemp so that his talons could hold on. His two attendants, heavily muscled twin dwarves (retired acrobats), Eneas and Achilles, proudly bore the bamboo pole on their shoulders. Fray Paco quickly flew and alighted on Doña Esperanza’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck and cooing “Espe! Espe!” into her ear lobe from which dangled a single black baroque pearl.

A chorus greeted the rare, white cockatoo with affection.

“Hola!”

“Ciao!”

“Hello!”

“Fray Paco came to our clan by an act of God,” said Doña Esperanza.

During the Christmas and Lenten seasons, the story of Fray Paco was repeated.

“He was found chained to a branch of an ylang-ylang tree by Great Uncle Alcibiade,” Lucrezia began.

“In the middle of a destructive typhoon in 1907,” said cousin Zita.

“It was New Year’s eve,” stated Jaime with conviction.

“The tycoon, Don Cesar, our great great uncle, had vowed to ruin the De La Rama family,” said Dolly.

“That was because they had tried to kill him several times,” clarified Lucrezia.

“Instead of going to parties or celebrating, Don Cesar, his two brothers Torquato and Mamerto, and an assortment of sons and nephews spent New Year’s Eve at the warehouses of the De La Rama clan by the port of Manila,” Aunt Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother explained.

“Ruined by vices and inept management, the vast empire of the De La Ramas, especially their international shipping lines to Mexico and California, now belonged to Don Cesar and the family’s bank,” Uncle Matt stated patiently.

“The Night of the Long Winds of 1907 was the most destructive typhoon to hit Manila,” Doña Esperanza said, patting Fray Paco who preened, a born showman.

“Trapped in the warehouses, Don Cesar and his family carried on like troopers, doing the inventory of the De La Rama properties and possessions,” Aunt Allegra said, smoothing her wrinkled black dress.

“Precisely! Then as the winds died down, they heard someone crying ‘Help! Help!’” Dramatically declared Uncle Rudy who had always wanted to be an actor and ended up running one of the clan’s international shipping lines.

“Don Alcibiade ran out to investigate. He couldn’t see anyone although the cries for help continued,” Uncle Edmund said, twirling his fingers nervously.

He was a chain smoker of cigarettes. Doña Esperanza loved her cigarillos and the others smoked cigars. Nicotine was a no-no during the observance of The Passion. The tycoon Don Cesar, addicted to cigars, accustomed to giving orders, had begun this tradition in the clan: total abstinence from alcohol, nicotine and sex in observance of the Passion.

Freckie excitedly cried out, “Then Fray Paco yelled, ‘Down here, coño!’” (Cono means vulva in vernacular Castilian)

“Trust Freckie to use dirty words whenever he can,” mused Lucrezia.

“So Don Alcibiade looked down and around and there he was, our hero, our amor, Fray Paco, standing upright but chained to a broken branch of an ylang-ylang,” exclaimed Uncle Arthur, who had the gift of gab and became a gambler.

“The entire Nieto Ortigas clan had been spared; all their plantations, houses and commercial properties intact. Don Cesar interpreted the arrival of the foundling Fray Paco as a message from God,” said Dona Esperanza.

By this time, Fray Paco had perched on Lucrezia’s shoulder, kissing her on the lips with his beak which could tear apart walnuts as if they were jelly.

“Don Cesar offered Fray Paco his freedom. ‘Fly away,’ he ordered on that New Year’s Day,” Lucrezia told them. “Fray Paco turned his raptor’s gaze on Don Cesar. They looked into each other’s eyes. Raptor to raptor. Then he understood. Fray Paco wanted a home and a family. He yearned for love and yet… and yet… he wanted to be free.”

“I promise you, no more cages. You’ll have your own jungle room. You can wander into any part of my villa. You can even fly but not too far, else the hawks will get you,” Heinzie quoted Don Cesar verbatim.

“Time for our prayers.” Doña Esperanza stretched out her black clad arms. “Come, Fray Paco.”

Lucrezia rose from her chair with Fray Paco holding on to her as she walked towards her grandmother. Once he was settled cozily on a small silk pillow on Doña Esperanza’s lap, she called out, “Let’s kneel”.

Almost in unison, everyone in the clan, the domestic staff, the dwarves Eneas and Achilles, followed without a word. Doña Esperanza placed Fray Paco, whose talons had dug into the silk pillow, on the floor in front of her. “As the oldest member of our clan, Fray Paco, please lead us in the Pater Noster.”

The white cockatoo puffed up his plumes and barked hoarsely, “Pater Noster, quis in coelis, sactificeturrrr nomen tum…”

Fifty voices joined Fray Paco in his mangled Latin. Although they pronounced the words properly, did that act alone bring them closer to the creator?

After the Pater Noster, the domestic staff, led by Macario, the majordomo, rose, walked to the far end of the veranda and brought back twenty-five porcelain bowls filled halfway to the brim with water. The ritual washing of the feet just as Jesus had done so lovingly to his apostles and disciples in the gardens of Gethsemane nearly two thousand years ago was re-enacted year after year in Santol Mansion.

The tycoon Don Cesar and Don Torquato and Don Mamerto, his brothers, had begun the practice after the terrifying typhoon of 1907. Indeed, Don Cesar had renounced his religion after winning the notorious lawsuit against the Catholic Church and the Dominican friars of Santo Tomas University in Manila. His hostile takeover of all the De La Rama holdings and wealth with the assistance of the American Marines had not endeared him to many of his fellow oligarchs – even if it had been a perfectly legal act.

The typhoon, which came soon after, their survival unscathed and the discovery of the foundling white and talkative cockatoo touched his heart and soul. He returned to the folds of the Church, preferring always to deal with the Jesuits with whom he remained on affectionate terms until his untimely death.

The clan drew lots, as did the domestic staff. Often one of the clan would be washing the feet of his driver or her maid. The children were instructed by Doña Esperanza whose feet to wash.

“Rats!” reacted Lucrezia silently. “Why did Gran Gran assign me the task of washing odious Freckie’s feet? He must have come out of the womb of a thug!” “Were all of Jesus’ apostles good and just men?” an inner voice (her guardian angel perhaps?) asked. “No,” answered Lucrezia. Then the image of Judas flashed by quickly as she watched Freckie, his soft, brown eyes, curly hair and disarming dimpled smile. “Jesus knew Judas would turn him in, yet He washed his feet. Who am I to complain?”

Freckie gave Lucrezia a self-satisfied smirk. She ignored it and began washing him. A wiggle here, a splash there… In no time at all, her face was soaked. She looked up and smiled like an angel. She could tell her cousin was seething but pretended not to notice. “Judas! Judas! Judas!” she kept telling herself. By the time Lucrezia was wiping Freckie’s feet with the small, white, linen towel, the mantra had become “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Poor Freckie. Why was he so lost?”

Fray Paco squealed. Only Doña Esperanza could bathe him and not face the fury of his beak and talons. He had a small, inflatable pool of rainwater changed twice daily, much as his life long ago in the rain forest.

Now that the basins of water were removed, Doña Esperanza immediately began her explanation.

“I know it’s hot, sticky and difficult to breathe in this oppressive heat. Why then, with all our money, do we not escape to somewhere pleasant? We own dozens of ships. An inter-island cruise on one of them would be lovely. Many Filipino families go on these cruises. Vilas on the beach and chalets in the mountains beckon. We have chapels and diocesan priests who recite Lenten services. We choose to stay here in Manila as our way of participating, in a small way, in the Passion of our Lord. None of us present tonight will ever leave this world alive. Jesus himself died a most excruciating death on the cross.

Four years ago, forty of our friends, supporters and relatives were ambushed and massacred at Montalban by Victor Vencer and his band of Marxist guerrillas. One individual the Mayor of Montalban, our beloved Ben Flores, whose family has been linked to our clan for two generations - and our own precious Lucrezia - survived. None of us know the reason why the terrorist Victor Vencer spared them. (She knew but she would never reveal this to the members of her family and clan) The horrors of the war in the Pacific still haunt us. Otherwise, why are we all in denial about Intramuros?”

No one moved. No one spoke. Doña Esperanza went on.

“As long as God wills it, I will continue our observation of the Passion. Except for the children, you are all here of your own free will. I would not ever think of retaliating if any of your family or staff did not participate. It’s a personal choice. I hope my grandchildren will continue to commemorate the Passion and pass it on to their children when the time comes. Thank you for listening with such patience.”

Uncle Matthias (Matt for short) intoned.” The agony of Jesus really began in the gardens of Gethsemane – Holy Thursday. He was aware of the fate that awaited him. He pleaded with God; he feared he could not go through with the horrors.

“Let this cup be lifted from me.”

Jesus sweated blood from every pore. In medical terms it is called Hematidrosis. It occurred when the tiny capillaries overflowed with blood in the sweat glands and then burst. This caused blood to ooze throughout his scalp, face, neck, arms, back, legs and feet.

“And being in agony, He was praying very fervently, and his sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.” From the Gospel of Saint Luke, the physician.

Dona Esperanza crossed herself on her forehead, neck and across her chest. Everyone followed her example in silence.

“Then she said,” Let us then retire to our rooms to rest, pray and meditate. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Laudate te Deum.” We give praise to Thee O Lord.”

Cats Are Clever

2010-01-07T04:11:00.000-08:00

Birds, like Fray Paco, were naturally wary of cats.

Here's a picture of a cat doing a pretty good job of blending in to further its nefarious agenda.

McCoy Tyner Happy Birthday McCoy Tyner

2009-12-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

McCoy Tyner Happy Birthday McCoy Tyner

PEARL HARBOR: 7TH OF DECEMBER 1941

2009-12-10T11:50:00.000-08:00

These are excerpts from the THE SAGA OF FRAY PACO: Book Four: The Indomitable Dona Esperanza.

"Something dark and fearsome awoke me at four this morning. I pray I am wrong. We have been expecting a Japanese attack any moment."

She went over what Uncle Alcibiades had strongly declared last night over a richly laden dinner table in her Villa Gloria situated in Manila's 16th century walled city - Intramuros built by the Spanish when they initiated their colonization of the Philippines in 1536. Manila's elite lived within those walls. So did the wealthy merchants, government bureaucracy and several exclusive all boy and all girl schools run by Catholic religious orders.

"The question dear niece is not if they will attack but when and where. All bets are off in the casinos in town," declared Don Alcibiades, the Banker.

Esperanza's Villa fronted the Manila Hotel, an elegant and architecturally handsome building built at the height of the Depression in the "Mother Country" the United States. General Douglas MacArthur resided there with his wife and son and high ranking members of his staff.

He was Commander of the American Armed Forces in Asia headquartered in Manila because it was the official seat of their Empire in the Pacific. It was never officially confirmed because Heaven forbid, the United States, supposedly a republic, affirming democratic principles, should ever admit to a lust for an Empire in the Pacific.

The Philippine Archipelago was located strategically within the South China Sea and the Malacca Straits. It was their strategy in monkey wrenching Japanese dreams of expansion in the Pacific. America's conquest of the Philippine Islands from 1898 to 1903 was vicious and brutal. Water boarding, concentration camps, cruel interrogations of men and boys all began in their Conquest of the Philippines.

The cry heard amongst the troops fresh from slaughtering Indians back home was:

"Fucking kill all the men and boys, rape the women and torture everyone for information."

Mark Twain, the writer, journalist, humorist and essayist became the most vociferous critic of American Imperialism and its bloody war in the Philippine Islands. He founded the Anti-Imperialist League which created a vocal and brave public opinion against U. S. involvement in the Philippines. Sound familiar? We always repeat the same political and historical mistakes don't we?

It must be stressed that although General Emilio Aguinaldo, the Chinese- Malay Commander of the Philippine Revolutionary Army surrendered to General Arthur MacArthur ( yes indeed, father of General Douglas MacArthur) many islands under various guerilla leaders resisted until 1910, if not well into 1912.

Authors Note: Historian Gore Vidal personally told me that he and others like him calculated that between 650,000 (conservative estimate) to a million Filipinos perished in America's first foray into Imperialism.

Dona Esperanza sat tensely on a carved Annamese arm chair in the verandah overlooking Manila Hotel. Her binoculars reposed on a lace doily beside her.

"No matter what happens I don't want to miss the comings and goings out of Manila Hotel. Most of all, I want to catch a glimpse of the General."

Fray Paco perched on her shoulder. He felt her stiff muscles and back. He did not feel like uttering any words. For once, he was at a loss to explain what was about to happen.

"It must be horrifying , that's all I can think of."

She did not speak and no one dared address a word to her. Her attitude spelt an I don't want any interruptions this morning. She prayed in silence.The atmosphere was far from silent. She had ordered her household staff to bring the radio into the verandah and turn on their radio station DZRP. For the moment, only the music of Tommy Dorsey with Frank Sinatra as lead singer was heard.

Her sons-in law Edmund, who was married to Camilla, Lucrezia's mother and Rudy, husband of daughter Dahlia always spent the early part of the morning at the posh and exclusive Wack-Wack Country Club enjoying a take no prisoners kind of golf game. Heavy betting went on. Each golf swing cost them $100.00. General Basilio Valdes, a cousin of the Ortigas-Nieto clan also joined them. He was MacArthur's Chief Medical Officer and Great-Uncle Basilio was almost as impressive. Tall, majestic, turquoise blue eyes, dark hair, fair skin and a disarming smile( he was a Doctor after all). On this day, he could not disguise the concern in his demeanor.

"It's either Pearl Harbor or Manila," declared Edmund looking into his Uncle -in law's eyes.

"No other possibilities?" asked Rudy.

"Here's an interesting bit for all of us to digest. The Japanese will bomb Pearl because they have to make a point but after they have bombed the shit out of Pearl, they will turn around and head for Asia. That's what they want. Asia. Not California," said Great-Uncle Basilio.

"Dios Mio Uncle, that means us and ....", Edmund could not bring himself to continue.

Rudy ran his eyes towards all three of his relatives. "We are going to be next."

"And they won't turn around as in Pearl Harbor. They are going to come in and occupy us and rule us,"
Great Uncle Basilio could not stifle the urgency in his voice.

"Until the Japanese do that, let's try to enjoy a good game of golf," suggested Edmund, hiding his hands behind his back and holding them tightly to keep them from twitching.

"Good idea, I mean they have not bombed Pearl Harbor yet nor are they anywhere near the place," replied Rudy.

"We'll cross that bridge when we have to Rudy," countered Edmund, practicing a few broad swings.

"Right boys, this may be the last time we"lll enjoy a good game of golf," piped in Uncle Basilio.

"Viva Lapu-Lapu. You're the best and undisputed fighting cock in the entire Philippine archipelago." Don Alciabiades, the Banker, gazed at his sky blue and royal blue cock. It was an unusual color for a fighting cock. His great ancestor Zapata had also been born a little cock blue. The amazing part was that he had mated frequently with Maganda who was predominantly a blue hen, as fierce in fights with other hens and roosters for Lapu-Lapu's attention and sexual thrusts. He had few scars and none defaced or took away from his beauty.

"Give us this one last victory and Dona Ibon and I will be thrilled to see you do nothing but mount Maganda and other hens with the best bloodlines to give us yet greater warrior cocks," said he, caressing Lapu-Lapu's blue feathers.

Don Alcibiade had a "pakirandam" a gnawing feeling in one's gut that something tragic was about to take place. Something which, would change and influence their lives for generations to come.

He disliked cockfights. The blood made him feel faint. On this Sunday, anything was better than staying home and waiting. Waiting for what? He could only suspect it had something to do with the desperation of the Japanese, as the United States continued to close every trading door essential to its economic survival. When they could no longer count on the oil fields in Indonesia, Burma and Indochina, Don Alcibiades knew without the slightest uncertainty that Imperial Japan had no choice but to retaliate. A few months ago, the United States government and the American owned and managed multinational corporations operating in Indochina, Indonesia and Burma had closed off their spigots to all things, properties and people Japanese.

"There is not a drop of oil to be had. This will push Japan over the brink. I fear that this action will prove to be gruesome to all of us, including the Japanese themselves."

A slow anger had been smoldering in Alcibiades Ortigas Nieto's heart since the Japanese had taken first, Korea and then Manchuria.

"I curse the day Commodore John Dewey fought in Manila Bay, I curse the Philippine- American War, I curse Don Cesar's unconditional backing of the American War against the helpless and hapless Filipinos. I curse the way Filipinos have been parasitized since then. What about us? The so called Illustrious families? I curse the desperate Japanese who will most certainly attack the island of Oahu or Manila. Oahu will be a canape, compared to the atrocities they will commit in Manila, the Pearl of the Orient. Most of all, a thousand maledictions on the American Commodore Matthew Perry, who, in 1852, used the power of his armed ships anchored in Tokyo Bay to force Japan to open her ports to trade with America and Britain. May you lie shackled in blackest Hell, President Theodore Roosevelt for making a secret treaty with Japan giving her Korea and Manchuria in China. Did you think Japan would bow, say "Arigato" and stop her Hegemonic desires? How absurdly naive!"

Author's Note: For more about Teddy Roosevelt's secret treaty of 1905 I refer you to the enclosed video clip: http://www.brasschecktv.com/page/746.html

These dark thoughts did not as a rule form part of Don Alcibiades forma mentis.

"I am beside myself in righteous anger and indignation and there is nothing any of us can do except wait for the bombs to screech down upon our heads," he thought with resignation but never acceptance.

One of the Filipino young men who manned the telephones, had been instructed by General Basilio Valdes to keep the radio tuned to AFRS (Armed Forces Radio Service) radio sprinted all the way to the 15th hole at the Country Club. He was pale, gasping and coughing and could not at first utter a word.

They all knew what he was about to tell them. They had scanned the skies; no Mitsubishi zeroes. It had to be Pearl Harbor!

Without another word, they all dashed down the slopes of Wack-Wack to hear for themselves what was occurring.

By now AFRS Radio blared from the bar where dozens of members, guests and staff had gathered aghast.

"At approximately 7:30 this morning, 350 Japanese planes from the Imperial Japanese Navy under the command of His Most Courageous Admiral Yamamoto, attacked the American Naval Air Station at Pearl Harbor on the Hawaiian island of Oahu." Tora! Tora! Tora! (Tiger. Tiger, Tiger )

"O Dios ko," murmured the Filipinos.

"God help us," said Edmund and Rudy in unison.

"Jovenes (young men) I shall see you later, which means I don't know exactly when. General MacArthur, along with the rest of us will be up all night, I may be able to stop by this evening for just a few moments at Villa Gloria, since we are almost across the street, in a manner of speaking. I can't promise anything. I have faith in Esperanza. She will plan the best strategies and tactics for our clan to follow," General Valdes declared somberly.

Odd that, thought Edmund. He did not say a word about what MacArthur will do to safefuard and protect Manila. As usual, every thing's a secret.

At Villa Gloria, Dona Esperanza with all her household staff gathered around her, had listened to the announcement of the horrifying events unfolding in Pearl Harbor.

"It's going to be Manila's turn for sure," she quivered in the cool breeze of a December day. "Their death planes might even show up later this afternoon, they 'll pay us a call again tomorrow and the next day, which is the 9th. At any rate not later than the 10th; we can expect a not so friendly visit from our Asian friends - the Japanese Army together with their homicidal Mitsubishi planes," she informed them with a leaden heart and a raucous voice.

She directed her binoculars towards the porte cocher of Manila Hotel which was now rapidly filling up with Officers from the various branches of the Armed Forces and members of the Philippine Constabulary which made up the rearguard of General MacArthur's army in the Philippines.

The General himself was standing in front of the entrance to the Hotel, greeting, shaking and clasping hands. Esperanza zoomed her lenses towards MacArthur. He was still very much the Unconquered Hero. Just a setback. Avery terrible setback. Yet his face betrayed his body language and his words. It was an anguished face. The countenance of a military general who hated to lose his fighting men.

"He reminds me of Julius Caesar," muttered Esperanza under her breath. "Let us hope and pray that no one assassinates him."

Don Alcibiade's warrior cock, Lapu-Lapu was just about to go in for the kill when Don Wak Nam; Hakka tycoon, restaurateur, smuggler and Alcibiades most trusted friend, whispered into his ear. "Call off the fight this instant. Japan has attacked Pearl Harbor a few minutes ago. We must act quickly to protect our families and our assets. We have just ran out of time, Don Alcibiades."

Alcibiades looked into the black orbs of his friend, Don Wak Nam. "Not quite. If we work feverishly, I'm hoping we have 48 hours of damage control. Remember that in the eyes of the Japanese, as well as most Americans and Europeans, you Chinese do not exist. You are a declining race garbed in silk embroidered robes and shoes while they and the Japanese preen themselves before their mirrors in bespoke suits. That attitude will save us from a great deal of bother and trouble from the Japanese."

Don Wak Nam could not suppress a chuckle. "That is certainly true. It might even save our lives. Their arrogance may give yet give us the opportunities necessary to carry on our work. Lest we forget the Filipino, Northern Chinese, Mestizo and Spanish collaborationists who have made up a formidable Fifth Column for the Japanese since the 30's. The Japanese victory has just rendered it easier for them to spy and inform on us."

Alcibiades paused as he covered Lapu-Lapu's eyes with a soft suede cloth and sheathed his claws in Cordoban leather.

"Don Wak Nam, we must have ears and eyes behind our heads. For nearly 40 years, many of the men and women that make up the Fifth Column had and still have legitimate grievances against the Americans."

"Perhaps. But those people who certainly know you and may even be friends and acquaintances, will not have any tweaks of conscience in turning you over to the Japanese High Command to end your days beheaded, but not before torturing you to their heart's delight," affirmed Don Wak Nam with fierce conviction.

Author's Note:

To recapitulate. Commodore Perry begun the travesty in 1852 against Japan. It was continued by President Theodore Roosevelt in a secret treaty with Japan which bypassed the Senate in 1905. The attack on Pearl Harbor is either a tale of endless SNAFUS( situation normal all fucked up) ineptitude and hubris on the part of the American High Command and/or President Franklin Delano Roosevelt knew about the impending attack and kept mum for reasons of political expediency.

Certainly, Reinhard Heydrich, Chief of the German SS, SD, RHSA, and INTERPOL was informed of Japan's plans to attack Pearl Harbor on the 24th of October by Lord Chichibu, Chief of His Imperial Majesty's Intelligence Service. In addition, Lord Chichibu was the closest brother and confidante of Emperor Hirohito. This renders this information highly credible.

Moreover, since September of 1941, Heydrich was now Reichsprotektor of Bohemia- Moravia, a political post second only to the Fuhrer in power, prestige and influence. It is worth noting that Professor Alan Turing who had deciphered parts of the Enigma code was never able to penetrate Heydrich's coded and ciphered SS or SD communiques. Enigma cracked part of the Wehrmacht code, but too small a part to be of any significance. Turing may also have compromised Admiral Canaris's Abwehr, the Military and Naval Intelligence Service. By that time, Heydrich had rendered Canaris toothless and harmless.

In retaliation for Pearl Harbor the U. S. launched a series of terrifying reprisals against the Japanese. The plane carrying Admiral Yamamoto was brutally shot down. It was a good tactical move but this resulted in thousands upon thousands of American, English, Australian, Dutch and new Zealanders living and dying in horrifying conditions in Japanese concentration and death camps. The most infamous of these was the Bataan Death March , where more Filipinos than Americans died and Changi Camp in Singapore, a place of horror for Chinese and Europeans alike.

To be sure, the firebombing of Tokyo was as much of a Holocaust as Dresden and Hamburg. The climax of this war to end all wars was the nuking of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, two cities crammed with the elderly, women and children.

Meanwhile, back in the Philippines, the liberation of Manila in February 1945 was conducted room by room. It took months for the Americans to liberate Manila.

The Japanese had decided to take as many lives as they could with them. So they went out of their way to burn, slash, bayonet, behead, shoot, carve up, blow up with hand grenades countless Filipino and foreign civilians residing in Manila.

The Americans did not pussyfoot around either. Their planes disgorged bomb after bomb into churches and cathedrals - filled with Filipino and European civilians that had sought refuge there. One of the priests who survived ( he lost an arm and a small part of his upper cranium, which had to be covered with a plate of glass and taped over) said that he could not even squeeze through the aisles of Saint Augustine's Church, not even on his hands and knees because the copious amounts of blood which kept flowing after each unrelenting attack by the Americans caused him to slide on the floor. Others slid along the marble floors of the Church too. The only ones who could not move proved to be the dead or dying.

In Manila Bay, in order to blast out the Japanese still holed up in every house and building, with crazed snipers shooting at civilians and American soldiers, destroyers and aircraft carriers continued their shelling of buildings without pausing to take a breath.

Jones bridge was one such spot. Japanese sappers and demolition teams had placed deadly charges in the pylons of the bridge. When the bridge blew up, due to the gung ho attitudes of the B-29 U. S. bombers, the high winds caused the flames to sweep into the affluent areas of Ermita and Malate just as the Japanese had hoped. Two hundred and fifty thousand souls perished almost instantly. They had passed from our world to another dimension without their even realizing it. In a matter of seconds they turned into ghosts still anchored to their homes and streets.

This has led me to the conclusion that War is a racket. The best there is. Most of its finest and its youngest die as a result. You could say that it is am optimum form of killing one's young without lifting a finger. They are mourned by only their families and friends and then they are forgotten evermore by the rest of the nation.

The lessons of Pearl Harbor and the War in the Pacific in WW2, as well as WW2 in Europe; are that it was useless. Hardly any one learnt a single thing from it because those in Power are not in the least bit interested in learning anything from any war. They are after all, its Promoters and Fomentors. It's all about Money, Control and Hegemony. It has brought us no lasting benefits except to those very nameless few at the top of the pyramid.

While I pray and remember ALL the dead, regardless of which side they fought, I always think of the many members of my family and clan whom I never met; who died at the peak of their youth. Several toddlers slowly bled to death as their Mothers clasped them to their breasts on the marble floors slimy with blood, inside the Church of San Agustin. Other small children received shrapnels so large in diameter, that their lungs dropped out of their backs.

My mother's cousin, Maria Mecca, who was running with her three year old son Tito inside the Manila Cathedral to seek refuge under yet another nave, had her head neatly sliced off by a long and sharp thin piece of metal flying through the air. As Mari-Mecca dropped to the floor in a dead heap, blood spurted out and covered Tito's face. Mercifully, the sliver had pierced his jugular vein and he was probably dead before he hit the floor.

My aunt Mari-Guilia, herself wounded, broken and bleeding in her arms and legs( she wasn't sure which ones) crawled inch by inch dragging her 7 year old son Valerio who was mortally wounded in the lungs. But she had to find her sister Mari-Mecca! She glimpsed her head along with pieces of cartliges and bones. Her nephew Tito was dead.

Ernest, her husband appeared out of nowhere. His whole face was punctured by the tiniest of shrapnels, to stanch the flow he had torn off a piece of his silk shirt but the blood flowed on. He found the strength to drag Mari-Mecca's head and Tito's lifeless body underneath one of the pews in the Cathedral. Valeriano 's lungs held out for two hours. Each time he took a breath he whimpered from the pain. The blood from his lungs gurgled into his chest and throat. It was sheer torture for them. Mari-Mecca's body was never found.

To the day she died at the age of 98, my aunt Mari-Guilia wore black every single day of her life, in public or in private. Her broken arms and legs had been set as best they could by the American medics. She had five operations at Johns Hopkins in 1949 and well into the fifties to correct these errors. After all, a good week went by before she could obtain any medical attention. The Americans and the Filipinos continued to fight the Japanese house to house or, as one of General MacArthur's staff said''Manila was fought room to room."

History moves in decades if not centuries. May the Cosmic Forces protect us from the next Apocalpyse. No one else will.

Ad Majoram Dei Gloriam. To the Greater Glory of God.

MORE OF PHILIPPINES THE BEAUTIFUL

2009-11-30T01:43:00.000-08:00

I know. It looks like a scene out of the Swiss Alps or the Italian Dolomites. Mount Apo is considered sacred by timeless tradition. It has a cosmic force and energy which is felt by most everyone who comes in contact with it. The breathtaking orchid, Waling Waling - known by its biological name as Vanda Sanderiana grows best on Mount Apo. It is 35 cm. in diameter, its colors are cinnamon tinged with blue and red and a shocking pink. Observe the pine trees on your left. Usually pine trees grow on temperate or mild zones. It can get cold in the high slopes of Mount Apo.

Mount Apo in Davao, Mindanao

Boracay in Aklan province in the region of the Visayas.

There are thousands of beaches like these. It came as a surprise to me and to my sister that most of the beaches in the United States, Europe and Northern Africa are tatty, compared to our gorgeous ones in the Philippines. Uncle Rudy, Aunt Dahlia's husband , Lucrezia's favorite uncle and one on Fray Paco's favorite "hoomans" came from Capiz, close to Boracay Beach.
Pagsanjan Falls, Batangas, Luzon Province

The falls are near Taal Volcano and lake. The Ortigas - Nieto clan used to go on excursions to the falls. It was a real undertaking. The Sikh bodyguards and a private army of 50 men, up to their necks in daggers, bolos, guns, machine guns and hand grenades. A dozen pygmies armed with blowguns. Fray Paco with his two attendants ( twin dwarves) The Chinese Amahs, the Filipino yayas or ayahs looking after more than two dozen children, the uncles, aunts, cousins, the armed lookouts who perched on the rocks adjacent to the falls. That took meticulous organization and preparation. Dona Esperanza, the Matriarch, oversaw everything. After the massacre at Montalban,( which was less than 30 minutes away on foot) wherein 41 members and friends of the Ortigas-Nieto clan perished, the members of the clan when traveling en masse took great pains against attacks or ambushes by the Communist guerillas or mercenaries working for X governments. Only Lucrezia and the Mayor of Montalban survived the slaughter at Montalban, although the Mayor lost an arm. It is difficult to conceive that such beautiful natural scenery could conceal so much bloodshed and death.

"Beauty can be a terrifying thing, " Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky tells us.

An aerial view of part of the Hundred Islands of Pangasinan

The island closest to the camera with a piece of pearly white beach jutting out is Punta. It means point in Spanish. The islands are mostly uninhabited and are now used for recreational

visit and excursions by boat, banca - prau or yacht. Some have airports for small aircraft and helicopters. During the War in the Pacific, the Ortigas -Nieto clan riding on sturdy bancas/praus sought refuge in Punta, the 6th of December 1945, just before a vicious typhoon struck.
This jewel of a beach is in Gubat, Sorsogon, Bicol Province in the southern part of Luzon. White beach, Aquamarine water and a turquoise sky with royal blue thrown in. The photograph hardly does justice to this gems. The powerful warlord Tung Lok, dropped anchor further up. Whales, dolphins and Orcas came to these waters; they still do. The fish, plankton and other marine creatures seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of food for them. Lord Tung Lok's sailors hunted for coral in the waters and gold in the caves which abounded in Sorsogon. "Sugar gold " they called it because they could just scrape them off the walls, so thick and profuse was the gold. Hemp and abaca grew effortlessly. Sometimes the plantations had four or five harvests. The famous Manila Rope is a by=product of the abaca plantations. The "Katala" the pirate ship of Don Pedro de Freitas often came to Sorsogon for rest and recreation.

"It is said that the most beautiful women in the Philippine Islands, no, in Asia, are to be found in Bicol province. That strange amalgam of Spanish, Malay, Chinese,and Polynesian make for unique looking women," he informed his men.

Fray Paco loved journeys to Sorsogon. He could crack Pili nuts till his stomach almost burst. Pili nuts are considered the non plus ultra of nuts. They are rich in vitamin B,C, D, E, potassium, magnesium and strontium. They grow exclusively in Bicol province which means that onlythe rich can afford to eat them. Poor farmers in Sorsogon have endeavored to plant them, often with disastrous results because their upkeep is costly.

Lucrezia's father Edmund was born in Sorsogon of wealthy landowning Spanish - Chinese and Malay on his paternal side of the family. German - Spanish Jews made up his maternal side.

Some Photos of the Philippines

2009-11-07T23:49:00.000-08:00

MOUNT MAYON - The Perfect coned volcano

It is in the Bicol Province of Albay. On the graceful skirts of Mayon Volcano you can see the green tropical forests. It is by no means a benign volcano. Throughout the centuries, including the 20th, it has erupted ferociously.

The warlord Tung Lok, pays 10,000 pounds gold sterling for the priceless cockatoo Fray Paco, then called Katala ( sold to him by the infamous pirate Don Pedro de Freitas; Tung Lok encounters a volcanic eruption of Mayon Volcano while on a buying expedition with his 70 Chinese junks.

At one time, my father's clan used to have a 30 thousand acre hemp and abaca plantation at the foot of Mayon. I remember holding my breath at the beauty of it as a young girl.

TAAL LAKE ON TAAL VOLCANO

We used to picnic by its shores and swim in the warm waters of the lake.Fray Paco would fly and glide high above us, showering us with his choicest quotations from his mangled Horace and Marcus Aurelius.

The lake is quite close to Manila, an hour's drive so we often went there. Few tourists of any nationality visited the Philippines then, except movie stars, politicians and billionaires like the Rockefellers.

Now, thankfully the mass of Filipinos have discovered their own treasures after having spent time abroad as domestics, workers, professionals and just plain RICH Filipinos.

They have come to realize that in many ways the Philippines is a far more beautiful country than many of the countries they visited and or worked in. Beyond a doubt. EVVIVA!!!

EL NIDO RESORT - MINDORO ISLAND

Mindoro is an immense island with superb international airports for the boring, thieving and thuggish Billionaires who often park their private jets in their own hangers while they party with the cookies/chicks of the moment.

After the wonders of Mindoro; Nice, Monte Carlo and Portofino leaves me frigid. But its Location, location, location, as they say.

Now the European, American and Arab billionaires with more money than taste are staying closer to home. Chinese billionaires are now coming to El Nido - which means the nest in Spanish.

When Fray Paco is kidnapped by a Colonel in General Yamashita's army during the Liberation of the Philippines in 1945/1946, he is taken aboard the destroyer Sakura Maru and the Japanese replenish their supplies in Mindoro.

This forms part of the hundred island chain of Pangasinan Province, in Northern Luzon. The Ortigas-Nieto clan nearly 100 plus souls in more than 15 large praus/bancas sought refuge deep in the jungles of these islands, Punta, Hala=Hala,Kawayan, Puti to name just a few. This was in order to escape the Japanese onslaught. Everyone, Filipino and foreign who crossed their paths ended up slaughtered and mutilated to pieces by their bayonets, hand grenades and firing squads.

In addition to Fray Paco, the clan carried Teddy bears, dolls, pet hens, champion fighting cocks, cats and dogs. The Cosmic Forces and the right hand of God must have protected them. All of the two-legged and four=legged creatures remained undiscovered and unharmed. God is great. The Philippines is great. MABUHAY!!!

THE IFUGAO RICE TERRACES

Built a thousand years ago by the warlike and imaginative engineers the Ifugao tribe of Benguet province in Northern Luzon. It is one of the wonders of the Modern world. The Ifugao and Igorot tribes still use it today. I have flown over them and they fill you with as much awe as Mayon Volcano, the chocoate hills of Bohol, Mount Apo in Davao Mindanao ( southern Philippines) or even the pyramids at Gizeh.

The Ortigas-Nieto clan had mountaintop villas and homes in Baguio City. After the Americans took the Philippines all the names in Baguio bore Anglo/American ones. Don Cesar built a retreat made of stone and narra wood in the foothills of the Cordillera mountain range. This was later inherited by Dona Esperanza who made important additions such as a verandah and 10 more bedrooms en suite.

Almost all the members of the clan played golf at the exclusive Camp John Hay. All the glitter litter,snobs, the marriageables, sauntered and showed of their beauty at Burnham Park in the late afternoon just before the extravagant meriendas.Philippine pine trees are a sight to behold. They do not have the umbrella, mushroom cloud look of the Mediterranean pines, instead they are majestic and almost triangular. Burnham Park was a forest of these pines.

Lucrezia and her cousins used to sit in the verandah and count the eagles and hawks circling below in the valley. Then dozens whirled and glided before them. Now, the Philippine eagle, a majestic golden raptor is almost extinct.

This was a trying time for Fray Paco. Eagles, hawks and falcons remain to this day, the natural enemies of cockatoos. He would perch on Lucrezia's shoulders and tremble or growl.

Book 1: Chapter 2

2009-05-31T02:48:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER TWO

The Pirate – Don Pedro de Freitas
The Merchant - Don Pedro da Silva

Don Pedro de Freitas was one of the most colorful pirates to sail the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. He was the captain of the pirate ship “Marte” (named after the Roman god of war in Latin) which was endowed with 80 cannons and 60 cutthroats.

The Congress of Vienna, convened after the Napoleonic Wars by its victors – England, Austria, Germany, and Russia - contained a Declaration, which called for the abolition of slavery in 1815. This particularly referred to the traffickers in ebony as the slave traders in Africa were known. Over a hundred years would pass before the English cruisers would eventually stamp out the slave trade in Africa.

Don Pedro had lost an eye in one of his skirmishes with the English. A piece of shrapnel had shattered his eyeball. Don Pedro had stuffed a wad of rags into his left eye and continued fighting. He was 25 years old and decided on the spot to abandon Africa and the slave trade. It was too risky and the rewards were piddling nowadays.

“Free all the slaves. Throw them into the sea. That will slow the English ship for they will have to pick up the survivors. That’s the price they're going to pay for their sanctimony. Scravos – slaves, If you can swim, this is your lucky day. If you can’t, then it will be a good day for the sharks.”

Don Pedro pointed his ship towards the Orient - Indonesia, Malaysia, Borneo and the Straits of Malacca.

"It is too tedious to deal with the Black Rulers, The Jewish and Arab traders, the English holier than thou officials, reveling in their hypocrisy," Don Pedro concluded.

He had given up on the idea of raiding in the Malacca Straights since the war was declared on Aceh.

"I don’t want to tangle with the Dutch gunboats. They will not show us any of their vaunted Christian mercy, if we, or anyone else, dare get in their way. Can’t say as I blame them because we would do exactly the same. The jungle is right here within us not in those heavenly islands rich in the Creator’s every bounty."

"Men! Listen to me. In the Orient, the pickings are fabulous – opium, gold, pearls, mother-of-pearl, spices, (black pepper, nutmeg, curcuma, cinnamon and cloves), Chinese porcelain, bronzes, silks, Chinese antiquities, and exotic flora and fauna, and last but not least, we have vast numbers of Chinese coolies and Hindu harijans - untouchables, to capture and sell to traders in North and South America."

"Yes Capitan we are yours for as long as you want us." his motley crew of rascals replied, dazed by his speech.

Don Pedro had two cardinal rules.

"We are going to avoid contests with the Dutch gunships … even though their holdings were nationalized by Batavia … they still think they rule this part of the world. Don’t forget, they are very efficient in steaming from the Moluccas Islands, Aceh, Sumatra, Java and any of their important posts in the 10.000 island group of Indonesia."

Don Pedro never took prisoners. “This is my second and strictest rule. It will be enforced with no exceptions. The Rules of Survival dictate that we must not allow any witnesses, men, women or children who can identify any of us!"

His distinctive eye patch was used only when Don Pedro was in his role as Captain of the pirate ship Marte and in the act of boarding the vessel he had just seized.

When he played at being the refined merchant, Don Pedro da Silva, he removed his black eye patch and used a glass eye. This disguise was necessary because he had discovered that stealth produced more results than blatant confrontation. As a wealthy merchant, Don Pedro, was privy to valuable information. Such as "A Dutch ship laden with gold, spices and heating and cooking oil is headed towards the Straits of Malacca" or "remnants of what was once the multi-tentacled Dutch East India Company are buying talking birds and other valuables from the island of Nias."

"Senhor de Silva. I want the most beautiful white talking bird to best anyone’s cockatoo, here in Shanghai. Money is no object. There will be no Kiao – Kiao (palavering) on this." So said Lord Tung Lok, the soft-spoken head of the most powerful and feared Friendship Society in Southern China.

They called themselves "The House Of The Golden Dragons", but everyone, foreign devil and Chinese knew they were Secret Societies and not to be trifled with.

When Don Pedro first heard of Lord Tung-Lok's interest, he told his first mate, "It’s not the idea of procuring a Catala (as the cockatoos were known in Portugal and Spain) for the Potentate Tung Lok which seduces me, it’s doing business with Tung Lok. First, a Catala, then, who knows? Opium? Laborers? Women? Gold?"

The island of Nias had bewitched Don Pedro de Freitas. "Thick rain forests border the entire island. God overindulged Himself with every plant, flower, sea and land creature He could think of in his millisecond of creation," he had explained to his crew.

He had used gold sovereigns to ingratiate himself into the metallic heart of Hans Gevers. Charm alone would never work on a Dutch bureaucrat. They are dull and have no imagination, correctly surmised Don Pedro.

Gevers was in charge of the Sumatran archipelago on behalf of the Dutch East India Military Government. General Van Swieten ruled and governed the entire archipelago.

“Guerilla warfare continues in the hinterlands of Aceh. The Dutch Minister of War Weizel has declared open war on Aceh,” he explained to Rienzi his first mate.

‘Why don’t we join them and take part in the plunder?” asked Rienzi.

Don Pedro paled. We are worse than the beasts and creatures that inhabit the jungles of the earth, he thought. Then without showing the least sign of irritation he continued what he considered a hopeless enterprise, that of teaching and educating his men.

"The Dutch will never accept assistance from the Portuguese. Those racist bastards consider us a rung above the Malays and the Hindus. Prince Henry the Navigator clad in soft leather boots and gold embroidered jackets sailed around Africa and Asia before Columbus. At the same time the Dutch and Germans used wooden clogs to walk over their slime and feces. The Hindus had a civilization thousands of years before the Greeks and the Romans did. Borobudur in Java is spellbinding.

“I ask you what have the Dutch built? Windmills? Let’s go back to the subject at hand. Their war in Aceh has gone terribly wrong. The Dutch only control the coastal cities and they are able to accomplish that only with firepower and never-ending slaughter,” said Don Pedro.

The unspoken message was clear to Rienzi. He would pass the word. They would get little or nothing by attacking the island of Aceh. It was simpler for Don Pedro, to come to the island of Nias accompanied by the "ZEE" one of the armed merchant ships of the Dutch East India Military Company, than it was to blast his way in.

“I fully intend to negotiate with the Naya. No matter what happens, I must obtain the cockatoo for Lord Tung Lok,” he had decided and nothing would make him change his mind.

The Naya were headhunters. They inhabited Nias since the beginning of time. Their shaman Kungku and his people remembered the fires, which burnt for days and nights in Aceh. The stench of burnt flesh penetrated their nostrils. Kungku had ordered every man woman and child to wear thick garlands of orange frangipanis around their necks in order to prevent nausea and vomiting. This had taken place not so long ago.

What had brought on this calamity? Dr. Snouk Hurgronje, from the University of Leiden was the leading Dutch scholar on Islamic culture. He wrote a series of essays for the Crown and for the Dutch Armed Forces.

“The power of the Sultan is marginal. The hereditary Chiefs, the Uwe Balang enjoy more influence and prestige, ergo credibility amongst the people of Aceh. They can be bought with money, opium, alcohol and firearms. We can train them as our administrators. The religious leaders and members of the Ulema – the religious council are not to be trusted. They will never cooperate with us and must all be destroyed with no time to waste.”

So the Dutch soldiers waited until the men and women entered the Mosques on Friday morning. The Imams and muezzins died first, their heads blown off. No one was spared. The Madrassah schools where boys and girls studied the holy Qur”an turned into rivers of blood.

The corpses of the dead were piled into massive wooden funeral pyres and burned in the open. That was the smell of the dead, which so terrified the Shaman Kungku and his Naya people.

In the rain forests, the beasts and creatures felt themselves under attack for countless suns and dark nights. All those who could take wing did so. Birds like eagles, hawks, falcons, cockatoos and owls flew over Aceh. Even their superbly designed eyes could not penetrate the acrid and putrid smoke. Some died from breathing the foul stuff.

A breathtakingly lovely cockatoo flew high, high up. He decided it was safer to investigate in the daytime; He could keep both eyes out for his fellow predators in the sky. He sighted circles of fire and heard loud noises and fearful cries. I must fly away. This is dangerous. I am going back to my island now.

He glided smoothly for a few seconds and then swiftly ascended as high as his lungs and wings would take him. He continued until he espied the familiar outlines of his favorite trees in the rainforest of Nias.

De Freitas recalled how the great explorer Ferdinand Magellan, a fellow Portuguese, had died at the hands of fierce natives in the Philippines, in the 16th century. The nationalist Chief Lapu-Lapu had not taken to the idea of belonging to the great white King in a far-away land called Spain. An argument ensued. Magellan was hotheaded, Lapu-Lapu more so. He unsheathed his Parang and lopped off the naval explorer’s head.

"The natives were not headhunters as such, just independent and brave warriors. Professional soldiers, one might say. Magellan was the first man to circumnavigate the globe, but aside from the glory which was of no use to him since he was dead, the fame and fortune was reaped by his lieutenants," he mused, suppressing a grin.

Gevers speaks some Naya, best to let him have his moment of glory and negotiate with the headhunters, that will afford me the opportunity of observing them, thought de Freitas. He and Major Hans Gevers were being rowed ashore on a large launch from the Dutch merchant vessel "ZEE".

The smell of burning flesh reached their nostrils. "Fucking Barbarians and Brutes," pronounced Gevers gagging softly.

"Stay calm. I have always found savages in Africa endowed with a certain dignity and reserve. In South East Asia, they surely aren’t any different. They are roasting a wild boar or some such thing in our honor, not a human being." Don Pedro said in dulcet tones.

"I am aware of that, Sir," replied Gevers quickly, "I didn’t mean to sound squeamish.”

He launched into a detailed description of the Naya’s deadly proclivities. "Headhunters slash off the heads of their enemies defeated in battle or kidnapped. The heads undergo a highly technical and secret process which we Europeans are totally in the dark about: believe me, I personally would not care to know. The Naya, are Masters at shrinking the heads to a circumference of 10 inches. The headless bodies of their victims are then sacrificed to their God (Belisanko)."

Don Pedro said nothing. The imperious demeanor of a man who reeked of authority distracted him. Ah! That was bound to be the sorcerer and shaman called Kungku. The Chief of the Naya, Tamango looked every bit a leader, but one could tell he deferred to the Shaman. There was a distinctive resemblance between them, as well as with the young brave, Kananga, who would have made a perfect Priapus in any Roman bacchanalia.

I’ve got it! Kungku, the shaman is the Grandfather, Tamanga the father, and Kananga, the son. Nepotism is alive and thriving even amongst the Naya headhunters.

Easter Sunday at Santol Mansion

2009-04-11T22:38:00.000-07:00

Dona Esperanza sat spellbound in her bamboo chaise lounge in the verandah. At this hour of the morning she was alone. Soon the frisson of an Easter dawn would overwhelm her and she would give thanks for another Holy Week passed in reflection, meditation and harmony.

“Everything took place without incident (no blood shed by terrorist guerillas) my family has its tensions and frustrations but not one of them is a drunk, an addict, a cruel parent and employer, and a mean-hearted individual. They all work hard to fulfill their duties. The children enjoy school and are all top-notch students. I thank you for my blessings, O Jesus,” she humbly prayed.

“Are we disturbing you Mama?” asked Matt.

“Would you prefer to be alone with your thoughts?”

“This is a welcome surprise,” she thought. “Oh no, hijos, I am happy that all of us had the same thoughts. Dahlia and Allegra had also joined her eldest son and daughter.

“It was a truly sacred Holy Week. A Joyous Easter Mama.”

“I am sorry I was irritated at the beginning of Lent at the thought of spending these holy days in the unbearable heat of Manila.”

“It came to us that perhaps we are all overly spoiled. Some reminders of crude realities have surely made us better human beings.”

“Our children will grow up to be more enlightened and spiritual beings.”

“They, like you and to a lesser degree us, because of you, will be open and understanding towards all religious beliefs, no matter how weird and outlandish they might appear.”

“So long as they are not Satanic and do not involve possession of one’s body and ultimately one’s soul, infestation of one’s house and a Faustian bargain," stated Dona Esperanza.

“I think I speak for all of us, that these last three days of the Passion and Agony of Christ have cleansed us. We feel enriched. We feel kind towards our fellow beings, especially those we do not like,“ Matt told his mother and sisters.

“A Joyous Easter Mama,” they reiterated bending down to hug and kiss her. She clasped each one to her bosom. Dona Esperanza had cried in anguish and in pain over the tragedies that had befallen her clan,

“So far, I have not had to live through the indescribable agony of losing one of my children. I am thankful to God for that. Almost all of the people I know; friends, acquaintances and relatives have all experienced the deaths of one or more children.”

A chorus of “Happy Easter”, from her three sons-in law; handsome and serious Edmund, Camilla’s husband and father of Lucrezia, greeted Dona Esperanza. Armand, debonair, devil-may care and an inveterate gambler married to Allegra her youngest daughter. They had produced Freckie, Zita and Henry, still a toddler. Esperanza’s favorite son–in-law was Rudolf (Rudy) Dahlia’s spouse and father of six-year-old Lola. Rudy was a source of strength, the kind Jesus and the Buddha would have chosen as a disciple. The Japanese had beaten him senseless. They tortured him. His spirit had never been crushed. Rudy remained his good-natured, patient and self-effacing self.

“A queridos, where are you all off to at this hour of the morning? It’s quarter past five in the morning, “ she exclaimed laughing in between their kisses on her cheeks. It was a ritual between them. She always knew where they were headed. They enjoyed telling her.

“By the time I shower, dress and breakfast with Dahlia, it will be nearly six o’clock. It takes thirty minutes to get there. I shall be just in time for the golf game which starts at seven. I am going to do a few rounds with my Roxas-Acuna cousins at Wack Wack Country Club," replied Rudy.

“I have an unfinished poker game with Harry and Joe Levine,” said Armand.

Esperanza smiled and said nothing. Joe ran the International Casino for the Mafia or so went the rumors. Joe was one of her most trusted friends since the thirties.

“He won’t let Armand lose his head today of all days. If I know Joe, he’ll see that Armand shows up for the Easter Egg Hunt at 9:00 o’clock this morning.”

“My Beloved Mother died on Easter Sunday of 1944. That’s her anniversary. I shall visit her grave as long as I can. Tong the gardener has made a huge bouquet of waling-waling “(the spectacular Vanda Sanderiana Orchids native only to the Philippines.)

“Queridos, Hasta pronto. Be on the lookout for drunk drivers or for those with hangovers. Easter for some is a time of alcohol, sex and drugs,” she told them, mindful that friends and acquaintances had been injured, maimed and killed because they had been involved in smash-ups with those under the influence or they themselves had been more than a little stoned at the time of their crack-ups.

“In a few hours, we are going to be invaded by 25 children between the ages of 7 and 12, at the very least. Who knows just how many tortured and moody teen-agers will come? Muttered Matthias.

“Mon Dieu, the exclusive schools these children attend including ours, won’t accept more than 15 to a class. That gives you an idea of our bravery,” quipped Allegra.

“Thank God, Easter, comes but once a year. I can barely survive Lent as it is now, replied Camilla the eldest of his sisters and mother to Lucrezia.

“I am always terrified by what choice jewels may issue forth from Fray Paco’s mouth if one of these tweety children provokes him,” said Dahlia, the middle sister and mother of Lola, who was in the province of Laguna spending Holy Week with her paternal grand-mother, Dona Pilar.

“Isn’t Lola coming back this morning for the Easter egg hunt and our song fest?’ asked Allegra, the youngest sister, Her children were Ziti, Freckie and Henry.

“We have just seen Edmund leave for his Easter salute to Dona Zorayda. He has made it clear he prefers to be alone. He says it’s like a break for him,” said Camilla, her voice tinged with sadness.

“His mother Zorayda died a tragic death of tuberculosis on Easter Sunday of 1944. What a beautiful and unusual woman she was. All that unimaginable and incalculable wealth she and her older sister Keramen had in Argentina, Chile and Bolivia. She was so natural and accepting of her great beauty. It reminds me of Lucrezia's what-of-it attitude. Beauty can sometimes be terrifying,” declared Dona Esperanza.

“ I remember her at a ball in the Manila Hotel just a few days before Pearl Harbor was bombed on the 7th of December. She wore a black lace gown under scarlet silk. Few knew that the many buttons on the back of her gown encased in mother –of pearl were all three carat rubies from Burma,” Camilla recalled.

“The Japanese beheaded two of her sons, Edmund’s brothers, Mikel and Willie and then they sent her the photographs. How considerate,” uttered Matthias with sarcasm.

“Fernando, her fifth son, was shot dead in Baguio. It was a gold mine he was protecting for the Buch-von Remo family and for their American partners, the Guggenheims I think. What futile romanticism. I would not die to protect any of my family’s assets,” declared Matt.

His statement startledd his sisters. “Oh don’t be alarmed. I never said I would not die protecting my family, I used the word assets,” he pointed out.

Chocolate eggs from Switzerland had been ordered from the Swiss Trading Company – Marsman and Sons. They only sold Lindt, the best milk chocolates on the market. The eggs varied in size from three inches to 12 inches in length. They contained lovely mementos. Gold pendants in the shape of all the letters of the alphabet for the girls. The boys received carved signet rings with their family’s coat of arms.

“We researched the coats of arms thoroughly. We are all related by blood, marriage, money, business and financial alliances, and of course, adultery,” pointed out Allegra keeping a straight face.

Mother, son and daughters cracked up with laughter.

“There might be some incest it that boiling cauldron you have just so flippantly referred to Allegra.

Her son and daughters looked on in horror. She hastened to clarify.

“It is not a father committing unspeakable acts with his daughter. I think it deals more with some of our men and women indulging in sex with their husbands’ brothers or for that matter with their sisters’ husbands. It is the order of the day in our oligarchy for first cousins to marry. The elders in the family discourage such matches. The Church grants dispensations for matrimony between first cousins after a through investigation of the case. The point is are the young people besotted with each other really first cousins? We have no tests as yet to determine if instead they may be half brother and half sister.”

“How did you get to know so much Mama? “

“Life, my darlings. Just living Life. Let’s move on to a more scrumptious subject – chocolates anybody.”

“For those who preferred the so called ‘Fondente,' chocolate composed of a minimum of 75% Cacao, the plantations in the Bicol Peninsula owned by the Buch von Remos sent kilos of pure cacao to enable the Chef at Santol Mansion to bake them in the shape of cockatoos, Batman and Superman.

Amir, the young son of Ranjit Singh, one of their Chiefs of Security had been thoughtful enough to draw a map. The tropics could be deadly. In no time, insects and pesky ants would get to the chocolates and ruin everything for the children.

Ronnie Laing, an extravagant decorator, florist and artist had engaged his artists in decorating white porcelain eggs from China. They had Islamic, Hindu and Buddhist motifs. Some eggs also had Chinese symbols of good luck, good fortune and Long life. The Ortigas women had ordered gorgeous porcelain eggs hand painted and signed in Naples, which featured the Passion of Christ.

“Those are not to be placed on the ground. They are not free. Anyone who wants these masterpieces, 12 in all can go the Hospice of Saint Joseph and pay $120 dollars for them,” Esperanza had suggested.

“Filipinos, like the Spanish and the Italians are not punctual. We should have said first come first served just as Monsignor Alberti did at the Mass of Holy Saturday. They would have inundated Santol Mansion by now, instead of arriving in trickles,” observed Camilla.

The seven cousins appeared in all their finery, ready to assist and charm their guests. Lola had just joined them.

“You have no idea what you missed by going to Laguna,” declared Dolly.

“I saw the Crucifixion re-enacted. On the Plaza (town square) it scared me and I cried. Did you see one?” retorted Lola nonplussed.

"No we did not. But we went through the Agony and the Passion of Jesus as if we had been there with him,” replied Lucrezia.

“Welcome back to Santol Lola, we all missed you,” said Jaime. They closed ranks and hugged her. “Where is Fray Paco?"

“The dwarves won’t bring him out until the party is well on its way and the Egg hunt is about to begin,” said Heinzie.

“You are the most beautiful one here Lucrezia. Everyone else is pretty and nice looking. No one has the “It” but you and the Dona,” whispered Ah Wei into her ear.

“Thank you Amah, but please don’t remind me all the time because I might become conceited and make even more girls envious and hostile towards me,” she implored AhWei. Also, I feel that my essence is violated every time physical beauty is mentioned, she mused.

“Child is right. She is lovely to look at like a swan and she is not yet eleven. She is naturally elegant and does not have any of the awkwardness of girls her age. I had no idea Lucrezia knew about the anger her beauty and her smarts aroused in other girls. In Shanghai bordello before I ran away to the Temple of the White Mandarins (the Jesuit Cathedral of Saint Ignatius Loyola) we all hated the most beautiful girl even if she was kind to all of us,” remembered Ah Wei with a shiver.

Lucrezia’s dress was a peach colored silk organza, with tiny hand-embroidered rosebuds in cyclamen. That is magical color for Chinese. "May it protect her from harm today. I have bad feeling about this egg hunt, I don’t know why,” said the Amah quietly.

In the torrid heat of the driest part of the summer, it was not elegant to show one’s feet unless one was at the beach or at the country club. All seven cousins between the ages of seven to twelve wore hand woven linen socks, which matched their ensemble. Lucrezia loved her cyclamen colored ballerinas handcrafted by a cobbler in Barcelona. The boys had Italian moccasins made by Zingone in Rome.

It seemed that all their cousins, friends and acquaintances arrived within minutes of each other. Their grandmother and their parents had barely enough time to exchange pleasantries before the children headed their way.

“Well, look at you. You are a tall adolescent but you still have your Amah hovering over you like a shadow,” said Kiya de la Rama artlessly.

In 1907, after a struggle, which took seven years, Don Cesar, Lucrezia's great-great uncle had at last taken over every piece of property, company, enterprise, and precious object that had once belonged to the De la Rama family. He had destroyed them.

Kiya was a direct descendant of that family. She was a great- granddaughter of Don Jesus Maria de la Rama, Don Cesar’s most implacable foe. Her father was a dashing Castilian, one of Manila society’s pedigreed poor. Her mother Mari-Cruz, who was as plain and dowdy as she was rich could set her sights on the comely de la Rama. Her father, Charles Darnay owned 670 and counting pawnshops throughout the archipelago.

“You are just being catty because you are nearly fourteen and I am already an inch taller than you. I want Amah close to me. She’s clever. And oh! I almost forgot Happy Easter and all that stuff,” she answered leading Kiya to her cousin Raff (Rafael,) who was stunning, and closer to her own age.

Kiya was beauteous; wavy ebony hair, fair skin and jet black eyes. She was endowed with an acid tongue and coltish demeanor. Boys fled her company as soon as they could. Raff had promised Lucrezia he would spend at least 15 minutes chatting her up. He had a secret crush on Lucrezia and did not know how to refuse any of her requests.

What neither of them knew was that Kiya liked Raff and was determined to stick to him like glue. Raff sensed it. Boys and Girls are fey about the effect of their pheromones on members of the opposite sex.

Then Fray Paco made his grand entrance. He flew sharply and low and yelled "The Eastah egg hunt will now begin!”

“Phew, saved by Fray Paco,” thought Raff.

His attendants Eneas and Achilles kept a sharp eye out for hawks, his natural enemies. The youngsters scampered, their parents strode, and their elders walked while chatting amongst themselves.

Lucrezia found herself surrounded by Raff and Harry, “They’re cute but way too old for me.”

Heinzie, Jaime, Charlie, Dolly and Lola followed closely behind them. Freckie had joined Kiya and was talking up a storm.

“Ooh, here’s an egg shaped box,” squealed Lola.

“I found one too," repeated Dolly.

“Here’s another box.”

“And another,”

“And yet another.”

Hurrah! I found one, right behind the trunk of the avocado tree,” cried out Lucrezia.

Raff and Harry located their boxes. They opened them, slowly peeled off the silver paper covering the chocolate eggs. "Hey everybody, there’s a gift inside. Pay attention as to how you open them. All right? They espied the signet rings.” Wow! It’s a gas,” they exclaimed in delight.

“If you find a gold pendant inside a chocolate egg and you are a boy, please exchange it with the girl who has the signet ring instead. No one will be left without a gift. We have more of them for any eventuality,” Uncle Matt reminded them.

“Where arrr me gifts? roared Fray Paco.

“You get one of each mi amor,” Dona Esperanza informed him.

“Si, Si, Hai Hai, Ja, Ja, Yes, Yes,” he cried out in childish enthusiasm.

“Oh shut up, you silly old bird. Why does he merit two? He isn’t even a human being,” yelled Freckie.

“Yeah, he’s right,” agreed his friends Eddie and Jackie.

Fray Paco, a raptor was sharpening his talons. “I earned me gifts churl.”

The high-ranking members of the Ortigas Nieto clan froze. Since 1907, during the Night of the Long Winds) the typhoon) no one had ever dared disrespect their wise, savvy and smart-ass cockatoo. Who was this snotty nosed kid, a hooligan in the making, to challenge their tradition to one so deserving of their love.

It was Dona Esperanza who took the thirteen-year-old challenger by the horns.
‘Freckie this is neither the time nor the place to act like the spoiled, thoughtless kid you really are. Fray Paco merits those gifts and more. End of discussion.”

Allegro and Armand approached Freckie. “Find a rock and crawl underneath it son,” suggested his father with disappointment. Try not to commit any more gaffes like this one or you might just be grounded for the polo matches.”

Freckie was due to play his first polo match later that afternoon at the Polo Club. That did it for Freckie. He would eat crow for a few minutes of glory on the field playing with his cousins.

He ran over to Dona Esperanza, took her hand and cried, ”I don’t know what came over me. I love Fray Paco very much. I apologize for my behavior.”

She gazed long and hard into her grandson’s stricken face. “Your apology is accepted dear.

“Fray Paco could not have said it any better with his “I earned me gifts, churl,” she reflected.

The Japanese occupiers had used the ground floor of Santol Mansion as an area where their samurais could practice their plays and thrusts with the Katana. Dona Esperanza had removed every single tile, knocked down its wooden floors and had turned it into a skating rink. Her architects had designed it in such away that narra floor boards could be placed over it, converting it into a dance floor. A center stage was set back against the wall, where a twenty piece orchestra played. Sound engineers from their radio and television station had set up a state of the art PA system. Young and old loved to dance; it’s in their genes,

“The Polynesians gave us not only some of the words of their language, they gave us grace, timing and rhythm,” affirmed Dona Esperanza.

“We are all like flowers, Gran,” stated Lucrezia.

“The dance and song fest is about to begin,” announced Matt over the PA system, which had been placed in strategic places in the vast gardens.

Li Mei and Chung li, granddaughters and grandson respectively of the man Dona Esperanza and her clan affectionately and respectfully addressed as Uncle Wak Nam, begun the short program. They sang a duet "Mek Wei – Mek Wei” in Hakka. Everyone was familiar with the rousing music. Pop singers Frankie Laine and Tony Bennett had just recorded it in English. The song was known as” Rose, Rose I love you.” It had skyrocketed to the top of the charts on radio and in music stores in Asia, Australia, The Commonwealth, Canada and the United States.

“Rose, Rose I love you,
With an aching heart.
Glory is your future,
Now we have to part. Standing on a rickshaw as my steamer pulls away.
Flower of Malaya I cannot stay.

All my life I shall remember,
Loads of scented roses and you in my arms,
Bright powdery beaches and swaying palms
Perfumed peonies in your tresses.
Your beautiful form in your cheongsam dress.

Rose, Rose I love you.
My tears are flowing still.
East is east and West is west.
Our worlds can never be.

Flower of Malaya, I cannot stay.

The Wak Nam children did something unprecedented for that time and place. They invited the seven Ortigas children - Lucrezia, Dolly, Lola, Heinzie, Jaime, Zita and Freckie to join them on stage with their respective Hakka Amahs. Li Mei and Chung Li also had Hakka Amahs.

The Amahs knew and loved one another. It was as if they shared a big secret that only they were privy to. Dona Esperanza and Don Wak Nam knew about their tragic fate in China, since they had been the prime movers of their rescue.

Thus, Chinese and Filipino-European children and their Hakka Amahs sang Mek Wei O Mek Wei in Chinese and then in English.

“I am going to feature you all on our family’s radio station. You should learn more songs in Chinese and English,” said Matt excitedly through the applause.

All seventeen participants took countless bows.

Ayesha and Chandra Singh danced a stylized Bharata Natyam. The girls were sisters and sat behind Lucrezia in her classroom at the College of the Holy Spirit. Bharata Natyam is a form of Hindu mystical dance portraying the Lord Shiva dancing around the planets created by Brahma. The Mudras (hand movements) took years to master.

Jaime, one of the cousins sang “Francisco Alegre Ole” a cappella. The song was about a tragic torero, Francisco Alegre, who is stabbed by a rival just before he is to enter the Plaza de Toros in Seville. He must face the fiercest toro( bull ) of them all. He emerges the victor abd collapses just as he kneels before the statue of La Virgen de la Macarena- The Virgin of Macarena who is a black virgin. Jaime had a crystalline voice and was a marvelous actor. He garnered much applause.

Michi, one of the members of the clan appeared in a costly kimono to sing Sakura, a sad, sublime Japanese song full of hope. Michi was a stately 14, year old, her face and demeanor showed the near perfection of east meeting west in coitus

No one in the clan discussed it openly, but Michi’s mother Cornelia, nicknamed Corni since childhood had had a passionate love affair with one of the most attractive Japanese officers serving in the Kempeitai (the Secret Service).

Given Cornelia’s loveliness; long, flowing light brown hair, caramel skinned and emerald eyed, the Officer asked her parents for permission to “court” her. It was a form of refined sexual coercion. It was nothing but rape.

Michi’s father had a family in Japan with whom he was reunited at the end of hostilities. He continued however to look after her every need. Anything that was in the form of money was politely sent back by her parents. So, he sent her the finest baroque pearls as well as Mikimoto pearls. He sent exquisite porcelain, obis and sets of jade and lacquered combs.

Twice a year, Corni and Mitchi for Mitchiko traveled to Tokyo as guests of the former Colonel, now a nobleman in the entourage of Lady Chichibu, sister in-law of the Emperor Hirohito. Lord Chichibu was his brother and was the brain behind the Japanese war machine.

Ivan was a prodigy on the violin. At ten, he offered them Antonin Dvorak’s Humoresque. He was the natural son of Armand, Allegra’s husband. He had conducted an affair with a White Russian hostess who worked in one of Manila’s most famous nightclubs, They had all understood that Armand, though loving Allegra deeply had a sexual attraction to and for women that exceeded prudence and good sense.

In truth Esperanza had opposed the marriage because she knew from personal experience that sex and gambling, when given free rein turned into obsessions like drugs from which one could not tear himself away. She was not present at her daughter’s lavish wedding to Armand at the Cathedral of Manila. That was the only way she could show her fears and perplexities. She attended the wedding reception, which she hosted at the Casino Espanol and not at Santol Mansion.

“I paid for all the expenses without an aye or bye. I cannot control her destiny. She must live her life. I know it will be a sorrowful one. I am tempted not to show up at the Reception but I must go through with it. I am going to hurt Allegra more than I already have. I want her to know that I love her even if I don’t like what she has done and that she can always count on me.

Dona Esperanza and Dona Apollonia were providing for Ivan’s schooling.

“I could not agree with you more Queridita, the boy is blameless. He is gifted. We must both help out. It is our duty,” opined Apollonia.

“Don’t take offense mia cara. Life will be feast or famine with Armand. I understand from my informers that he rarely sees the boy; He is no longer interested in the mother. She was just a toy to enjoy for a while. We are going to help her out financially as well. We cannot and must not give Ivan an expensive education while he lives a hand to mouth existence with his mother, “ declared Esperanza.

This Easter celebration was the occasion for Ivan to become acquainted with his half-brothers and sister as well as the rest of his cousins in a natural; setting. Esperanza hoped that the power of music and his gift for the violin which was an instrument that touched you in your deepest being would slowly sweep away any resentment.

The finale was the Tinkling, an intricate Filipino dance originating from central Luzon, where rice paddies stunned you with their green colors and the yellow morning mists over the rice paddies caused you to draw in your breath and abandon yourself to becoming enraptured.

Two long and thick pairs of bamboo poles were inserted firmly into stone or cement stands. One person on each side of the bamboo, three people in all slid and struck the poles in syncopated rhythm of One, Two, Three. It was constant and the beat increased in tempo until one could no longer see the feet fly.

It went “One” - bamboo poles struck together. Two and three - hit apart. This enabled the dancers to place their right and left feet inside the open poles dancing in imitation of the long legged thin bird in the rice paddies – the Tinkling. They then ended up with both their feet on the other side. Now the left foot was closest to the pole so that would be the first one inside the open poles at the stroke of two, then the right foot at three. As the poles were brought together at the count of one, both feet would not be on the other side of the poles. It was a dance of dexterity and it was performed in one’s bare feet.

“Lose one beat, and an ankle would be crushed like a leaf.” Most Filipino children easily mastered it, so did the many nationalities such as Chinese, Spanish, Japanese. Etc. The important ingredient in one’s myriads of genes was Filipino blood. That gave one the syncopation and the fascinating rhythm George Gershwin wrote about.

All the children were dancing the Tinkling with the greatest of ease, without incident. The Rondalla played the song Tinkling as Dona Esperanza, her children and the rest of the clan sang the song in Tagalog or Filipino with energy and gusto. Mir, son of their Sikh Chief of Security had changed the words as befitting Easter Sunday.

“Evviva! Bravissimi! Monsignor Albert had shown up unexpectedly.

“I thought you could not make it,” shouted Esperanza amid the din.

“I did not want to raise false hopes, I instructed my driver to drive as fast as he could which is way over the speed limit. Eccomi qua. Here I am. All the Ortigas-Nieto bambini and ragazzi dancing the Tinkling as if they had been doing it all their lives. Look at them. Sono favolosi. They are fabulous. I want them for a film the Vatican is doing on the Philippines. His Holiness is going to love this dance.”

“Someday, when I become a Minister of the Roman Curia, I am aiming for Treasury or Finance, if God and the fates allow, I shall do everything in my power to sponsor poor boys and girls to come to Italy to study. They can tour during the summer months and sing and dance as only they can,” he mused.

“Buona Pasqua a tutti. A good Easter to all,” exclaimed the Apostolic Nuncio as the merriment and gaiety continued.

Midnight Mass (Easter Saturday)

2009-04-10T22:31:00.000-07:00

Christ of St. John of the Cross
Salvador Dali (1951)

Midnight Mass on the Eve of Easter marked the first time since the horrific War in the Pacific had ended in 1946, that an Easter Mass was being celebrated publicly in the evening,

The Japanese had taken particular delight in the mistreatment and maltreatment of Filipinos during the war. Manila was the Pearl of the Orient, the capital of the American Empire. Under MANIFEST DESTINY, Presidents McKinley and his successor Theodore Roosevelt had set their sights on the Philippines, then a colony of a ruined and self-destructive Spain.

The principal reason was to thwart Japan’s expansionism and hegemony in the Pacific. America badly needed a colony in a strategic area of the Pacific. The Philippines was perfect. A population of twenty million souls with a high rate of literacy, higher than their South. Its position in the Malacca Straits meant that its dominion of the Straits constituted an important first step towards the American Empire. Being clever men, the American Rulers did not fail to see the vast natural resources. Sugar, gold, hemp, tobacco, cotton, pearls and copper. Then there was the most precious of all resources – the Filipinos themselves. All this and it was a Christian country too!!

Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan had witnessed first hand the horror of several hundred thousand corpses burnt and fried by radiation in a matter of seconds. The Japanese forces in the Philippines not only continued to fight on, they turned as brutal as they could towards the brave-hearted Filipinos who battled on in the swamps, mountains, rain forests and boondocks (boondocks) The Japanese executed 400 Filipinos for every Japanese killed by the Guerillas, They grieved but continued their struggle.

The liberation of Manila was a mass slaughter. The American forces had to take it room by room, forget house to house. Manila bore the brunt of the ugliness and inevitable Death of War.

Monsignor Enio Alberti and the Catholic Church in the Philippines as well as its most enlightened political, business and cultural leaders decided that the Celebration of Holy Saturday would be a genuine act of moving forward and looking ahead rather than turning constantly back to their irreplaceable loved ones and unspeakable anguish.

"As Manila goes so will the rest of the archipelago,” declared the Monsignor in his apostolic letter to the Bishops in the Philippine Dioceses.

In an unspoken but eloquent gesture, the people of Manila had accepted the challenge and their attendance at this High Mass in Latin was the proof.

Dona Esperanza slowly walked down the central nave if the Church of San Beda (Saint Bede) Her son and daughter-in law and then her daughters with their husbands in tow came closely behind. The Hakka Amahs held the hands of their respective "children".

Dona Esperanza had given them the choice of staying at home in their cozy beds and enjoying their well deserved sleep or coming with her, in other words no choice at all.

“Thank you, my Dona. I speak for us all. Even if we are a bit tired. We not miss this event for our Hakka people suffer and die too in Manila,” Ah Wei had replied.

“I have never seen so many people, there must be thousands inside and outside San Beda, marveled Dona Esperanza.

The thousands stretched from E. Mendiola Street where the Benedictine monks to honor Saint Bede, the learned and erudite monk, all the way to Aviles Street, had built San Beda Church in the early 17th century. The people stood before the locked gates of the Presidential Palace – Malacanang. It had been the official residence of most of the Spanish Governor- Generals who had ruled the 3,700 plus islands in the name of the King. The American military Governors had picked the splendidly white marbled Malacanang as their residence as well. They governed in the name of the President, Theodore Roosevelt, an imperial and illuminated political leader.

Giant loudspeakers placed atop trucks laden with heavily armed soldiers to enable the masses of faithful on the streets to follow the Mass inside San Beda. The leaders of the Philippine communities and its religious leaders led by the Nuncio feared terrorist attacks by the Marxist guerillas. Hence the soldiers armed to the teeth.

It was a joint military exercise. American soldiers could be spotted armed with rifles and telescopic sights standing on armored tanks.

“We are at peace? I would like to know from what and from whom. The war never ended. This is just called by another name – the Cold War. I think it is even more deadly than the one we have just survived. Helpless and Innocent people are being murdered in this War with the ugly name - Cold War. God help us,” prayed Esperanza.

“San Beda looks intimidating,” whispered Lucrezia.

“It’s scary,” agreed Zita.

Few candles were lit inside the church. The Faithful used flashlights to find their seats.

“It’s like scenes from the movies,” remarked several voices.

“Ssh. Quiet. “ Unseen voices murmured.

“I think they may be right. This is a form of spectacle,” said Esperanza softly.

“It’s a sacred spectacle Mamma,” affirmed Matthias, eldest son of Esperanza.

‘The waiting is the worst part,” stated Allegra, her youngest daughter, mother of Zita and Freckie.

‘Why did we come so early? “ Asked a perplexed Freckie.

"Cuz…Monsignor Alberti decided not to allow reserved seats for any of the VIPs."

“That would be our family and others like us,” pointed out Dolly.

“It’s first come, first served,” explained Heinzie.

Lucrezia turned her head slowly. Her pupils had by now adjusted themselves to the blackness, but she had difficulty making out the outlines of the altar of gold facing her. The gold glistened.

“Ahhh, that will guide me,” observed Lucrezia.

The Blessed Sacrament – the golden chalice holding the sacred host, which symbolically was both the body and blood of Jesus, was not exposed. There was a larger and more opulent chalice on the altar, but it was empty. The fragments of light striking it from the dome reminded the faithful it must be so.”

Multitudes terrorized her. “Since the ambush in the blue and green hills of Montalban, floods of people make me feel faint. It seems as if elephants are sitting on my chest. If I keep on thinking about it, I shall surely pass out. I must not and I won’t,” resolved Lucrezia.

She turned towards Ah Wei and clutched her hand. “Terrible and sad visions are appearing before my eyes. Why don’t we recite the sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary? (It dealt with the Passion and agony of Christ.)

“Child, you always forget. I pray in Hakka,”Ah Wei reminds her softly. “Bad memories must never crush you. You are never alone.”

Lucrezia sighed deeply. The darkness, the tumult, the roar of the masses of faithful praying sends icicles through her arms, chest and legs.

“Dear Jesus. Dear Guardian Angel Mahasiah who forms part of the chorus of the Seraphim – the Archangel Metatron, help me please. Remove my fears “

She closed her eyes and repeated over and over until she no longer felt her heart beating in her chest and her breath was slow and faint. She let the calmness descend over her.

A symphony of small bells suddenly began ringing. Dozens of altar boys in white carried them and rang them as they walked down the three aisles of the Church towards the Altar. A lone acolyte carrying a candle preceded them and lit the way for Monsignor Alberti. He wore dazzling orange vestments and he was carrying the sacred Chalice containing the body and blood of Christ to bring it back to its rightful place. On Holy Thursday and Good Friday it is removed from the altar.

The High Mass in Latin was about to initiate.

“Porca Miseria, dirty filthy Misery,” swore the Monsignor. He had tripped over a handbag, which had been thoughtlessly left in the aisle. No one took a breath. Even those who did not understand Italian could tell from the tone of his voice that he had tripped. He recovered his composure quickly and proceeded ramrod straight to the central altar.

“Introibi ad altare Dei,” I will go into the altar of God,” he intoned in his fine baritone voice.

“Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam,” replied the faithful.

“It means To God who is the joy of my youth,” Matt translated in a loud whisper for the benefit of is nephews and nieces.

“I know, thank you Uncle Matthias,” Lucrezia whispered back.

“Show off,” said Freckie standing with his parents Allegra and Armand in the pew in front of her.

“Silence,” ordered Dona Esperanza.

The High Mass was being sung entirely in Latin, except for the sermon or homily, which Monsignor always kept short, sweet and to the point. The choir was composed of some of the country’s finest sopranos and tenors.

“It’s electrifying. I have been transported somewhere else. As long as I live, I will never forget this moment,” mused Lucrezia as tears of joy and sadness rained down her face.

Freckie continued to fidget.” He is like those children in the Middle Ages who had been bitten by the tarantula spider. Their nervous systems induced them to move jerkily. In Spain and in Italy it was known as Saint Vitus’s dance,” said Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother.

Aunt Allegra swatted him lightly with her gilded fan. Freckie went on.

“Let us all ignore him,” suggested Dona Esperanza gruffly.

“Frightful Freckie has finally done it. We are embarrassed and mortified. Gran’s right. We must pay no attention,” reasoned Lucrezia.

“Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” Glory to God in the Highest.” proclaimed Monsignor.

And then there was Light once again the Universe. San Beda’s massive chandeliers blinded the faithful with light. They lit the candles which they had all brought with them and sang with the choir,” And on earth peace to men of good will.”

The reason why Saturday of Glory or Holy Saturday was so portentous to the early Christian converts as well as to the Roman, Catholic, Apostolic and Universal Church was because Jesus’ spirit and soul on that night between midnight and dawn of Easter descended into Hell. Some call it the blackness, the Satanic Hole and the dwelling of the Luciferian forces.

Jesus’ death had released many of the condemned. They could accompany him back into the forces of Light if they had once been human. They could once again join the Legions of Angels, if they had once been cast down into the bowels of the earth.

To enjoy eternal life they had to do two things.

“Forgive me Lord for my sin of pride. I believe in you as my Savior.”

The lights suddenly appeared in Aviles and e. Mendiola Street. The huge spotlights on the trucks turned midnight into daylight. The thousands shut their eyes for a few seconds.

“The Gospel on Easter Sunday is the longest ever. It takes about twenty minutes, because it recounts the passion and the agony of Christ as well as his Resurrection. Let us steel ourselves. The faithful realize they have now entered the first few minutes of Easter Sunday,” mused Dona Esperanza.

Monsignor Alberti did not ascend the steep steps into the pulpit to read the long Gospel. He steps down from the altar, and walks among the faithful. This is the first time the people have ever witnessed this.

The long wires of the microphones are smoothed out for him, as technicians try to follow him unobtrusively. All three national radio and television networks are broadcasting this important Easter mass.

“There’s our own DZRH,” pointed out Matt proudly.

Monsignor Alberti adjusted the height of the microphones and begun reading from the longest Gospel in the Easter Mass taken from John the Apostle.

They listened so quietly even the nervous coughing and clearing of throats ceased as if by divine intervention. When he had finished, he closed the golden missal of the New Testament. He gazed at all the faces around him.

"Happy Easter, Maligayang Pasko, and Felices Pascuas,” he boomed in English, Filipino and Spanish.

His greetings had stunned the people. For a few seconds they did not know hot to react.

“Well? Are you not going to wish me a Happy Easter too?”

“Happy Easter,” replied the thousands gaily.

“Louder please. His Holiness would like to hear a special and affectionate greeting from the only Catholic country in Asia. Ready? One, Two, Three. Go!”

Wave after wave of thunderous roars swept the church and the streets. “Happy Easter Monsignor. Happy Easter Holy Father!”

He waited serenely for another 15 minutes until the thunder abated. Then he went on. “Listen to me. You all know after all the years I have spent with you in the Philippines that I am not one for long and wordy sermons. I don’t like to preach to the faithful. The Resurrection of Jesus is about renewal. It is also about change. Jesus means eternal Life, Hope and Love. Many of you here present or watching us on television or listening on the radio must remember the Easter Sunday of 1946. There was Death, Devastation and some of you felt Despair. The stench of death never left our nostrils. Until June, masses of corpses kept being recovered from the ruins and the rubble. You allowed Jesus to take hold of your hearts and souls. Suddenly you felt joy even as you sobbed in grief. Despair had fled. You pulled up your shirtsleeves and began to remove piece by piece the signs of destruction. Manila was struck so horribly; many ruins are still among us.

“The Resurrection of Jesus gave you there-assurance that you would someday be reunited withal your dead. Jesus reminds us constantly that we should always look ahead, to our future and to our children and the future of our children’s children and so on…ad infinitum. This is timeless. I am talking about a future for all, rich, middleclass and poor. Those of you who think the poor want handouts and charity are wrong. Then, I must say that you don’t really know the poor. They want to work. They want jobs where they can give value for value. I pray that you will leave this celebration of Life and Light with the Love of Jesus, therefore with the love of your fellow men in your thoughts and deeds. This is not easy to do. Not for those listening neither to me, nor for me as I speak these words. Those of you, who can kneel, please do so now. The rest of you, please remain standing. I promise you the Lord understands. I am about to bestow His Holiness, Pope Pius Xll’s papal blessing on the Philippines.”

Iit was a very moving scene. Filipinos made room for each other so that many of them could kneel on the pavement and on the streets for the blessing. The soldiers laid down their rifles. Those standing on tanks descended and knelt on the ground.

Monsignor raised his hands and then made the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son ad the Holy Spirit. Amen." He raised his arms once again.

“May Jesus bless each and every one of those present at this celebration of Easter; all of you who are devoutly listening by your radios wherever you are in the Archipelago, all who are patiently watching on television. The men and women in the prisons and in the jails. The beloved lepers in our own colony of Culion, a thousand miles from Manila. May Jesus bless those suffering from tuberculosis, malaria, dengue fever and meningitis and polio. Dear Jesus, bless the urchins peddling gum and cigarettes who have dropped out of school to help out their poor parents. May Jesus bless Tondo (a notorious slum) Remember Chinatown, where many pious Chinese work and live according to your tenets. May Jesus enlighten the misguided and duped terrorist Marxist and Communist guerillas that are devastating our country-side.

“Our own Manila has risen from the ashes, like a Holy Phoenix. The Pearl of the Orient no longer exists. But let us not forget that Manila is blessed with an incomparable moon shaped bay. The city has a potential to bea turquoise or even a sapphire. We beg Jesus to bless all the Philippine islands. May she bloom, thrive and grow. Thank you and Salamat." (the Filipino word taken from the Arab Salaam for thank you).

In a strong and beautiful voice Monsignor chanted, ”Ite Missa est.” The Mass is ended. Go in peace.

Good Friday - Part 1

2009-04-10T00:43:00.000-07:00

(note: If you haven't already done so - I recommend you read Holy Thursday first, by way of background).

Taking of Christ by Caravaggio

The flagellation of Christ by Caravaggio

Good Friday - Part 2

2009-04-10T00:42:00.000-07:00

Father Reuter had finished his Elegy on the Seven Last Words of Jesus. High up in the hills of Santa Mesa, where Santol Mansion sat like its most magnificent pendant, the dirge of the bells tolling the death of Jesus came from all directions.

Without a word, because all of them felt cleansed and purified by the cathartic and awesome effect of Father Reuter’s words, the six cousins – Zita, Freckie, Dolly, Heinzie, Jaime and Lucrezia, together with their Hakka amahs struck the bronze gong in their garden.

Rex and Ruhr, the handsome German Shepherds, sat in perplexed silence.

Uncle Matthias followed from a distance. He was lost in his thoughts. His beautiful baby girl Teresita, she of the ebony curls and skin like Snow White had died on a Good Friday.
Her death remains a mystery. She was on her mother Fautina’s breast for over a year, which meant that Teresita’s immune system would have been strong enough to fight off any infections. Matt himself put her in her crib for her nap. When it seemed to Faustina that Teresita was sleeping way beyond her time she hurried to pick her up.

‘Dio Mio. E morta! Ma perche?’’

His family and clan wept with him long into the night of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday. Something splintered inside Matthias’ heart. He could see Faustina corroding herself with grief. After the funeral they both decided to practice birth control: the church be damned. She had lost her parents, both sets of grandparents as a result of the Japanese Occupation. She could not cope with the mere thought that she might lose another child.

“We are emotional cowards when it comes to having children of our own. Our numerous nieces and nephews really are a joy to us. We give thanks for that,” he ruminated.

He saw the pygmies Lakan and Danga. They had crouched behind the broad trunk of the balete tree nearby. They began systematically banging their heads softly against the bark of the tree, enough to bleed copiously but not enough to injure themselves seriously.

Why do they always do this on Good Friday?’ asked Lucrezia.

“It is their way of mourning. We must respect that,” explained Matt.

“It is really too damp and sticky out here,” whined Freckie.

“We can go back to the house. We have all struck the gong twelve times, said Matt.

Now the flamenco cante jondo would be played on the high fidelity system. Cante Jondo are the laments of the Andalusian gypsies, the race of Cale, who came from India in the 13th century Spain under Arab domination. Christians, Muslims, and Jews lived in such harmony that it created an intellectual and philosophical flowering hardly ever seen again.

The gypsy – Gitano- zingari chants of Good Friday are called saetas. It is a word lost in time, probably of Sanskrit origin. If you want to hear music from the depths of the soul, listen to the saetas, No other instruments are ever used. Sometimes the sound of a hammer on a nail is heard,” said Matt.

Lucrezia felt herself quivering.

“There is something atavistic about the human voice chanting from its entrails to lament the Crucifixion of Jesus. Many of them have their own beliefs, which are never revealed to us. This much we know, they are attached to the Virgin Mary. Jesus, his life and his death seem to have struck them in particular.”

"Sometimes the cantaoras (female flamenco singers) chant the saetas in unison," Zita told her cousins.

Other saetas are sang by a lone cantaor,” said Dolly.”

"Our ancestors did not come from Southern Spain,” spoke up Heinzie. "We are Aragonese, German Jewish and Chinese."

“Well? Where do you think we come from?” asked Jaime, “Aragon, Catalonia and Milan."

“No one is more mixed up racially than we are,” opined Lucrezia pointing to herself, Zita and Freckie. "Let’s see, I’m Italian, Ausro-Hungarian, Jewish, Aragonese and Filipino-Chinese.”

“I am the only mestiza (half breed of three quarters European in this group. The rest of you are really mongrels,” stated dotty Dolly with disdain.

“Look children,” Uncle Matt intervened, raising his voice over the ululating voices of the cantaoras. No one in the world is pure anything except for autochthonous people like the pygmies, aborigines, the Maoris. Inca, Yaqui, Aztec and other Amerindian tribes. We Europeans drove them away at best, enslaved or exterminated them at worst.”

Then Amah Ah Wei made one of her unfailingly true statements. 'Too much marry same-same not good. Make for idiot children and very ugly children. Look at Japanese and Jews. God love them, but difficult to find beautiful people there.”

No one replied to that. And then Lucrezia asked, “What about you, Amah and all the other Amahs?

“We Hakka first, Chinese second.” Replied Ah Wei without hesitation. After a long pause, she added, "before all, we are for Jesus first. Him we love, the son of Light who dies for everybody white, yellow, black, brown, round eyes and slitty eyes. All.”

“The tahong (fresh water clams) with fresh pieces of ginger and kangkong (a leafy, green vegetable brought from Southern China by Chinese merchants centuries ago) were delicious,” said Dona Esperanza to the assembled family members.

On Good Friday, dinner was served early in Santol Mansion. In the background, the saetas’flamenco laments still played softly on the hi-fi system. The cousins ate in silence. Tonight, conversation was limited only to the necessary. Time enough tomorrow-on Saturday of Glory and on Easter Sunday to exchange impressions and opinions about Father Reuter’s impassioned oratory.

Fray Paco, perched on a small, carved ebony chest from Tonkin muttered softly, no one knew what. Matt rose from his chair, walked towards the matriarch and slid her chair quietly. Dona Esperanza knelt beside her chair on the rare narra (mahogany) floor. With a minimum of noise, everyone followed her example. The amahs and the staff entered with their padded and embroidered silk chinelas (slippers) and proceeded to kneel as well.

“Let us recite a prayer to Michael the Archangel,” murmured Dona Esperanza.

Everyone knew it well as the celebrant and the faithful recited it at the end of every mass. It is a beautiful and powerful prayer.

“Saint Michael the Archsangel,”intoned the Mater Familias.

“Arrrkangelo Mikel,” repeated Fray Paco reverently. Fray Paco’s religious mangling was drowned by the strong voices of adults and children.

“ Defend us in battle. Be our Protector against the snares of the devil. We humbly pray, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”

As soon as they were all seated. Dona Esperasnza nodded her head discreetly at Lucrezia.

“Ah! That’s my signal,” she said softly as she rose from her chair. Instinctively, she waited for all eyes to be upon her.

“Nena, va! (Child, go),” shrieked Fray Paco.

“Trust him to always hug the limelight and try to steal the show,” thought Lucrezia in amusement. She began.

“How did this prayer to Saint Michael come about? It was the late 19th century. The great Pope Leo Xlll, while attending a Mass of Thanksgiving at Saint Peter’s Basilica, saw in a vision demonic spirits gathering on the Vatican. The Pope walked out in the middle of the Mass, gray and stunned. He headed straight for his private study. His entourage followed anxiously. This prayer is the fruit of that experience. Leo Xlll himself wrote every word and instructed that it be printed and sent to all the Bishops around the world. It is the prayer that we recite at the end of every Mass. It is an ardent plea to Michael the Archangel to drive Satan away from us, back to their dark world.”

Freckie overturned a glass of water on the table.

“That’s Sevres crystal. I hope he did not do that accidentally on purpose. He is awfully good at those tricks," mused Lucrezia.

Everyone ignored the accident. Of course the glass of Sevres crystal broke into pieces, but their Grandmother was not attached to objects, which she could replace. She was more concerned with human beings.

“Are you all right Freckie?” she asked.

He was fine. He nodded respectfully towards his Grandmother.

Camilla and Edmund, Lucrezia’s parents, smiled contentedly. This explanation had been their daughter’s idea. Her Grandmother had considered it appropriate.

The cousins were collected by their respective amahs. Their parents hugged and kissed them good night. One by one, they filed past their Grandmother, took her proffered right hand, and respectfully bent and touched their foreheads towards her had. All the amahs followed suit.

“May Jesus and the Angels bless you. I wish you peaceful dreams,” Dona Esperanza told each one in a soft musical voice.

Holy Thursday in Manila

2009-04-09T05:01:00.001-07:00

Author’s Note: This chapter was taken from my upcoming fifth book, The Indomitable Contessina Lucrezia, which forms part of "The Saga of Fray Paco." I am reprinting it today as part of the "Easter Series.

Introduction: Fray Paco is a rare, white cockatoo captured by headhunters on the island of Nias, a part of the island chain of Sumatra. He was a smart-ass polyglot brighter than chimpanzees. These cockatoo are almost extinct today. I grew up with Fray Paco.

Manila, known as the Pearl of the Orient, had been crushed to dust under the brutal Japanese occupation and the relentless bombing and shelling by the Americans in order to liberate the city in 1946.

Military historians could not agree: Which city in World War II was destroyed the most - Dresden or Manila? The jury is still out even as I write this.

Filipino ingenuity, hard work and massive aid from the United States, their former colonial masters, came into play immediately after the war. Heavy investments from American, Canadian and Swiss multinationals helped as well. By 1957, Manila was once again a city bustling with panache and elegance.

Except for Intramuros, the superbly walled city fronting gorgeous Manila Bay that was built by the Spanish in the 16th, 17th and 18th century. Intramuros was no more. A chunk of every Manileño's heart was ripped out forevermore. The wounds of Intramuros ran so deep; no one could bear to enter it, not for curiosity and not to clear up the rubble. Everyone felt like violators. Sixty thousand souls had died there before they even had time to realize they were dead. No living thing wandered through. Not even rats and cockroaches.

In Holy Week of 1957, the Philippine peso was even money to the U.S. dollar. The country had the fastest growing economy in South East Asia. In the continent, it ran second only to Japan as the most prosperous. The rate of literacy was higher than Southern Europe's and its infant mortality, lower. Except for the world travelers such as Giovanni Agnelli, David Rockefeller and the Rothschilds, few upper class Europeans and Americans could afford to flit about willy-nilly around Europe and the United States the way rich Filipinos did.

Religious devotion among all classes of society was observed with passion. Nowhere was this lived with more ardor than during Holy Week.

I've adapted the story somewhat for my blog readers, and I look forward to your feedback – as this is the first story I've published from my Fray Paco Series; This chapter begins:

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1957. Manila. Santol Mansion. Dusk. Holy Thursday.

Lucrezia grimaced. "It's so sad. Why can't we go to our chalet in the mountains or our houses by the sea?" asked Lucrezia twisting a long, blonde curl.

"The Montebellos and the Madrigals are spending Holy Week in their seaside villas in Batangas," pouted cousin Zita.

"I mean, what are we rich for?" insisted a soon-to-be-eleven Lucrezia. "I never get to celebrate my birthday because it falls on Holy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Sunday."

"Child! Doña Esperanza and your parents always give you bang! bang! Birthday party after Holy Week," stated a shocked Ah Wei, Lucrezia's Chinese Hakka amah (nanny) and a convert to Catholicism.

The cousins - indomitable Lucrezia, fiery Zita, sweet Jaime, darling Heinzie, frightful Freckie and pesky Dolly - were sitting in the vast veranda which encircled Santol Mansion, drinking fresh Alfonso mango juice with their respective nannies. Santol Mansion was a 40-room, "Gone With The Wind" house belonging to the rich and powerful Doña Esperanza, matriarch of the Nieto Ortigas clan. She was also their grandmother.

"It's useless to complain," sighed Lucrezia.

"Right. No one will pay attention to us," agreed Heinzie.

"Maybe Jesus would," suggested Jaime.

"You're a dunderhead, do you know that?" replied Freckie angrily. "Jesus can't even help himself," he added for good measure.

“Freckie’s mean and twisted,” thought Lucrezia who detested her twelve-year-old cousin. Today on Holy Thursday she felt guilty about her feelings and tried to dispel them from her heart.

“Nonna locuta, causa finita,” Rome has spoken and that is the end of it, declared Dona Esperanza paraphrasing the Pope’s statement regarding mass murder, abortion, divorce and other crimes against humanity and against the Church. – “Roma locuta, causa finita”

Her high heels clicked –clicked on the rare mahogany floor, her big black baroque pearls swayed with the soft cadence of her hips. Her Pacific blue eyes swiftly swept past her six grandchildren and their tiny Hakka amahs. Freckie was so unruly the Hakka amahs refused to deal with him. Only Librada, a well-muscled Filipina yaya with the patience of a saint, could cope with him.

“Prayer books?”

The children and nannies hold up their hands to enable Dona Esperanza to see them.

“Fans?”

The nannies pried them out of their long pockets.

“Bladders empty? I’ll not have any child urinating in the courtyards or squares of the churches!”

The children nodded without saying a word.

“Our Sikh bodyguards have pure Manila water and cases of Coca Cola in our weapons carriers. I know this is the height of our hot season. I won’t tolerate any fainting due to lack of water or electrolytes. Is that clear?”

The silence was unnerving. Lucrezia (secretly her grandmother’s favorite) cleared her throat. “I think we understand everything, Gran Gran.”

Doña Esperanza swiveled slowly, and then she changed her mind.

“One last thing. Before you all go to bed tonight, I’d like to explain what “The Passion” of Jesus really means and why, despite our wealth, we are staying put in Manila, in this horrifying heat, observing the Passion. Let’s go, everybody.” With that, Doña Esperanza swirled and left the veranda, leaving behind a trail of lightly scented ylang-ylang perfume.

At the porte cochere of Santol Mansion, their parents were entering their respective Buicks and Cadillacs. Edmund, Lucrezia’s father, was the only one behind the wheel, her mother, Camilla, beside him. Everyone else had uniformed drivers. In the Nieto Ortigas clan, almost all its members followed the example set by their great-uncle, Don Alcibiades the banker. He pilled up success after banking success in the Roaring Twenties. He also set many precedents. One of them was to sit next to one’s driver. The clan considered it demeaning and insensitive to be in the back of the car.

Bashir and Ranjit, their giant turbaned Sikh bodyguards, lifted all of the children as if they were rag dolls. “Intjou go,” they said. By now, all the Hakka nannies were a few centimeters shorter than “their children” who seemed to grow by the day. Because many of them had been sold into slavery and prostitution as children, they recoiled from any human touch other than that from “their charges”. Without a word, Ranjit set up a ladder next to the weapons carrier where they and the children were to ride, to enable the nannies to climb inside.

The Sikhs, not being Christian, were not required to follow the Via Crucis (the Way of the Cross) with Doña Esperanza, her children and grandchildren. They kept alert in the churches to any changes in the mood of the churchgoers or unusual occurrences. Like duelists they studied every movement of the elements. They were resplendent in their pristine white Kamezz and Kurta and towered over most of the faithful.

The Catholic domestics of Doña Esperanza were active participants in the Via Crucis. All donned their blackest clothes and their expressive faces betrayed their anguish. They had all lost a relative or a beloved friend during the Japanese Occupation and the ensuing American bombing.

The Amahs always wore their traditional black silk trousers with white ramie shirts. The black sheen of the silk was unmatched by anything the West could reproduce. The Hakkas stubbornly refused to divulge the secret of the shiny black silk.

The children looked somber in plain white frocks, white leather shoes with matching white linen socks. As postwar children they had not actually heard the Mitsubishi zeros screeching eerily down toward their targets They had never heard the screams of the victims but their elders never stopped reminding them how Uncles, Cousin, Aunts, and Great-Uncles had perished in a holocaust of fire.

Dona Esperanza and the Nieto Ortigas clan dressed in black cotton or linen. This practice was followed by all the illustrious families in Manila (be they of Chinese, American or European origin).

Aunt Allegra, mother of Zita and Freckie, was always the coordinator of funerals, baptisms, christenings and the rituals of Holy Week.

Their first stop: Saint Augustine’s Cathedral. Thousands upon thousands of mutilated corpses had lain grotesquely in the aisles, altars and basements of Saint Augustine after the ferocious bombing and shelling in 1946. Pieces of shrapnel, fragments of marble and slivers of wood, which tore through heads and vital organs at a speed and force never witnessed before, killed them.

“There wasn’t a family, rich or poor, white, brown or yellow, who had not lost relatives, loved ones or friends,” Doña Esperanza would say often and sadly.

Thus, the Passion - the final hours of Jesus on earth - was something Filipinos of every color, race or creed could identify with even more than most people.

Miraculously, Saint Augustine, on the outskirts of the walled city - Intramuros, now the Ghost City, was still standing after the smoke of endless bombs had cleared. There was heavy damage to its lateral naves.

“Let’s not wait for American or Philippine bureaucracy. We will all dip into our deep pockets and do what has to be done,” said the rich.

Each family and clan competed in generosity. In less than six months, San Agustin was almost restored. The Father Superior, an outspoken critic, anti-war activist and a pious Basque from Guernica, Padre Pedro Rocha, purposely left a gaping hole about a meter in circumference. During the rainy season, the faithful were pelted with water. Superstitious Filipinos (after all, what more could happen to them?) refused to use umbrellas in church. In the summer, the sun fried their heads but no one dared open a parasol. So why did they persist in standing underneath? An act of penance? A sense of guilt? Horror at the consequences of war? Who was right? Who was wrong? It didn’t matter anymore.

The Stations of the Cross were always recited in impeccable Latin by Uncle Matt (for Mattias), Doña Esperanza’s eldest son. (She had wed at fifteen; her Latin was faulty compared to her son’s. Esperanza was self-taught, cultured and street smart, not erudite.) Everyone knelt on the uneven marble floor. The children followed the way of the cross from their prayer books, which were in Latin. Lucrezia stared at the bronze bas-reliefs realistically sculpted by an unknown Filipino master in the late 16th century and tried to think about the suffering of Jesus. Each station of the cross took about five minutes. Then they would all walk as quietly as possible, looking straight ahead until the next station: fifteen in all. This ritual would be repeated three times as the family would troop out of San Agustin and re-enter to begin once more the ritual of the Way of the Cross.

Camilla, Dona Esperanza's eldest daughter, would take over from Matt. Aunt Dahlia, daughter number two, was unable to master Latin in school so her husband Uncle Rudolf filled in the third time around and saved her “face”.

Seven churches in all were visited, creating the number twenty-one which was a mystical number for the Judaic and early Christian observers of Holy Thursday. Other than black pearls and black diamonds, no one wore jewelry. Everything was a sea of black. The courtyards, squares, the aisles inside the churches, the areas for prayer and reflection by the Stations of the Cross, wherever one gazed. Even the statues were all shrouded in black or dark purple.

Dusk came early in the tropics. In keeping with the profound religious mood, the lights emanating from the vast chandeliers were dimmed low. The sounds and whispers of thousands of faithful appeared deafening to Lucrezia’s ears. Many wept silently yet no one reacted. The faithful all concentrated on their own prayers despite their tears.

Rich and poor worshipped at the same churches. In close proximity to the Churches and Cathedrals parked trucks filled with Manila water, Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola kept a silent vigil. The Haves in silent Christian charity had quietly paid to avoid heat exhaustion and heat stroke in the Have-nots.

It was a time honored custom for the rich to leave 500 to 1,000 Pesos/Dollars anonymously in black or grey envelopes delivered personally by one of the young children of the family, into the hands of the parish priest. This was done in accordance with Jesus' admonitions regarding the Pharisees who praised themselves loudly for their generosity. Those who behaved and spoke in an ostentatious manner about their donations were sharply rebuked and quickly brought into line.

Back at Santol Mansion, part of the household staff had volunteered to stay. Most of the Sikh bodyguards and the pygmies also kept a watchful vigil. Robberies and heists took place more often than not during the observance of Lent than at any other time.

Only one-meter tall bees wax candles were lit inside the house. The gardens and the grounds looked like daylight. The Sikhs patrolled them relentlessly with the German Shepherds Rex and Fritz.

Every painting, objet d'art, statue sacred and profane, was covered in black cloth. The absence of freshly cut flowers, which adorned every room of Santol Mansion most of the year, was like a stab in Lucrezia's heart. Only Fray Paco was allowed to enjoy the sight of yellow orchids in his Jungle Room. In keeping with the Passion's spirit of reflection, no radios or televisions were turned on during Holy Thursday or Good Friday.

"Yet this is a family which can't function without music, so we shall have the most sublime sounds man ever created for God," said Uncle Matt. The Dies Irae of Mozart, Beethoven's Missa Profundis, and Bach’s Saint Matthew were played softly as background music on the hi-fi system.

The healthy adults observed the Lenten fast, particularly on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. That meant no alcoholic beverages - a heavy sacrifice for the Nieto Ortigas clan who savored fine wines and Malt Whiskies. The menu was simple, similar to what the majority of poor Filipinos ate. Small, tasty fish called tuyo, tiny freshwater shrimp fried in fresh garlic and eaten with plain white long-grained rice. Tahong, sweet water clams from the tributaries of the Pasig River was always served. A fish sauce, bagoong, made from a variety of fish eggs, abhorred by foreigners, was ever present. Like the ancient Roman fish sauce, garum, one had to acquire a taste for it, Doña Esperanza used to tell her foreign friends to no avail.

The clan's views regarding fruits grown in the temperate zone were well known.

"Poor Europeans! Having to make do with apples, peaches and oranges."

"Paradise must have been a poor place. Imagine getting into trouble for an apple."

"The serpent wasn't a gourmet either."

"No wonder God threw them out."

"They were tasteless nincompoops."

"The Philippine carabao mango is so delicious, one should eat a peach only in desperation."

"They are supposed to come from the same genus."

“So are we and the apes but look at the difference.”

“Don’t remind us of Darwin during Lent.”

“Once you tasted calamansi juice with honey, why would you ever drink lemonade again?”

Calamansi was a tiny, sweet lime which grew only in the Philippines and in Indonesia.

“Freshly squeezed calamansi juice with pure acacia honey is bliss,” thought Lucrezia, draining her glass quickly.

The majestic acacia trees which towered a hundred meters in the gardens of Santol Mansion provided the best honey. Lucrezia went into one of her reveries as she gazed at the acacias.

“Hola chicas! Hola chicas!” Fray Paco had made his entrance on a pole entwined with hemp so that his talons could hold on. His two attendants, heavily muscled twin dwarves (retired acrobats), Eneas and Achilles, proudly bore the bamboo pole on their shoulders. Fray Paco quickly flew and alighted on Doña Esperanza’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck and cooing “Espe! Espe!” into her ear lobe from which dangled a single black baroque pearl.

A chorus greeted the rare, white cockatoo with affection.

“Hola!”

“Ciao!”

“Hello!”

“Fray Paco came to our clan by an act of God,” said Doña Esperanza.

During the Christmas and Lenten seasons, the story of Fray Paco was repeated.

“He was found chained to a branch of an ylang-ylang tree by Great Uncle Alcibiade,” Lucrezia began.

“In the middle of a destructive typhoon in 1907,” said cousin Zita.

“It was New Year’s eve,” stated Jaime with conviction.

“The tycoon, Don Cesar, our great great uncle, had vowed to ruin the De La Rama family,” said Dolly.

“That was because they had tried to kill him several times,” clarified Lucrezia.

“Instead of going to parties or celebrating, Don Cesar, his two brothers Torquato and Mamerto, and an assortment of sons and nephews spent New Year’s Eve at the warehouses of the De La Rama clan by the port of Manila,” Aunt Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother explained.

“Ruined by vices and inept management, the vast empire of the De La Ramas, especially their international shipping lines to Mexico and California, now belonged to Don Cesar and the family’s bank,” Uncle Matt stated patiently.

“The Night of the Long Winds of 1907 was the most destructive typhoon to hit Manila,” Doña Esperanza said, patting Fray Paco who preened, a born showman.

“Trapped in the warehouses, Don Cesar and his family carried on like troopers, doing the inventory of the De La Rama properties and possessions,” Aunt Allegra said, smoothing her wrinkled black dress.

“Precisely! Then as the winds died down, they heard someone crying ‘Help! Help!’” Dramatically declared Uncle Rudy who had always wanted to be an actor and ended up running one of the clan’s international shipping lines.

“Don Alcibiade ran out to investigate. He couldn’t see anyone although the cries for help continued,” Uncle Edmund said, twirling his fingers nervously.

He was a chain smoker of cigarettes. Doña Esperanza loved her cigarillos and the others smoked cigars. Nicotine was a no-no during the observance of The Passion. The tycoon Don Cesar, addicted to cigars, accustomed to giving orders, had begun this tradition in the clan: total abstinence from alcohol, nicotine and sex in observance of the Passion.

Freckie excitedly cried out, “Then Fray Paco yelled, ‘Down here, coño!’” (Cono means vulva in vernacular Castilian)

“Trust Freckie to use dirty words whenever he can,” mused Lucrezia.

“So Don Alcibiade looked down and around and there he was, our hero, our amor, Fray Paco, standing upright but chained to a broken branch of an ylang-ylang,” exclaimed Uncle Arthur, who had the gift of gab and became a gambler.

“The entire Nieto Ortigas clan had been spared; all their plantations, houses and commercial properties intact. Don Cesar interpreted the arrival of the foundling Fray Paco as a message from God,” said Dona Esperanza.

By this time, Fray Paco had perched on Lucrezia’s shoulder, kissing her on the lips with his beak which could tear apart walnuts as if they were jelly.

“Don Cesar offered Fray Paco his freedom. ‘Fly away,’ he ordered on that New Year’s Day,” Lucrezia told them. “Fray Paco turned his raptor’s gaze on Don Cesar. They looked into each other’s eyes. Raptor to raptor. Then he understood. Fray Paco wanted a home and a family. He yearned for love and yet… and yet… he wanted to be free.”

“I promise you, no more cages. You’ll have your own jungle room. You can wander into any part of my villa. You can even fly but not too far, else the hawks will get you,” Heinzie quoted Don Cesar verbatim.

“Time for our prayers.” Doña Esperanza stretched out her black clad arms. “Come, Fray Paco.”

Lucrezia rose from her chair with Fray Paco holding on to her as she walked towards her grandmother. Once he was settled cozily on a small silk pillow on Doña Esperanza’s lap, she called out, “Let’s kneel”.

Almost in unison, everyone in the clan, the domestic staff, the dwarves Eneas and Achilles, followed without a word. Doña Esperanza placed Fray Paco, whose talons had dug into the silk pillow, on the floor in front of her. “As the oldest member of our clan, Fray Paco, please lead us in the Pater Noster.”

The white cockatoo puffed up his plumes and barked hoarsely, “Pater Noster, quis in coelis, sactificeturrrr nomen tum…”

Fifty voices joined Fray Paco in his mangled Latin. Although they pronounced the words properly, did that act alone bring them closer to the creator?

After the Pater Noster, the domestic staff, led by Macario, the majordomo, rose, walked to the far end of the veranda and brought back twenty-five porcelain bowls filled halfway to the brim with water. The ritual washing of the feet just as Jesus had done so lovingly to his apostles and disciples in the gardens of Gethsemane nearly two thousand years ago was re-enacted year after year in Santol Mansion.

The tycoon Don Cesar and Don Torquato and Don Mamerto, his brothers, had begun the practice after the terrifying typhoon of 1907. Indeed, Don Cesar had renounced his religion after winning the notorious lawsuit against the Catholic Church and the Dominican friars of Santo Tomas University in Manila. His hostile takeover of all the De La Rama holdings and wealth with the assistance of the American Marines had not endeared him to many of his fellow oligarchs – even if it had been a perfectly legal act.

The typhoon, which came soon after, their survival unscathed and the discovery of the foundling white and talkative cockatoo touched his heart and soul. He returned to the folds of the Church, preferring always to deal with the Jesuits with whom he remained on affectionate terms until his untimely death.

The clan drew lots, as did the domestic staff. Often one of the clan would be washing the feet of his driver or her maid. The children were instructed by Doña Esperanza whose feet to wash.

“Rats!” reacted Lucrezia silently. “Why did Gran Gran assign me the task of washing odious Freckie’s feet? He must have come out of the womb of a thug!” “Were all of Jesus’ apostles good and just men?” an inner voice (her guardian angel perhaps?) asked. “No,” answered Lucrezia. Then the image of Judas flashed by quickly as she watched Freckie, his soft, brown eyes, curly hair and disarming dimpled smile. “Jesus knew Judas would turn him in, yet He washed his feet. Who am I to complain?”

Freckie gave Lucrezia a self-satisfied smirk. She ignored it and began washing him. A wiggle here, a splash there… In no time at all, her face was soaked. She looked up and smiled like an angel. She could tell her cousin was seething but pretended not to notice. “Judas! Judas! Judas!” she kept telling herself. By the time Lucrezia was wiping Freckie’s feet with the small, white, linen towel, the mantra had become “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Poor Freckie. Why was he so lost?”

Fray Paco squealed. Only Doña Esperanza could bathe him and not face the fury of his beak and talons. He had a small, inflatable pool of rainwater changed twice daily, much as his life long ago in the rain forest.

Now that the basins of water were removed, Doña Esperanza immediately began her explanation.

“I know it’s hot, sticky and difficult to breathe in this oppressive heat. Why then, with all our money, do we not escape to somewhere pleasant? We own dozens of ships. An inter-island cruise on one of them would be lovely. Many Filipino families go on these cruises. Vilas on the beach and chalets in the mountains beckon. We have chapels and diocesan priests who recite Lenten services. We choose to stay here in Manila as our way of participating, in a small way, in the Passion of our Lord. None of us present tonight will ever leave this world alive. Jesus himself died a most excruciating death on the cross.

Four years ago, forty of our friends, supporters and relatives were ambushed and massacred at Montalban by Victor Vencer and his band of Marxist guerrillas. One individual the Mayor of Montalban, our beloved Ben Flores, whose family has been linked to our clan for two generations - and our own precious Lucrezia - survived. None of us know the reason why the terrorist Victor Vencer spared them. (She knew but she would never reveal this to the members of her family and clan) The horrors of the war in the Pacific still haunt us. Otherwise, why are we all in denial about Intramuros?”

No one moved. No one spoke. Doña Esperanza went on.

“As long as God wills it, I will continue our observation of the Passion. Except for the children, you are all here of your own free will. I would not ever think of retaliating if any of your family or staff did not participate. It’s a personal choice. I hope my grandchildren will continue to commemorate the Passion and pass it on to their children when the time comes. Thank you for listening with such patience.”

Uncle Matthias (Matt for short) intoned.” The agony of Jesus really began in the gardens of Gethsemane – Holy Thursday. He was aware of the fate that awaited him. He pleaded with God; he feared he could not go through with the horrors.

“Let this cup be lifted from me.”

Jesus sweated blood from every pore. In medical terms it is called Hematidrosis. It occurred when the tiny capillaries overflowed with blood in the sweat glands and then burst. This caused blood to ooze throughout his scalp, face, neck, arms, back, legs and feet.

“And being in agony, He was praying very fervently, and his sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.” From the Gospel of Saint Luke, the physician.

Dona Esperanza crossed herself on her forehead, neck and across her chest. Everyone followed her example in silence.

“Then she said,” Let us then retire to our rooms to rest, pray and meditate. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Laudate te Deum.” We give praise to Thee O Lord.”

The Capture

2009-04-02T13:55:00.000-07:00

BOOK ONE: THE CATALA

CHAPTER 1: THE CAPTURE

A lone, white cockatoo of exceeding beauty and hauteur, perched near the top of a 70 foot East Indian ebony tree - the Kamagong, which stood tall and proud like the King it was.

The creature lived in the rain forests on the island of Nias; a jewel on the Indian Ocean, belonging to the archipelago of Sumatra,

Aceh, and the main island lay seventy-eight miles west. Strung out like an immense emerald necklace, these islands were part of the largest island chain in the world – Indonesia.

"KAW-KAW! ERK ERK! GE! GE! GE!" shrieked the cockatoo, imitating the sounds of a parrot, a monkey and an owl, in that order. His scimitar like beak could barely be seen, as it spilled over with the crimson juice and pulp of the mabolo, the delicious apricot like fruit of the Kamagong tree.

He’s mocking me, the little son of a turtle. Perhaps he suspects I’m after him, thought the hunter, who was vexed and dispirited.

Kananga. A lithe and comely youth, son of Tamanga. Chief of the Naya Tribe had been tracking the resplendent white Sanko/Cockatoo for twenty-five days. Without respite. The Naya hunted and prized human heads. They were as skilled in the fine art of trading as they were in lopping of their enemies’ heads.

"The hairless, two legged creature with the brown skin, straight long hair, is after me. Many dark nights and bright days have come and gone…the creature is still here. I can smell him. There must be others, but none as close to my talons as this one".

The cockatoo was a raptor. He sensed that he was faced with an unrelenting foe, This was not the sweet and kind Orangutan – who also walked on two legs, except it had bright, long orange hair and its face was black or the small black men, full of swirly hair on their bodies and on their heads.

This creature has the most beautiful erectile crest I have ever seen, Kananga whispered to himself.

Kananga’s sepia colored body glistened as it came under the patches of sunlight in the rainforest. He tensed. The cockatoo was out screeching all the other creatures within their perimeter.

"ERK! ERK! ERK"

"The sanko knows it is being stalked." Kananga was certain of it now.

In the island of Nias, men and beasts were all predators. Only the Dutch East India Company, which ruled Indonesia and as a result, the island of Nias, surpassed each and every one of them in its rapacity. The Dutch did not see themselves in this light of course. As white, civilized, and Christian, awash with money and equipped with gunboats and cruel armies – they regarded themselves as "Entitled" to God’s wealth as a reward for their Mission in Indonesia - then called the Dutch East Indies. That not one Dutch man was able to express adequately just what this Mission was, was beside the point.

There was arrogance about this sanko, which made it stand out even more over the other creatures. The Sanko seemed fearless. I like your come and get me if you can kind of challenge. Very well. I accept a duel with you.

"I know what happens to those like me who are caught by the two legged hunters, they disappear and are never seen in the rain forest again."

He knew he was unique. None of the cockatoos in his area could imitate the sounds of so many animals, including the grunts of the Orangutan as they came to orgasm, the shrieks of the monkeys in their ritual flirting, the wails of the long haired, hairless females when one of their young was taken from them, and most importantly, the war cries of the hairless, two legged males.

It seemed a just bargain to Kananga. The proud sanko for his pretty Kirika, with breasts as hard as coconut husks.

Cockatoos were supposed to be completely white. The more pristine their coats, the higher their value. Sometimes, God played tricks on you, and the sanko were of a cream or dirty white color. That was a tragedy. None of the white men wanted them. Unlike parrots which had bright, shocking multicolor and a different formation of their skulls. Kungku, the Shaman, explained to the young men patiently.

"They are more intelligent, talk up a storm and live for centuries", so the Naya tribe declared, fueling the greed of the administrators of the Dutch East India Company.

The cockatoo was the favorite bird of their god Belisanko and was therefore sacred to the Naya. Cockatoos could never be sacrificed to Belisanko, not even during the harsh never ending rains which came every year, when the mountains threw up fire and burning liquid, or after the earth shook and trembled and giant waves blasted their shores soon after.

"I was a young man when we had such an event. The jungle and its creatures, all created by Belisanko, alerted us. We ran to the high ground, I thought the end was coming. For many who lived on the coast, it meant they would never see another sun rise." Thus spoke the Venerable Kungku, their old and wise Shaman.

There were plenty of other things that could be sacrificed to Belisanko. Humans, especially one’s enemies, captured or kidnapped. Baby boys and girls " mused Kananga who had seized several young men from a neighboring village, before setting out on his mission to get himself the best Sanko.

Until I capture the Sanko, I will not be accorded the right of cutting off the heads of my most important enemies. He repeated silently for the thousandth time.

His father, Tamango had used his Parang to sever the heads of their enemies from their torsos with one blow to each head. My father’s blade has drunk so much blood, it is brown, reflected Kanango.

For the Naya never wiped the blood off their Parangs, until absorption was complete.

A group of green, scarlet and blue parrots suddenly flew away from one fruit tree laden with kola nuts.

I remember that, as a boy, I caught several parrots and offered them as sacrifices to Belisanko.

EEEEEEEE! HAUK! HAUK! Bellowed the Sanko.

"It can’t be," Kanango stifled a gasp. That almost sounds like the wailing of my father’s newest wife, when the shaman decided there were too many boys captured in the last raid. He declared they had to be given to Belisanko. I can’t believe my ears; this Sanko has that stupid girl’s exact pitch. He is even more valuable that I thought.

Kananga smiled as he went over the scene in his mind. His father’s youngest wife had screamed herself hoarse and scratched him until she had fallen on the ground in a grotesque faint.

Nobody paid any attention to her, certainly not Kananga’s father, her husband and chief, Tamango. The tribe had been indulgent with her and she had gone unpunished for making a hysterical scene, because Tamango had abducted her from one of the coastal villages of Sumatra. The young girls swam naked in the coves; Tamango had seen her, lusted after her and had meticulously planned the raid.

"What do the coastal natives of Sumatra know about our ways of life and war?" Kananga had dared to ask his father.

Kananga had cursed himself loudly when he unsuccessfully jumped to grab the cockatoo, while it had been bathing in the lagoon. He had run up against a prehistoric stone statue all but hidden in the shallow waters. These mysterious statues encircled the island. No one could tell when he or she had been carved and sculpted out of stone.

"They are too numerous to count," Kananga said irritably.

"The hairless male hunter almost took me. I got careless. There’s another lagoon further down, it’s the eagles’ domain. I’d rather risk being ripped by an eagle as captured by this two legged creature" thought the cockatoo as he swiftly sped up, up, up – To the tallest tree - top heavy with white orchids. They were the best camouflage. No one had told the cockatoos that the Naya hunters had always known that.

Before the eruption of Mount Krakatoa, Hindus inhabited Nias, like Bali. They had worshipped Garuda the mythical bird, many of the statues were representations of the Garuda, All the people had perished from the burning lava, the ash and the giant waves which swept away tall hardwood trees and men like toys. The forces of Nature were merciless. Only the stone birds, with their strange and unknown shapes still stood. So the Naya came to believe that they were the thousands of manifestations of their god Belisanko

It is as good a story as any pondered the Protestant and pragmatic masters of the Dutch East India Company.

"Yesterday, the Sanko repeated my curse of frustration when I fell because I tripped over a stone. He was pricking me, as easily as he does the betel and kola nuts. I must catch that sanko. I MUST!"

"Why am I being hunted? There are others of my kind. They are easier to get to. and parrots are much prettier than us."

Kananga was running out of time. In a few days the white men with the yellow heads, and eyes the color of their sea, would sail into their harbor, row out to their powdery pearl shore and pay him in gems (glass beads), batik fabrics with designs of a bird (the sacred Hindu god Garuda), cooking utensils, and coffee beans. In exchange, Tamango, and Kananga, would hand them this stunning exemplar of their aggressive and bright cockatoo and Helmut shells, the marine snails particular to their warm waters which had a series of flange-like ribs much like varices on its outer shell. The white men told Tamango their people used them to carve cameos and they showed him an example.

"How strange were these white men. The Naya did not stoop to eat these slimy low life; the shells just rotted in the wind, rain and sun. Better for the Naya to put them to good use by selling then to the White Giants reflected Kananga from his hiding place.

Tamango his father had told him, "Kirika, your pretty one, wants dozens of glass beads, in addition to the heads of our enemies. Her father and I have met and agreed on the terms." It was an arranged marriage but Kananga was strongly attracted to Kirika. He was in lust, He had to penetrate her.

For days Tamango had discussed with the old kungku whether a few yellow and blue-eyed heads stuck on a wooden pole would lower the ante on the request of Kirika's father for the glass beads. Tamango could then ingratiate himself with his new wife who was so distraught over the sacrificial death of her baby boy to Belisanko, their god; she had become cold and unresponsive in their coupling.

The kungku had trembled and replied harshly, "Remove these thoughts from your mind. The white men have lances, which vomit fire and tear out holes in our bodies. Our parangs, krehas and Karandangs are nothing. When the white men are angered, they are more fierce than Belisanko." Tamango had bowed his head in acceptance.

Everything depends on me and my small band of warrior brothers sighed Kananga.

The expedition deep in the rain forest to hunt and capture cockatoos was dangerous. It marked a rite of passage yet it always tested a man to the limit. The forest was noisy; insects, birds and monkeys chattered constantly; it was always damp so Kanango was soaked. His hands, covered in ephedra leaves, kept slipping out of them; the sweat from his forehead steadily dropped into his eyes and blurred his vision. In an hour the rainforest could go from hazy sunlight to rain so thick you couldn’t see the palms of your hands placed inches away from your face. The torrents created a steam so dense some men would pass out. Kanango and his warriors would remain in their places, lying as flat as possible on their stomachs underneath giant leaves. If that was difficult because other creatures had got there first, they burrowed into the soft-carpeted vegetation of the rain forest.

The cockatoos, being clever, sought refuge near the top of 70-foot fruit trees. Since their coat was pristine white, they could not easily camouflage themselves among the greens of the tropical plants or the many colored hues of the flowers. Nature could assist you and trick you with equal ease and with no remorse. The only choice was to climb on thick, slimy branches of foliage heavy with fruits.

"Somehow I don’t feel safe in this tree, hidden amongst the white orchids where there is no Rerek to protect me. I must double back to the tallest fruit tree. That will give me a small advantage. I think I once saw a hunter with his naked parts scale the highest tree to capture my father. I’m not sure. It could be Fear giving me these images."

The cockatoo glided high up in the air, heading towards his refuge. "I am tired. Endless dark and light days have left me drained. I must rest. I must!"

In an excellent example of symbiosis, cockatoos were usually found where the huge, 30-foot long rerek (serpent) was lounging about. Cockatoos were too small for them. Besides they had these horrific talons and claws; with the force of their razor sharp beaks they could inflict damage to a serpent's body. Large mammals were more to their liking; man was a wonderful treat.

The Naya tribe considered the meat of the rarek a delicacy. Tamango had offered it to the white men who were convinced it was a fowl until he showed them the scales from the rerek, which the white men quickly offered to barter with their linen handkerchiefs. Tamango had accepted.

"Who could ever understand these white beings," Kananga asked silently, as he observed the encounter.

He started to climb the tree, inch by inch.

The cockatoo sensed the danger immediately. He couldn’t hear him as much as smell him. " The hunter is coming! My wings will no longer obey my command. I am going to stand my ground. and pulp out his eyes and balls".

"I hope there are no poisonous spiders or scorpions," prayed Kananga, as he climbed his sloth’s pace. He had covered himself with an ointment, which gave off an unpleasant odor to small crawly creatures. He was taking no chances. His private parts were tightly covered in a soft matted hemp plant. He had tied a string on his waist from which hung a reed like stalk. Inside this stalk was a fine, long (about 5 inches) metallic point which had been dipped in a nerve poison made from the flowers of a magenta colored vine which resembled a frangipani. Once this was plunged into the legs of the cockatoo, it would be paralyzed for two or three minutes.

"That was enough time", Kananga pleaded," for the Sanko to be placed into an abaca basket, and lowered from the heights of the tree, while my warriors hack away quickly at the branches, as we all descend slowly. I must remember to keep my eyes out for the rerek. What if I fail? He dismissed any possibility of failure.

For once Kananga was comfortable with the ruckus in the forest. That impudent cockatoo will not hear me creep up on him until I have thrust the point into his legs.

From the opposite side of the tree, two of Kananga's men had ascended before him. Around their necks they had a net made of pandanus leaves and thin bamboo strips which they would slip over the cockatoo once Kananga had jabbed the cockatoo and yelled his war whoops. None of the young men had ever hunted the Sanko before, and yet, they could not be referred to as men unless they had each captured a Sanko. This particular one was a prize!

"Aaa, I see them now. Two other hairless two legs are opposite my tree. What are they doing?"

As the son of a Chief, I have precedence - to either die or succeed, Kananga reminded himself.

The elders had explained it all very carefully; "the custom dictated that all the young men capture the Sanko alone without the experienced elders".

Sometimes the serpents killed the men, crushing all their bones before swallowing them.

Many men fell to their deaths when they slipped on the slimy branches. The cockatoos always fought back, talons and beak. They aimed straight for the hunter’s face, both their talons reducing their cheeks into a bloody pulp. The cockatoos curved beaks ripped into noses and eyes as easily as they opened soft tamarind pods.

The tradition of the Naya tribe prescribed one of the members of the expedition who deliberately kept watch on the ground in order to behead any injured hunters as swiftly as possible to their god Belisanko.

The Naya tribes were warriors and hunters. They were unaware that the white beings called them cannibals and savages. How useful to the tribe were blind and deformed warriors? Life in the island of Nias was ruthless; but just. Those were THE LAWS.

Kananga was poised above the cockatoo on a nearby tree. As he painfully had made his way up, his eyes had adjusted from the shadowy light below to the blinding light in the canopy of the rainforest. A spray of water grazed his face. Quickly!!! It would start to drizzle soon.

The cockatoo espied his brown figure as he poised and tensed his muscles.
"EEERK! EEERK! EEERK! Wailed the cockatoo in its despair. "Come wings. Take flight!"

Too late. The hunter leapt onto the fruit tree; pressed the cockatoo tightly against his well muscled stomach and stabbed the venomous point into the branch with his free hand. I am not going to risk hurting you, Sanko, You are too beautiful! I need those glass beads. My loins are flowing just thinking of my woman. I will prove my manhood in my own way.

"Hako! Hako!" Yelled Kananga in victory.’ I’ve done it, without the poison.

Two of his men threw the net over the cockatoo, which he was holding against his stomach. The cockatoo screeched "EeeeeecK!" in a high-pitched lament, while his talons raked Kananga’s flesh. He covered the cockatoo with the pandanus matting. His torso was crimson from the claws, which the cockatoo had dug into his flesh He glanced at his wounds. They were superficial, they’ll heal with the Kungku’s plants but I might have scars. Never mind.

"We got you, Sanko, the Naya word for cockatoo. You'll fetch a high price from the white men. It seems they're willing to pay whatever we ask. Hako!!!!!"

Kananga addressed Sanko, the cockatoo. "You are unique, smart, brave, fierce, and possess a quick tongue. You don't belong on our island of Nias with the Naya. Our world is too small for you."

The captive paid no mind "He is saying nothing, It’s blather. I lost to this smelly two-legged creature. I had no time to carve his eyes out, mangle his cheeks, or yank his nose apart. I hate him and all those like him."

From within his deepest soul came a cry so full of rage, Kananga almost dropped the matting.

"Men, listen to me," he yelled over the blood freezing screams of the Sanko "I'll convince my father Tamango to demand more goods for this unusual piece of sanko and we shall share it amongst ourselves."

The young warriors roared their assent "Sanko!" Then clenched their fists, and touched their foreheads, chests and balls.

Stalking the sanko and capturing him in three weeks, had not been achieved since the time of the Shaman, Kungku. It usually took months to capture a Sanko.

"Let’s hurry back," Kananga ordered. "And don't forget to wrap another pandanus matting tied with bamboo striplings around the basket. This Sanko is a fierce one."

"We can be at Guningsitoli (the main village of the Nayas) in a couple of hours. Move warriors. Well done."

EEERK! AIIRK! ARRRAI!

The howls of pain from the captive continued for at least an hour, until the Sanko ‘s voice became ever more raucous and hoarse – and… mercifully for Kananga and his Warriors, the captive lost his voice completely.

END of Chapter One

Enclosed is a picture of a 49 foot long python that was captured in Indonesia ... the rarek.

Manila: Queen of the Pacific

2009-03-24T13:51:00.000-07:00

Manila in the 1930's was known as the "Pearl of the Orient". Here are two wonderful videos I recently ran across that show a bit of what life was like back then.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvpbsyNcI3I&feature=email

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOI6rc38Qic&feature=related