OVERHEAD, THE MONSOONAL winds blew from the southwest, threatening but restraining. Beneath the approaching storm front, Lechaim had been driving since eight and it was now just past noon. The countryside through which he travelled was an amalgam of different images. Rice paddies, sugar cane and banana plantations, and coconut and pineapple groves intruded upon the senses. Interspersed within this mosaic were crops of maize, mango, citrus, and papaya for this was chiefly agricultural land. In places, wild shocks of the jungle would occasionally intrude and then slink away. The region, as was the rest of Luzon, was fertile like its people, the earth rich, unlike its people.
The Ford Ghia, circa 1976, which he had purchased from the boyfriend of one of Eva's house girls, was purring along in quiet contentment, happy at long last to be free of the toothless wonder that had been playing with its innards. In this, the car and driver were of one mind. Lechaim had some misgivings when Leo offered the previous day to service the car for him. Not wanting to hurt the old man's feelings, he had left it in Leo's hands. It would be wise at the journey's end, he concluded, to give the car a thorough check just to confirm that Leo knew what he was doing. But where was the journey's end, Lechaim wondered? For that matter why had he now turned off the main highway and down this more or less dirt track? The sudden impulse to do so had hardly been a rational one. Should he stop and turn back or carry on? Then again, it wasn't really important where he finally ended up, he quickly decided, so he put his foot back on the accelerator. The car expressed its approval by purring again. After all, Lechaim surmised, as he leant back in the seat, there was all the time in the world and no place to go in particular.
As he drove along, his thoughts dwelled on the beauty of the Phillippines which had derived its name from the King of Spain, Philip II, during the Spanish colonization of the islands in the 16th century. At the time, it was called 'Las Felipinas'. The land seemed to possess colours more vivid and vibrant than those in the cooler latitudes. Its scenery conjured up in Lechaim's mind pictures of what paradise would be like if there were such a place. Then again, he thought, paradise would never be punctuated by the stark poverty that abounded throughout this bountiful archipelago. Yes, there was bewitchment in this land and he wallowed in its spell as he drove lazily along, intoxicated while the wind's hot breath played over him through the open windows. Ireland and the past were now forgotten - relegated to the back of his mind where they would wait for promotion again. This place in the sun, far from home, that he had come to by chance was providing sustenance for his body and solace for his soul.
It must have been a good half hour after Lechaim had turned off the main southern motorway when he saw them ahead of him - two water buffaloes being shepherded along by a weather-beaten Filipino farmer. Lechaim slowed the vehicle as he realized that they were all converging together on a curve in the road up ahead, his intention being to trail behind until the man and his two lumbering charges negotiate the turn. It was at that point that Leo's former handiwork became evident as the engine cut out. The vehicle's momentum carried the car some distance as the whispering tyres discussed the reason for the engine's lapse into silence. Gravity then took over and it bumped to a stop where it stood sulking.
Lechaim sat back and gazed through the windscreen at the two carabaos moving slowly away, their swaggering flanks jeering him with their display of mobility. Searching around, he saw what looked like a Church across some fields. A bite to eat and then he would have a look under the hood to see if he could fix the problem. If not, the Church looked like a good place to begin his search for some assistance. Reaching into the glove box, he extracted the tuna sandwiches Eva had made up for him.
The water buffalo continued to disappear into the distance as Lechaim bit into the second sandwich. It was at that point that he heard a child's shrill strident voice floating on the barmy air.
“Hay Jo! Want gud tyme, Jo?”
He looked around with his mouth still full.
“Cum'n, Jo! Giv gud tyme, Jo!” the disembodied voice insisted.
Then he saw her at last. A little girl peered out at him from the gloom of the porch fronting the wooden shack nearby situated just off the track. She could have been no more than eight or nine and was grubby and dishevelled. He nearly choked on the wad of bread in his mouth as he began to laugh uncontrollably at her ludicrous proposition. Convulsing with mirth, he delighted at that moment in the sheer joy of being alive and abroad in this strange country with its even stranger people.
The young girl walked into the sunlight and his levity abruptly ceased. She was horribly scarred down one side of her face, which the shadows under the porch had hidden from him. In her large brown orbs, he saw huge tears forming and his compassionate heart went out to her. With a jolt, he suddenly comprehended that the little girl thought he had been laughing at her disfigurement - how could this child understand otherwise?
Little Clemence Subido, from her vantage point in the doorway, had seen the man approach in his car. Being white the man must be rich, she assumed. Arial, her older sister, would often call out to passers-by and Clemence had now plucked up the courage to do the same. After all, she could roll around on the bed in the same way as Arial, couldn't she? It didn't seem that difficult. Through the cracks in the bamboo, she had seen how her sister and the men had rolled together. Afterwards, the men would give her sister some pesos. Clemence couldn't understand why the men would pay to roll around and make a lot of noise, but their foolishness was none of her concern - as long as they paid. Once, when her sister was in the bushes washing her belly after a rolling fight, Clemence had asked the man that had been her sister's rolling partner whether she too could roll around with him. She had only a smattering of English and didn't really understand his reply but she went with him to his car anyway. Inside, he had taken his sausage out of his trousers and had bent her head to meet it. It had been wet when he put it in her mouth and she had pulled away at first. But then he offered her some pesos so she had taken it in her mouth again. When she sucked on it, she remembered the funny noises he had made and the taste of his milk in her throat. The milk, she recalled, had a funny taste to it, but it had not been unpleasant when she had swirled the lumpy mixture in her mouth and swallowed it down. Her head had hurt afterwards though because the man had held it so tightly and her mouth had been sore from the stretching. The pesos he had given her, however, had more than compensated for the discomfort. Somehow, Clemence knew that her sister, Arial, wouldn't have approved so she didn't tell her.
Now, Clemence was hoping that the big man in the car in front of their house wanted his sausage pulled as well, but his laughter had shamed her. Remembering her ugliness she could only cringe at his derision and thought to hide away. That was when the coloured paper in the man's hand caught her attention. She didn't know how many pesos it represented and it had a different colour to any she had seen before. Clemence suspected that it was a lot of money. The hurt on her little face vanished to be replaced by a look of wonderment as she began to examine the many pieces of paper he had placed in her palm. She could feel the man's hands cupping her face, and she looked up into his eyes. They were such beautiful eyes, the like of which she had never seen before. The little girl then waited for the man to open his trousers and put his sausage in her mouth. Instead, she felt his tears as they fell on her upturned innocence.
Holding the girl's face in his hands, he cried unashamedly. What were his sufferings compared to this child's? What had she done to deserve such a fate? What could she hope for in an unforgiving world? God, if there were a God, his soul cried, help this child! Give her something to live for. He could feel himself being purged as a catharsis took place deep within, sweeping away all the despair, sorrow, pain, and grief he had been carrying with him these many months. How long he stood with her face in his hands, he wasn't sure or when he first became aware of the noise in his ears, far off at first, but then insistent. He pulled his hands away from her face as he realized what the noise was. It was the sound of her screaming, over and over. The heat from his hands had cauterised her flesh although he was unaware of it
Once again she had felt the terrible pain as her skin seared the way it had when the blazing timbers fell on her. The same smell of burning flesh - her own - assailed her nostrils as her face roasted. The...
Lechaim caught the little girl as she fell against him. Plucking her up he carried the senseless child into the shack and placed her on a rickety wooden bed he found in the rear. He then tried to communicate with the Filipino man and woman who had been sitting at a rough wooden table to one side of the small room. The woman - Lechaim guessed the couple to be in their thirties but it was always hard to tell how old Filipinos were passed a certain age - went quickly to the girl's side. Lechaim tried to make them understand but the couple just looked at him moronically. Returning to the child's side, he placed a hand on the child's forehead and found her burning up. He tried to explain to the couple that he was going to seek some help, but they obviously did not understand him so he gave up and went outside.
Resting his hand on the bonnet of the old car for a few seconds to gauge the distance to the church, he felt the trembling of the metal beneath his fingers. Incredulously, he placed his ear against the hood and listened. Sure enough, the engine had sprung back to life. There was no time to think about an explanation as he jumped in and revved the motor, which roared lustily in its public exoneration of the much-maligned Leo. Lechaim quickly pulled away seeking a track leading to the church and he found it a hundred yards down the road. Turning off, it only took him two minutes to reach the church around which, a cluster of shacks had congregated.
As Lechaim entered the Church's shady interior, he could see that the building was in desperate need of repair with its crumbling walls and peeling ceiling plaster. The same could be said of the elderly Caucasian male, rather portly in statue, with a baldpate, and flaccid face that Lechaim came across. The man was making a concentrated but vain attempt with a battered broom to remove the dust from the floor. Dressed in an old white habit with a dog collar to proclaim his calling, the priest's craggy face was directed down as he toiled away. Thus he failed to notice Lechaim's approach.
“Excuse me, Father!”
The priest shot up at the sound of Lechaim's voice. “Good God, my son! You gave me a turn!”
“Sorry, Father! I'm looking for a doctor?”
“A doctor, my son?” the priest exclaimed as he eyed the big man before him. The man seemed oddly familiar somehow.
“Yes, Father! There's a little girl up the road! I believe she may be ill.” Lechaim said indicating with his hand in the general direction from which he had come. “I'm not sure exactly what is wrong with her. I was wondering if there is a doctor nearby that could have a look at her?”
“No, I'm afraid not! Maybe I can help!” he suggested. “I often act as a doctor as well as a priest around here!”
On their short journey back, Lechaim asked the priest about the scarred little girl. Yes, the priest knew of her. Lechaim then inquired how she came to be disfigured in such a way.
“Her sister lives on prostitution” the priest explained. “One night while she was entertaining, so to speak, a lamp had been knocked over. As you can see, their shacks are like tinderboxes. The whole place was ablaze in seconds.” He paused briefly, “They got the child out but only just - and not before her face had been burnt”
The priest remembered then how he, himself, had helped tend the child. She had been a pretty thing as were most Filipino children but no more.
“And what about the parents? Where were they during all this?”
“In the fields!” the priest suggested, then he shrugged. “God knows!” He considered for a moment and then continued. “They know about the daughter selling herself, of course! It helps them survive!”
As Lechaim drew the car up before the hut, the priest added, “I've no doubt the little girl will be following in her sister's footsteps soon enough.” As he said it, the priest realized that he was being unkind but it was true. He had lived here too long to have any illusions left.
They found the Filipino couple chatting excitedly inside the hut when Lechaim and the priest entered. Kneeling quickly by the side of the child who was lying on the bed with her back to him, the priest turned her over.
“What the..?” he let out as he drew back.
“What is it, Father?” Lechaim inquired anxiously as he peered over the priest's shoulders to see for himself. What he saw made him gasp as well. Clemence had her eyes open and she yawned at both men as she stared back at their amazed faces. The skin on her face was soft like brown satin and completely without a blemish of any kind.
“But this can't be!” the priest exclaimed as he bent forward again and examined her face in wonderment. Turning around, he went to speak to Lechaim but the big man was no longer there. The priest rose and went outside where he found Lechaim looking up at the sky. At that very moment, the monsoonal rain decided to start its daily ritual, be it late, but Lechaim did not feel the slashing water on his face. His spirit was elsewhere singing a song of enlightenment as it soared aloft.