Throughout the night, rains were constant but generally light. Even the gale force winds, full of heat and bluster, only managed to dislodge palm fronds and unsecured trash.
Soon after the sun managed to shine its light on another day, the Academy rumbled to life. First, Mrs. Velasco sat upright and worked the kinks out of her body. She tiptoed through the people scattered on the concrete floor without disturbing a single one.
The table in the corner had everything she needed. She opened the coffee can and unleashed its fantastic aroma. By the time she finished brewing the first pot, a sizeable crowd gathered around her. Brian reached up to the rafter and stretched his body.
“How did you sleep?” asked Mrs. Velasco.
“Awful, really awful,” he said, “I feel it mostly in my elbows and knees.”
“Me, too,” she nodded, “laying on bare concrete is no way to sleep.”
Rosie got up from her spot between Dalisay and Joy and put on her puddle jumpers and rain jacket before she went to the doorway and looked outside. The rains had stopped but the playground was flooded to ankle-depth. The whole neighborhood was quiet except for the sound of rushing water. Rosie went outside to investigate the Academy road.
“Well, that can’t be good.”
Rainwater had washed out the roadway and debris clogged the culvert at the bottom of the hill. The meager flow of water through the drain signaled the location of the drainpipe. Rosie grabbed a rake from the closet and marched toward the small whirlpool.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Gutierrez called from the classroom door.
“I’m unclogging the drain.”
“Oh no you’re not. The current is too strong for someone as small as you.”
“I can get it.”
“No!” shouted Mr. Gutierrez.
It startled Rosie. He ran across the playground and hobbled out to the middle of the road where Rosie stood.
“You cannot do this. You do not know how powerful these currents can get.”
Jonny snatched the rake from Rosie’s grasp.
“What about the flooding?”
“Don’t worry about the flooding. If God wants a flood, God gets a flood. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. These are not man’s trifles. We have people to worry about inside.”
Mr. G. leaned the rake against the outside wall near the statue of Mary Magdalene and walked with Rosie to the classroom. His limp was just a bit greater now.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to give it a bit of a rest.”
Rosie returned to her place near the Joy and Dalisay. Mr. G. returned to his tiny chair.
He was right. Rosie didn’t know anything about flooding. Oklahoma City was not a town where it rained much, let alone flooded. Still, his comments made her feel small and inadequate. She was supposed to be a missionary. It was her job to help, not to be a spectator. It was Mr. G’s Academy, however, and If the floods didn’t bother him, it shouldn’t bother her either.
“Rosie! Brian! Can you come here for a moment?”
They cut through the crowd and stood next to the old man. Brian bent over Mr. G, propping himself with hands on his knees. The much shorter Rosie just propped her hands on her hips and looked to Mr. Gutierrez as he opened his wallet and sorted through the money stuffed into its folds. He pulled out a wad of 100-peso notes.
“Here’s some money. Take this to the store and get us some food stuffs.”
“Can I go, too?” asked Joy.
“Not this time, doodlebug,” said Rosie.
“Okey-dokey, but maybe next time.”
“Next time, I promise.”
Rosie went with Brian as he drove to the national highway. Traffic zoomed by in a flash.
“That’s a good sign,” said Rosie.
“What’s that?”
“The busy traffic.”
“Situation normal, all fouled up,” replied Brian.
It was a common saying from Brian. He’d spent his college years in Navy ROTC and did a tour in the Pacific fleet on the Carrier USS Carl Vinson. Although he was a Naval officer and it showed in his day-to-day activity. He handled everything with a cool, calm demeanor. He never rose to emotional heights, even in the hottest of situations.
“Where do you think we should go?”
“I know this little marked called Jardin Sarangani. It’s run by an old couple from Sri Lanka. They always keep it stocked with the essentials.”
The ramshackle row of storefronts stretched alongside the highway, each one buzzing with activity, even in the drizzling rain. Rosie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“It’s all wrong,” she stated.
Brian glanced over at her.
“Hmmm?”
“This is the rainiest place in the world and nobody owns a raincoat.”
“I’m sure somebody owns a raincoat.”
“Look around. Everyone looks like a wet puppy dog.”
Teenagers slogged through the ankle-deep water while older pedestrians simply walked around the puddles and lakes, edging out towards the center of the highway as they avoided the mess. Marcos made the highways, but outside Metro Manila, people had to rely on runoff into the farmland.
“I’m not sure why it is. I’ve never noticed it before.”
The large fluorescent sign simply said “MARKET”. However, a smaller sign, hand-painted in gold and green, said “Jardin Sarangani.” It was embellished with tiny golden crescents and stars along the border. Rosie had never been worldly, but it immediately conjured an image of the Pakistani flag in her mind.
Inside, the market was relatively busy, with a handful of aisles neatly organized and three cashier stands along the front, all with conveyors and bagging stations. It definitely did not look like a mom-and-pop sort of place.
“Allo, Brian!” called a woman in a quiet, yet raspy voice. It was Magda Soliman, the owner’s wife.
She was reminiscent of the old toad in the “Peter Rabbit” stories, only with a long silk dress and a shawl about her head. Wisps of coal black hair curled about her crystal blue eyes. She was stunning and remarkable after uttering only two words.
“Hello, Ms. Soilman. How’s it going?”
“Benny and me are busy as bees, keeping everyone in the barrio fed.”
“I bet.”
Brian scanned the store. The shelves that held the water and rice were already bare. Several of the canned food aisles had bare spots.
“Do you have any rice in the back?”
Mrs. Soliman shook her head; “We won’t get another truckload in until tomorrow morning. Get here around 6, because we’ll probably be selling it right off the back of the truck.”
“Is there anywhere else nearby?”
“Not that I know of, but come with me. You, too, Rosie. Bring a couple of carts.”
The kids followed her to the back of the store where several packages of rice noodles had largely gone untouched.
“This is for the children, right?”
Brian nodded.
She began loading the carts. Brian joined in to help.
“Go ahead and take all of it. If you don’t, it’ll be gone by lunchtime.”
They emptied the shelves and picked up other staples, like beans and potatoes before they headed to the register.
The cashier began to ring up the total. Mrs. Soliman waved her away.
“Not the noodles.”
“Look, Mr. Gutierrez wants to pay for it. I don’t come here for that.”
“We’ll write it off. I’ll make you a receipt.”
“But…”
“Just like I said, go ahead and take it.”
She pushed the wad of 500-peso notes in Brian’s hand away. Brian wrinkled his nose at her and she wrinkled her nose back at him. Brian just laughed.
Rosie watched as Brian offered up no further complaint. Mrs. Soliman was steadfast in her devotion to everything humane. When it came to Our Lady Lupita, she was simply head-over-heels for all the children.
Brian thanked Mrs. Soliman and loaded the minivan.
“That was some gesture,” said Rosie.
“That’s just Mrs. Soliman. She loves to help.”
When the minivan arrived at the Academy, the playground was covered in five to six centimeters of water. Most of the children were gathered on the patio as their parents watched. Someone had taken plastic washtubs from the art supplies and used them as tiny boats, pushing the tiniest of students around.
“Where’s the drawing paper?” asked Rosie.
Jose pointed to a high shelf.
“Everything’s in a safe place.”
“I see that.”
Joy ran up to Rosie and tugged on her rain jacket.
“Push me! Push me!”
“As you wish,” said Rosie.
Rosie pushed her back and forth as children raced their makeshift boats from one end of the basketball court to the other.
“Come on, children!” urged Mrs. Velasco, “Please be careful!”
Other than Juvie, the children glanced up sparingly, more intent on having fun. The chaos of the flood had interrupted her parental authority altogether.
“Why aren’t they listening?”
“To what?” Jonny replied, “There is nothing else they should be doing. A mother bird would not be standing on this stoop, she’d be preparing them a good breakfast.”
“That’s a very old point of view.”
“No, no,” said Jonny, “You know I can just as easily fix them food as anyone else, man or woman. I’m saying, there are other places that need help.”
Jonny pointed inside. Mrs. Jaramillo had already taken charge of the troops; she was fixing rice noodles on a pair of small hot plates while Mrs. Serencio and Mrs. Rana were opening cans with cheap half-sized can openers. Without further ado, Mrs. Velasco joined in the effort, cracking eggs and mixing them with milk in a large bowl. Afterwards, she helped with scrambling the eggs.
Others moved classroom tables into place and positioned chairs around them. Finally, plasticware and paper plates were set and everything was readied for the morning meal. Soon, breakfast was served.
After the meal, families began to drift away from the Academy. There were people and places that needed attention, too. The Rana family left first, headed to the always-essential furniture shop and Mr. Rana. Soon after that, Mrs. Jaramillo left, too.
“Mommy, where are you going?”
“I have to check on papa.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Not this time.”
Joy began to pout.
“Quit that right now. You’ll be okay while I’m gone.”
Joy’s pouting quickly changed into full-out bawling. Tears streamed down her face as her mother headed down the road.
“Mrs. Jaramillo, do you need a ride?” Brian called out.
“No sir, I’ll be just fine on my own.”
She walked and Joy whined. Mrs. Jaramillo just kept walking. It was all she could do to hear her youngest child and not spoil her.
“Joy…Joy….” said Rosie, “Come here, Joy.”
Rosie folded her arms across her chest and stared at Joy. The little girl’s whole body trembled as she stood there, sobbing. It wasn’t about getting her way at all. It was about feeling left behind.
“Go to her,” said Jonny, “that’s what she needs now.”
Rosie walked gingerly through the water, duck boots and all. Then, Jonny gave her a push into the roadway. She shot him a backwards glance. He smiled. She turned towards Joy and began stomping through the stream of water.
“Time for sea monster tag!” she shouted.
The children froze in place.
“Rawr!” she growled loudly.
The children screamed and scattered. Rosie immediately chased after Joy, the slowest of the pack.
“Help me! Help me, Mr. G!” shouted little Joy.
Mr. G. simply stood there, shaking his head.
“Ack!”
Joy’s flip-flops splashed through the water as she scampered away from Rosie. Her sundress became drenched in water. Rosie closed in on the tiny girl. She snatched Joy up into her arms and gave her a giant bear hug. As she planted a kiss on Joy’s cheek, she blew outward until it made a loud farting sound. Joy giggled uncontrollably.
“Alright, you are my monster baby! Help me catch the other villagers and turn them into sea monsters, too!”
Joy growled out as she stomped through the water.
“Boundaries are the ends of the Academy property, just like it is on school days!”
Children who had strayed quickly came back to the edge of the property, only to be added to the gang of hungry sea monsters. Before everyone had been caught, Rosie ran out of the youthful energy and exuberance that overflowed from the rest of the gang. She returned to the stoop and sat with Mr. Gutierrez.
“See? Sometimes work can be fun. Even without realizing it, you’re teaching the kids how to deal with adversity.”
“They were doing fine without me.”
“I don’t see how you can say that. You’re here to help them see the light. All is not lost because of one rainy day.”
Rosie glanced at the patio and let out a sigh.
“It’ll turn out alright. It always does.”
Late in the morning, a platoon of Army vehicles rolled through the neighborhood and stopped at the Academy. Jonny stood at attention as the men disembarked the jeep. Leading the charge was Mr. G.’s former pupil, Pidro Serencio. Several of his younger brothers and sisters were current students.
“Good morning, Specialist Serencio.”
“Good morning, Mr. G. This is Master Sergeant Licayan. He’s in charge of the rescue operations.”
“Rescue operations?”
“There’s extensive flooding in South Cotabato,” stated the Master Sergeant, “and the tidal surge is still to come. It’s due to arrive in two days, possibly three days at maximum.”
“What would you like us to do?”
“Inform these families of the evacuation procedures. Have them round up their families and meet us here tomorrow morning at 0800. We’re moving everybody to Camp Lira in Gensan.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to take everybody to the base here in Sarangani?”
“The lowlands are too dangerous. We can’t take that risk.”
“I see you have some provisions. We don’t even have food to get us through lunch.”
The Master Sergeant surveyed the landscape of wide-eyed faces, both young and old. Then, he turned to his supply truck and gave a sharp whistle. With simple hand motions, the troops off-loaded a load of emergency rations. Most of the goods came from the Dole and Armour food processing plants in Gensan and Davao.
“Mr. Gutierrez, If you could do me a favor and sign off on the delivery manifest. It’s just for tracking.”
“What all do we have here?” asked Jonny.
“It looks like tamarind, pineapple slices, potted meat, Vienna Sausages, and SPAM.”
Mr. G. nodded as he signed the papers on the clipboard. Specialist Serencio slipped the form off the clipboard and filed it into a lockbox on the jeep.
“Is there anything else?” asked Mr. G.
“Just make sure everyone knows.”
The soldiers loaded back onto the Army vehicles and headed out. Immediately, a flock of children rushed to headmaster Gutierrez’s side. Joy Jaramillo was there, too. She was eyeing the crates of food.
“Mmmm, can we have spahm for lunch?”
Her way of saying SPAM was singular, with a feigned British accent. Strange, since SPAM was hardly royal British cuisine.
“SPAM? Really?”
Rosie looked to Jonny for approval and he nodded.
“Alright, let’s take this stuff inside.”
Brian and Mr. G. handed boxes to children and parents. Quickly, they packed it into the classroom and got set for lunch.
Rosie took Joy by the hand and led her into the classroom. She plucked a tiny blue tin of processed pork by-products out of one package and looked it over. On top of being SPAM, it was Jalapeño flavored SPAM.
“You won’t like this. It has Jalapeños.”
“I love all Spahm. Spahm is good.”
Joy snatched the can from Rosie’s hand and dug the tip of a plastic spoon beneath the tin can key.
“Be careful,” warned Rosie.
“I’ve got it all under control.”
Joy pried the key away from the bottom of the can and tucked it into the metal slot and began turning.
A thin metal strip peeled away, exposing the gelatinous pink meat inside. When Joy was finished, she grabbed the tin in both hands and shook it violently until the brick of processed pink pork plopped out onto the plate. Before Joy did anything else, she bargained for more food.
“Can we have Vienna Sausages, too?”
“What do you think, Mr. G.?”
“I suppose it won’t hurt. It looks like we have enough rations for at least a couple weeks.”
“Yippee!” shouted Joy.
An equally jubilant cheer went up from the rest of the students, too. Mr. G.’s smile beamed brithtly. It wouldn’t do any harm to open a dozen cans or more of Vienna Sausages. After all, there would be no use arguing with little Joy. Mr. G had a saying about Joy’s little angelic face and bubbly voice. “What Joy wants, Joy gets.”
But, Joy was never truly spoiled. For her, every moment was an individual gift. Rosie wished she had that sort of wide-eyed belief in everything good, but she’d lost that brand of naivete a long, long time ago.
Joy’s jubilation was no match for Eiselle’s disembodied sense of disappointment. The victories were seldom and those that should’ve been counted as moments of celebration were often dismissed. Eiselle was never truly happy. For her, it was all just a façade.
She sat in the small courtyard café with Lorna, waxing unrealistic over her grand situation: the house on the hill, wrists cluttered with fancy bangles, diamond pendant earrings, and a German sports car imported to the far reaches of the port in Davao. Even for one of the country’s richest men, that was no easy feat. Still, Eiselle’s only happiness came in passive-aggressive dismissal of all the people around her, even her closest friend.
“You know, Lorna, you should do more with your life.”
“What do you mean?”
“This living in the barrio. It does your complexion no good. You deserve more.”
“I have all I want.”
“Hmph!”
“I do. Not all of us need to own things that say ‘Look at me, I’m important” some of us know our place in the world.”
“How dare you belittle me. I did not invite you to my personal retreat to have you say such things. That is ungrateful.”
“No,” interrupted Lorna, “ungrateful is the way you’ve treated these people working at the hotel. Do you spit on everyone you meet or just those you think are unimportant?”
“These clerks do not mind it. It is part of their job.”
Lorna pushed up and away from her wrought iron lawn chair and strode towards the hotel room. She fidgeted with the key for just a few moments before unlocking the door. She emerged from the room several minutes later, commpletely packed.
“You cannot leave. I am your ride.”
“Just watch me, Eiselle.”
“You just can’t. I will give you a ride. I am your best friend.”
“I can’t ride with you today, Eiselle. Go back to your palace high on the hill. I am sure your husband needs you – for something.”
Lorna stood by the roadside, waiting for a jeepney to come and whisk her away. Meanwhile, Eiselle scurried around her room gathering her clutter and loading it into her gym bag. She hopped into her car and quickly backed through the parking lot to the place where Lorna stood. Then, she righted the car and drove besdie Lorna.
“Come on. I’m sorry, dearest Lorna.”
“Apologize to the desk clerk and housekeepers. You’ve been acting like a pretentious snob ever since the moment you clicked your tongue at my neighbors. Don’t you know you embarrassed me?”
“It was dirty work.”
“It was work we do every single day, Eiselle.”
“Come with me. I’ll take you home.”
As the Jeepney pulled up next to them, Lorna faced a choice of this or that: heaven or hel. Problem is, which was which?
She got into the air-conditioned leather seats and the plush interior or Eiselle’s candy apple red German sports car. It would have to be a sin Lorna could live with. After all, Eiselle was a lifelong friend, bound by blood oaths, well-kept secrets, and childhood pacts that were absolutely unbreakable.
The little red BMW raced along mud-covered rural roads, swerving around downed electric wires and scraps of corrugated metal cluttering the road. The road north to South Cotabato was less active than yesterday. Maybe people had settled in for the oncoming tidal surge. Maybe they were just at peace with their preparations. It was hard to tell.
Eiselle extended her right hand across the console and offered her pinky finger to Lorna. Lorna locked her pinky with Eiselle’s and grasped it tightly.
“I love you, Lorna Ammay.
“I love you, too, Eiselle Santiago.”
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