Dogeaters (14 page)

She fiddles with her Japanese stereo system, a gift from another admirer. It is a constant reminder to the General that he is not the only one. If he had his way, he’d throw the damn machine out the window and execute his rival. But his rival is a powerful friend, and he’d surely lose his Lolita. With her, he must always stay one step ahead, must never reveal the real depths of his jealousy.

Lolita flicks a switch and the music fills the room, something old, sad, and sexy by Dinah Washington. Then she disappears into the bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” Lolita promises, blowing him a kiss. She locks the door behind her and stays inside a long time. The General knows what she is doing and it infuriates him.
What a waste of a girl
, he thinks to himself. “
Hoy
, Lolita! Come out right now before I shoot down that door!” he shouts. The door finally opens. The General seethes with anger, but gasps when he sees her standing in the doorway. Lolita Luna is definitely high—her eyes are cloudy and there’s a curious leer on her face. She is also gloriously naked.

Sometimes he slaps her around just a bit, enough to lightly bruise her complacent face or the insides of her ample thighs. He makes her promise to be faithful, and she readily agrees. She means no when she says yes. She enjoys it when he weeps in front of her, a broken-down war hero, a broken-down old man with a young man’s body, too many moles on his face and a reputation as an expert torturer that intrigues Lolita. “Tell me about it,” she pleads, a child begging for a bedtime story. “Is it true what they say? Do you like it? What else do you do in that camp of yours?”

The General is horrified by her perverse fascination. “It’s wrong,” he tells her, “absolutely wrong. Why do you ask these morbid questions?”
Lolita
, he warns her,
you must be careful. You must try to be more discreet.
It is the only time she is genuinely afraid of him. He senses this, and regrets the change in her mood. He compliments her on her latest movie, which he has just seen. He insists that she promise not to accept any more gifts from Severo Alacran. “It’s all too incestuous,” the General complains. “Don’t you have any respect?” Lolita giggles. She asks him to pay for a dress she has ordered. “You’ll like it,” she assures him, “It’s very tight and very French. I’ll let you fuck me while I wear it.” The General is annoyed; he dislikes it when she talks this way, but agrees to give her the money. Sometimes he feels like she is the daughter he never had.

“And how is your wife?” Lolita Luna asks, too high to care or remember that he has forbidden her even to mention his wife’s name. The General frowns. “
Putang ina
,” he curses softly. “What have you been snorting and smoking? Let me see your arm—” He lunges at her, but Lolita pulls away. “Come here,” he commands. She starts to retreat to the sanctuary of her bathroom, but the old man is too strong and too fast for her. He grabs her in his arms, staring fiercely into her sleepy eyes. She crumples beneath him. They thrash on the floor, the old man on top of her. “I love you,” the General finally reveals to her. She wonders how it will all end, and when.

S
ENATOR DOMINGO AVILA IS
in trouble again, as illegal assembly charges were filed against him and seven others by the police.

Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada Panganiban from the Sisters of Mercy Order were the alleged primary organizers of a “mock trial” held by human rights activists calling themselves “the court of the common people.” The group met in front of the American Embassy on Roxas Boulevard on August 29. After several speeches, which attracted hundreds of spectators, the group enacted a “trial in absentia” on a makeshift platform stage. Several prominent Special Squadron officials, including Lt. Col. Oswaldo Carreon, were accused of human rights violations.

Along with Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada, the following were also arrested: Senator Avila’s wife, UP Professor Maria Luisa Avila; Senator Avila’s niece, Clarita Avila; Quezon City Councilor Baptista Magalona; Ramon and Baltazar Montano, Jr; and Father Conrado Igarta of Tondo. Senator Avila and Sister Immaculada were detained at Camp Dilidili and later released on their own recognizance, while the others were taken to Camp Aguinaldo for questioning.

The “people’s justice case,” as it has come to be known, was filed by Brig. Gen. Armando Reyes, Metro Manila Constabulary and Police Chief; Lt. Col. Oswaldo Carreon of the President’s Special Squadron Division; and Chief of Staff Gen. Nicasio Ledesma.

During the mock trial, Senator Avila, his wife, Sister Immaculada, the Montano brothers, and Father Conrado Igarta acted as members of the “people’s jury,” while the senator’s niece and Councilor Magalona played the roles of “witnesses to crimes against the people.”

When finally reached for comment, Lt. Col. Carreon accused Avila and Panganiban of “creating a negative atmosphere of hatred and disrespect for law and order.” He also claimed the rally was held without a permit. “I have no choice but to sue the senator for defamation of character,” Carreon said. “These are very serious charges Avila and his leftist cohorts are making against government officials. If found guilty, the senator faces a maximum sentence of ten years in prison. We fail to see the humor in this situation.”

—The Metro Manila Daily

B
EFORE HER TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY
, before she marries a foreigner in haste and just as hastily leaves him, before she is given the name
Mutya
by her guerrilla lover in the mountains, Daisy Consuelo Avila is crowned the most beautiful woman in the Philippines, our tropical archipelago of 7100 known islands. We are serenaded by mournful gecko lizards, preyed on by vampire bats and other
asuwangs,
protected by
kapre
giants crouching in acacia trees, enchanted by malevolent spirits living in caves and sacred termite-dwellings. The humid landscape swarms with prehistoric, horned warrior beetles with armored shells, flies with gleaming emerald eyes, and speckled brown
mariposa
butterflies the size of sparrows. Eagles nest in mountain peaks; in certain regions and seasons the sky blackens with humming locusts and flocks of divebomber cockroaches. Invisible mosquitoes lurk in the foliage, said to infect children with a mysterious fever that literally cooks the brain, causing hallucinations, insanity, or death. Inoculations against the fever have not proved effective, according to an alarming study recently published in the National Institute Of Health’s annual report by the eminent medical duo, Drs. Ernesto and Emilia Katigbak.

The latest national survey reports that eighty dialects and languages are spoken; we are a fragmented nation of loyal believers, divided by blood feuds and controlled by the Church. Holy wars are fought in the combat zones of our awesome archipelago. Senator Avila declares that our torrid green world is threatened by its legacy of colonialism and the desire for revenge. He foretells more suffering in his eloquent speeches, which fall on deaf ears. He is ridiculed and vilified in the government-run newspaper. The underground circulates a pamphlet of his writings, “The Suffering Pilipino”: “We Pinoys suffer collectively from a cultural inferiority complex. We are doomed by our need for assimilation into the West and our own curious fatalism…” “Fatalism is fatal,” begins another influential essay. He describes us as a complex nation of cynics, descendants of warring tribes which were baptized and colonized to death by Spaniards and Americans, as a nation betrayed and then united only by our hunger for glamour and our Hollywood dreams. Is it a supreme irony then, when such an otherwise wise man as the Senator allows his gullible daughter to participate in a government-endorsed beauty contest run by the First Lady?

Daisy Avila is the demure and solitary eldest daughter of the opposition leader Senator Domingo Avila and his outspoken wife, the controversial professor of Philippine history Maria Luisa Batungbakal Avila. Daisy is the adored sister of the unremarkable adolescent Aurora Avila, and the beloved cousin of the infamous painter of erotic infernos, Clarita Avila. She is also the dark-horse contender in the Young Miss Philippines annual pageant. The other contestants include Baby Ledesma, a niece of the famous General, Baby Katigbak, Baby Abad, the Congressman’s youngest daughter, and the disappointed runner-up, Severo Alacran’s stunning niece Girlie. There is intense and immediate speculation as to how and why Daisy Avila wins over the panel of judges headed by General Nicasio Ledesma. Some say Congressman Abad had rigged the contest in favor of his daughter, and now wants his revenge. Some say the perverse General is solely responsible for convincing the other judges to vote for his enemy’s daughter. The choice puzzles even Daisy’s family.
Tsismis
ebbs and flows. According to a bemused Severo Alacran, richest of all the richest men and therefore privy to most of the General’s secrets, the best
tsismis
is always inspired by some fundamental truth.

General Ledesma has been overheard saying Senator Avila should have been assassinated long ago. In public, the General and the Senator are polite and even cordial. Their wives attend the same church. The fact that Daisy’s father is still alive is exploited by our wily President. “You see? This is a free country—just ask Domingo Avila,” the President reminds his critics. “He’s a dear man—one of our closest friends,” the First Lady has said in the numerous interviews she grants foreign correspondents. “Domingo Avila is one of our elder statesmen, one of our living national treasures,” she gushes, totally without guile and meaning every word the second she utters it. At the beauty pageant, she turns to nod at the Senator, acknowledging his presence in the row behind hers. She has always found him a handsome man. The Senator’s worried frown does not escape her, and it amuses her when the Senator cringes during the talent competition. The shy Daisy recites two florid sonnets by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from memory, and also sings a tentative “
Dahil Sa Iyo
.” For her grand finale, she parades up and down the runway in a modest bathing suit with such natural grace that even the worst shrews in the audience have to applaud.

Her mother has refused to attend the coronation, calling her “a disgrace to the Avila name.” She forbids Daisy’s sister to watch the televised proceedings. Daisy begs her father to escort her to the Magsaysay Pavilion, and he cannot refuse his favorite daughter. Embarrassed, he slumps in the second row of the VIP section, an honored guest seated behind Severo Alacran, General Ledesma, Congressman “Cyanide” Abad, and the preening First Lady.

The open-air pavilion where the pageant is held is known for its terrible acoustics and hungry mosquitoes; it is one of the First Lady’s unnecessary monuments, a morbid pile of gray stones crumbling slowly on a hill overlooking Manila Bay. Sequined purple, red, and yellow banners flutter gaily onstage. Said to benefit the Sisters Of Mercy Orphanage and Shelter For Street Children, the pageant advertises SPORTEX, TruCola, and Intercoco Investments, “first names in modern living.” Oswaldo “Pepe” Carreon is the last spectator to enter. The newly appointed Special Assistant to General Ledesma and son-in-law of Severo Alacran hurries alone into the pavilion to find his seat. He is the only latecomer to appear without a bodyguard. Often the last to arrive at public functions, he complains that there are too many social obligations associated with his new job. He is a very busy young man. His ailing, pregnant wife Baby is home watching the disorganized event on her new twenty-seven-inch Sony color TV, one of her wedding gifts.

Thousands of spectators jostle each other on the parched lawns of the public park at the bottom of the hill. The ubiquitous vendors in their torn
kamisetas
, short pants, and rubber thong slippers make their way expertly through the tight mass of people. They hawk cigarettes, bottles of warm soda pop, Chiclets, and
balut.
The nonpaying public has stood in the unrelenting sun for hours to catch a glimpse of their idols, their movie stars, even the real
Macoy
himself and the First Lady. In the front row closest to the steps leading to the Magsaysay Pavilion stands Santos Tirador, a man of thirty with restless eyes. Earlier that day, the fortune-teller La Sultana meets with him in the interior of her rusting Mercedes-Benz sedan, permanently parked on a side street near Paco Cemetery. She is guarded day and night by four of her vigilant followers. Some people regard her as a faith healer and soothsayer; her followers visit daily for detailed reports on her nightly talks with the Virgin Mary. She is totally dependent on her followers’ charity for food and clothing. La Sultana has never been seen leaving her sacred Mercedes-Benz; she claims to lack the need to urinate or defecate, thanks to a miracle performed during her sleep by the Virgin Mary. She sits in the back seat smiling, waiting for her visitors, reciting the rosary. Even the First Lady drops by for advice. Others denounce the fat old widow as a crackpot, but Santos Tirador decides to visit her just for the hell of it. He gives her his last one hundred pesos. La Sultana prophesies the wild young man will meet a dark queen by chance, “someone from afar.” He will wreak havoc in her life, and the price will be high. “For this you will die,” La Sultana tells him, smiling wider and showing him her rotten teeth. “But never fear,” the widow reassures him, “you will die a happy man. For this, you must be thankful.”

I
F WHAT YOU SAY
is true, that Senator Avila and General Avila are actually distant cousins, and you’ve finally admitted Nicasio was promoted to Chief of the Armed Forces and Special Intelligence mainly because
he’s
the President’s first cousin, then why can’t all these men patch up their differences? Aren’t they all the same—just one big happy Ilocano family?

—Dolores Gonzaga to her brother-in-law, Agustin

Que magulo!
That’s why I moved to Spain.

—Cristobal Gonzaga

Si, si, si.

—Doña Socorro Gonzaga