“Bruce is not like that, Father!”
Pompano raised his voice slightly. “They are all like that. You must understand. These are lonely men, away from their homeland. And young, lonely men turn to the only thing that consoles them — women. It does not matter what these women look like, who they are. It is only the fact that the women give them company.…And when they bring these women back to their country, then they quickly see that the Filipino women are not like their own.”
“But this is different! Bruce Steele and I have never spoken of going to America. This is not the same!”
“It always is, little one.” Pompano squeezed the back of Yolanda’s neck, then moved to his chair and sat heavily. “You still do not understand, do you?” Yolanda looked up at him and shook her tear-streaked face. “And I cannot explain it to you any clearer?” Again, she shook her head.
Pompano sighed and slumped back in his chair. “I did not know when to tell you this, but this seems to be the time.” He smiled to himself, then grew serious. He knew he would not be able to keep it from her forever.
“This liberty battalion, the group of Filipinos I associate with to build memorials for our war heroes? The Aquino memorial?”
“Yes?”
Pompano leaned forward and took his daughter’s hand. He looked down at the floor and spoke forcefully. “The Liberty Battalion does not exist. I have been involved with a faction of the Huks, the New People’s Army.” Pompano looked up, and Yolanda’s eyes were wide. “To strike back at the Americans. Nothing more — I do not believe in what most of the Huks want, I do not think that they will be able to change our government. It is my only way to get back at the Americans, to make them pay in some way for what they have done.”
“But, Father … why?”
Pompano hesitated. “You must understand, little one. I do not condone the killing; I do not participate in any of the Huk raids. I only provide my services, my talent, when it means that the Americans will be affected.” He breathed deep. If there was any way to spare her feelings … but I cannot, he thought.
Yolanda looked at him intently. “How can you say that? If this is true, do you not accept some of the responsibility for the killing? What would make you strike out at the Americans this way?”
Pompano stroked her hand; his voice grew quiet. “I loved your mother very much, Yolanda. She was everything to me.”
Yolanda brushed back her hair. “You have told me that, Father.”
Pompano closed his eyes. “But what I have not told you is that nineteen years ago, before you were born, your mother was raped, brutalized by a gang of Americans. She never regained consciousness, and you were born nine months later.” He opened his eyes. Yolanda’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide.
Pompano nodded. “Yes, you are my daughter, little one, but only because I was married to your mother. I do not know who your father is — he was sent back to the United States, taken away before our judicial system could ever indict him.”
Yolanda put a hand to her mouth and stood. She knocked her chair over, but Pompano let it lie. She started sobbing, then turned for her small room.
Pompano struggled to his feet and he called after her, “The Huks were the only way I could strike back at them! I love you so much, Yolanda.…You are my only reason for living.” He hobbled over to her room. A red curtain separated her tiny cubicle from the rest of the back room. Pompano leaned up against the wall and spoke softly to his daughter, over the crying.
“Now you understand why I demand that you stay away from the Americans. To do otherwise would be to spit on your mother’s grave, no matter if you believe what I say will happen to you or not.” Pompano suddenly felt tired. His joints ached and he felt like giving up.
He placed a hand on the door frame and called out quietly. “Yolanda … Yolanda?” The sobbing sounds grew quiet. Pompano tightened his grip on the frame. “I … I was planning to sell this store and go to Manila when you went to school. Quezon City is not far, and you could have a place to come when things get too hectic for you. My work with the Huks here is finished.
“Instead of waiting until your school starts this fall, I will sell the store now. Move to Manila … this month.” He ran a hand up and down the wood frame. Pompano glanced around the little room, the place where he had raised his daughter for the past eighteen years. He remembered the laughter, the tears that this room had seen — her little friends visiting. Yolanda, finishing her homework in the small chair in the corner.…It would be hard to leave, for the memories it held could never be replaced.
But he knew those same memories would now hold nightmares for his daughter, and she would wake up in the middle of the night realizing that she didn’t have any blood family alive. Yet this was the only way it could be.
Pompano called out quietly, “What do you think, little one — would that make you happy? We could leave for Manila as soon as I sell the store.”
It took a long time for her to answer, but when she did her voice sounded somewhat surly. “Do not call me ‘little one’ anymore.”
Bruce slammed the door to the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters. Catman and Robin had been waiting outside for him, but Bruce didn’t feel like talking. He stomped into the room, went to the refrigerator, and pulled out a beer.
A knock came at the door. “Assassin.”
“Get lost!” Bruce popped the top on the beer and took a swig.
“Assassin, come on, open up.” The rapping continued.
Bruce ignored the men and slouched down on a chair in the small room. He pulled at the beer, drinking until he had finished half of it. He fumed, pissed at the world in general.
It had been bad enough for his dad to act like a jerk, but then to get thrown out of the sari-sari store by that old Filipino. What the hell was going on?
That morning he had been on top of the world, his future looking so bright that he almost felt like wearing shades.
And now — crap.
A sound in the kitchen caused him to whirl. Catman peeked out from the door. “Hey, Assassin.”
“How the hell did you get in?!”
Charlie’s voice came from the kitchen, out of sight. “It’s my kitchen, too, Bruce.”
Bruce glared and turned away. He pulled on his beer.
Catman called out, “Assassin, I just came over to tell you that our house is ready. We can move in next Monday. Charlie has lined up a housemaid, and she’s coming over tomorrow morning so we can interview her.”
“Party time, bros! This is one excellent arrangement!” Robin’s voice interrupted Catman. He took one quick look in the room, saw the expression on Bruce’s face, said, “Uh-oh,” and backed up, out of sight.
Catman waited a moment before continuing. “So what’s happening?” The phone started to ring.
“Nothing.” Bruce shot back.
Charlie pulled the two officers back into his section of the BOQ complex. Bruce heard quiet whispering, then a “No shit!” Silence, then, “Hey, Assassin, uh, we’re sorry, man. We’ll check back with you later.”
The phone kept ringing, but Bruce ignored it. Catman and Robin left.
Charlie called out, “Gonna answer that?” When Bruce didn’t reply, Charlie slipped into Bruce’s room and picked up the phone.
“Hello? No, ma’am — but I’ll put him on.” Charlie held the phone up. “It’s Major Hendhold.”
“What else could happen now — ship me out to Greenland?” Bruce took a last swig of beer and grabbed at the phone. Charlie backed out of the room. “Lieutenant Steele.”
“Bruce, Major Hendhold. General Simone has a flight for you and your backseater tomorrow morning — you’re to escort a VIP into Clark.”