I roll down my own window. "What division do you belong to? I'm going to report you to-"

"Four hundred pesos." The soldier stares at me.

"Okay, okay!" the driver says, pushing four bills into the soldier's hand.

The soldier returns the license and motions us through with a swing of his flashlight beam. The driver sighs, his wipers squeaking in reply. He glares at me through the rearview mirror and he resumes stroking the hairs on his mole. I tell him I'll pay. He nods. Tries to smile. "It used to be bribes were fixed," he says. "Fifty pesos, enough for dinner. Very reasonable. Now, it's different."

I turn around to see the glow of the roadblock receding. The taxi has a sticker on its back window. The lights behind us outline black letters on a white field. From inside, it reads[image] . .

A sensational trial found three impoverished farmers guilty of Petra's murder and sentenced them to death. Salvador, convinced the accused were scapegoats, took to the hills. By all accounts, his state of mind at the time was unstable, though his autobiography says he moved with clarity of purpose.

On the evening of December 7, 1967, Salvador packed a rucksack and traveled by jeepney, two buses, tricycle, and finally by foot to a small town at the foot of Mount Banahaw, the mystical volcano renowned for its pilgrimage sites. There, Salvador met Ka a.r.s.enio, the man his comrade in the city said would lead him to the NPA encampments in the mountains beyond. Ka a.r.s.enio barely spoke to Salvador as they hiked. According to Salvador's recollection, "My strange guide could have slit my throat as I slept, or disappeared before I awakened, that is how much he seemed to despise me. And yet, the following morning, there he'd be, boiling water over the camp-fire for our coffee. During our wordless three-day journey, I never thought he would eventually become my mentor and best friend."

-from the biography in progress, Crispin Salvador: Crispin Salvador: Eight Lives Lived, by Miguel Syjuco *

Consider the rebel I once knew who threw down his arms and took up residence in a remote cave. His thoughts, chromed with the ugliness he'd seen in life, lead his slow evolution into a Bodhisattva. Word gets around of his wisdom. His family, his childhood chums, his former comrades-in-arms, all make a pilgrimage to seek his advice. They are shocked by the things he says. They leave, neglecting his nuggets of wisdom, because they consider his hair shirt, his ascetic mien, his aphorisms, pretentious.

-from the 1988 essay Tao Tao ( (People), by Crispin Salvador *

December 7, 2002. Sat.u.r.day night. I've spent a week in planes, in taxis, in strange dreams and conversations. Tonight's the first night I actually feel good. Awesome even. As I was finishing my blood stew, Sadie texted to apologize for leaving me in the rain. She promised to make it up to me. I took a nap in the hotel and arrived at the club fresh-showered, nose powdered, and grooving with the certainty of the next step: I know where Dulcinea is.

Tonight, though, I'm free of all that. Tonight, in my pocket, is a throbbing virgin gram. Tonight, even the music is perfect. It's Oknard5 on the deck, in town from NYC for the holidays. He's sampling from electro cla.s.sics, weaving a tapestry all his own. The crowd is loving it.

And there she is. s.e.xy Sadie, through the smoke of the dance floor, revealed by the parting crowd. She's leaning up against the bar across the way, elbows propped behind her lackadaisically. She looks at me looking at her. She is hidden by dancing bodies and disco lights flashing red, then blue, then darkness, then green, then orange. The revelers shift and she's revealed again, her gaze unbroken. Sadie smiles.

Her luminescent shoulders are fragile in her black spaghetti straps. Long hair parted in the middle just covers the twin points of her chest, sharp and ostentatious beneath her thin satin top. She reminds me of one of the nymphs in the Pre-Raphaelite painting: heroic Hylas at the water's edge being lured for a swim. Sadie looks down her pert nose at me, her large dark eyes looking up and beckoning. I swear, Waterhouse must have secretly loved a Filipina mestiza. I can imagine Sadie naked in the water, lily pads brushing the undersides of her upturned b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a yellow flower in her hair, delicate arms reaching as I bring my amphora to slake my thirst.

When I reach her, she shouts over the music into my ear: "Do you want to tend the rabbits, Lenny?"

"What do you mean?" I yell.

"You looked so lost there. Uncertain as a mouse. Did that guy slip a baggie in your pocket?"

"I thought someone was watching me. I didn't know it was you. I'm fine. Just overwhelmed at being home."

"Me? Watching? What do you think of me, thinking of you thinking of you?" She makes her voice all cute for that moldy old line.

I play along: "What do you take me for, granted granted?"

"Never. I'm glad you got my text. Didn't think you'd make it, actually. The rains and all. My parents wouldn't let me out."

"Why? All the coup talk?"

"Nah. That's just the usual bulls.h.i.t. Right? My folks were worried about this freakazoid typhoon. I had to wait for my mom to take her sleeping pills, and my f.u.c.king dad wasn't home anyway. Nice pants, by the way. I didn't take you for the-"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I mean, like, rock on, man!" She holds up a hand to do the sign of the horns.

I look down at my tight leather jeans. I'd bought them after Madison and I broke up. I guess I wanted to reinvent myself. Sadie teases, but I can tell she's totally impressed.

"Hey, Sadie, won't your dad ..."

"No, the driver drops him off under the porte cochere. Tomorrow's my parents' golf day-their together time. Usually they just walk to their b.a.l.l.s together. That's how together they are. But with this weather they'll be sleeping in till eleven."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Can you buy me a drink?" She puts her hand on my chest. Can she feel my heart pounding? It's been so long since I felt the thrill of newness. I think we're such a good match. I'd never felt that with Madison. With Madison it was almost as if need brought us together and exhaustion kept us that way. you buy me a drink?" She puts her hand on my chest. Can she feel my heart pounding? It's been so long since I felt the thrill of newness. I think we're such a good match. I'd never felt that with Madison. With Madison it was almost as if need brought us together and exhaustion kept us that way.

"You know, Miguel? I feel really close to you. It's like I've been waiting for you all my life. Buy me a drink, then take me away forever." I almost believe her. Then she raises the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends she's about to swoon. She sure has nice armpits.

I call the bartender over. "I'd like a Swinging Balzac."

"What?" he says. "Single malt on rocks?"

"No, a Swinging Balzac. One part cognac, one part calvados, half part Grand Marnier, splash of lemon. Shaken with ice and strained into a martini gla.s.s." The bartender thinks for a second then nods.

"What's that?" Sadie asks.

"Crispin's signature concoction. I think he stole the name from someone more clever. He used to say, 'Fancy a Swinging Balzac?' while waggling his fist like a, you know."

"Like a what?"

"What'll you have?"

Sadie orders a Double d.i.c.kel on the rocks. "How very writerly and pretentious of us," she says, grinning.

It is, too. It's great.

Our smitten protagonist hears the bartender punch their order into the register. The sound of the bell before the cash drawer opens reminds him of that familiar scene. The old man in his study, at his desk, in a pool of light made milky by pipe tobacco, the type hammers clickety-clacketing until the rewarding ding.

The boy observes himself in the mirror behind the bar, even as he stands beside Sadie in the strobing lights. He stares not out of vanity, but for confirmation. Yes-he thinks, looking himself in the eye-this is real. Even if it's like we're in the movies. Even if it's too good to be true-finally, a girl who gets it; the lighting just right; the sound track soaring; the sensation thick in the throat that a climax is about to be enacted. He shakes his head and thinks, G.o.d, I'm high right now.

Boy Bastos grows up and has a daughter who looks just like him, whom he names Girly. He chaperones a play date, sitting with Girly and her friend from school. They play luksong tinik, the traditional game involving a pair seated on the ground to form a fence with outstretched hands, over which partic.i.p.ants leap. It starts a few hand spans high, then another hand is added once everyone makes the jump. You may have seen that painting by Amorsolo, all bucolic and sun-drenched, often used in pamphlets and books to ill.u.s.trate an idyllic youth.

The girls hold out their hands, and Boy has no trouble jumping over. He laughs with unexpected glee. Finally, it's his daughter's turn. Boy's stretched hand forms the top of the barrier. Girly makes a magnificent leap, like a pair of scissors opened wide to make a cut.

"You touched!" Boy exclaims.

"No, I didn't," Girly claims.

"I'm sure you did," Boy says. They begin to argue vehemently.

"Papa, how can you be so sure?"

Boy smells his thumb. "Hmmph!" he says. "Like fish! Told you you touched!"

Sadie: "What's that smell?"

Our voices echo in the men's room cubicle.

Me: "This is the bathroom."

Sadie: "It's, um, kinda gross."

Me: "Let's finish and get out."

Sadie is timid when she does c.o.ke, sniffing demurely as if over a fresh batch of cookies. And after I serve her a b.u.mp off my key, she takes it and the baggie and serves me in return. You can tell a lot about a girl by how she does her cocaine. Madison was like a Provencal pig rooting for truffles. Usually she did both the lines I'd cut for her and me. It became her running gag, though I hated it, especially at three in the morning when our supply was running low.

Sadie reaches up and wipes some powder from my upper lip. I feel like I'm in a summer field, standing on the top rung of a ladder, looking over acres of sunflowers. Who needs drugs when you have love, or at least infatuation?

"You know," she says, "in that book I'm reading about the s...o...b..arders, there's this great bit that goes, 'There is something inherently fun about doing c.o.ke in a crowded bar with your friends that has little to do with being high. It's the feeling of getting away with something-at an age where it's okay to buy a Playboy Playboy or see a girl in her underwear, it's like having a hard-on underwater at a public swimming pool.' And you know, I think I'd like to get away with something with you, Miguel, I really think I would." Sadie gives me a kiss on the chin and I feel like I'm a spoon sparking in a microwave. "Let's get some more booze," she says. or see a girl in her underwear, it's like having a hard-on underwater at a public swimming pool.' And you know, I think I'd like to get away with something with you, Miguel, I really think I would." Sadie gives me a kiss on the chin and I feel like I'm a spoon sparking in a microwave. "Let's get some more booze," she says.

I hold open the stall door. I may not be a lot of things, but one thing I am is a gentleman. The curve where Sadie's neck and shoulder meet looks d.a.m.n delicious.

Laughter and voices approach and suddenly the door opens and some old friends spill into the men's room. I sniff and wipe my nose, to preserve Sadie's honor.

"Dude!" Gabby says. "When'd you get back?" It's great to see him. He still has those eyes like he's got some joyful secret he might just share with you.

Rico: "Good to see you, dawg!"

Chucho (shaking my hand vigorously): "What a guy what a guy what a guy!"

Gabby: "How long you staying?"

Me: "Just a week. Probably."

Chucho: "Not even long enough for a denouement! Why aren't you staying for Christmas?"

Me: "How you guys doing?"

Chucho: "Same same, pare. Same same." He's ballooned since I last saw him. Since his wife got pregnant, I guess. "Nothing changes here."

Rico: "True that, mate." His accent is South London. A few years ago he flunked out of Ateneo Law and was sent to culinary school abroad. His parents knew the Philippine amba.s.sador to the Court of Saint James or something. "Just got back from Heathrow yesterday. Almost didn't make it. But I knew the Christmas parties would be right proper. Got delayed six hours in Narita, waiting for the weather to clear over here. What a bother. Man, can you believe these bombings? b.l.o.o.d.y f.u.c.king Muslims. And my parents think I'm safer at home than at winter break in Ibiza." He p.r.o.nounces it "Ibitha."

Gabby: "You know how it is. It's been bad for so long it can't get worse. It's all just the media. These things get blown up."

We laugh at his unintentional pun.

Sadie: "It's not that that bad." She apparently knows everyone here, in true Manila cosmology. "Manila's one big Rorschach test. You can tell loads about a person by what they think of it." bad." She apparently knows everyone here, in true Manila cosmology. "Manila's one big Rorschach test. You can tell loads about a person by what they think of it."

Chucho: "Sades, why you hanging with this miscreant? Just kidding. I kid, I kid! What a guy what a guy. This motherf.u.c.ker used to be the Atomic Shaman! Did you know that? Should've seen him dance with glowsticks. But he's moved to better locales. Look at him. Too much milk and honey and Famous Original Ray's." He chummily grabs around my waist. I push him away and tousle his hair.

Gabby (his eyes sparkling): "Dude, you have?"

Rico: "What?" (His face fills with the euphoria of realization, followed by a goofy look of hope.) The three guys watch me expectantly.

Sadie looks at me. I look at Sadie. I look at the guys.

"Sorry, fellas. All gone."

We file out of the bathroom together. Gabby's got his arm around Sadie and I can tell he's teasing her about me. Chucho is bobbing to the music and starts pumping his fist in the air.

Rico (his arm on my shoulders): "Hey, how's your gramps? He doing well?"

I've never really liked Rico. He thinks he can be chummy with me because he worked as my grandfather's a.s.sistant after college. He'd have done well in politics. He's such a d.i.c.khead that when he gets aroused he gets a stiff neck. And because he's recently discovered cocaine he thinks he's extra cool.

Me: "My grandpa's okay. Still at it."

Rico: "You know, your lolo is one of the best men I ever met. He may be a lot of things, mate, but he's an honest man in a dishonest line of work."

Me: "Sure."

Rico: "He gave me s.h.i.t when I worked for him, but I deserved it."

Me: "You shouldn't have showed up stoned so often."

Rico: "Dude, I needed to be. Tough f.u.c.king job. I remember the worst night was when this guy rang the gate at Forbes, looking for your grandpops. I went out and the guy's like, 'I voted for Governor Salvador. I earned a certificate in caregiving because of his programs and came to work in Manila.' The bloke's hands were like all shaking. He goes, 'I tried my best. I have nothing left and nowhere else to go. I need a little help to take the boat home to my family.' Then he looks me in the eye and is like, 'If the governor doesn't help me, I don't know what I'll do. I'm afraid of what I'll do.' He looked like he really meant it. I don't think I'll ever forget that. He was like playing with the end of his shirt and his hands were trembling. So I went inside and told your lolo, and he's like, 'They all say that.' So I'm like, 'What should I do?' And your lolo goes: 'Take care of it.' So I go out and tell the guy sorry. You should've seen him. His hands quit shaking and his whole body crumpled and he sat on the ground. I didn't know what to do. So I gave him all the money I had in my wallet. I had to shut the gate, but he just sat there, staring at the f.u.c.king pittance I gave him. I wonder a lot about what happened to him."

Me: "You never told me about this."

Rico: "Aw, we weren't hanging out anymore. You were always with your chick and your baby."

Me: "What a f.u.c.king hypocrite my grandfather is."

Rico: "You s.h.i.tting me? I respected him after that. 'Cause he was right. Don't think s.h.i.t like that doesn't affect your lolo. He just knows what has to be done."

Me: "I don't know. You help wherever you can."

Rico: "Yeah. Try it. Anyways. You sure you can't stay for Christmas?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm sure."

Rico: "Dude, just for the parties, then get the f.u.c.k out. Seriously. Every time I come back, I see it. This place is a living ghost town. Innit?"

MAGELLAN: Gimme, gimme, gimme some heathens for my Lord Gimme, gimme, gimme some heathens for my Lord Some bullets for our muskets and a whetstone for our swords In ships we come, like a stroke of thunder To live and die, for salvation and plunder We name these lands for our king!

PIGAFETTA: Gimme, gimme, gimme my parchment and my quill Gimme, gimme, gimme my parchment and my quill The story I have, I know is sure to thrill I'll record our myths and make you legend Our faith in G.o.d's empire nothing could rend We name these lands for our king!