 
Game of

Wit and Chance

## Smugglers in Paradise Series

## \- Beginnings –

## By R. Scott Tyler

### Published by R. Scott Tyler 2015

### Smashwords Edition

### First printing, November 2015 (USA)

### Copyright © R. Scott Tyler 2015

### All Rights Reserved

### ISBN-13: 978-1517585556

### ISBN-10: 1517585554

### Cover by Roy Migabon

### Publisher's Note:

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, transmitted or circulated in any form other than its original.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance, real or imagined, to actual people, living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental.

Book Description

Restless Filipino, Gilberto Ramos, leaves the U.S. to return to his beloved homeland at the end of World War II. His new American wife, Sophia, happily joins him to escape a family in ruin and to satisfy her wanderlust. Their four children are raised with a love of family, music and the sea, but their four minds are focused in four different directions. One wants to see the world, one wants to own the world, one wants to make music for the world and one wants simply to live in the world. Their directions are set. How will fate intervene?

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##  News at Sea 1984

Saltwater spray stung Steven's eyes, drenched his body and made his skin itch as his ship rode the South China Sea somewhere between Manila and Shanghai. He knew pretty closely where he was, but since he was contracted to 'manage cargo' and not pilot, there were really only three places that mattered -- Manila Harbor, Shanghai Harbor and the sea between the two. They hadn't made it to Shanghai ahead of tropical storm Maisey. The first mate, head bent against the wind and following the storm guide wires, raised his hand and yelled when he was a foot from Steven's ear, "Captain wants to see you right away, Steven, he's at the helm."

"I'll go when I'm through here. Another twenty minutes...a half hour at most. I have to finish checking the port hatches." Steven replied.

"No, I'll finish. You go now. Captain said to send you immediately." The first mate met his eyes and transmitted something beyond words that stopped Steven's next argument as it was making its way from his brain to his tongue.

The wind tore at his sleeves, and just as he opened the door that led to the helm, big drops of rain began to splash down.

With a salute he acknowledged his superior and waited as the Captain handed over control of the monstrous, moving warehouse to a helmsman and motioned for Steven to follow him into the Captain's study. Captain Villanueva, his back to Steven as he poured them each short shots of whiskey, said, "Take a seat, Steven. I'm afraid I must deliver some bad news." Steven's heart sank, his thoughts immediately flying to his grandparents and then even his father, bits of memories of them flashing before his eyes.

Steven was shocked back to reality as the Captain turned, handed him one of the whiskeys, and with little preamble said, "Steven, your sister Julia is dead." He then poured the fiery liquid down his throat, grimaced just a little and indicated that Steven should do the same. Instead, Steven set the glass aside and sat down heavily. The Captain continued, "I'm very sorry, Steven. I just received the information and wanted you to hear it from me as soon as possible. I know Julia meant a great deal to you."

"But how...? I just talked to her. We were going to meet in Shanghai in a week!" Steven's mind was racing, as was his breath. As sweat beaded his forehead the room became a blur.

#

Each time the ship he was sailing on visited Shanghai, Steven visited Julia's tiny apartment. Even so, this would only be the third time he'd seen it. As he mechanically went through the motions, absentmindedly doing his part to get the big ship docked, he began to think about what brought his youngest sister to Shanghai.

Julia inherited their father's gift for music. Both of his sisters had, as far as that went, but Julia's voice forever remained in his head. She learned to sing before she could really speak. Steven guessed it was because their father, Gilberto, used song to soothe and calm his children. Julia, being the youngest of Gilberto's four children and losing her mother before she was one year old, received Gilberto's touch and voice longer than the other kids. She had no younger sibling vying for her remaining parent's attentions. After Sophia died Gilberto spent hours singing his grief out with Julia and her older siblings. Steven always figured that had instilled Julia with an innate ability to move her audience with her emotion when she sang herself.

Early on Julia decided she wanted to spread her wings and use her musical talent to travel the world. Her first move was from the provinces to Manila, every Filipino's notion of potential prosperity and opportunity. One of the mayor's affiliates, a very consistent appreciator of her music, had been encouraging her to make the Chinese mega-city her next career move. When the brightness of the big city of Manila finally burned itself out she'd saved almost enough money to move to Shanghai. So after holding off her persistent admirer for several months, Julia finally slept with him. Shortly afterwards she was presented with the approved paperwork that assured her move to China. The aide to the mayor of Manila had even been instrumental in finding her a small apartment and introducing her to the block policeman who was in charge of the area. Steven had helped Julia with many other details, knowing nothing of her political connections.

The first time his ship visited Shanghai, Julia met Steven at the docks. After hugging the breath out of her, Steven chided her as he knew the eldest Filipino brother (Kuya, they all called him) ought to do. "You should not have come here by yourself, little sister, Shanghai is a very dangerous city and the harbor docks are some of the worst areas!" At the time, he meant it, but only halfheartedly. There was no stopping Julia when she put her mind to something and he knew it. Well everyone knew it, he thought. She was a modern, single Filipina living alone in Shanghai, right?

Julia had laughed and replied, "Ha, Ha, my kuya, little sisters do what they want now, don't they?" With that she punched him, rather hard, in the arm, turned around and commanded the nearest rickshaw operator, in Chinese, to deliver them to the street in front of her apartment. "The French consulate listened to me sing last night," Julia told him with a flick of her eyes in his direction. "The French are so colorful. He loved my voice, as well as my dress," she said, laughing as Steven reached over and gently pinched the top of her arm.

"If Mother was alive she would tell me to bring you back home and lock you up," was what he had said to her. He had looked away sadly though because the truth was he wasn't sure he knew what their mother would have done. Their father told them that Sophia had wanderlust very badly and never wanted to stay in the same place long.

Julia looked at him then and replied "I guess we don't know that, do we." And she stretched forward to shout directions at the rickshaw driver. Steven didn't know many words in Chinese, but he read his sister's mood like an old, familiar book. She wasn't going to be happy if the driver took them the long way home. She wouldn't let him get away with anything. Steven leaned back and smiled.

##  Sophia, Portland 1942

At noon, Sophia's mother, Gloria, flung her hand over the side of the bed and felt around on the nightstand until her fingers closed on the half empty package of Pall Mall's. Shaking one out of the torn corner, she stuck it in her mouth and struck a match on the headboard over her, sucking in the harsh smoke as well as the sulfurous eruption of the match tip. The first morning drag always made her gag, but she wasn't ready to swing her dead legs off the bed yet so she swallowed it down and sucked in another lungful in quick succession.

"Sophia! Bring your mother some coffee! And fix it the way I like it in the morning!" The way she liked it was half coffee and half vodka. When she lost the use of her legs she'd also lost her desire for getting up in the morning...going to bed at night...and pretty much everything else in between.

A few weeks after he realized his wife wasn't coming back to him as a whole woman, Sophia's father lost the desire to come home at night. When he did come home, he slept in the bedroom or on the couch, wherever her mother had not passed out. There was also a tendency for 'pals' to show up with him to continue their partying. Some of them paid a little too much attention to Sophia's mother, others paid too much attention to Sophia. The good ones simply drank whatever liquor was in the house.

Lighting the flame under the tea kettle, Sophia took a chipped enamel mug out of the dish drainer. She crossed the barren kitchen to the single set of metal cupboards her dad purchased from Sears when they moved into the house and dumped a teaspoon of instant coffee in the mug and followed that by spilling a couple shots of vodka into it. She'd found that the order she put the ingredients in the mug didn't seem to matter to her mom. The only thing her mom commented on was the amount of alcohol.

Tomorrow it would be two years since they moved into this house; Sophia remembered it well because it had been her thirteenth birthday. A couple weeks before that birthday, her father had taken her to Sears and she was quite excited with the large carton he alternately pushed and pulled into the back of the (also thirteen year old) truck.

"Dad, what is it! It's so big, is it a bicycle?" She had asked him.

He had scoffed, "A bicycle? Why would I buy a bike? It's a kitchen cabinet for the new rental. There's hardly a thing in the entire place."

Richard continued to awkwardly try to push and pull the box, which had no hand holds anywhere on it, onto the truck bed.

"Well don't just stand there with your mouth open, give me a hand here with this," he said.

He never did acknowledge his daughter's birthday and she never reminded him.

Her fifteenth birthday was now nearly upon her.

"Where's my coffee?" Gloria shouted, which caused her throat to catch, creating a hacking fit that turned into retching. The irritating tone of the reminder, followed by the disgusting noise that sounded like a pig being born, pulled Sophia out of her memories and back into her pre-birthday doldrums. Shutting off the gas and filling the remainder of the space in the mug with the tepid water, she gave the liquid one quick stir and walked it into her mom.

"Ah, thanks honey. Your old mom just needs a little more help these days." Gloria blew on the top of the mug a couple times, then guzzled a third of it in one drink. "Jeez that hits the spot. I really need my coffee to get started in the morning."

Sophia's deadpan look was getting pretty well practiced and she delivered her birthday reminder with the best one yet. "So, any big plans for tomorrow night?"

Tomorrow was Sunday.

Sophia's birthday.

"None," her mother answered. "Besides reliving the painful entrance of my one and only daughter into the world."

This sparked a small smile, as well as a punch in the leg, from Sophia.

Gloria raised one eyebrow at the punch, reminding Sophia that she felt nothing from the hips down. "You think just because I don't throw you a fancy ball party that I forgot the day you were born? How could I forget that, I've never felt so much pain in all my life?" She took another long swallow of her drink and continued with, "and never been as proud of what that pain produced."

"What are we gonna do, Mom?" Sophia meant 'do' in the larger sense. Her life had turned into alternating between being so mad she couldn't speak to her mom and being paralyzed with the agony of defeat that she knew her mom felt as well.

"I'm not going to do anything, Graymane made sure of that when he spooked and threw me onto those rocks." Draining her mug, she handed it back to Sophia. "You're going to go make me a second cup of my special coffee." Shooing her back to the kitchen, Gloria repeated the mantra that caused desolation to fill her daughter's heart. "After that, you're going to do what I've been telling you since your last birthday. You're going to get the hell out of here and not look back."

Sophia closed her eyes as she stood in front of the white enamel, four burner gas stove thinking she could never leave her mom to fend for herself in her helpless condition.

##  Uncle Raymond 1939

He headed to Portland as soon as Texas was done with him. "Lone Star state, my ass," Raymond thought. Freak bunch of red neck cowboys was more like it. He'd suffered under their dusty kind of sweat justice long enough. The lazy county attorney assigned to him didn't spend any more time than he had to arguing his case. If he had, Raymond was sure the charges would have been totally dropped. As it was he'd have this misdemeanor on his record for a while. And any crime involving children was spit on in the south, even if they all married their fourteen year old cousins...according to what he heard.

His brother, Richard, lived in Portland and maybe he would see his way clear to lending him a little money to get back in the game. With any luck, Richard hadn't heard about his little incident with the underage hooker. Their father wasn't going to tell him, since he had been picked up along with Raymond in the same car. Yeah, he figured Richard was his best bet to getting back on his feet until he had spent two and a half weeks hitch hiking halfway across the country only to be met at his brother's front door faced with a baseball bat.

"So I guess you heard, huh?" He tried the same guilty grin he'd worn all during high school whenever the principal had called or sent him home. It had usually worked on Richard. He would spend an hour lying his ass off and end up with twenty dollars and a couple days off school. Apparently things had changed.

"You're not welcome here, Ray. Get the hell offa my porch. Go back to Texas." Richard said.

When Raymond continued to stand there, grin melting slowly off his face, Richard continued. "Better yet, leave Mom alone and go wherever child rapists go after spending time having other prisoners teach you the ropes."

"Brother, that's harsh," replied Raymond. If anything, Raymond had gotten even better at acting since being in prison. "I'm only here to say hello to my big brother and get back on my feet."

"You're not welcome here anymore. Go find another sucker to help you back into your slime pit." Richard didn't give any ground, but lowered the bat.

"Come on man, just give me a few days. I've just hitch hiked half way across the country. If you don't want me to hang out, I get it. Everybody else was against me too. Just let me stay here till I get rested so I can plan my next move." The guilty grin was replaced by the younger brother pleading his case. "I was railroaded the whole way, Bro. It's Texas, right?"

Richard's shoulders sagged and he heaved a sigh. Raymond was his baby brother, wasn't he? His goddamned baby brother that had been in trouble ever since he turned twelve. Ever since their uncle had started with the horseback riding. He should have killed his uncle when he had the chance. It was all Richard's fault really, wasn't it.

"Here's a hundred dollars, Ray." Richard cleaned out his wallet and handed all of the bills in it to his kid brother. "Go find a cheap place to stay tonight. Clear out in the morning. Get out of Oregon. In fact, get out of the West. I'm done with this; I won't do it anymore. You're on your own."

Raymond took the money and made a show of counting it in front of his brother. Then he raised his eyes back to Richard's face and with a sneer that could put frost on a bottle of Bud, said, "Thanks for nothing, big brother. You're not the boss of me anymore, I'll come and go as I please. I kinda like it here, you know?" He turned around and looked at the whiskery landscape of trees outside his brother's yard. "Hell, maybe I'll do a little lumbering. Good money for a lumberjack with no scruples, I hear." The grin was back when he turned around again.

Raymond saw Richard sigh and was sure he could see his shoulders sag as well.

"You'll stay away from here if you know what's good for you," Richard simply said.

Raymond just laughed, turned and headed into town.

##  Marge and Sophia, Portland 1941

"You have to wear the dress, you're the mommy and that's what the mommy wears." Marge said, big furrows folding her almost invisible, blond brows together. "I'm the daddy, I wear the pants."

Sophia rolled her eyes for the tenth time. They didn't even have the costumes that Marge wanted on yet and she was already worn out on the game. "Listen, I don't like dresses and you know it. How about if I wear the silly apron and we'll pretend it's a flowing gown!"

Marge frowned and Sophia watched her think about it for a half minute. Sophia knew she would agree. Marge always agreed. Sophia could get the nine year old to do pretty much whatever she wanted. Sophia loved Marge like the best little sister she didn't have.

"Okay," Marge finally agreed, "but only if you stay and listen to 'Amos and Andy' after dinner." She was always working it to try to get Sophia to stay for a little longer.

"Oh, Margie, we listened to that old show last time I was here. I want to go for a hike. I'd so much rather catch a frog or two than listen to that old radio." It went on like this all the time. Marge negotiating for culture, stories and time together while Sophia whined for a bit more of the outdoors and adventure.

Again, Marge made a show of thinking it over and finally agreed. "I'll go let Mama know you'll be staying to dinner and that we'll have a nature walk afterwards." Though the two girls were almost four years apart in age, like opposing poles on two magnets, they were drawn together. Sophia watched the exchange between Marge and her mother through the kitchen door. "Of course Sophia can eat with us Margie. But maybe she should check with her parents?" Marge's face expressed her answer to her mother without actually saying, "Of course she shouldn't."

When Marge's father came home he scooped Marge up in his arms and gave her a little bear hug, kissing her forehead as he did. "Daddy, please. Can't you see we have company?" The nine year old held out her hand indicating Sophia, quietly sitting on the couch watching their interactions. "Why no, I was unaware, my dear. Hello, Miss Sophia," Marge's father said, inclining his head slightly in Sophia's direction. His daughter's somewhat recalcitrant friend gave him a slight nod and tried to hide her distrust. He put his daughter down, stepped into the kitchen, and slid his arms around his wife's waist. "Hello my darling. I see we have the pleasure of Sophia's watchful eye again for dinner." A bit quieter, Sophia heard him add, "Why doesn't that kid like me?"

"Don't be silly, Larry. How can she not like you, you're only ever kind to her." Sophia watched her turn around to face him and bring a spoon close to his mouth. "Give this a taste and tell me if it needs more cheese." They were having macaroni and cheese again tonight. It was an inside joke between the two of them. They had macaroni and cheese three times a week.

"It's perfect, as usual, and you know it." With a peck on the cheek Marge's father let go of his wife and went to wash up. "C'mon you girls. Get up to the kitchen sink and wash the outdoors off those hands. Mother is almost done with the Lima beans."

Marge jumped up and ran to the stove, peering up with a distraught look on her face. "Lima beans are dreadful, Momma! Sophia hates them!"

"No I don't, Marge, you do. I eat anything that is served and you know it." Sophia said.

Looking back over her shoulder Marge gave her best friend a look that she interpreted as 'hush' and checked her mother's face again. There was a smile on it and even Sophia could see that Marge's father was having a joke at her expense...again. Marge apparently now saw the green peas on the stove, which just so happened to be her favorite vegetable. "Okay then, I guess we'll all just eat what we're told then, won't we." With that she marched to the kitchen sink and pulled the step stool, which she was getting close to outgrowing, from underneath and started scrubbing her hands. "Come on Sophia, you don't want to miss grace."

#

Sophia was thrilled by almost everything that moved...bugs, birds, fish, bats, cats, and skunks. Her class studied the making of the relatively new Willapa National Refuge and she immediately wanted to see it.

Sophia let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Marge asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was thinking of that new park I've been studying," answered Sophia. "Willapa, you know, the one President Roosevelt made."

"So? I don't know it, what about it?" replied Marge.

Since Sophia's parents never did anything, and she wouldn't want to go with them if they did, she came up with another idea of how to get there.

"Well I'd sure love to go visit it." Sophia said. "I've heard it's very beautiful and full of birds."

"Oh." Marge said.

"It sure would be fun to go camping overnight there." Sophia said.

Marge's head popped up at that. "You want to spend a whole weekend there?"

"Oh yes." Sophia answered. She imagined she saw the gears turning in Marge's head. She hoped the idea of a weekend with her friend where they got to play together without a break, and Sophia didn't have to go home, would intrigue Marge.

Later, when Marge's mother called Sophia's house to ask Mrs. Sorenson about taking Sophia on the trip, it was Sophia who answered the phone.

"Hello." Sophia knew Mrs. Anderson would be calling and she dreaded having the two mothers talk. Ever since the accident Sophia's mother was always either listening to the radio or crying. If it weren't for canned food and frequent dinners at Marge's house, Sophia thought she certainly would starve to death.

"Hello, this is Betty Anderson, is this Mrs. Sorenson?"

This made Sophia giggle. "Of course it isn't, Mrs. Anderson, this is just Sophia."

"Oh, you sound so mature. I'm sure you sound just like your mother, don't you." Sophia figured Marge's mother knew very well who it was, but she liked being mistaken for being older anyway. "Can you put your mother on the phone, my dear?"

There was a long pause as Marge's mom wondered whether Sophia was thinking about the answer or had gone to get her mother. In reality, Sophia was a little stumped. Her mother was in the living room and had thrown herself onto the couch about an hour ago for the evening. The last time Sophia saw her she had a bottle of wine and was listening to evening radio programs. Mrs. Sorenson wasn't going to be coming to the phone and the phone wasn't coming to her.

"She can't come to the phone right now, Mrs. Anderson."

"Oh goodness, well would you check with her about the trip to Willapa, my dear?"

"Sure, what do you want me to check on?" Sophia was confused, she thought it was all settled.

"Well I want to get her permission to take you along, of course, my dear."

"Oh...all right, let me ask her." Sophia set the phone down and went to the living room doorway. Her mom was sleeping, head back in an uncomfortable looking position, the last of her wine still in the water glass she had been drinking from beside her on the table. Walking over, she bumped her mother's foot to see if she'd wake up. When she didn't, Sophia picked up the water glass and drained the sour tasting wine, finishing it in one swallow.

She listened to the radio program for long enough to tell that it was one of those murder mystery programs her mother liked so much, and then she wandered back into the kitchen where the phone was sitting off the hook, on the counter. "Mrs. Anderson?"

"Yes, my dear. Did you ask her?"

"I did. And she said it would be fine for me to go as long as you'd have me."

"My goodness, that's just splendid then, isn't it? You tell her thank you for me and give her my regards. I hope she's feeling alright tonight?"

"Mom's relaxing, Mrs. Anderson." Relaxing? Relaxed was more like it, but who really cared, she thought.

##  Willapa 1941

The drive to the coast took the better part of a day and the Andersons, plus Sophia, made several stops for gas, lunch and bathroom breaks. Marge's dad kept saying what a challenge it was to travel with three women, but the truth was he instigated each and every stop so Sophia didn't think he was serious.

When they finally arrived at their campsite, he shooed everyone away while he assembled the big canvas tent he borrowed from his boss at the ship-building factory. An hour and a half later, Marge's mom and the two girls returned to the campsite to the smell of fried hamburgers and potatoes. Larry had pickles, ketchup, mustard and fried onions to go on the hamburgers as well. There were apples for dessert and two bottles of root beer to be shared by them all.

"Since the boys cooked, would it be possible to get the girls to clean up?" Larry was leaning up against a tree smoking a cigarette, hoping the answer would be yes.

"What do you think, girls? Did he do a good enough job to be rewarded with clean-up?" Marge's mother, Betty, asked.

Marge gave a resounding "Yes!" She loved her dad and was used to doing the clean-up no matter what. Sophia joined in a beat later with a slightly less enthusiastic yes, but a yes just the same. There was hardly ever anything to wash up in her house. She had one spoon she used to eat everything and she always just licked it clean.

When the dish washing was done everyone went to the shore so the two girls could wade in the water. Larry read a book he brought along and Betty mostly sat with her chin on her knees, watching the two girls playing in the water. Every once in a while she called to them, "You're out too far." Dusk finally fell and Betty called the girls in. Larry gave Marge a piggy back ride back to camp and Sophia walked close behind with Mrs. Anderson bringing up the rear like a mother hen herding her brood in for the night.

The girls whispered to each other under their blankets until they were too tired to keep up the pretense that they were fooling Marge's parents about being asleep. The next morning Sophia blinked her eyes open to full sunlight streaming through the tent window and the chirping of birds.

"What is that smell?" She asked no one in particular.

"I think Daddy made bacon," Marge answered and they both popped out of bed.

"Grab a stick and get to toasting your bread, girls," Larry said. "The eggs are almost ready."

They ate bacon and eggs made over the campfire. Toasting their own bread to go with the eggs gave Sophia a new respect for the simple electric toaster that sat in Dodge's Diner where Marge's mother sometimes worked. Sophia and Marge spent the rest of the morning hours collecting rocks and shells and watching the birds. There were eagles catching fish and feasting on the rocks along the shore. There were also brown pelicans that would dive into the water and come out with fish in sagging gullets that looked like fish nets.

The noon meal was bologna sandwiches, thick with mayo and slices of fresh tomato. They each had a banana and Betty mixed up powered milk so the girls got their calcium. After everyone waited the obligatory hour after they ate, the girls were allowed to head to the beach again with Marge's parents. When swimming got boring they dug up crabs and clams and other crustaceans that hung out in the area that the tide uncovered every day.

Betty had brought a tablet and asked that they create a travel diary of sorts. Larry started by recording gasoline and oil usage. Betty added treats and sights while the girls were sleeping in the car and Sophia and Marge made a game of spotting all the letters of the alphabet, as well as numbers, in the license plates they saw. At their campsite, each person wrote a little paragraph about their day before going to bed.

After breakfast the second morning it was time to go home. Sophia and Marge were so worn out they could barely work up the energy to complain about leaving. The little travel diary was over half filled with stories of their sightings and drawings and tic-tac-toe games that the girls played by the light coming through the tent windows. They had collected beach sand, shells, feathers, rocks, and even some leaves that they had given Larry to put between the pages of his book.

With everything packed back into the car, they left Willapa. Sophia's mind was full of her first real travel adventure and she had a new obsession: The majesty of the Pacific Ocean.

##  Gilberto, Portland 1944

His eyes, the deep color of chestnuts in the late summer, and his thick, black, stick-straight hair made Gilberto stand out a bit in the Northwestern city of Portland. However, this was balanced by his five foot two inch stature and in a crowd it was easy for him to disappear. It was also easy for him to get lost, which is what he was at this moment. "Pardon me miss, I'm trying to find Central Avenue. Do you know where it is?" He'd asked the first person that looked like they knew what they were doing. Well, not the first person, it was actually the first girl. And it wasn't that she looked like she knew what she was doing, but she looked really cute. In reality, Gilberto didn't care if she knew where Central Avenue was or not. He just wanted to talk to her.

"Do I look like your mother?" Sophia meant the comment to blow this kid off. She wasn't interested in getting sucked into some sort of flim-flam and this guy looked like he was a joker.

Gilberto laughed out loud. "Not in the slightest! Although you do sound like her a little bit," he said and added, "She probably would have followed up by boxing my ears, too." He stood with his hands in his pockets and continued to look at her. "Well, I was serious. Do you know where Central Avenue is, or not?" His grin was infectious and he was just a smidgen taller than her. She didn't look intimidated. In fact, she looked just a little intrigued.

"Of course I know where Central Avenue is, I live here, and do I look like an imbecile?" She stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared back at him.

Chuckling, Gilberto gave her a few seconds to feel like she got the better of him then he stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Gilberto Ramos. I'm from the Philippines."

#

Sophia had been infected with wanderlust since she was a little girl. She knew that the Philippines was over by China and Japan, in the 'slant-eyed' region, as her father called it. She also knew that, while it was not a U.S. state, it was something just below that. Commonwealth was the name they gave it in school and the country was made up of thousands of islands. After making Gilberto wait long enough for even him to begin to look awkward, Sophia extended her hand, and shaking his she said, "Hi, Gilberto Ramos. I'm Sophia Sorenson. I'm from Portland and I know exactly where Central Avenue is."

Leading him by the hand, Sophia took Gilberto three blocks over to the corner of Central Avenue and 1st Street. It just so happened to be the corner where a particular diner stood. In that particular diner, Marge's mother waited tables a few days a week. "This is Central Avenue and 1st Street. On the weekends I help out at Dodge's Diner." With that she pulled him through the doors into the long, narrow dining room. By helping out, Sophia really meant reading anything left behind by diners. And of course, since it was Marge's mother that worked there, Marge was often there as well; in fact, she was there at the moment.

Marge looked up from where she was perched at the end of the counter reading an Action Comics comic book and declared "Well there you are Miss Sophia." Her hands let go of the comic and went to each hip to emphasize the scolding she was about to pronounce. "We were all mighty worried about you."

At that moment, Marge's mom came out of the kitchen door with a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes headed to booth #7. "Oh hi, girls. I'm glad you're here. Would you mind going in the back and peeling the potatoes for tonight's special?" Obviously, she had not missed Sophia at all. Marge hung her head in disgust at her moment being so easily disrupted.

Gilberto looked from Sophia, whom he had thought to be old enough to be eligible for his attentions, to Marge, who looked much more like a little girl. "Thanks for orienting me, Sophia. I appreciate your help. I'll let you get to your work," and with the slightest of bows, he turned and exited the diner.

Sophia raced out the door, grabbed his hand, pulled him around, cupped her hand to his ear and whispered. "Come back next weekend."

#

The next weekend Gilberto showed up right after lunch at Dodge's Diner. He'd thought about Sophia all week, and his heart, or at least as close to his heart as a seventeen year old boy could tell, was pining to see her again. His life was filled with unpleasant things right now, which was difficult for someone who was typically a jokester and happy go lucky. He needed someone cheerful and fair to the eye to cheer him up.

Pushing through the door to the diner, he realized it looked much more worn than when he first saw it with Sophia's face in the foreground. He had just enough money for coffee because he wanted to save the rest of his money for a movie with Sophia, assuming she'd go with him.

"Afternoon," the woman behind the counter greeted Gilberto with a smile as she delivered a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes to a rather dour looking man. The man had the morning newspaper open and was reading the front page article, which appeared to be on the war effort.

"Hello, Mrs. Anderson," Gilberto returned with a smile. The man at the counter looked up at his greeting, and if a face could get more dour, his did. Being Filipino in America had never been fun exactly, but since the Japanese invaded Pearl Harbor, it was orders of magnitude worse. Gilberto didn't think he looked remotely Japanese, but to most Americans, his black hair and dark brown almond eyes made him look just like these other island nation Asians they had quickly grown to fear and hate. The man scrutinized him hard until Marge's mother loudly set the ketchup in front of him and splashed coffee on his paper refilling his cup.

Smiling a bit resignedly, Gilberto took a booth with the man's back to him so he wouldn't be stared at and said, "I'll just have some coffee, please, Ma'am."

She brought the pot and a cup and saucer over to his booth. "I remember you from last weekend with Sophia, but I don't remember your name."

"It's Gilberto, ma'am, but mostly I like to be called Gil." He stuck out his hand and she shook it politely while deftly pouring his coffee.

"I suspect Sophia will be here shortly with my Marge." She told him, looking out of the corner of her eye at him, showing just a hint of a smile. "Will you be waiting for her?"

A big grin broke out on his face and he replied, "That I will be, ma'am, if it's alright with you, of course." Mrs. Anderson just gave as lady like a snort as was possible and returned to busying herself behind the counter.

Twenty minutes later Gilberto had the menu memorized and was as jittery as he'd been in a while from the coffee he'd been guzzling to avoid the stares of other challenging customers. This time when the little bell attached to the door tinkled indicating customers, his grin was wide and involuntary. Sophia was finally here...being led by a talkative Marge. The little leader marched through the door unaware of anyone but herself, her entourage (only Sophia) and her mother behind the counter. Sophia saw him the instant she stepped inside, a grin spreading to her face as well. She, however, quickly recovered her poise and put her nose just a tiny bit in the air.

"Hello, Marge. Hello, Sophia." Gilberto found himself standing in front of the girls, not really remembering getting out of the booth.

Marge just stopped and stared at him, but Sophia answered, "Hello, Gil, fancy meeting you here today." She had, of course, told Marge about Gilberto after whispering to him to return, but Marge, being a bit too young to really understand what would make Sophia interested in boys, had almost immediately forgotten. "Yeah, why are you here?" Marge chimed in.

"Girls, I think Gil has been waiting for you this morning. Why don't you all sit down and I'll bring you some orange juice." Marge looked at her mother, but slid into the booth opposite Gilberto's coffee cup. She looked like she was trying to figure out how to remedy her problem by filling Gilberto's coffee cup with poison.

After a joke about a rat and a mouse fell flat, the three sat in awkward silence until Marge's mother brought orange juice for all three of them. "Sophia, would you go to the movies with me this afternoon?" Gilberto blurted out, just as Marge put the glass to her lips. Marge's mouth dropped open to likely say "What??", but before anything came out of her mouth, Sophia said "Yes, of course, we'd love to!"

As Marge's mouth dropped open farther for possibly a second "What??" Her mother chimed in with "Sophia, maybe Marge should stay here and help me around the restaurant..."

"No, Mrs. Anderson, I meant Marge as well, of course." Gilberto was astute enough to realize that dating Sophia with Marge around would be hard enough without Marge being out to get him. "We can all three go to the afternoon matinee at the Winsor." It was a theater just a few blocks away and had an afternoon double feature, including comics and newsreel, for a quarter.

Mrs. Anderson looked at him with a renewed respect before politely saying, "That would be fine, Gil. Let me get some cookies for the three of you to take along."

##  Escape 1945

Taken directly from Wikipedia, The Philippines, American Period:

In 1935, the Philippines was granted Commonwealth status with Manuel Quezon as president. He designated a national language and introduced women's suffrage and land reform. Plans for independence over the next decade were interrupted by World War II when the Japanese Empire invaded and the Second Philippine Republic of José P. Laurel was established as a Japanese collaborator state. Many atrocities and war crimes were committed during the war such as the Bataan Death March and the Manila massacre that culminated during the Battle of Manila. In 1944, Quezon died in exile in the United States and Sergio Osmeña succeeded him. Allied troops defeated the Japanese in 1945. By the end of the war it is estimated over a million Filipinos had died.

##  Decision Time 1945

When the war was finally over, Gilberto thought he would feel overjoyed...or better, at least, but his home country had been devastated. In 1945 the population of the Philippines was about 18.5 million people. Over the course of WWII about five percent of the country's population had been wiped out. Family members had lost their lives and sometimes even the jokester in him struggled. He'd just experienced his nineteenth birthday and he felt bewildered and preoccupied. He felt he had to return to his home.

On a Saturday in September he made his decision. He arrived at Dodge's Diner earlier than usual. Sophia and Marge probably wouldn't show up for an hour so he sat in their normal booth and ordered a cup of coffee. Everything about being in the U.S. had begun to bother him over the past week. Even in the diner, the worn out plastic covering of the booth, which he never really noticed before, poked his back through his tee shirt today. The dampness, and the smell of bleach, left by the waitress' rag as she half-heartedly swiped the last customer's left-over breakfast crumbs from in front of him, even the lumps of chewing gum under the table that he often forced Marge to touch seemed gross today instead of funny.

When the hinges on the front screen door screeched stubbornly open and the spring return closed the door with a slam announcing her entrance, Gilberto got up, grabbed both of Sophia's hands in his and launched into what he'd been planning to do for the past week.

"Sophia, I'm so glad to see you!" He said.

"What are you doing and why are you being weird? You see me here every Saturday," Sophia answered.

Gilberto laughed and lead her over to the booth while Marge went to the back to check in with her mom. Sophia always knew how to make him laugh and how to make him reshuffle his thoughts.

When she'd slid into the other side of the booth, expertly avoiding the center support pole that knocked her knees whenever she ignored it, she glared at him and indicated he should relax.

"Sorry, Sophia, I can't settle today. I've made a huge decision and I want to tell you about it." He was practically bouncing on the seat and today it wasn't from six cups of strong diner coffee.

He decided to blurt it out...well he didn't exactly decide, it's what he always did. "I want to move back to the Philippines!"

He could see her deflate across the table from him. She slid down the back of the booth.

"No, no! I mean I want to move back to the Philippines, but I want you to come with me!" The next line surprised even him...it was unplanned, even though always on his mind. "I want you to marry me and come with me."

Of course Marge stepped up to the table, sipping on a cola, just as the words came out of his mouth.

Marge choked and spewed the table and her friends with cola. "WHAT?!" She looked down at the table and her blouse. "Sorry...but again, WHAT?!" She then calmly went and picked the counter cloth out of the bleach bucket, wrung it out and wiped off the table, careful to use only paper napkins on her blouse.

She slid in next to Sophia and banged her knee...hard...against the center support. She squinted her face up, "...oof...ouch...dang it..." and finally continued with the original line of questioning, "...now...WHAT?!"

Both Sophia and Gilberto were looking at her. Gilberto could hardly keep his laughter concealed. Sophia, as usual, had her emotions under lock and key.

"What 'what' Margie? I think you heard everything there was to hear, right?" Sophia said.

Gilberto saw the color come to Sophia's cheeks now.

Sophia said, "I need a glass of water," shoved Marge back out of the booth, banging her own knee this time, got up and stepped behind the counter.

Gilberto saw Marge's mother step to the kitchen doorway, but she'd turned and went back inside when she saw the drama happening in her daughter's booth.

When Sophia came back, Gilberto and Marge turned to her and asked, in unison, "Well?"

Turning on Marge, Sophia said, "First, 'best friend', don't 'what' me in the middle of the diner like I'm some ten year old. In answer to your question, this funny boy sitting across from you just told me he's moving back to the Philippines and wants to marry me." Gilberto thought if he could see the back of Sophia's neck, he'd see her hair up like a dog ready to fight. He knew Sophia didn't like being backed into a corner, even if the corner was a compliment and sort of romantic.

"Second, 'Romeo', you couldn't find a better time to spring that news on me? It had to be here and now?" Her voice hissed through clenched teeth by this time. Turning around, she stormed out of the diner.

##  Resolve Evaporates 1945

Sophia didn't go far and hoped that one or both of her friends followed her.

When Gilberto sat down beside her she collapsed into him. Her shoulders sagged, neither body nor head heeding her call to keep the orderly boxes in which she organized her life closed. Resolve evaporated from her as spilled coffee on the breakfast griddle, bubbling angrily, but actually clearing her mind. She saw the tears running down Gilberto's cheeks and it caused her own waterworks to explode. She immediately knew she would leave.

"Oh Gil, how come you've never mentioned any of this before? How can you just come and blurt it all out?" Sophia said.

It was the first time she'd let Gilberto see her cry.

For a few moments he was quiet. Sophia let herself be held and felt Gilberto's strength soften the shudders of her body and his fingers brush the hair from her face.

"Actually, I've thought about leaving so often, but not knowing what would happen to you stopped me every time," replied Gilberto.

Laying back in the grass, he pulled her with him and she used his arm as a pillow. She was still leaking sadness, but beginning to feel better than she had in a while.

Gilberto continued, saying, "I've missed my family since we moved here. I guess it's been good for Mom and Pop, at least they say its better. They've got more money. But I miss my grans and gramps and cousins. And I feel bad all the time that I wasn't there doing what I could during this whole mess."

Sophia felt his body heave a sigh and after a moment he said, "So many friends have died, I suppose more than I even know."

He wiped a tear that escaped and trickled down his face.

Then he said. "I want to be there now, I want to be part of rebuilding what we had and improving life, and I want to do it with the woman I love at my side."

Sophia had never been a follower. She thought about what he'd said and how, for him, this would be going home. He would reconnect with people he knew and loved and places where he'd grown up.

"It isn't the same anymore, Gil. People have died. As you said, probably more than you know. Bombs, prisons, the death march...it's all been horrific. Are you sure you want to go back?" she answered.

To her, it would not be going home. But it would be getting away from two people she didn't want to turn into and finally seeing more of the world. Two things she desperately wanted.

"I know it isn't the same, Sophia. It's what I want though. And I want you there with me," Gilberto told her.

He rolled over on top of her and looked into her damp, blue eyes to ask her once again what he'd fumbled with in the diner.

"Sophia, will you marry me?"

"Yes, of course I will. Now get off me," she answered.

Laughing, he kissed her tear dampened cheeks before pressing his lips against hers to see just how long he could avoid getting up.

##  Married 1945

"I now pronounce you Man and Wife."

Gilberto's parents weren't surprised by his desire to return to his homeland. They didn't like it and tried to talk him out of it, but in the end, helped him purchase his tickets.

They even thought that his marrying Sophia might somehow either extinguish his desire to go back to the Philippines or cause him to return to the United States sooner.

They certainly thought he would return eventually...when he came to his senses.

##  Entering Manila Bay 1945

The ship departed Portland bound for the Hawaiian Islands, where they changed boats and continued to the Philippines. It took two very long stretches of sailing to get to Manila and the tickets they had weren't first class. However, the sun was free when it was shining, and they had a lot of time to get to know each other better.

The day finally came when they would make port in Manila and Sophia found her young husband secluded on the deck, steeped in sadness. She could see tears running down his face as he watched the horizon in the distance.

"Why are you crying, Gil?" She asked.

He continued to watch for a few minutes, but answered her shortly, "Because it's been so long since I've been home. I'm afraid of how much has changed."

They watched as the hint of horizon turned from a pencil thin roughness into a landscape of mountains and trees. They were both enchanted as they passed through the mouth of the bay and then started to see glimpses of the capital city.

In a short time the details of the city started to rise on the horizon. Then docks and people came into their view. The first glimpses of her new home kept Sophia glued to her vantage point.

On the way in, they could see the ruined buildings, the trash, and the wreckage.

"Tell me what it used to be like, Gil," Sophia asked.

"Manila Bay has always protected a great port, Sophia," he answered.

"Little Corregidor Island acted as an outpost and first line of defense," Gilberto continued. "Now look what's left of that island. It looks like it's been blown to smithereens!"

There was a mess of structures on the island, as well as in the harbor. The barricades, made of earth, sandbags and concrete, were the first details in sight.

Behind the barricades, the guns drew their attention. And then there were piles everywhere, as well as more than a few sunken ships.

Some of the wrecks were surrounded by activity, others waited, left to let the waves wash against them, as well as up and over them, for a time.

There were also huge barracks, many with holes blown in them or entire corners and walls missing. When Sophia looked at the damage she realized how protected they'd been during it all.

They had not been stuck between warring factions, being maimed, used and ruined for strategic maneuvers.

Gilberto said, "The Philippines has been caught in the middle again."

At the dock, Gilberto was hoping to see someone he knew. He'd written several people about their return, as well as which ship they would arrive on. Even so, he guessed it was pretty unlikely that anyone would meet their boat.

They traveled light for good reason. It did help them get off the ship and be set free in Manila in only a couple of hours. For some, it would take all day. It was just after noon by the time they had their bags and were struggling up the dock to see about transportation.

It was crazy to be back in Manila. It was the largest city in the Philippines, which at this moment didn't seem like the best way to introduce Sophia. Looking at her, he was captivated again.

She stood out among the crowd with her light brown hair, blue eyes and seemingly white skin. She was not especially tall where she came from, but in the Philippines she was taller than most of the women and many of the men.

"Why are the people smiling at me, Gilberto?" She asked.

"I think it's because you look like an American to them, Sophia. They just spent years fighting and being fought over, with Americans at their side, and they won...even though it's a bit hard to tell that right here and now." Gilberto replied.

Their transportation took them off the docks and into the old city, where if possible, it actually looked worse. Garbage had collected everywhere, there were more ruins and many more people that looked like they needed three square meals, a shower and a bed.

##  Manila Life 1949

When they first arrived, Gilberto and Sophia lived in a house with his extended family. Gilberto almost immediately joined the Philippines Navy and was helping with cleanup efforts. Sophia found that even though she was not a scholar, there were many opportunities for someone who could teach and tutor English. It suited her well because the hours were flexible and the variety of jobs took her all around the big city, giving her lots of chances to build her courage and explore her newly chosen country.

It also didn't take the two of them long to start their family. A year after they were married their first born son arrived and they named him Steven Sorenson Ramos. The only things that made Gilberto and Sophia happier than traveling was making and having babies. They kept at it, one per year, adding Boris and Katie.

After a particularly enjoyable trip to the seashore of San Antonio, in Zambales province, they were back in the shared Ramos household. When dinner was over and the three children were sleeping in their room, Sophia pulled Gilberto away. She pushed him playfully out the front door. Even the street, oddly enough, was more private than anywhere in the house they shared.

"Did you enjoy Zambales, Sophia?" Gilberto asked, while holding her to his chest and looking into her eyes.

"I did, Gil, but we need to make a change." Sophia could be very serious and direct when she had a mission in mind, which she did now.

"We've out grown this shared space, Gil. We need a house of our own," Sophia said.

Gilberto tried to wriggle out of the embrace, but Sophia wasn't having any avoidance tactics this night. She held him even tighter.

"This is what it feels like to be in this house when you're gone, Gil. I've had enough, I need my own space," she said.

Giving in to the squeeze, Gil replied. "I think it feels terrific. I have no idea what you're complaining about."

Sophia giggled. "You're concentrating too high, Gil." She pushed her stomach out farther, hoping to make Gilberto at least a little uncomfortable since he'd just eaten dinner. "How does that feel?" She asked.

Smiling, Gilberto answered. "Well it is a bit hot and I am a bit full, but it feels great, like it always does next to you." Wriggling into her just a little bit, he foolishly continued, "Did you have seconds tonight, Sophia?"

Sophia reached over and bit the lobe of his ear and then answered. "I did, Gil. But I'm eating for two...again."

That was enough to convince Gilberto. The next time he was home for an extended period he and Sophia found a tiny, but cute house. It was safe, reasonably close to family, and best of all, had three little bedrooms.

It took nearly all of their savings, but they were in it before their fourth child, Julia, came noisily into the world. Right from the beginning it was clear Julia's lungs were fully developed and she knew how to use them to get what she needed.

Unfortunately, what she and the rest of the Ramos family needed most would be soon taken from her.

Sophia had produced four healthy children, all at home and all with the help of other family members who were educated in child birth through experience. Their collective experience was significant, but unfortunately neither complete nor medically sound.

Sophia started hemorrhaging shortly after the birth and she didn't stop until she was very weak. When her flow finally seemed to become controlled, there was no one with enough medical knowledge to cause them to suspect she was becoming septic. No one knew that rest would do her no good now. It took only a matter of hours before her system was overwhelmed.

She entered port with a strong tide that first day she sailed into Manila. It was a quiet tide that carried her away from Julia and her family and brought her to the door of her final adventure.

##  Memories of Zambales 1950

After Sophia died Gilberto found that his spirit was troubled. He was alone again, without the person that calmed and strengthened him. The house was no longer a home for him or for his young motherless children.

His thoughts continually wandered back to the love of travel his wife brought into their partnership. She looked forward to each of their trips around the Philippines and the fun the family shared during those trips. The visit to Zambales province, where they all experienced the Mango Festival, kept flooding his mind with memories.

Gilberto even had a lucky charm from that trip.

After a day particularly full of festival sights and foods, Sophia had asked for a quiet beach day. Gilberto took the five of them to a remote area for exploring and playing on the beach. When Sophia and the newest baby, Katie, had settled on the beach with some shade, she had refused to move and suggested that the men go for their own walk.

Exploring with a two and three year old wasn't easy, but Gilberto had made it fun. They had found an abandoned building off the beaten trail and Boris had been very excited when he picked up an old coin. "It's a lucky charm, Papa," he'd told Gilberto in his child speak.

Gilberto still had it tucked away someplace for Boris.

##  Relocation 1950

Gilberto was a cook in the Navy, where he learned to cook for large groups of Filipinos who were away from home. He was outgoing at his core and would spend his free time talking to other young sailors about home and family. It was during this time that the strong connections between emotion, family and food were emphasized in him. Talking for hours with other sailors he would encourage them to describe their favorite family dishes and then he would try to recreate them in the kitchen. These experiments weren't always successful, but he enjoyed them and the comradery they created with the other men.

Now that he was alone, Gilberto wanted and needed to leave the Navy to care for his children. It seemed natural that he would make his living by entertaining and cooking.

He decided to go to Zambales and combine the two talents. He rented out the little house in Manila, borrowed every peso he could and sunk the last of his money into a small bistro in San Antonio catering to tourists from Manila in search of beaches and relaxation.

Relocating himself and four children under six proved more challenging than he anticipated, but he would either make the move work or succumb to his depression.

Resort life, and the work associated with it, was either around the clock or non-existent.

The constant work suited Gilberto, as he quickly lost himself in creating inexpensive food for hungry visitors. In the off hours he entertained anyone who would listen by singing the soothing lullabies for which his youngest child, Julia, always begged.

##  Visit from a Childhood Friend 1951

A few short months after Gilberto moved his family to Zambales, a miracle walked into his tiny bistro in the form of Marge. She and Sophia had been corresponding and scheming since before Julia was born, trying to figure out a way for Marge to visit and Sophia's sudden death left her childhood friend devastated. Marge knew Sophia needed to be rescued, but Gilberto was her worst enemy for a long time after taking Sophia away from Portland. Marge finally earned enough money to get herself to the Philippines, but was now in time only to grieve with her friend's widower.

After an hour of crying and introducing children to a nana they had never seen in person, the two acquaintances started to catch up and try to get to know each other. Marge was twenty, had finished business college and had been working in the diner that her parents now owned.

"I'm sorry I didn't get over here soon enough to see Sophia again. We wrote constantly of what we would do... the places she would show me when I visited. San Antonio was one of the top on the list. I understand why you moved here, Gil," Marge said.

When she took Gilberto's hand in hers she felt the wetness from his tears and knew that Sophia had done the right thing in coming here with him. Sophia and Gilberto's love affair had been too short, but Marge knew Sophia had been loved and was now mightily missed by this outgoing and vibrant man.

"I want to do what I can to help you move on and make life for these gorgeous babies happy again," She said.

"Stay with us then. At least through Christmas. It's October and the rainy season is over. The Christmas season starts here in the 'ber months and the tourists will be visiting constantly," Gilberto replied.

He continued. "Together we can fix this place up and make a good home for Sophia's babies."

Squeezing his hand, her childhood scowl came back to her eyes, but this time she softened it with a gentle smile.

"Gil, I want to help in every way I can, except one. Both of us have too much of Sophia in our hearts to try to replace her with each other. I, for one, don't want to try," she told him.

"Margie, I know you're right, I can't replace her, but I'm blessed to have you as a friend and my kids are your kids, auntie," Gilberto said.

Marge gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and turned to the four children.

"Okay you kids, come over and give your new nana a hug. She might be able to find some Hershey bars in her suitcase, if they haven't all melted and turned into a puddle in my bag."

A short while later the time difference had taken its toll on Marge and the kids had succumbed to their chocolate induced sugar rush. Everyone but Gilberto was sound asleep.

#

Gilberto stood in the doorway to the little bedroom he had given up for Marge.

He thought, "Sophia, I never believed in much until you came along, then you made me believe in love. Why you had to leave me so early...I'll never know, but thank you for sending Marge all this way to remind me of what's important now. These kids, this home...life has moved on without me. I need to catch up."

##  Christmas in Zambales 1951

October passed by quickly with preparations made for the holiday season. Gilberto was preparing for what he hoped was a successful business season full of tourists that wanted to escape the hustle and hassle of the metro area and relax and celebrate with family and friends.

Gilberto provided mostly lunch and dinner at his little restaurant, but he made it his business to learn everything he could about the variety of tourist attractions available in the nearby area.

There were always activities like island hopping and beaches, but there were also mountains to be hiked, fish to be caught, waves to wade in and historical architectural sites to be seen. An easy side trip for one day might be to visit an old Spanish lighthouse from the 1800's that stood out on a cliff overlooking the sea. Another might be a visit to pristine white sand beaches, and if one was young or at least daring and a good swimmer, yet another could be to try out a surfboard in an area known for some of the best surf in the Philippines.

Gilberto's hope was that every time a tourist visited a new site or relaxed by exhausting themselves through physical activity, they would eat a delicious, large, and expensive (well expensive for him) lunch or dinner at his restaurant.

Marge had done a great job softening the interior with a few simple decorations. Not only that, but she'd instilled a bit of responsibility in the boys for helping their dad where possible. The girls were still a little young to wipe and set a table or wash dishes, but the boys could handle some responsibility.

If they could keep from bickering long enough.

Being the first born, Steven took responsibility seriously even though his capabilities were pretty limited. Boris, on the other hand, was very head strong and simply would not do what didn't suit him. It wasn't that difficult to outwit him, but if there wasn't immediate gratification Boris wasn't going to do it without a fight. Most of the time neither Gilberto nor Marge were up for the argument and it ended up being Gilberto, Marge and Steven doing most everything.

Christmas in the Philippines looked very different than it did in Portland. The area did have some trees that were of the pine variety, but there were more coconuts, palms, bananas and mango trees than pines.

Marge figured tinsel would look weird on a palm tree. Nevertheless she was determined to decorate for Christmas.

She spent hours on the beaches telling the kids to comb through rocks in search of the ones that most resembled little balls.

Finding leftover paint that the neighbors were willing to share wasn't that difficult.

Combine the two and stones became unbreakable colored Christmas balls.

Boris came back one afternoon with his pockets full of discarded fishing pole string. "Oh! Come here with that!" Marge perked up when she saw it dangling out of his pocket.

Boris took off running, yelling, "It's mine, it's mine, I didn't steal it!"

Marge caught him before he could get out the back and said, "Boris, honey, nana didn't say you stole it, but where did you get it?"

"I found it in the alley by fisherman Deft's place. He was calling it bad names and then he threw the whole thing out the door. I just picked it up. It took me all morning to get the kinks out of it." Boris answered.

His lower lip stuck way out as he defended both his virtuosity and the hard work he'd put into making something of what someone else thought was nothing.

"Honey, this is great stuff, I'm proud of you. You had a lot of patience to untangle all that string." She patted his head and continued, "How'd you like be in charge of hanging the Christmas balls we've all painted? If you do it, nana will give you a sweet that she made today."

Boris perked up, but could smell a trap. "What do I have to do?"

"Well, my dear, that fisherman's string will work wonders if it's tied around a Christmas ball and then hung around the restaurant. You're pretty good at sailor knots, aren't you? Maybe you should be the high commander of tying string to rocks!" Marge answered.

Gilberto was watching from the kitchen doorway. How Marge could make tying string to rocks sound interesting, let alone fun, was beyond him, but she had done it. Boris was already planning and assigning Steve and Katie areas to measure so he could cut the proper length of string for decorations.

For her part, Marge figured she'd have to influence where they hung the decorations or only the lower four feet of the restaurant would be decorated.

The only thing the cat would get if it took a swipe at these Christmas balls and knocked one down would be a sore head or paw.

In addition to colored Christmas rocks they had a few cardboard stars decorated with a little paste and some pristine white beach sand.

Marge also had to place the books she brought to read on the highest shelves in the house. The kids made paper chains out of any paper that they could get their hands on. They would cut the pages into strips before gluing them back together into unreadable chains.

There were mostly newspaper chains, but there was a long chain made out of a section of the cookbook she had brought for Gilberto. Katie had opened the book randomly and made several pages worth of rings from the section on potatoes. Marge put a stop to this right about at the section on French Fries. Katie hadn't really gotten that far, and "really, who was ever going to need a recipe for potatoes in the Philippines, anyway," Marge thought.

Julia, being the youngest of the four, was pretty limited in what her three plus year old fingers and coordination could accomplish. However, one thing she could do was copy a tune when she heard it. This time of year, between Christmas being what it was in the Philippines, Gilberto and Marge, not to mention the children's late mother Sophia, all spending significant time in the US, Christmas carols were the standard. Julia was constantly humming and singing carols. Most of the lyrics were either jumbled or totally made up, but the tunes were unmistakable.

##  Zambales 1961

"Wash, scrub, tote, sweep, deliver, sleep, repeat." Steven whispered. He was tired of it.

"Papa, I'm gone for a few." He yelled in his dad's direction, tossing the grey apron and heading out the back door of the tiny cafe. He quickly side-stepped the trash and trotted down the alley to be sure he didn't hear his dad's response.

The summer of his fifteenth year had been a difficult one so far. Steven's angst with his particular life had begun to wear him down and he thought he'd been stuck in a rut forever with no hope of escaping. Like an eaglet going from the joy of feeling its wings spread on the edge of the nest to being unhappy unless it's soaring a mile above the ground, he was feeling left out and held back. The kids with more money, namely those that came and looked bored as they sat in the restaurant with their parents, seemed better dressed, louder, smarter, sexier... hell, they seemed all around luckier.

He'd gotten to know a few of them. Some were interesting and showed an interest in the things he knew about Zambales, but most were dull and thorny once he got beyond the loud voices and clothes. Most had seen things he'd never seen. Mostly in Manila, but some had been outside of the Philippines. To Indonesia, Kuala Lampur, China or even Australia.

A tourist this spring had given him a large, folding map of the Asia Pacific region and Steven studied it all the time. He felt like he put up with a lot of abuse simply to hear visitors talk about their various experiences outside of Zambales. Steven had inherited Sophia's adventurous spirit, as well as her amazing ability to retain details.

At the end of his sprint to freedom this morning, Steven found himself back at the edge of the world, as he called it. It was a rocky beach with a little, protected cove at the southern side where Steven drew maps of the places he wanted to go and often watched as the sun set. The maps in the sand were mostly based on paper maps he'd seen, but a few were simply drawn from his imagination.

Today he was working on a place from his imagination. A place he called Kiemogama. He placed it in Northern Japan, in a coastal area edged by mountains, trees and snow, the latter of which he'd only ever read about in books. He did complicated dioramas using what he found around him. Rocks, twigs, tree bark, the shells of nuts and dried leaves all became building materials for coastlines, forests, mountain ranges, volcanoes, fields, and of course beaches and shorelines. Every time he slipped away and found himself at the edge of the world he would make some kind of map. They were all made during low tide, and each time he left and returned his imagination was wiped clean, leaving him to start over again. As he preferred.

"Hello."

Steven nearly came out of his skin as he whipped his head around to see who just greeted him. "Jebus, you surprised me!"

The skinny kid standing behind him just chuckled and grinned down on what Steven now thought of as child's play in the sand. After a few moments, he commented, "Looks like a map. What's it of?"

Taken aback, but pleased that his dabbling was recognizable, Steven answered, "It is a map. It's a place called Kiemogama. In Northern Japan."

"No it's not," the kid said.

Steven shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Yeah it is." He could see the worn spots, covered with blacking and polished to a shine on the kid's shoes. They looked uncomfortable, especially here on the beach. He didn't know any kid that wore black shoes. There might be a couple that wore them to church on Sunday, but seeing as how he'd never gone to church, he wouldn't really know. Catholicism was one piece of Filipino culture his mother had never acquired from her adopted country. She explained it to him by saying, "I don't believe Jesus would take the last peso from a destitute, single mother in order to guild earthly buildings for powerful, fat men."

The kid was also wearing long, pressed pants and a button up shirt. With a belt. "Where are you from?" Steven asked. He knew he wasn't from around here.

"Japan," the kid replied.

"Oh." Okay, maybe the kid did know there wasn't a place called Kiemogama.

"My name's Steven, but you can call me Steve, alright?" He stuck his hand out to shake, as his father had taught him to do at the restaurant for the foreign guests.

"If you're drawing the North part of Japan, it should be rougher. That is, if you want the map in correct dimensional proportion," the kid replied.

Steven had no idea how the kid knew that, but he took it as a request to join his map drawing game and simply shrugged his shoulders.

For the remainder of the afternoon, the two worked in near silence, jointly creating a map of a fictitious area called Kiemogama in the very real setting of Northern Japan until the edge of the incoming tide started to eat away at the very Northern tip of the landscape. At this point his, as yet unnamed, friend from Japan straightened up from his squat and asked, "Do you want to suck my cock?"

Steven turned from his mapping, looked at the kid's face, then at the bunched up cloth at his crotch and grinned. Looking back up to his face, Steven saw the first grin come over his new friend's face as well and in a few minutes they were both rolling on the beach laughing as hard as they could.

When the laughter had all been released, the kid that Steven had mapped with all afternoon finally told him his name. "I'm Benjiro, but I'd prefer it if you called me Benji." He was still laying on his back on the sand looking up into the deep blue of the late afternoon sky. He didn't extend his hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Benji. I'm starving, you wanna head back to my Dad's restaurant and get something to eat?" Steven asked.

"Sure. I know where it is because my mom and I are staying close by. I'll check with her and see if I can come." Benjiro replied.

#

Slipping in the rear door, Steven's ears were accosted by the crash of the wash bucket as it hit the kitchen sink. He looked up just in time to see fourteen year old Boris making a bee line for the door Steven just entered.

"Boris!" he heard his dad yell at Boris' back.

Steven just had time to say "Hey..." before Boris used both hands to shove him to the side. Boris slammed out the door and Steven sat down hard on a bag of rice just as his dad came around the corner.

"Okay, who needs him, you're back. Wash your hands and get back to the tables." Like no time had passed, Gilberto simply assigned him back to his duties.

"What's up with Boris?"

"Nothing. You know him, he's way too busy to help out his old dad and way too important to be anyone's servant." He threw both his hands at the door like he was bidding good riddance to an unexpected and unwelcome visitor.

The back hallway of the restaurant was poorly lighted and the door was not even remotely tight so when Steven pushed himself upright, he checked to see if he had rodent droppings on the palms of his hands. He hated mice. He hated rats even more. The cat he'd found to live in the back was so fat and full that he'd seen it look lazily at two mice scurrying across the tiny storeroom floor just the other day. It didn't even twitch its tail.

Seeing that he was more or less free of rodent droppings, he rinsed his hands, picked the bucket out of the sink and refilled it with tepid water, added a tiny splash of bleach and headed to the dining room. When he got there he was startled to see Benjiro and a Filipina woman in large sunglasses looking over the room from just inside the front door. The door faced the evening sun so mostly he noticed the woman as a silhouette, but she looked pretty. Steven waved at Benjiro and pointed to a table by the wall away from the bar. Benjiro took the hand of the person Steven assumed was his mother and lead her to the table. He offered her the chair facing away from the front door, which she waved off. She situated herself so she could see whoever came in the front door and shooed Benjiro away as he tried to get her to switch chairs. Steven realized he was still studying her and that she was, for someone over forty, stunning.

"Hi, Benji. How's it going?" Steven nodded at Benjiro as he wiped the crumbs the last patron left behind onto the floor, being careful not to brush them onto Benjiro's mom's lap. Addressing the lady staring at the door he put on a fake smile, "Hi, I'm Steven. Would you like something to drink, ma'am?"

Dragging her eyes off the door, it was as if she saw Steven for the first time. She took off her sunglasses to reveal a beauty of a shiner on the left side of her face. It was artfully covered with make-up, but still relatively new, Steven could tell. He'd passed his share of shiners back and forth with his brother. Startled into honesty, he blurted "Wow, that's a doozy! What's the other guy look like?" Benjiro looked at him with wide eyes, but his mother calmly replied, "He looks just like Benji, except he's significantly older." She returned his direct gaze and then slid her eyes down to his feet and back up, hesitating only slightly on his crotch. "Darling, tell me you sell something stronger than beer here?"

"Well of course we have Red Horse." It was what seventy-five percent of the alcohol drinking patrons ordered, but Steven figured it might not be what she had in mind. "We also have rum." She stared blankly at him. "And Coke...I mean I can get you a rum and coke if you like?"

She nodded her head and shooed him away and Benjiro mouthed "Coke" before he turned around.

Steven poured the rum in a clean glass, which he had to look around for, and brought two cans of cold coke from the tiny drinks fridge. He set them down on the table and Benjiro's mom just looked at the can and then showed him her freshly painted fingernails. Taking the hint, Steven wiped the top of the can with the same cloth he'd just used to clean the table. He cracked it open and offered to pour it in her glass of rum. Again she waved him away, but this time he didn't leave.

"Did you guys want dinner?" Asking these two if they wanted to eat reminded Steven that he hadn't eaten yet either and his stomach decided to take this inopportune time to make the fact known to everyone in a ten foot radius.

"What did you have, honey?" Benjiro's mom asked him.

"Nothing yet, ma'am."

"That's what I'll go with, too, then." She poured a half inch of Coke on top of the rum and took a sip, dismissing him and returning her gaze to the doorway.

He heard Benjiro clear his throat so he quit staring and turned to his new friend. "I'll just have the Adobo and rice."

While the restaurant was simple, Gilberto was known to be a solid and consistent cook. His two 'go to' specialties were Adobo chicken and Pancit. Both tasted great, but the Pancit tended to be more of a surprise because Gilberto might put whatever was available into it on any given night.

Steven decided to bring both patrons the Adobo so he served up two helpings and made one more trip to the table. After he'd taken care of a couple more customers he set himself up with his own plate and scarfed down the tasty dish until he felt just a little bloated. Then he made a show of washing up the glasses that he deemed too dirty to serve Benjiro's mom her rum in and finally cleared dishes from most of the people in the dining room.

Gilberto made desserts once in a while and tonight he made puto, a traditional Filipino steamed sweet cake. Every one of the patrons got one, whether they liked it or not, so Steven brought Benjiro and his mom theirs.

Benjiro's mom hardly touched her Adobo, but she popped the puto into her mouth and washed it down with the last of her rum and coke. "Don't be late, Benjiro, and don't wake me in the morning." She got up and headed to the door, her tight skirt saying something to Steven. He tried not to listen.

After Steven cleared the remaining tables in the restaurant, Gilberto excused him for the evening to go hang out with his new friend. "You want to head to the white sand beach?" Benjiro asked.

"Oh, the way will be full of bugs, maybe not." Plus his tummy was full and it was a long walk.

But Benjiro responded, "Come on, we'll run and stay ahead of the bugs," and took off in the direction of the beach trail. Steven felt obliged to follow.

##  Navigation Test 1961

Benjiro was fast. He reached the beach a full two minutes before his friend, but he could hear Steven's feet flopping along as he sprinted clumsily the last few hundred yards of the brush lined path. He lay down with a soft thud in the sand and ditched his flip flops. The path coming had been full of mosquitoes, but the setting sun was great and the breeze off the sea was keeping the bugs back in the brush he'd just exited. Taking a quick look around he pulled his shirt up over his head and laid on his back to catch his breath.

Walking the last twenty yards, Steven worked his own flip flops off and dug a sharp pebble from between the toes of his left foot. He was sweating through his tee shirt and shorts now, which he hated, so he pulled the shirt off, tossed it on the sand by Benjiro and laid down, hands behind his head.

"Do you know how to tell direction by the stars, Steve?" Benjiro asked.

"Well I know some of the constellations and I guess I know where they should be, so yes?" He replied. "Why?"

"My dad teaches astronomy and physics in Japan and sometimes in the Philippines. That's why we're here now," said Benjiro.

"There's no one to teach astronomy to here in Zambales," Steven stated.

"Well you don't see my dad here either, do you? He's in Manila at the University teaching a special class. He comes here on weekends...sometimes," Benjiro answered.

"How long have you been here?" Steven asked.

"Two weeks so far," Benjiro replied.

"At least your dad can visit, my mom's dead," Steven bluntly said.

"Sorry," was all Benjiro could think of in reply.

"It's okay, I don't know why I said that. She died when I was five," Steven continued.

"Oh. Well, sorry anyway." Benjiro thought for a moment. "Who takes care of you when your dad's not around?"

"He's always around. He never goes away. It's his restaurant, it would close without him, I guess," replied Steven.

"Oh." A few seconds passed before Benjiro's next thought came out. "Well I guess my mom doesn't do that much to take care of me anyway," he said. "The offer is still open."

"Huh?" Steven questioned.

"My cock. You can still suck it," Benjiro answered.

Steven smiled weakly. "Thanks, that's okay, I'll pass."

Benjiro stood up, took his shorts off and headed for the water. It was a perfect night for a swim. As the sun set the moon was coming up and was going to be close to full. It was still too light to see stars, but the sky was totally clear. Benjiro could see Steven deciding whether or not to follow and was relieved when he finally stood and stripped as well. The two swam around while the sun set, and when Benjiro was exhausted, flopped out of the water onto the sand to dry off.

"So tell me any constellation you see in the sky," Benjiro challenged.

"Well I see Orion." Steven pointed to the familiar hour glass shape in the sky.

"Okay, sure. Easiest one. Do you know how to find Taurus?" Benjiro said.

"Sure. Orion's belt and up that way." Steven pointed northwestward.

Tiring of that game and convinced that Steven did indeed know something about stars, Benjiro changed the subject. "Have you ever wanted to go live in a different galaxy?"

"I guess I haven't thought exactly about another galaxy." Steven seemed to think for a few minutes, then finished his answer, "does sailing count?"

"What do you mean?" Asked Benjiro.

"I mean, does wanting to go be on a boat, travel the oceans to different worlds, see things every day that regular people don't see, count?" Steven answered.

"I don't know, yeah, I guess," Benjiro said. After a moment he added, "I want to go live in space. Someplace no one else has gone."

"Why?" asked Steven.

"If I could do that my dad would be so proud," Benjiro said quietly.

"Well you must already know all there is to know about stars from him," said Steven.

"I know all there is to know about stars from the books he writes. I guess that's pretty close," Benjiro answered.

"So what do you think you'd see if you went to...where would you go?" Steven asked.

"I don't know. If I knew, I guess I'd know more than my dad." But Benjiro thought for a few minutes and came back with, "I guess I'd head for Orion's belt. I like its name and it's like the cross roads to so many other constellations. Where would you go if you sailed away?" Benjiro threw the question back at Steven.

"First I want to explore the Philippine and South China Sea. Then I want to go where my mom came from, the pacific northwest of the United States of America. I don't want to go one place, I want to go every place. I'll make it happen, too," Steven answered.

"My father says I'm not smart enough to be an astronaut. He says I don't like to study hard enough. I think he just doesn't want to teach me. I finish the books he teaches before most of his class does. And I can answer the questions as well as he can, too," Benjiro said.

Steven laughed. It wasn't the response Benjiro wanted and he felt himself blush tremendously and crossed his arms. Steven continued, "Well I don't have to be smart to sail. I already have my mom's sense of direction. The inside of my head is like a compass; I always know where I'm at and what direction to go."

"Ha, let's see. Get up," Benjiro said.

Steven got up and Benjiro tied his shirt over his eyes. He poked and prodded making sure that Steven couldn't see anything until Steven complained. "Hey, knock it off, I can't see anything!" He proved his point by taking a couple of swings at his new friend, finding only air. Benjiro's placed his hands on Steven's chest.

Steven responded by asking "What's up?"

Benjiro answered, "I'm going to see if you really always know where you're at. Spin in a circle." He started turning Steven like a big top. Making him spin in the sand and keeping him basically in the same spot. It felt like he did it for a full minute, then he let go and Steven came to a stop, standing with his legs spread apart a bit.

"I never said I didn't get dizzy, I said I always know where I'm at. Give me a minute," said Steven.

Benjiro watched his new friend concentrate and stick out his arms to steady himself. After another minute, Steven lowered his arms.

"Now walk toward the sea," Benjiro said.

Steven was still for a moment and then turned forty-five degrees to his right and walked into the wind as it was coming off the water.

Benjiro figured that apparently Steven felt the same relief from the mosquitoes as he had when he came out of the brush.

Benjiro put his hands back on Steven's torso, physically urging him to spin again.

When Steven stopped this time, Benjiro immediately said, "Head northwest."

Steven stood still for a moment, but it wasn't long this time before he turned thirty degrees to his left and started walking.

"STOP," Benjiro said.

Steven stopped and took off his blindfold. He was a step and half away from walking face first into one of the big rocks that edged the cove.

"Thanks. That would have hurt. Did I pass the test?" He asked.

Benjiro answered, "Yes." The line from where Benjiro had spun Steven to where he stopped was like the minute hand on a clock pointing at eight minutes to the hour.

##  Test of Courage 1961

A week later, Steven was again at his 'secret' mapping site. This time he was working on another map which was a three dimensional combination of actual and imaginary locations centered off the shore from Portland to Seattle and Vancouver. He was plotting navigation for rough seas and discovering new islands when he heard a group of people on the path. Normally this wouldn't bother him, but he didn't always like to be teased for his sand mapping and for some reason today he decided to shimmy up the nearest boulder. When four kids appeared around the bend he crouched to make himself more or less invisible. The sun was setting at his back so it was in the new arrivals eyes, effectively hiding him, but illuminating their faces.

He almost relaxed and jumped down when he saw it was his brother, Boris, two of his buddies and Steven's new friend, Benjiro. Then he saw Benjiro grab his brother's crotch and Boris punched him in the stomach. When the other two took Benjiro's arms and held them, Boris continued to punch him every place he was wearing clothes. Steven didn't know exactly why he hesitated, but part of him said that Benjiro was going to get this no matter what he did, based on the way he went around asking the questions he did. Then Boris went around behind Benjiro, kicked the young Japanese boy in the kidney, kneeled behind him for a moment and yanked down his shorts in a couple of jerks.

"Ah, he wouldn't..." thought Steven. But when Boris opened his own shorts, Steven knew he would. "Ah fuck." He knew he was going to get the shit kicked out of him.

Jumping off the rock he started running toward the four and yelling, "Stop it you mother fuckers! Leave him alone! Get out of here! What the hell do you think you're doing! Boris, Dad's going to kill you!" This tirade took him into the thick of the group.

Boris was surprised and his pants were still down so he was knocked over and started swearing and scrambled around like a sun maddened crab. However, the other two were ready when he hit them. They pitched Benjiro onto his face in the sand and sent Steven flying by stepping aside, grabbing his arms and kicking his legs out from under him.

Then all hell broke loose. Steven was doing most of his fighting from his back, lying in the sand while the two others smashed at his face with their fists. Boris had regained his footing and was kicking at his brother, yelling at him that this was none of his business and he should stay away. Steven, for all the sticky liquid that seemed to be accumulating in his mouth and on his face, also seemed to be connecting on his brother's chums. He was using fingers, fingernails, fists, teeth and even his head when they got close enough.

From over Steven's head he saw a big piece of driftwood swing and connect with one of the guys beating on his face. It very quickly came back and caught the other guy in the mouth and finally swung and just grazed Boris' stomach. Everything stopped at once. Both Boris' buddies were dazed and Boris was standing back, looking over Steven's head. When he twisted around he saw Benjiro, naked from the waist down, brandishing a seven foot piece of driftwood in a sort of Asian fighting style. It was clear he knew about as much about using that stick as he did about the stars.

The first of Boris' friends to go down was the first to get up and charge Benjiro again. It took one well-placed swing of the stick to send him back to the sand, writhing in even more pain this time. If his leg wasn't broken, it would have a heck of a knot in it tomorrow where Benjiro's weapon had connected with it.

With that, Boris said, "Fuck 'em, they learned their lesson. Queer fucks. Let's get outta here." He turned specifically to Steven. "You'll shut up if you know what's good for you." It sounded pretty stupid coming from his younger brother, but Steven also knew he probably wouldn't say anything to anyone, let alone their dad.

When the three were at the path entrance into the bushes again, Benjiro tossed his stick and knelt by Steven. "I'm sorry, that was my fault. I ask for it. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. What the fuck is the matter with you? You knew what they were going to do. Jesus, I should have let them rape you."

"Yeah, you should have. I can take care of myself." He sat back on his haunches. "Thank you, though. No one's ever stood up for me before. For anything."

Steven spit out a puddle of blood, looking closely to see if there were any teeth in it. There weren't. "Jesus. Dumb fuck. Help me up."

##  Boris' Beginnings in Manila 1966

"It has to be done before this weekend, otherwise you'll run the risk of every amateur tourist in Manila sharing the experience with you. That could end up being an unhealthy choice for you." With that the mayor lit the big Cuban cigar, plumes of bluish smoke circling his hands in the process. He sucked in a powerful lungful of the expertly cured tobacco and made sure to blow it squarely in his underling's face. "I don't know if you realize yet that I want this kid to make the run. There are lots of idiots with boats that think they're hot shit simply because they have a boat. This kid knows what he's doing. He's the one I want. You make sure I get what I want." Turning around, the mayor effectively dismissed him without so much as waving him out of the ornate office.

The view of Manila Bay from his office was one of the best vantage points in the city, if he did say so himself, the Mayor thought. "Shit, in the old days my dick would get hard grabbing five hundred pesos. Now I'm rounding up fifty thousand every month and it stays soft. Other fucking hands grabbing at me from every direction."

He turned and walked to his mirrored bar, shot a blue cloud at his own, puffy, pock-marked face frowning back at him and poured a healthy portion of bourbon in his glass. He threw the burning liquid down his throat. It was liquid fire, totally taking his mind off his other problems. Diamonds, gold, bonds, piracy, smuggling...not to mention these political perverts who think that just because they run some stinking bureau or other they deserve a cut of whatever they imagine you're doing. And what was he doing, really? He was just helping a select few, very excellent businessmen and politicos get what they rightly deserved.

He laughed out loud at himself. Even he didn't believe any of that crap anymore. He was robbing from the poor and giving to the rich. "Whatever...that's the way the world works." If you believed otherwise, go try to get justice from any one of a hundred government servants of the people in any of the provinces. You'd get a knife in the back long before you'd get a helping hand.

##  The Mayor's Associate 1966

The mayor's associate would have to call in a few favors tonight. It wouldn't be easy either. The weather sucked. As usual, the phones were down and half the streets in the city were under more than three feet of water. He decided to go listen to Julia. She could get a message to the mayor's favorite smuggler if anyone could.

When he walked into the derelict salon she was singing at this week the discord struck him again. He might be a nameless underling to the powerful mayor of Manila, sopping wet from head to toe, his shoes oozing water like two sponges, but he knew music. His mom had been a singer. He listened to her from the day he was born till the day she died. He especially liked jazz, but swing, easy listening, hell even some pop if it was done right. And Julia could sing. The moon would be full tomorrow so she was singing her moon songs. He'd walked in on 'Blue Moon' and her sultry, honey voiced rendition was making him forget how miserable it was to have your underwear be so wet they chafed your balls.

Sitting at the closest table to her that he could find he ordered a cheap bottle of rum and a can of coke. By the time she got to 'Moonglow' he was starting to dry out and had begun to slur his words a bit. She took a break and came to sit at his table.

"Hi beautiful, yur in grrreat form tonight," he told her, sitting as tall as he could muster in the uncomfortable wooden chair.

Laughing, Julia replied, "Why my darling, I believe you're just the tiniest bit drunk," she said, leaning in and kissing his still damp nose, "Not to mention wet." She brushed water from the hair over his ears and ran her hand down the back of his neck, continuing, "Maybe now is a good time to ask you about that secret move you've been planning for me again."

The mayor's associate had been melting at her touch, but when she mentioned the move, he sobered up a little and pushed back into the chair again. "Nope, not a bood, I mean good time. I told you before I'm working on something big, but you have to be patient, my long haired beauty." He drooled just a bit on the last compliment, but she forgave him. She was sure whatever he had up his sleeve wasn't as big as he pretended, but she figured it was worth playing along for anyway.

For his part, he'd almost forgotten what he'd come in for and startled her when it suddenly came back to him.

"Oh! I forgot! Boris needs to meet me here tomorrow night. It's extremely important. Can you get him here?" He begged.

"Honey, you know my brother doesn't come and go simply to please me. He thinks he's a really important man, you know?" Julia replied.

She laughed a little at her own joke. The truth was she was fond of her brother and he thought the world of her, but she wouldn't call him in to meet her friend without knowing a bit more.

"I'm not even sure he's in Manila. He might be in the North," she continued.

Boris and Katie were the two siblings that still spent a significant amount of time in the northern province of Zambales where their father moved them shortly after Sophia died.

The mayor's associate jumped up and threw up his hands. "He can't be! He has to be here!"

When he realized that Julia was leaning back out of his way and that the few people that were in the salon were looking sideways at him he quieted down and finished his statement, "The mayor has a job that he personally requested him to do."

"The mayor has a job for my brother," Julia thought. That was definitely interesting.

"Well, of course I can't promise anything, but I'll really try to get him here by nine p.m. tomorrow night," she assured the Mayor's associate.

Since Boris was meeting her at her house for dinner after she finished tonight, she was pretty sure she could at least get the message to him. Since whatever it was concerned something the mayor specifically wanted from Boris, she was also pretty sure he would be interested.

Julia was honorable enough to consider not telling Boris, in order to keep him out of potential trouble, but she was also ambitious enough to want to find him early and see if he knew anything more about what the request might involve.

##  Lucky Charms 1966

Boris flipped the old lucky charm from finger to finger. His father had given it to him on his tenth birthday. Well, back to him really, Boris knew. There had been no money for presents that year so he had received some token he'd found on a family trip years ago. Boris remembered being let down because he'd wanted his own bike. Instead he got a tarnished looking token his dad told him Boris had found himself years ago. Thanks a lot is all Boris could think, but he'd pocketed the gift anyway. When he'd first met the mayor he'd been fiddling with it.

"What do you have there, Boris?" The mayor had asked.

"It's just an old lucky charm I got from my papa," Boris replied. He'd then stuck it back into his pocket and had to fish it out again when the mayor asked to see it.

"I'll bet it is lucky, Boris. You don't know what it is?" The mayor asked.

"Some sort of Spanish token, I guess," Boris had answered.

"Some sort...yes...the sort they call a gold doubloon, my boy." The mayor looked him in the eye and continued, "I'll give you a couple hundred pesos for it. I happen to collect them."

Boris' initial thought was to take the money and run, but his instincts were good and he answered. "I'd never be able to part with this one, Mayor. It was a gift from my dad and it has a lot of sentimental value to me."

The mayor looked at him and grinned. "Right, sentimental value. Smart kid."

"Okay, back to the little matter of the weekend project I have for you." As quickly as his interest had sparked, the mayor's interest in the coin was over.

It was still raining later that weekend when the three young Filipino stallions Boris had hired carted the boxes slowly from the ramshackle shed to the waiting carts. None of them were complaining, but you could see the struggle on their faces.

The job was, of course, made harder by the pouring rain and mud covered trail. The boys would get fifty pesos when the shed was empty, the carts were hauled to the nearby beach and the contents of the carts were again transferred to the waiting outriggers.

The rain caused just enough extra confusion and negligence that no one realized one of the boxes was left behind in the shed. It sat in a very damp corner, rotted and covered in fallen filth.

When all the boxes were loaded into the boats, Boris made sure his three outriggers would run the distance from the secluded beach to the larger private island with no failures. His safe transport was the critical piece. This leg of the journey would have to avoid rocks, as well as navigate large storm waves, quickly, quietly and safely with cargo that was both heavy and apparently, quite precious.

He ran one boat himself, with an armed man from the mayor, and kept in constant radio contact with the other two boats, which were piloted by his left and right hand men.

The work directed to him by the mayor had picked up significantly after the last election. If it continued to be as lucrative as the past year and a half he might soon have the vessel he was lusting after. It was the smallest of the boats that were deemed capable of traversing the sea between the Philippines and China. A distinct disadvantage in cargo carrying capability over larger ships, but a terrific advantage if one wanted to be fast and stealthy. And for most of his customers, stealth was the key.

##  Julia Sings on the Bund 1982

Orlando ordered another round as he listened to the American jazz music come out of the mouth of the beautiful Filipina. He was mesmerized by her voice the moment he walked into the club two days ago and had spent every hour outside of work there since.

Giving an involuntary shudder, he swallowed the remainder of his now warm Budweiser and straightened his spine. Two beers had accomplished the task he meant them to...he was neither anxious, nor tipsy.

As the singer put her microphone back in the stand, Orlando turned in his seat and stood to meet her before she slipped out of his reach again.

He offered his hand in a western style introduction and said, "Hi, I'm Orlando. I've enjoyed your voice for the last two nights and wanted to introduce myself. Can I offer you a drink?" Lucky for him, this was not one of the clubs that only allowed their singers to order the 'special' champagne when a patron offered them a drink.

"Thank you, Orlando, I would simply love a hot green tea. I'm parched and I don't need any more gravel in my voice tonight." She even smiled at him and shook his hand. This was farther than he had gotten with any of the Chinese girls in this club. After requesting two green teas from a passing server, Orlando continued.

"Excuse me for asking, but are you Filipina?" He was pretty sure she was, but didn't want to offend her if his hunch turned out wrong. "And I don't mean anything by the question, other than I am Filipino myself and I just thought, from your beautiful color, that you might be also."

He was trying too hard, he knew it, but she smiled again at the question. That, at least, was a relief.

"I am, Orlando. I've been here exactly two weeks now, and my name is Julia." Flipping her hair out of her eyes, she gave Orlando a glimpse of the exhaustion in her face...her eyes just a little puffy and darker underneath where she had made a rather skillful effort to disguise them.

"I hope you're enjoying Shanghai, Julia. It's an amazing city."

"Thanks, Orlando. I haven't seen much yet, but I love the jazz climate here."

"I can see that, the music seems like it's a part of you. Where'd you learn to sing like that anyway?"

"Like what, Orlando?"

"Like the music is an essence coming from deep inside. Like a resonating that I feel when you sing certain melodies."

"I've been told that before, I guess I learned it from my Papa. Mama died when I was a baby and Papa sang to us all the time. Well, me especially because I was the youngest. I guess he'd walk around holding me and singing to me all day."

She smiled at him and Orlando said, "I'm sorry about your mother, Julia. No child should by without their mother."

"Thank you, Orlando, but really, I don't remember her at all. Honestly, I don't remember my Papa's singing either, at least as a baby, but I guess something he did worked with me." Flashing him another brilliant smile, she took a last sip of tea and excused herself for her next set.

##  Back in Manila 1982

Moving opium was complicated enough without having to figure out who was dirty, but dirty in a way that would help you as opposed to dirty in a way that required a payoff. The vast majority of the connections the mayor of Manila had were what everyday people would call dirty. However, he happened to be a very good judge of character and was good at developing connections that were dirty in the good way. Now that he was expanding his business off shore he decided to get reacquainted with an old, trusted connection he'd been keeping in his back pocket for years.

He sat back in the buttery leather of his desk chair to watch the sun setting on the bay. When he closed his eyes he could still smell the rancid dampness of the people he would walk by near the bay on a daily basis as a kid. The mahogany desk and burled wood credenza were built and placed specifically so that from his chair he saw nothing of the shoreline. Specifically, the garbage and litter that was dumped there every day, as well as the poor that passed by. For one more minute he sat watching the light from the sun diffract through the pollution as it set beyond the water. Then he picked up the phone.

The Butler answered, but he was put through to the retired Foreign Service Director quickly.

"Luis, kumusta, good evening, I'm sorry to bother you, this is Ciro, Mayor of Manila." If there was one thing he learned early, it was to not push your ego on another important person by assuming they knew who you were and giving them the opportunity to cut you down to size by feigning no knowledge of your existence. Luis had every reason to remember who he was, but that was beside the point.

"Ciro, of course, so nice of you to call, how are you?"

"I hope I'm not bothering you, Luis? If I am I can call another time?"

"Don't be absurd, my old friend, what's up? What can I do for you?" Luis was smart enough to know Ciro needed something and it wasn't election season. Actually, he much preferred that these sorts of 'friends' called only when they needed something. After retiring last year as the Philippine Foreign Service Director Head of Shanghai branch, Luis had a lot of other interests. He kept his ear to the ground in order to know who was still vital, on both shores, but that was enough.

"I have a delicate business start-up in Shanghai I'd like to run by you, Luis. I can't think of another person more capable of understanding my situation and offering advice than you." He heard Luis noisily sip what was probably tea. That was Luis' one downfall, he didn't drink any alcohol at all. Ciro picked up his bourbon, swirled the ice around the amber liquid a bit, wafted the oaken and honey scent under his nose and took a quiet swallow. When he heard the rattle of the tea cup being set back down he started listening again.

"I assume this is a discussion better held in person, Ciro?"

"Everything is better in person, Luis, you know that. I would be in your debt if you do me the honor of being my guest to discuss my business situation over Chinese cuisine. I can have my secretary make us reservations for tomorrow night, if that pleases you?"

"Yes, that's fine, Ciro. May I suggest the Grand Shanghai Intramuros? Call tomorrow and let me know the exact time, please."

"Thank you, salamat, Luis. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

##  Grand Shanghai 1982

The taxi dropped the mayor off in front of the Grand Shanghai, under the portico. The style of the building was unique and there was a worker installing new decorative welded iron works on the surrounding surfaces of the front facing doors and windows. The ironwork was detailed and quite artistic, adding flair to the openings and giving a more Oriental feeling to the façade.

"Where are you from, young man?" asked the mayor.

Extending his hand, the young man answered, "I'm from Zambales, sir."

The mayor just glanced at the worker's very dirty hand and returned his gaze to the iron works. "That's very nice work you are putting up. Who created these pieces?"

"Orlan deJesus, sir," the young man answered.

"Tell him to stop by the mayor's office sometime, I may be interested."

With that, the mayor dismissed the worker and Orlan watched as the official turned to greet an older gentleman that had just stepped out of a jeepney at the curb. He thought he would finally have something interesting to tell Katie when he saw her later at her uncle's house.

#

Inside the Grand Shanghai Ciro nursed his bourbon. Other than ostentatious decoration, he could never understand what people liked about China, let alone Chinese food. He hadn't eaten at this particular place before, but he assumed the food would be dry and hot, just like the other Chinese restaurants he'd been forced to visit. The Chinese didn't know how to use fats. The rice was dry, not sticky, they included things like chicken's feet in a dish and where were the sweet meats? It was no wonder there were not very many Chinese that had a good, healthy weight. Even the flavors got to him...fennel, sulfur, even cinnamon...those weren't flavors for meals. He could eat a good curry any day...better yet, just give him some red and green chili peppers and he was happy. His friend Luis had ordered the Jasmine tea from Fujian province called Mo Li Hua Cha.

"How is retirement treating you, Luis? I see you're not doing nearly enough eating to keep up appearances," Ciro laughed. He laughed at all his own jokes. It was an indulgence he gave himself.

"Retirement is treating me well, but it's true, Mayor, I've lost five pounds in the past year. It must be having to eat my wife's cooking again." Luis also laughed at his own joke.

They chatted about Manila's growth issues and challenges, as well as recent happenings in one of the southern provinces well known for its separatist ideals.

When they finished the shrimp steamed dumplings, Luis broached the topic that initiated the dinner, as he didn't want to get roped into a lengthy discussion at the very end of the meal. "So, old friend, tell me about this Shanghai business you have questions about."

Ciro waved to the waitress for a second bourbon and started telling Luis about the export / import business he'd been developing. "The new president has been a strong supporter of more global markets for Filipino products. At the same time, as our economy grows there are also many opportunities to exploit at home." Taking a sip of his bourbon, he shoved his main course aside and continued building the 'empty box' of his new enterprise for his dinner guest, who could never know which imports, exports or markets he was most interested in exploiting.

"I have a trusted young captain I've been working with in Zambales for a number of years now, moving goods between provinces quickly, safely and without incident. As my export / import business idea was coming to fruition, his expansion from transport within the islands to the China Sea and beyond also became a reality. Therefore, I have the Filipino and transportation pieces of the equation, but I'm coming up empty handed on the Chinese side."

Another sip of the amber liquid washed over Ciro's throat and Luis simply continued eating his meal.

"What I need, my friend, is a Chinese contact whom I can trust with my market that has the business savvy to be a true partner in development. Ideally, someone who already has contacts and understands what doing business in China requires." One final sip drained his second bourbon. He contemplated ordering a third, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed with Luis Bautista was to get sloppy and either hand out more information than he intended or forget just what was said tonight and 'confuse' the situation later. He took a short sip from his water glass instead.

"Is there a specific product you will focus on for this export / import business, Ciro?"

"Not a single, specific product, Luis. Rather I'll focus on the agricultural, mineral and uncommon trade markets."

That gave Luis all the information he needed. It was to be, as was so typical with these petty thieves and chieftains, an endeavor in some unmentionable black market which was probably doomed to failure with no plan or organization. However, he had a personal problem for which Ciro's situation might just relieve him.

"I may have the perfect contact for you, Ciro. He's based in Shanghai and his name is Orlando. Orlando Bautista."

Orlando spent his entire childhood in various parts of Asia outside of the Philippines as his father performed different services for the Philippine government wherever he was stationed. He was nearly fifteen before his parents realized he was fluent in Mandarin Chinese and Shanghainese. When Luis retired, Orlando insisted on staying behind in Shanghai. He had finished college, for whatever good a Chinese degree in marketing would do him, and was doing freelance jobs for various companies marketing to the Philippines. Although, what Orlando knew of the Philippines, other than its language, even Luis thought was a bit slim. He really was more Shanghainese, after all.

The thought of getting Orlando involved in a true Philippine project, for however short an amount of time it might last, picked up the old State Department Director's mood. Not only would he be more self-sufficient...he'd been wiring home for money lately...but he may even be tempted to return to the islands in the future. That would make Mrs. Bautista very happy and anything that made Mrs. Bautista happy was bound to make his life easier.

The two businessmen discussed some of the specifics that Luis wanted to know regarding how safe this enterprise might be for his son. Ultimately, the answer was that the mayor was at the front of it, which made it very important for him to provide his employees a degree of safety as well.

They parted a little after 10:00 p.m. with Luis heading out to wave down a tricycle. Ciro shook his head and decided to walk a little way before hailing a cab. He was a little drunk and his stomach was complaining about the skewed percentage of alcohol to food he'd ingested. Putting his nose in the air he turned the next corner and spotted what was making his mouth water. It was a street vendor selling Isaw Manok. Ever since he was a child, this continued to be his favorite food. If ever there was comfort food for Ciro, it was grilled chicken intestines. Stepping up to the vendors cart he saw these were grilled to crispy perfection and glazed with a sweet and spicy sauce that made his already over-sized nose flare with anticipation.

#

Orlan stayed at the Grand Shanghai to finish hanging the remaining decorative ironwork and was quite pleased that the restaurant owner was on site this evening. When he was seated in the cramped space the owner called an office, but which looked more like a second storage room, he presented the final bill for his work.

"I might need some time to finish my inspection of your work," the restaurant owner said, without lifting his eyes from the bill.

"You know very well that my work is all of the highest quality, since you've seen all except these last few pieces for some weeks now," replied Orlan.

"Still..."

Orlan could see that the owner would have liked to carry the bill for a while. Even more likely, he figured he'd like to forget about it all together.

"The mayor likes my work very much. He asked me to stop by his office."

That got the owner to look up.

It was late when Orlan got to the Ramos' residence, but Katie was waiting up for him. When he showed her the cash from his completed installation she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.

##  Orlando 1982

Orlando was the trusted contact that the Mayor needed in Shanghai. He was Filipino, so naturally he would choose the correct side. He also had political contacts through his father, as well as others built on youth and ambition.

Orlando's early Shanghai days engrained in him the usefulness of the block police. They were well positioned and deeply embedded in the neighborhoods, knowing everyone's needs and schedule and making it their own business. They were also generally underpaid, over-burdened with bureaucracy, party members and opinionated about capitalism. Armed only with Yuan, or better yet some foreign hard currency, one could acquire a lot of information from certain captains. The trick was, of course, to ferret out the ones amenable to dealing as well as those in possession of what was needed.

Orlando pursued Julia with enough patience and determination that he soon was accompanying her back to her apartment on her late evenings... for her safety. It was not long before he met her block captain, Lian Cho. Whether Captain Cho was an individual with a capitalistic mind or a dedicated associate party member was wide open. Orlando would have to find out for himself if Captain Cho would be more likely to provide information to the communist party to enhance his standing or even get himself promoted, or if he would do anything from turning a blind eye to providing the appropriately funded contact in need of whatever it was one was selling.

#

One evening, Orlando showed up at the club with two old Chinese men in expensive business suits. Julia was in the middle of her set and in the middle of a song. That never seemed to stop him from making a big fuss as he was being seated by waving to her, blowing her kisses and worst of all, croaking out some part of the lyrics for whatever song she was singing at the moment. He had the worst singing voice she'd ever heard for someone that constantly sang to himself. If her voice was that bad and it was going through her head constantly she'd commit suicide. In spite of it all, a smile crept over her face and she gave a little wave back. He was a pudgy Filipino that treated her sweetly, reminded her of home and brought her nice presents.

The two Chinese men sat somber faced through the remainder of her set and then politely clapped for five seconds when she was through. She waved to the audience and began to make her way off the stage and over to the table where Orlando and his guests were sitting. There was a good crowd tonight and she was wearing the red dress Orlando had bought for her. Red was very good luck in China and he had specifically requested she wear it tonight. It was shiny and tight, with hundreds of sequins individually attached by some elderly Chinese woman with eyesight that had long ago failed beyond six inches, Julia figured. There was something to the whole good luck thing though. Every night she wore it the tips poured in. She was considering having a new wardrobe made in nothing but the color red.

When she got to his table Orlando stood up, as did the Chinese men, and gave her a kiss and a solid pat on the ass...he could be a bit possessive at times. He introduced the Chinese men by name...she had never taken Orlando for an intellect, but he was good with language and the only Filipino she knew that could get along almost entirely in Chinese...and each of the now smiling Chinese businessmen, in turn, shook her hand.

"These guys have a jazz and opium joint in the Western district. It could be very lucrative for you if you were to sing there," Orlando said.

"Opium. No Orlando. I told you before, bring me one of these rich businessmen that wants to produce a Filipina rising jazz star, not one that is going to land my ass in a Chinese jail." It wasn't the first time Orlando had proposed getting her gigs in opium clubs. Opium was a big deal in China, used by a lot of people, and pretty popular in other parts of Southeast Asia as well. Both she and Orlando had mastered the art of arguing in Tagalog and saying no with big smiles on their faces. It worked pretty well to camouflage the feelings behind words that their guests did not understand anyway.

Julia spent her break sipping the expensive, peach flavored champagne that the Chinese men bought her while smiling and laughing inanely at the jokes that passed between the three men. Orlando had translated the first couple and then gave up and just left her there as an ornament. Finally her piano player made his way back up onto the stage and started to play slurred little vignettes of what she would sing in the next set. With a wave of relief she swallowed a bit more champagne and began her attention getting walk back up to the stage. Most of the salon quieted down in her wake and watched as her hips shimmered their way to the stage.

##  Steven's 1st Visit to Shanghai 1982

As was nearly always the case, Captain Cho was on the street smoking a cigarette. He was smiling and waving when Julia and Steven's rickshaw arrived in front of the apartment. Helping her out of the low ceilinged cab, Captain Cho winked and smiled conspiratorially, looking in Steven's direction. His nicotine stained teeth were slightly too large for his mouth and subsequently made him look a little bit like some farm animal that should be patted on the head and given a sugar lump.

Julia extricated herself from his helpful, but wandering, hands and made introductions.

"Lian Cho, this is my kuya. My big brother." She inclined her head to her brother, who was getting out on the other side of the rickshaw cab.

"Steve, this is Lian Cho. He is the block captain here." Steven noticed the goofy look disappear momentarily from the man's face and saw quick calculations being made.

"It's very good to see you. Please let me know if I can be of any service to you during your stay, Sir Steven." Captain Cho let go of Julia's hand and came around the cab to tower over Steven. At least that's what it felt like to Steven, who was pretty average height in the Philippines. Captain Cho towered over him by almost a head.

Doing the one thing that helped him forget his shortish stature, Steven stuck out a strongly muscled hand in a global greeting. While modern sailors didn't have to do any rowing, hard work abounded ship-board and he was always pulling a rope hand over hand to move, cover, uncover, tighten or stow something on the ocean going vessels. He liked to shake hands because he believed, like his mother, that you could tell a lot about a stranger from their handshake.

Captain Cho was at first hesitant, but quickly the horse toothed yellow grin broke out again. He put the damp end of his smoking stick in his mouth and wrapped longish, yellowed fingers around Steven's outstretched hand.

The grin became a bit more forced when Steven showed him the grip with which a young, hardworking sailor was equipped. Steven's hand came away just a little bit damp from Captain Cho's sweaty palm, and based on the smelly cigarette the block captain sucked on, he was sure it would smell of nicotine.

While he learned a little from the handshake, it didn't seem to impress the gregarious party policeman much. With a wink Captain Cho asked, "Can I see your papers, Steven? Just a formality to humor an old police captain. I need to keep all those other families safe, as I do your silken throated sister, you see." Julia gave an imperceptible nod to go ahead and Steven smoothly pulled papers out of his left rear pocket and handed them over for Captain Cho's review.

The papers went without hesitation or review into a well-worn notebook which resided in Captain Cho's breast pocket. Bowing ever so slightly, he said, "You can pick these up from me anytime in the block office, Steven. Have a good visit."

It was Steven's turn to give an imperceptible, negative shake of his head to Julia when he saw that she was going to argue the confiscation of his documents. She turned to Captain Cho, smiled and then walked into the building with Steven.

#

The building was older, but had been well built. It was originally designed and intended as a multi-family dwelling, so it was much less ornate than the homes confiscated during the cultural revolution.

All along the exterior wall of the building there were small shops with capitalistic minded individuals trying to figure out how to sell something that the typical passersby might want. Steven noticed a dentist sandwiched between an herbalist and a woman selling scarves. He guessed that if the person with a toothache wasn't gutsy enough to risk the pliers and needle on display on the dentist's table, he or she could pick up some clove oil, or even a whole clove, sidestep the dentist, then pick up a scarf to tie the jaw together while the remedy worked its magic.

He was happy to step inside the building because his jaw was starting to hurt just thinking about toothaches. Having had a toothache on a ship at sea, it brought back less than happy memories.

Just inside the front door was a common area with people camping on floor, tables and whatever chairs there were. It was mid-afternoon so most of them were sleeping. Steven had to step over the legs of a couple of old guys fast asleep, their mouths open, drool puddling where it would. They both looked like they were repeat patients of the dentist right outside the door.

Julia's apartment was on the first floor; one floor above ground level. Steven was quite impressed, really, that this young girl had somehow finagled an apartment on the ideal floor. It was above the ground level so the riff-raff weren't literally sleeping against her front door, but only one flight up. The building had ten stories above the ground level and was a walk-up. Tenants on the tenth had a little bit of a view and didn't have to worry about exercise, but he figured their apartments were furnished with the lightest furniture available.

Her apartment was a tiny one bedroom with two east facing windows. "It's perfect because I'm almost never home in the evening anyway. This way I get to see the sun come up, and once in a while, I see the moon as well." Shanghai could have some pretty great sky colors whenever a body of light was near the horizon, what with all the pollution diffracting light every which way. There wasn't any air conditioning or heat, yet, but Julia said the building super had promised it to her when she moved in. Three months ago. "Anyway, like I said Kuya, I'm not here that much. It's fine."

"I'm sure it's fine, little sister, at least it is your own and not fixed with a swinging door as was that place we lived in after...well, after she died."

"You don't have to protect me from Mama's death, Kuya. It's been many years and I only see her face now in pictures." She stepped away from the open window into the tiny kitchen area and added water to the tea kettle. "If Daddy hadn't sung songs to her every day that I was with him, I might not even remember her name."

Even after all of the years his mother had been gone, Julia still had the power to make him sad when she spoke of Sophia this way. He knew it was different for her. She wasn't even one when Sophia died a painful death. As the first born son, almost five years old, Steven would never forget the day his father told him that his mother had gone to meet her maker. Gilberto then brought him to see a little plaque on the ground at a local cemetery. "Okay, I'm sorry I brought it up. Make your kuya some tea, please. My throat is parched." He flipped off his shoes and sat down sideways, with his back against the wall, on the cushioned bench in Julia's tiny living room.

While she began to heat water in the kettle for tea, Julia asked. "Kuya, why did you give your papers away?"

"Don't worry, I didn't," Steven replied. "I long ago learned to only carry copies of my papers where they can be easily found."

"I don't understand, Kuya," Julia said.

"Well, if anyone notices the copies and asks, I simply tell them that is all the ship's Captain allows and I direct them to the dock if they want more," Steven answered. "Of course I have all my papers with me and more copies back on the ship."

#

Later, Julia began dinner. He had requested a traditional Filipino meal and Julia was happy to oblige him. Being the youngest, Gilberto was constantly babying her and that included in the kitchen. He loved to cook, but wasn't a very good teacher except when it came to Julia. Sometimes Steven wondered if their father didn't want to teach his children his recipes for fear they would not need him anymore. If your children need you to feed them delicious food, they will stick around forever, might have been his mantra. With Julia, Gilberto knew there was never a chance of her sticking around. She was too good a singer and someone would discover that one day and take her away. So Julia was taught to cook.

"How long this time?" Julia asked as she prepared dinner.

Steven replied. "It was three months, this time." He got up from the couch, stretched and wandered into the tiny kitchen.

Julia open the fridge, removed the cap from a bottle of beer and shooed him out.

He laughed, "I guess being on a ship for so long makes me unaware of personal space. I can usually stretch my arms and touch at least two people at all times. Your kitchen is spacious, in relation." He chuckled again, "Anyway, all I wanted to do was see what smelled so yummy."

"You know what it is, Kuya, it's Pancit like Daddy makes." Julia told him.

"Yes, the way the favored child is taught, huh?" They both chuckled at that because Julia knew her siblings were jealous of the attention their dad paid to her, and especially the time he spent with her in the kitchen.

"Somehow my Pancit is never quite as good as his. I don't know if he had a special ingredient he never told me about?" Julia said. "It's probably the totally random way that he added spice and soy sauce that enhanced his flavors!"

Steven would never admit it to Julia, but she was correct, her Pancit wasn't as good as Gilberto's. He thought he knew the reason, too. "No, do you want to know what I think, sister?"

"Of course I do, wise kuya, and please enlighten me with your seasoned, elder knowledge," she answered.

He thought about picking something up to toss at her. That's what he would have done ten years ago, but he was no longer a child. "It's his tongue, sister. Nothing more than his tongue...well, that and his superior memory."

"I think you're right, Kuya. Papa could take a taste of adobo and tell the meat, the age of the meat, the spices in the basting, the type of wood used for the grilling...even the age of the vinegar and how many bay leaves had been used," Julia answered.

Steven laughed again, "Well I don't know whether he can tell the number of bay leaves, but maybe you're right. He has a great sense of taste anyway. There is nothing random about what he adds to his recipes. It is all calculated out in his head with input from tongue and nose."

She brought him a large bowl of her Pancit, taking only a small portion herself with a glass of water. "I can neither sing nor wear that blue sequined number on a full stomach."

She was taking him out to the jazz clubs later. She wasn't working tonight, but she explained that if anyone at the clubs they would visit knew her, they might ask her up on stage to sing a number. With a wink, she added, "I always accept. There's no better advertisement than a short, live commercial."

##  Touring With The Singer 1982

The first place Julia wanted to go was a new place in the Western district by the bund, a waterfront area in central Shanghai. Well, new wasn't the right word, from what Steven could see, but Julia said, "New ownership, Kuya, new ownership."

The "Can You Do This In F Sharp" was a club recently opened in a derelict building off a dirty alley. Steven stood as tall as his five feet five inch frame would allow and slipped his arm around his little sister as she led him down the dark street. She just looked at him and laughed when he did this. "Do not be afraid, my kuya," and she hugged his arm around her waist. When she rapped on a non-descript door and asked the eye that looked at her through the peek-a-boo security opening responding to her knock for entrance, in Shanghainese, the door immediately opened to a dimly lit, smoky room.

"What's that smell?" Steven asked her. It was opium, of course. He was familiar enough with it from his youth and from some of his ports of call, but he didn't know if his baby sister knew it or not.

"Hush, Kuya, don't get us thrown out of here. I've wanted to come since they opened, but it's a bit of a tough neighborhood, even for me." She snickered at this because she knew her kuya was impressed with her self-sufficiency.

"They just opened a few weeks ago and I've heard they're paying top dollar so they can attract the investors from the west after they're tired of working." She pulled him by the hand, like he was her date, and he guessed he was, in a way. That way in which she could concentrate on herself and not on fighting off lecherous advances all night.

Steven waved a server over and asked for a beer and a white wine. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir! We only have champagne for the lady! You like some champagne for her?" The very young Chinese girl had tried the speech in Chinese first and when Julia completely ignored her and Steven just repeated his order, she tried it in English.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry then. Nothing for now." And he waved her away. Three minutes later she was back with a can of Budweiser and a glass of some sort of white wine.

"Five dollars."

"No dollars, Yuan?" Number one, he didn't have dollars and number two...five dollars for a beer and a wine? Where did she think she was, Paris?

A frown and a huff came over her face and she repeated, "Five dollars!"

He did his own multiplication and put twenty Yuan on her tray and turned back to his sister. It must have been enough because the server turned around and continued trying to sell her champagne.

Meanwhile, Julia struck up a conversation with the piano player, who was nursing his own beer at a table near the front of the stage. She was laughing at his jokes and he was becoming more animated with each exaggerated wave of her head and smile. His smile disappeared when Steven walked up and put his arm around Julia's waist.

She unwound his arm and introduced him. "Lenny Chen, this is my older brother, Steven, who is still playing the protective role I assigned to him when we walked in the door."

She turned to Steven and patted his hand. "It's okay, Kuya, just relax and let me talk business."

The smile came back to Lenny the piano player's face and the two of them went back to speaking animatedly in Chinese. Later on, after the singers took their second break of the evening, Lenny exaggeratedly asked Julia if she would treat the crowd to a song.

"Of course I would, my old friend, how about 'Fly me to the Moon'?" Julia answered.

"Ah, I know it well, my dear!" The piano player responded.

Steven thought, "I suppose you do, you long fingered hustler, I heard it come up at least three times with my sister and you an hour ago during your little chat." He didn't know what he was getting worked up about. Lenny could certainly play the piano and his sister's voice took him back to his childhood. If he didn't busy himself with waving down the money grubbing server for another beer, he might have teared up listening to her sing.

#

"Seriously? We're going to another club? I usually go to bed by now if I'm not working or reading."

"Seriously, Kuya. There's two more I want to visit, at least." She pleaded with him, her dark brown, almond eyes twinkling while her smile said, "You know I will win, just give in."

"I guess that what I really meant was that if I'm not working or reading or listening to jazz I'm usually in bed." Taking her hand he helped her over to the door with the little peek-a-boo security system and they exited back to the grimy alley.

When they left the alley Julia waved down the first rickshaw she saw and chattered in her broken Chinese to them. Steven didn't understand much of anything, but he heard MJ Wangs mentioned several times and figured that's where they were headed next.

"How did you get this guy to run all the way over here, Sister?" The rickshaw driver was winded when he pulled them up to an only slightly less grimy entrance than the first club.

"I told him you were a wealthy sailor that tipped well, Kuya." Smiling, she stepped from the cab and headed to the entrance, leaving Steven to deal with the tired, but expectant runner.

The red door to this place was standing open and two ponytail sporting guys with black tee shirts and Levi jeans where standing, barefoot with their arms crossed, blocking the entrance. The more muscled one to the right of the door perked up when he saw Julia get out of the rickshaw, but frowned when he realized Steven was coming with her.

"Lok, sweetheart, how are you!" Julia greeted the frowning doorman with a kiss on both cheeks, after which she whispered in his ear. When she stepped away, the doorman smiled at Steven and winked at him as he walked inside.

"What was that all about?" Steven asked.

"Lok works a couple different places as security. He's very protective of me, but I told him you like guys. He does, too," Julia answered.

"What do you mean, he does, too? I mean I have guy friends, but I don't 'like' guys," Steven replied.

"Oh, Kuya, I'm just getting us in the door. Besides, I'm your baby sister, I don't care who you like." Julia smiled and dragged him through the door.

This place was different in a few ways from the last. "Why's it so smoky in here, Sis?" Steven asked.

Laughing, she replied, "Yeah, it's really funny smelling in here. That MJ must be a smoker," Julia replied.

"MJ...that's what the name means?" Steven said.

"Of course it does, silly," Julia replied.

This club was similar to the last one, except here the servers wanted to sell Steven hand rolled joints instead of beers. Being the well-seasoned sailor that he was, Steven was familiar with most of the drugs of the day. He stayed employed by mostly avoiding them, but there wasn't much he hadn't tried or seen someone try.

Again Julia flirted with the piano player during his break, again he happened to ask her to sing and again they both happened to know "Fly Me to the Moon".

#

It was after 1:00 a.m. when Julia and Steven arrived at the third, and Julia promised, final club. It was starting to be more difficult to find rickshaws because there were a lot of people around. This seemed to be an area that was alive at night. Steven couldn't figure out if the crowd was coming or going and he guessed it didn't really matter.

This club was a bit more lavish on the outside, which is to say it didn't smell bad and was better lighted.

"Musically I don't know much about this one, Kuya. Be careful what you agree to once you're inside, though," Julia told him.

He almost responded with a joke, but glancing at his sister, Steven could see that she was serious and answered. "Okay, no problem. It's not like this is my first time in a foreign port."

They were greeted at the door by two very slender women. The one standing next to him wore a floor length, tight, white dress that sparkled when she moved. It started just above where Steven imagined her nipples must be and ended with just the slightest bit of material dragging on the floor. There wasn't any more space between her skin and the dress material than there is between a drink of milk and the glass it's poured into.

Julia elbowed him in the ribs. "Quit staring, Kuya, it isn't polite."

Steven turned to look at the woman standing next to Julia. She had a similar, slender body, but she was covered in what Steven figured was a very traditional and ornate Chinese dress. The women hooked arms through each of them and led them to a small table near the back of the area facing a stage. At the moment there were no less than a dozen women dressed in similar fashion to the traditionalist that escorted Julia to their table in the room.

Leaning over to whisper into Julia's ear, Steve said, "This doesn't look like jazz to me. Are you thinking of broadening your scope of work, sister?"

Julia looked sheepishly at him and replied, "I think I've been misled about this club, Kuya. I would not fit in here."

Laughing, Steven patted her forearm, "I would not care to have you fit in here, sister."

When the server, also dressed in traditional Chinese costume, came to their table, Julia turned to Steven with just a hint of a smile showing at the corners of her eyes, "I believe I have come down with a fierce headache, Kuya, shall I leave you here to enjoy yourself?"

Looking slightly aghast, Steven replied, "Are you crazy, I've been half asleep for two hours and besides, I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge of either skinning one of these alive or working my way through the traditional ties that bind."

The server bowed and replied, "Ah no, sir, traditional Chinese flower is very easily opened," as she smoothly pulled one string and the front of her dress fell open, exposing her flawless skin and delicate woman parts.

Julia almost came apart trying not to laugh at the bewildered look on her brother's face. He quickly tugged the sides of the server's robe back together. "I'm sorry, but we've got to leave now. As you can see my sister isn't feeling well and I must accompany her home safely." Even though they didn't eat or drink anything in this club, Steven's tip was double what he'd left at the last two places.

When the door closed behind them, Julia stood laughing so hard she couldn't speak for a few minutes. "Oh my God, Kuya. I thought you would fall over!" She chuckled one final time. "Your eyes were coming out of your head, when was the last time you saw a girl naked? ...or a guy?"

The color rushed back to Steven's face and he hurried her along to what seemed to be a cab stand, "You hush, you. That's not something a little sister talks to her big brother about!"

"She was stunning, wasn't she?" Julia asked.

Again, Steven replied, "You hush, you," but this time it was a bit softer.

##  Boris Visits Shanghai 1982

The initial delivery from the Philippines to Shanghai was finally agreed upon. Boris was tight enough with the mayor after five years of faultlessly delivering what he needed that there was no written deal and no pre-shipment walk through. The mayor made it completely clear what the exports were and the window of opportunity. Well he also made it clear what the profit would be for Boris, and to Boris' relief, the mayor's estimate was within the acceptable range Boris had already set his mind on.

There was only one catch.

Boris was so close to being able to get his own boat capable of this voyage he could almost taste it. It was the proverbial cart before the horse thing though. Until he successfully finished this initial run he just couldn't swing the pesos. If he did a subcontract with another captain in the same business he ran a dual risk. Number one, the subcontractor might sniff out just how lucrative the business was and push the price up so high Boris could do the run and still not be able to swing the purchase of his new boat. Number two, an even a worse risk, the subcontractor would sniff out the potential for on-going business and make a successful or deadly run to take the entire business for himself.

No, he would have to do this first one on the sly as well as without being the captain of his own boat. There were two things working to his advantage in this case as well. Number one, his youngest sister, Julia, was living in Shanghai and singing in the bund district. Number two, she was standing in front of him at the moment.

"Sister, when are you going back to Shanghai?" He asked her.

Laughing, Julia took her hands out of the laundry she was poking into the sudsy water of the washing machine and said, "Really, Bori? If I had it my way I'd leave tomorrow!"

"Daughter! I'm only in the next room! I can hear you!" Gilberto apparently felt like he had to chime in on the answer he heard, "I've only asked for a tiny bit of help to clean this simple restaurant that has fed and clothed us all so well."

Julia answered her father as she winked at Boris, "Father, why is it then that I have been doing laundry non-stop for three days now! I dare say you have started a laundry service for the neighborhood bed and breakfast!"

This only resulted in a chuckle from the far room so Julia continued with Boris, "I must be back there in four weeks for the start of the jazz festival. On the other hand, I must stay here for two additional weeks, according to my residency requirements. Why do you ask, Bori?"

"Well I'd like to go with you, sister." Youngest brother and youngest sister were generally a close knit team. Among other things that brought them together, they were both planners and schemers and the two most determined of the four siblings.

Julia screamed and threw her arms around her brother. "I'm so glad you're finally going to come see me, Bori! You'll love it in Shanghai. The people, the culture, the food...it's all so great. I'll never get enough of it."

Returning to stuff the last of the laundry into the machine, she asked Boris, "But how will you come with me? Don't you have to make plans?" Boris knew it originally took her three months of going back and forth to get the deals brokered so she could go over and not slowly starve to death.

"My plans are made already, sister. All except for the travel and the hotel arrangements over there."

She smiled when he said it, and answered, "But Bori, these are the biggest plans to make. Luckily, I can help." Hugging him, she continued. "You can travel with me; go tomorrow and get your tickets. You can stay with me for as long as you like. However, I don't know how long you'll like it. I live in a tiny walk up. It has running water but no air-con."

She couldn't afford much when she originally moved over there. She became friends quickly with a well-connected Filipino that had lived in Shanghai most of his life. She had already told Boris how he had helped her get the place. By now she said she'd gotten quite used to it.

Having tiny housing bills gave Julia much more money for clothes and parties, from the sounds of things. Now it was set, Boris would travel to China with his lovely sister, who was at times back and forth more than once a year. She always went by boat because she grew up in an archipelago with sailors for brothers, friends and boyfriends. There should be no issue with baggage and everyone knew that check-in and customs was much less rigorous on a ship than is was on an airplane. The cargo he would carry over was quite heavy, but would be well concealed in luggage. Literally, he planned to make it part of the luggage. Boris wasn't too worried about the trip going over. He was moderately worried about the trip coming back.

#

The business of moving various Filipino artifacts of historical or monetary value had been picking up recently. "Maybe 'removing' was clearer," Boris thought, contemplating his new business model.

Between the reopening of China and the martial law that continued in his own country, the current window of opportunity made the process fairly straightforward, if you were smart, well connected, and had access to the infrastructure. No one was particularly worried about seemingly tiny movements between relatively unimportant Asian countries. More clearly, in the minds of non-Asians, between some relatively undeveloped archipelago with a relatively small population and another, albeit larger, Asian country that was mostly known for cheap knock-offs. The importance of the sea to individuals, as well as entire economies in the area, made it hard to trace each transportation vehicle, let alone each person arriving and departing.

Boris figured he was fairly smart and he was going to have access to his own infrastructure, a seaworthy boat to be specific, after this first operation. As soon as he acquired it his options would vastly expand, as would his wealth. He was very much on his own for this first delivery and return, though. The result would make or break him and he knew it.

His cargo going over was roughly eighty pounds of gold coins. He didn't know the specifics of where the mayor had aquired these actual coins, but he'd heard the stories Filipinos told about all the WWII bounty buried or lost by the retreating Japanese. Some called it the Yamashita hoards.

Boris acquired special luggage that would hold the coins within the linings, hollow walls and hidden bases. However, the weight and number of coins was large enough that he also wanted to modify the wardrobe that Julia traveled with when she went back and forth. The coins would add a good twenty five pounds to her case, but wouldn't take up enough space for her to notice. A little clandestine hammer and chisel work by Boris created enough problems with Julia's luggage that she asked him to have it 'repaired' for her.

"Don't worry, sister, I know a craftsman that will have it looking as good as new. In fact, he told me he has the wood of the cedar that he can create for a beautiful new lining on the inside to safeguard your clothes from moths and mildew during the trip. I will ask him to add it as well."

"Thanks, Bori, I will repay you with champagne, on the house, for as long as you stay in Shanghai!"

Boris kissed his sister's forehead and then hauled off her wardrobe to make her an accomplice to his smuggling operation.

##  Departure 1982

The day of their departure Boris seemed more highly strung than usual. He argued with and taunted Steven into leaving early for the day after saying goodbye to Julia. Steven had originally wanted to see her off at the wharf in Manila, but he knew he and Boris would not get along together on the trip into the city and he wanted to avoid a major altercation with his brother because he knew it would upset Julia.

"I'll miss you, Julia, but not for long. I'll be there later this year anyway. Hopefully after Boris returns home." He laughed and kissed his youngest sister on the cheek, telling Katie to look after her little sister for him during the likely arduous trip to drop the two siblings off.

"Please don't leave until my trunk is loaded for the trip, Kuya. I might have over packed it a bit and now I can't seem to close the lid." She took Steven back to her room where the trunk stood, fully loaded, but as yet, not secured.

Boris was standing studying it, hands on hips. Between the new lining he had installed and the gold coins he had personally secured between the dual layer of cedar lining, the trunk was almost double the weight going back as when Julia brought it over. When his siblings came into the room, he jumped into action and finished getting the trunk lid closed. "It's done, your clothes will be super safe for the trip, sister."

"You have made them so safe no one can even move the trunk!"

"You exaggerate, sister, it's a beautiful trunk now, especially the inside. Give me a hand now Stevie...and be careful."

Finally the trunk, as well as Boris' own heavy luggage, were both aboard the older private van that Boris had contracted to get them to the Manila harbor. The ride was long and uncomfortable, but once at the harbor and on the dock in front of their boat, they were singled out and boarded in front of the other waiting passengers. Boris had showed the stewards the letter he was carrying, as well as a large crate of mangos, which announced a gift from the Mayor of Manila to the Mayor of Shanghai to promote goodwill, friendship and trade. The Mayor had given Boris the letter, but had no expectation that the letter or the mangos would be delivered to anyone in particular.

##  Virgin Smuggler, Shanghai 1982

The Philippines was ripe for the picking. Maybe it always had been. Scouring the Philippines clean of resources, money and intellect started before the Spaniards, but it continued through the U.S. Territorial times as well. The way Boris looked at it, after World War II the plundering had simply been transferred back to the Filipino people. Cash could be taken out as well, but it was always less traceable to transfer goods and wash the transfer through a few hands or transactions.

When Boris and Julia arrived at the port office there was a note waiting for him.

All it said was:

The Bund Jazz Club

8 p.m.

Thursday

Bring a red umbrella

Their ship arrived on a Friday so he was a little confused, but decided that it was a safe set-up for the contact in Shanghai because it was probably a place he went to every Thursday at 8 p.m. He probably set his initial meeting there so no one would be suspicious.

"Fan letters already?" Julia asked. "I didn't know that you knew people in Shanghai. What's up?"

"Oh it's nothing, it's just some business. You thought I was coming over for a vacation?" He answered.

"I thought you were coming over to be with your baby sister for a while." He saw the classic baby sister pout on her lips.

"Hey, no big deal. This isn't a time consuming meeting. I'm actually just helping out a friend here in Shanghai." Brushing off Julia's frustrated look he charged on with a question, "Do you know where the Bund Jazz Club is, little sister?"

"Of course I do, Bori. I've sung there practically since I came to Shanghai." She finished brushing the wind out of her hair and tied it back with an ornately colored scarf.

Later, as they settled into Julia's tiny flat, Boris saw that scarves were apparently just one of her fetishes when it came to clothes. His little sister had dozens of them in all sizes, colors and patterns, not to mention fabrics. Chuckling to himself, he light heartedly wondered what he could smuggle into or out of China hidden amongst a boat load of scarves.

Relaxing on the bench in her living area with a cup of tea Boris thought more about the strange coincidence and asked, "So when do you work at this Bund Jazz Club?"

Adding more sugar to her own tea, Julia answered. "I'm there every Thursday and Friday. Then I'm over at the Stewed Kitten on Saturdays and the Purple Finch on Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays."

Okay, not only was she working there, but she was there every Thursday. "I might have to meet a client there next Thursday."

"That's cool, I start around 8:00 p.m. and go till about 1:00 a.m. Now maybe you've got two reasons to come," She said.

Thursday couldn't come quickly enough for Boris, but finally it was upon them and Julia was busy getting ready for her audience. It was the owner's birthday so she would wear something special. In China, special meant red so she'd picked one of her many red dresses. She most often wore formal evening dresses because she wanted to look elegant and always sang in the evening. "What do you think of this number, Bori?"

He looked up from the maps and papers he was reading to see his beautiful younger sister in a red satin, floor length gown with a very subtle pattern of tigers that was probably printed on the fabric in some way. It had a bit of a flare at the bottom that more than covered her feet, spreading into a circle around them maybe a yard in diameter. The shoulders were mostly exposed except for a small patch of fabric that was supposed to be a sleeve, but Boris figured was really to keep the front up and in place.

"I think you look too pretty to be anyone's little sister." Proud as he was of her, and confident of her ability to look after herself, his brotherly defense was aroused when he saw her this way. It wasn't the first time, because she'd been a beauty since she was 14 years old. He'd learned how to set his defense mechanism aside and he turned his attention back to the papers spread before him.

A while later Julia was leading him to the Bund Jazz Club to listen to her sing...and to meet his contact.

##  Red Umbrella Meet 1982

When his favorite singer walked into the club with her arm hooked on another man's arm, Orlando did a double take and began a slow boil. He'd had his eye on Julia for a while now and was playing it slow and cool before she took off for Manila. Now he panicked, wondering if he'd played it too slow and too cool. If she picked this guy up when she was back in the Philippines he'd kick himself all the way home tonight. There probably wasn't much he was going to be able to do about it though, because of the meeting he expected tonight. Better yet, he thought, maybe the guy wouldn't show up this week either and he would be able to do something.

Julia turned and gave her escort a peck on the cheek as she disengaged herself from his arm. She then headed in the direction of the communal dressing room. Orlando figured she would freshen her make-up, check her hair and unpin the bottom of her dress. She once told him she pinned it up for the commute to keep it from getting filthy before she was even on stage.

Orlando took a better look at the man Julia came in with. He was pretty average height, maybe a little on the short side and he had a stocky build. His hair was thick and black and straight and hung down his back in a ponytail. Orlando noted that when Julia left him his eyes had gone from soft to hard as rocks. The man's posture was now all business and as Orlando watched with his peripheral vision the man began to look around the club. His eyes came to rest on Orlando but quickly darted away. Even if he didn't want to meet him, it was clear they were both Filipino and in the same jazz bar on the same night. They would have to say hello to each other at some point.

Orlando ordered a beer and pulled himself up to a small table in the corner where he could watch for the red umbrella. He took his first sip, glanced at the man that came in with Julia and saw him pull a short red compact umbrella out of the bag Julia left him with. Orlando took a second slow sip, turning the puzzle pieces over in his head.

Could it be that this man was actually the person he was supposed to meet tonight? He was Filipino and he came in with the Filipina woman he'd been obsessed with for months. It might make sense, they were all Filipino, all in Shanghai; could it be they all knew the same people?

He thought back to the conversation with his father about his potential business partner, "Orlando, be careful. This business partner comes through the mayor of Manila. The mayor is a powerful man with powerful friends, a powerful ego and powerful desires. I will make the introductions because I think the potential for you making a lot of money through this contact is high, but the danger is also high."

Orlando had replied, "Don't worry about me father, I can handle myself. I have developed my own contacts in Shanghai. This city is at least as old as Manila and as powerfully dangerous. I will watch my back, and if necessary, I know how to disappear. However, I hope that in the meantime this mayor brings me big business."

Luis said, "Okay, I only know this person's first name is Boris and that you are to meet him. I understand he is traveling to Shanghai and will be arriving sometime next week. He is carrying export goods which is why the mayor asked for contacts in Shanghai in order to develop purchasing partners. I am fairly certain his export goods must be kept quiet. I also know the mayor is very friendly with Shanghai business people and government party members."

While to many it might seem like a precarious position to put ones son into, Orlando took it as a vote of confidence from the old state department operator. More than that, Orlando saw his father as providing him every opportunity to make big money and to make a name for himself in political circles that could help him go beyond the level of financial success his father had seen.

When Julia came out Orlando settled back with his beer, kept his eyes on the person he assumed was Boris, and listened to Julia's opening number. By 9:00 p.m. the club was starting to fill up and Orlando thought he could make his move.

Draining the last of his beer Orlando took his empty and went over to the table where Boris was listening to Julia. He had the red umbrella displayed prominently on his table when Orlando stepped up, "She's a great singer isn't she?" Orlando said, "If I don't miss my guess, we are both from the same home country as she? May I buy you a beer?"

Boris did not answer him regarding ethnicity, but shook his head in the affirmative regarding the beer and gestured to the chair next to him. Orlando waved to the waitress, who he knew very well, and indicated that she should bring them each another drink.

Then he introduced himself, "I'm Orlando. I'm supposed to meet someone here tonight who is carrying a red umbrella." He eyed Boris' umbrella which was sitting on the table. "By the way, how do you know Julia?"

"I have known Julia all my life, she is my younger sister. Why do you ask?" Boris answered.

"No reason my friend, I have been coming to this club for a long time and Julia is one of the best singers they have. I'm glad to know she is your sister." Taking a long, slow sip of his beer Orlando listened to the music for a couple of minutes. Then he turned to Boris and said, "I still don't know your name, my friend."

Boris returned his stare with his own smile, which looked carved from the same stone as his eyes. Offering his hand, he took Orlando's, shook it and said, "It's Boris. However, don't be mistaken, I am not your friend, yet."

"Okay, business it is then. What do you have for me, Boris?" Orlando now toyed with his bottle, knowing that a friendly drunk was not going to improve this situation.

"I have a job which was entrusted to me by a very important person that wants it finished in the quickest possible manner," Boris answered. Orlando only briefly looked at him turning his attention back to Julia, expecting him to continue. Boris did, "I am told you have the other contacts needed for this particular job."

"You may very well be right. I do know a lot of people." Orlando didn't know anything about Boris and wasn't about to give him information he didn't need, or that would lead him back to his father if he didn't already know about him.

"You know the export goods?" Boris asked him.

Orlando just closed his eyes and gave a little nod. Of course he did, why else would he be chosen? The mayor knew that finding a client to pay cash for eighty pounds of Spanish gold, stolen Spanish gold from WWII no less, wasn't a walk in the park.

"Okay, I suppose you do. Well, I have a personal challenge for you. One that might go a ways toward making you my friend," Boris said.

That made Orlando open his eyes again. This might at least be intriguing. The challenges are what made you rich or got you killed. "Tell me more," He replied.

"I'm a businessman in the business of transportation. I had a full load on the trip coming over, but I'm empty on the return path. I need an easily transportable load with good resale potential."

"I'm listening...there are about a billion options. Narrow it down for me." Orlando couldn't put his hands on a billion options, but there were certainly a lot of options.

#

"Opium," Boris said.

"A hundred pesos a gram," Orlando replied.

Boris knew he could get at least a thousand a gram in Manila, depending on how sophisticated the buyer was, how much 'value' they were willing to add and how much risk they were willing to pass on to the consumer. Boris had no risk aversion what so ever when it came to the consumer, but he was significantly more risk averse when it came to his own skin. On the other hand, ten thousand grams of opium, nearly twenty-five pounds, would be a significant haul. And there was a market. A relatively untapped market. This one deal could enable him to get his boat. Not the perfect boat, but the beginning in a series leading to his perfect boat.

He'd made no promises to the mayor other than the safe return of the proceeds of his exports. He was prepared to use every peso of his profit to purchase the opium. If he was caught he probably would be thrown in jail for the rest of his sorry life, which would be short, the mayor had assured him. However, he knew the risk was even higher if he was caught taking Japanese war hordes of Spanish gold, over which many people in his country died, out of the Philippines. That meant almost certain death.

"If I happened to be interested, how much can you get me?" Boris asked.

"How much do you want? I can get it," Orlando answered.

"Ten kilos," Boris said.

Orlando shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. "I could have that tomorrow night."

#

When Julia finished her first set she worked her way through the crowd that had gathered around the stage. The club had redecorated while she was in the Philippines. The stage was all new, heavier red velvet curtains and the floor was buffed to the high sheen of a professional basketball court. There were more lighting options, including colored spotlights now. She would keep that in mind when she added to her wardrobe next time. Red dress against red velvet curtains with red spot light was a bit much, even if she was in a country where red was the prevailing lucky color for everything.

She was entertaining a group from Germany. They were in Shanghai talking about options to manufacture automobiles for the world's most populous country. They were good tippers, but a very hands on group. As long as they were drunk and unorganized, which these guys certainly were, Julia had no problem separating men from the biggest tips possible while defending her curves from wandering hands. However, she knew from previous experience in Manila that she needed to move on before Boris got too irritated with all the groping that these guys were trying to accomplish. She said, "Sorry boys, gotta run see my big brother and powder my nose before the next set." She deftly stepped out of reach and continued on over to Boris and Orlando's table.

"Orlando, get me a coke, would you?" giving his ear a light touch, she shooed him away with a nod of her head in the direction of the bar.

"Okay, Julia, no problem. Hey, you're in great shape tonight, baby. Voice is smoother and thicker than those new curtains they hung on your stage." Orlando winked and sauntered over toward the bar.

Julia looked at her brother, assessing him as only a baby sister could. "So, what's the story, Bori? What are you guys up to?" It was clear this wasn't a chance encounter Boris had made with her...what was he anyway, boyfriend wasn't right, but neither was simple friend...most strident and interesting supporter? Maybe that was what Orlando was. Anyway, she continued her questioning, "Where do you guys know each other from?"

"Sister, what do you think? I'm Filipino, you're Filipina, and he's Filipino...where are we going to know each other from?" He finished his beer and made a show of looking around for a server to bring him another. For now business was going smoothly, he could afford another.

Julia didn't believe him. She knew he knew that. And she knew he didn't care and wouldn't be clarifying his story anytime soon.

When Orlando returned he brought a glass of coke, with ice, for Julia, another beer for Boris and himself, and a plate with some cheese and grapes on it. Making conversation as he handed her the glass he said, "You didn't say you were bringing family with you when you left."

"I don't remember you asking and I didn't know I was going to. Next time I go home I'll bring back my babies and my husband." She winked, took a dainty sip of the cola, and turned to go powder her nose. It was hot in Shanghai and the last thing she needed was a sweat stained face in this land of porcelain dolls.

#

Orlando watched her leave until he could feel Boris staring at him. Turning to face him, he took a slow sip of his beer again.

"So when do I get to inspect the export goods?" He asked Boris.

Boris dug in his pocket, glanced around, and slid a coin toward him on the table.

It had a solid feeling. A weighty coin with rich luster. When he took it in his palm it was almost as big in diameter as the length of his first finger from tip to middle knuckle. He liked the feeling of it, but he had to make sure it was real gold before he pulled the trigger. He turned it over in his fingers and searched all the places it was worn. He couldn't discern any colors showing through at the worn areas. Then he brushed the cheese and grapes off the simple ceramic plate they were served on and pulled the edge of the coin across its surface. It left a faint, gold smudge. Finally Orlando laid the coin flat on the plate and carefully pulled out a tiny vial from his pocket. It was nitric acid and his final test. Unscrewing the cap and using the glass stem dauber connected to it to drop a bit of the acid on the coin, he waited a moment to see how the coin reacted. After a minute or so it did not react at all. Real gold.

"Okay, how many more?" Orlando asked.

"I have thirteen hundred all together," Boris stated.

It jived with what the mayor had said. Not insignificant, but not a king's fortune, either. Orlando would have no trouble getting rid of them. He did some calculations in his head. "It would be better if we did two or three transfers to avoid looking overly burdened. I can include the ten kilos in the final transfer if you want."

"I have two heavy cases with the coins, I'd rather do it all at once. How about here, same time next week?" Boris apparently wasn't comfortable doing the transfer over several days. Orlando could understand that.

Orlando thought for a couple minutes while he nursed his beer. It could be completed in one exchange. That was maybe better than screwing around and complicating things. "Okay, I'll bring a car, the exchange will happen at the car, not in the club. Make it look like I'm picking you up by putting your luggage in the trunk. I'll have two cases for you in the back seat. One with the ten kilos and one with your Yuan, less the cost of your ten kilos."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute...Yuan? We've been discussing this in pesos, not Yuan. Yuan aren't worth anything to me." Boris rubbed his eyes at the new twist.

"Hey, I've been talking pesos with you because you started in them. I figured it was easier for you to think in the currency of your country. We're in China; the currency here is Yuan. That's how the trade will be made," answered Orlando.

"Our country...you're Filipino, too," stated Boris.

"My shell might be Filipino, but my interior is a mixture of Chinese, Taiwanese, Thai, Indo and Filipino. I speak the language of the country in which I reside. That happens to be Chinese now." Orlando watched as Boris tried to digest it. The truth was, Orlando could deal in any currency he needed to, but a forced exchange might benefit him. "We're in China, Boris, get real. Exchanges in China are done in Yuan. I can get you pesos, but it'll cost you five percent."

"Two percent," Boris countered.

"Two and a half and you've got a deal," answered Orlando.

"Fuck. Yeah, okay. Let's look at the numbers," replied Boris.

They both ran the numbers for the transactions, each of them doing the totals and checking the other's math. Then Orlando took two and a half percent off the top. "Easiest two and a half percent I've made in a month," he thought. He'd have to pay something to get the pesos, but he could usually do it for under a percent. Even less if there was a significant chance there might be some counterfeit pesos included. And there were always counterfeit pesos...

##  Checking Out the Neighborhood 1982

The next day Julia slept late and Boris was up at the crack of dawn. As usual. He was an early riser all the time and a poor sleeper in general, more so when anxious about something. So far the meet and the planning for the exchange had been satisfactory, but it was a really big deal. Plus, he'd started obsessing about the return trip.

He'd joined a freight hauler going from Shanghai, through the Taiwan Strait, with a stop in Taipei and then on to Manila. The ship did carry passengers, just not very many and they did it at a bargain cost with no frills. The accommodations were austere, but when he'd checked them out back in Manila he'd been told they turn a blind eye to practically everything. His plan was to stay glued to his prize.

Boiling water, he made himself a mug of 3in1 instant coffee, adding some additional sugar. Julia still wasn't showing signs of stirring when he finished the coffee, so he decided to take a walk.

Julia's building was on a side street, but close to a very busy feeder road for the city. When he stepped out of the front door he acknowledged the herbalist shop by purchasing a cup of green tea to carry. Glancing around, he noticed the block captain checking out his departure. The man had been on him like tics on an old dog since he'd come the first day with Julia. He introduced himself, making it known he ran this part of the city. At the time, Boris thought, "Wow, the entire block?" with disdain. However, he could see the fellow took note of everything that went on, more so with the non-locals it seemed. It made him wonder if there were block captains everywhere, and if so, just how observant they were.

He took off in the opposite direction at a leisurely pace, strolling along sipping his tea. When he came by a news stand he purchased the one and only paper printed in English. A Chinese newspaper with, he assumed, scrutinized, edited and approved articles about China, the rest of Asia and a smattering of European business interests. Folding it, he tucked it under his arm and wandered on until coming to a small noodle stand with an available chair and tiny table just off the sidewalk. He purchased a cup of noodles with an egg and cut up hot dogs in it and settled in to watch the passing crowd, drink his tea and eat his breakfast.

Having traveled from another of the oldest, largest, port-based cities in Asia, Boris didn't expect to find a lot of differences between the two cities. And in general, he didn't. Both cities were dirty, both were crowded with people, bicycles and other types of transport, and both sold almost anything you could want on the sidewalk. Growing up in Zambales, away from Manila, he knew his dad had shielded them from a lot of things that happened mostly in large cities. Crime, drugs, pollution, pure urban concrete jungle. Being in rural Philippines wasn't all perfect either. Most everyone was poor and people were the same everywhere you went. There were inherently good and absolutely bad everywhere. The pledge Boris made to himself long ago, was that he would not be one of the non-descript poor, scraping by day in and day out, not knowing exactly what they would eat for their next meal until they had it in their mouths. He would rather have money than integrity and would do whatever it took to know he would be warm and dry tonight as well as tomorrow. He'd seen too many men, women and children always looking for the next scrap they could sell or job they could do to make enough to buy a package of cigarettes or a beer to bring a tiny bit of pleasure into their mostly gray lives. He'd been around poverty all his life and had been very close to it when his mom died. Boris and his siblings were lucky though. Their dad was educated, skilled, and resourceful. He also had his health.

Across the road from the noodle shop was a small grassy space that might have passed for an urban park, although park might have been too optimistic a description. Anyway, there was a group of elderly people doing Tai Chi. They would stretch, hold a pose, flow from that pose to another, stretch and hold again. Unfortunately for his appetite, he noticed one of them step aside and squat in a place slightly away from the rest of the class and relieve their bowels. While he'd seen that done in Manila, or even in Zambales, before, it was never done quite so openly and without a hint of embarrassment. He reminded himself to stick to the sidewalks, and even then, to look at where he was walking.

Since he was done with his breakfast, he decided to wander back and see if Julia was awake. He had a week in Shanghai yet and wanted to look at something other than the inside of a jazz club. For some reason he didn't understand, all the people on this sidewalk seemed to be traveling the same direction as him when he came to the noodle shop. Now as he was leaving they were still going in this same direction and he felt like a fish swimming upstream. He got back to Julia's building in time to see Captain Cho, the block captain, exit from an alley across the street, briefly looking in his direction as he did. Had the old guy just followed and observed him, totally unnoticed, during his entire walk and breakfast? He chuckled and thought it was quite possible. On that note, he decided to be more observant in the future.

When he arrived back at Julia's he listened outside the door for signs of her being awake. There were none. "She'll be awake soon," he thought, coming through the door and sparing no noise this time.

Julia had not been awake, either. "Shush, quiet, can't you see I'm still asleep?"

"It's almost 9:00 a.m., sister. Time stands still for no person."

"I don't need it to stand still. We didn't get home till 2:00 a.m., Bori."

"Come on, I've only got a week here, get up and show me around."

"What do you mean you only have a week, I thought you were on an open ended trip?" It was Julia's turn to be confused because she thought Boris would be with her for at least a month. Who would come all this way, by boat no less, for a week?

"Nope, I'm leaving a week from today. Arrangements are made. Show me something interesting in this city besides the inside of a jazz club."

"Okay, okay, go make me a coffee and read that propaganda piece you picked up." She indicated his English paper.

A little while later, Julia was hailing a cab and giving orders in broken Chinese with the aid of a couple of pieces of paper. They decided to head over to a market area where people bought and sold everything from rip offs of popular clothing brands (jeans, caps, purses and shoes) to hand crafted or painted bottles, balls, paintings, and jewelry. It was Friday, so it would be crowded, but Julia explained, "It's Shanghai, Bori, every day and every place is crowded."

They arrived at the market and Julia paid the cabbie with a few Yuan. She hooked her arm through his own and started leading him down the sidewalk, elbowing by people here and there as she went, speaking tiny bits of Chinese in order to blend in. "Let's go in here," she said, yanking his arm to direct him into a jewelry store piled with pearl necklaces. She began trying on choker necklaces and left Boris to stare awkwardly at the one hundred plus year old woman who apparently ran the shop. She looked tiny and sat on a wooden bench in the center-back of the shop. Her eyes were closed and her mouth sagged open just a tiny bit. Boris was fascinated by the lines around her eyes and her nearly toothless mouth.

"How much?" Julia asked, in Chinese, pointing to a strand of pearls she had fastened around her neck.

"Eight thousand," The old woman answered. Boris hadn't taken his eyes off her. And she hadn't opened her eyes. He scrutinized her closely for a few minutes until he heard Julia say again, "How about this one, how much?"

"Eight thousand," the wizened woman holding blind court with the room again quickly answered.

Boris chuckled to himself. Apparently everything in the store was eight thousand. He stepped out of the traction grip of the blind eyes and glanced around, figuring he'd never find anything of interest. However, when he looked at the scuffed up glass topped case to his right he saw a flash of gold. Among the pearl necklaces, rings, ear-rings, bracelets, etcetera, a single Spanish gold doubloon lay nearly hidden from view.

Reaching in, he pulled it out and looked at it, turning it over in his fingers. It looked identical to the thirteen hundred or so that he had well-hidden back within their luggage in Julia's apartment. Looking closely as he turned it he could see a slight greying of the coin in the areas of the scuff marks. This coin was not gold. It was probably only plated. Glancing at the blind eye, he turned to Julia who was watching him and indicated she should ask for a price on the piece he held. "How much for that?" She pointed at her brother and the golden piece he held in his hand.

Without either turning her head or opening her eyes, the shop keeper answered, "That piece isn't for sale. It is only for enlightenment."

The shop keeper didn't watch them leave, but said goodbye just as they turned to head out the door.

"Okay, that was creepy. What's up with the whole closed eyes thing?" Julia shuddered and hooked her arm back through Boris' own.

"Who knows? What about those pearls, anyway, why didn't you buy anything?" Boris asked.

"Are you kidding? I can't afford those prices. I just wanted to take a look because I've had a couple people tell me that if you want to find excellent quality, real pearls, that's the place to go. Nothing cultured there. Apparently people walk in there with wads of cash and leave with bags of pearl jewelry."

The next place Julia stopped was...another jewelry store. This one also sold pearls, but the prices were clearly marked on each piece and all of the three clerks taking care of business with customers had their eyes wide open. Julia tried on a choker strand of black cultured pearls that made her thick, beautiful hair pop like her face was an artist's portrait. The price tag stated two hundred twenty five and she took it off, frowned and casually remarked, "One hundred," to the clerk closest to her.

Looking up at her, he ignored her offer and went back to rearranging, for the tenth time, the interior of the case in front of him.

"One hundred thirty," she said, upping her bid.

The clerk set the ring with the huge, clear, purple gem in it back in the case, straightening it by two degrees. "One hundred ninety five," he countered.

Pursing her lips into a pout, Julia offered, "One hundred fifty."

Sighing, the clerk retaliated, "One eighty five."

Julia set the necklace randomly back in the case, turned and took her brother's arm again.

From behind her the clerk said, "One sixty."

She swung around, grabbed up the piece and counted out the cash, then locked the clasp on her neck. Boris guessed she didn't want the clerk to have a chance to exchange the necklace she had picked out for one of lesser quality as he packaged it for her. She smiled at him, took his arm again, and led him out of the store.

Seeing what looked like a tea garden in the middle of a pond, Boris asked Julia if she'd like a coffee or a tea.

"I'd love one, Bori. And this tea house is supposed to have delicious cakes."

He glanced around just to acquaint himself with the landscape again and saw Captain Cho as he exited the first pearl shop he and his sister had visited.

When they were seated Boris asked her about the block captain, "Tell me about this Lian Cho. What's he about anyway? And what exactly is a block captain?"

"Lian seems like a pretty good egg, really. He's very curious about non-residents, as you found out. He knows pretty much everything you might want to know about our neighborhood, that's for sure. And block captains...it's how the Chinese police organize, I guess. Kind of like a strict Dad to everyone." She ordered a white tea and one of the special sweet cakes from the server. "Oh, yeah, and they're all part of the 'party', too. Probably eyes and ears and all that."

They quietly sipped tea and munched the cakes for a while before Julia offered one last comment, almost as an afterthought, "He might be pretty interested in you, I suppose."

"Why is that?" Boris asked.

"Well, don't you remember he reviewed your papers when we first came?" She looked at him for a moment, "He often takes people's papers for a day or two. He gave yours back pretty quickly. It might have something to do with the fact that you have a letter from the mayor of Manila in there that requests special treatment. If he could learn something interesting about you that the party didn't know, it might be a feather in his rather drab hat."

Boris looked away and thought, "It might be at that."

##  Getting to Know the Block Captain 1982

After the visit with his sister to Bongtai market and being followed by Captain Cho, Boris spent the majority of the next day getting familiar with the party man cum block captain. When he wandered down and out of the apartment in the morning, instead of heading toward the coffee and newspaper as he did the day before, he turned the other direction and walked up to Captain Cho's little square office. Just as he suspected, Captain Cho was there and he showed surprise when the Filipino guest in his block started heading toward him and raised a hand in greeting, "Hello, Captain Cho! I trust your day is beginning well?"

Captain Cho, his face recovering from his initial surprise quickly, sat just a bit straighter in his chair and answered with a rueful smile, "Ah it is not the beginning, but so far the fish are still swimming and the birds are still flying."

"And if you must be up so early to do this 'captain's work', I'm afraid it would be much too tiring for a fat Filipino such as me," He chuckled merrily as he said it. "Could you be lured into sharing a cup of coffee with a lazy tourist?"

The captain looked around his desk, which was awash with papers that looked extremely old and unimportant and covered in the ashes of a week's worth of cigarettes, and indicated that he might be too busy.

"I mean, I'd like to buy you a cup outside this office so you could take a break from the strain," Boris clarified.

That might have been what Captain Cho was waiting for, a confirmation of who was buying whom the said coffee, "I may be able to slip away for a few moments." He nodded to the one other person in the office, who was busy scratching out what might have been a night report...or a letter to his mother...and put on the hat identifying his rank.

"I will show you the best place in the area," he said, striking off at an unexpectedly brisk pace for someone with as much white hair on his head and whose fingers were so stained by nicotine. Nodding and acknowledging almost everyone they passed, which was a significant endeavor, they arrived at a small, but inviting, looking tea shop with actual walls, windows and a front door. Rather than coffee, Captain Cho ordered them both a strong, black tea with lots of sugar and cream and a meat filled pastry that was still warm from the oven right behind the counter. Captain Cho chatted briefly, in Chinese, with the old man that was making their tea, nodding his head toward Boris more than once. He finally formally introduced the men by simply saying, "Boris, Gua...Gua, Boris."

Gua nodded, smiling, and said, "Thank you."

"Salamat po," Boris returned the nod and smile.

For a moment, both Captain Cho and Boris sat and simply enjoyed their tea. It was earthy with just a hint of rose or cherry petal base and thick and rich with the cream and sugar. It crossed Boris' mind to try to find out how to make the pastry and bring the recipe home for his papa. He dismissed the idea quickly though because he knew the language barrier would be great and it would simply sidetrack him from his intended purpose today.

"How long have you been with the police, Captain Cho?" Boris asked.

"I have worked for the Shanghai police force for thirty two years now, Boris," answered Captain Cho.

"Oh, that's a long time, you must have some very interesting tales to tell your grandchildren," Boris said.

"I do! I have watched as ideas were cultivated, causing men to blossom among hard stones, either to flourish and accumulate or to wither and slump. I hope when I have time to tell them, they will still think their old pop is interesting," Captain Cho said.

"My sister says you are very good at what you do and that you know everyone in your neighborhood. I don't know how one keeps track of so many people. I myself don't know all my neighbors back in the Philippines!" Boris said.

"A sharp and diligent mind, nourished with home cooking and plenty of rest, and honed with the punch of these good white sticks," Captain Cho indicated his pack of Marlboros with a wink. "Sadly, the truth is that I do not have a wife anymore and rest comes less swiftly as my bones get achier," He shook out a cigarette, lit it and coughed up what must have been a goodly portion of his lung, spitting it into his paper napkin.

"I'm sorry to hear that, has she passed away?" Asked Boris.

Captain Cho sipped his tea noisily and answered, "Yes."

"I too, do not have a wife, I guess I'm too busy being a tourist and enjoying my sister's success to pick one and settle down," Boris said.

"Listen to your elders, my boy, do it quickly and make babies to carry on in your stead so that someone is left to clean your grave marker," Captain Cho winked again at this, "They allow you to see into the future and repair the past."

The two men continued chatting until Boris thought he knew Captain Cho and vice versa. When the conversation turned back to food, Captain Cho announced that he should be getting back to his responsibilities and the two parted ways at the front door of the tea shop, heading in opposite directions. Boris wandered around a bit before heading back to his sister's place. He noted that Captain Cho was not visible when he entered Julia's building.

This time, he didn't go directly to his sister's apartment, but instead wandered around the common areas of the building, getting to know the doors, stairways, closets and couches. One of the doors he tried led to a storage room full of recyclables and in the far back of this room was another door. When he opened the second door, he was greeted by heaps of garbage and a half dozen mangy cats that stared at him with dull, bored eyes. The area smelled ripe and looked like if the garbage was set out here to be picked up, it was not picked up very often. He checked the door, and sure enough, if he let it close, he wouldn't be getting back in that way. So picking up a large sliver from a broken up pallet, he jammed it into the door latch and let the door swing shut.

He was in a back alley between two buildings with an exit to his left and his right. There was also a door directly across the alley leading into the building across the street. This building was derelict with boards on the lower windows, some of which were hanging and rotted. Boris decided to try door number one, directly in front of him. It opened to an empty, gloomy warehouse space and it took his eyes a minute to adjust. Quietly, he stepped into the room, set up a piece of trash to block the door and let it swing shut on it. He could see brighter light coming from the other side of the space so he crept over there, keeping close to the wall, without touching it. When he got close enough to the other side, he could see that there was another room, separated from his space by a wall that was half filthy glass. This room was also clearly abandoned, but it had been occupied by a dozen squatters, all fast asleep on rags on the floor. Backing up and turning around he exited the building and decided on door number two...the alley exit leading away from Captain Cho's office.

When he got to the street, he hailed a rickety cab and showed them the card for the jazz club he'd visited at the Bund with Julia.

##  Getting to Know the Harbor 1982

After learning the options to exit and enter Julia's building more discreetly, Boris spent a lot of time around the bund and the harbor beyond the bund.

He spoke to every person that looked vaguely Filipino. If a street vendor looked relatively permanent, he would buy coffee and strike up any conversation that could be had with them. A lot of the Chinese workers on the docks, as well as most small vendors, only spoke their native tongue, usually Shanghainese. If he found one that spoke any significant amount of English he might spend an hour talking. He spent hours in bars in the evening as well. His goal was to learn the unofficial way of doing business in this port. The methods that benefitted the small entrepreneur such as himself. The methods that did not swamp one with bureaucratic paperwork. The path he needed to take to stay under the radar, specifically, how to pass in and out as fluidly and quietly as possible.

Boris knew there had to be harbor offices that were less than diligent about proper documentation. There was so much going in and out of Shanghai, he thought it was likely that there were many such offices. All he needed was one. The day before his appointed transaction with Orlando, he found it.

It was his fifth day combing through worthless conversations. He'd gotten so many referrals that simply benefited the referrer's relative, assurances that so-and-so was 'the easiest' to work with when so-and-so actually only exported nickel and dime 'hand crafted' items to the United States, or common names that ended up being large companies. On this day he found himself at a bar he had frequented for lunch. It was simple, provided cold beer and tasty lunch specials. The real reason he continued to return was that it was patronized by sailors working vessels from all over the world.

Boris found his normal place at the bar filled with a small group of Russians talking quietly about...well, he had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn't look like a conversation they welcomed strangers into.

"Sam. Hi, Sam. Hello!" It took the bartender three tries to get his attention. Boris had been calling himself Sam during the week and it didn't register at first that he was being hailed.

"Oh, hi, sorry about that, I guess I'm lost in my thoughts today. What's up?"

"If you're still interested in a port company that works with small scale import / export businesses, I might have a contact for you."

Boris made a show of thinking about it for a few seconds and replied, "Sure, what do you have?"

"Guy in the corner booth over your left shoulder. He's not real regular, but comes in every month or so. I forgot that he's got a port business and only works with single vessel operators."

"Okay, that might work. Do I need an introduction?"

"Not if you buy him a rum and Coke."

Boris had the bartender mix the drink, draw him a beer and then he ordered the special. Today he recognized chicken and rice. The rest of the ingredients were a mystery, but the special was always good. Picking up the two drinks he headed for the corner booth.

"Hi, my name's Sam. Bartender said you might like one of these and that I might be able to talk import / export with you." He set the rum and Coke in front of the man in the booth and waited.

The man looked up into his face for a full seven seconds, Boris counted, before he said, "Thanks, the name is Manny," and indicated that he should sit across from him.

Manny took a long drink and waited for Boris to begin the conversation. He had sandy blond hair that was longish with a three day stubble going over his entire face and heavy dark circles under his eyes. He looked vaguely Scandinavian to Boris, but what did he know really, he knew he wasn't Asian, anyway.

"So, I'm looking for a port company that works with the little guys and doesn't smother them with paperwork." He hadn't had much luck so far so he just laid it on the line.

Manny looked at him as he took another pull on his drink and replied, "What do you move?"

"Whatever needs to be moved," Replied Boris.

"You're Filipino, why should I trust you?" Manny asked.

"You shouldn't...yet," Boris answered.

"Are you here on a job?" Manny asked.

"Yes," Boris replied.

"Well, who are you working with now?" Manny asked.

"Nobody, this is my first run. I did it as a tourist," Boris answered.

"Ballsy," Manny said, continuing with, "I'm gonna add some cost to your operation."

"My operation is going to be bigger next time, I'll be able to cover some costs if there's some benefit involved," Boris replied.

"My fee is a half percent of the value of the boat. Empty. My valuation. Each time. In. And out." When Boris didn't blink or back away, Manny continued, "Where are you based?"

"Manila," Boris answered.

"As far as I know, you move mangos in and office machine parts out," Manny stated.

"Office machine parts?" He asked. Boris thought that was weird if he imported mangos.

"Yeah, used ones for recycle," Manny answered.

"Okay, whatever," Boris said.

"If you want to do business, here's where I'm at," He tossed Boris a card with a scrawled address in English and Chinese on it. When Boris looked up from the card, Manny was draining his drink and getting up to leave.

A little surprised that the meeting was over, Boris said, "Good to meet you," and Manny gave him a little two finger salute, turned and headed out the door with a tip of his chin in the direction of the bartender.

The meeting was so short and empty that the lunch special, which only took a few minutes to prepare, was just showing up. It was steaming and looked pretty good so Boris indicated he wanted another beer and gracelessly picked up the chopsticks to eat. When the second beer had sufficiently washed down the day's special, which turned out to be full of red pepper, Boris went up and laid a few Yuan on the bar for the bartender and headed out to find a cab.

An hour later he was at a part of the harbor that he had, as yet, not visited. It became clear to him why he had been having trouble finding port companies that specialized in his type of business. This area was rough. Really rough. It was so rough that he decided he needed to be out of there before dark. But first, he wanted to look around and get an idea of what he was getting into.

He circled the address that Manny had given him until he found a place that sold some sort of thing in a paper take-away. Buying one, and carefully avoiding the dripping grease coming from both ends of it, he moved a little ways away and settled in to uncomfortably observe Manny's place, as well as the surroundings.

Manny's place wasn't very busy. Also, whatever it was that Boris purchased was beginning to stink and attract rats. He wasn't going to eat it anyway, so he broke off wet pieces and threw them a few feet away.

When a boat finally began the docking process in front of Manny's, only two people came out of the shabby office space. One of them hustled dockside and caught ropes that were tossed at him from the rusted hulk and the other was Manny himself. He didn't participate in securing the lines or anything else. He was only there to watch his one half percent come in to Shanghai. There was little on this vessel topside and Boris couldn't tell whether it was loaded or not, but it seemed to be riding pretty high in the water for an incoming boat.

From the looks of the hull design it had started out its life as a small, single hulled tanker of some sort, Boris was betting in the forties. It had a single smokestack and was being helped to the dock by a single tug and a single dockhand. Boris thought it was probably eighty or one hundred feet long, so none of this was impossible, but he wondered if it would be different if the harbor water was choppier or the wind picked up.

When the boat was close enough to the dock to set a gang plank, one came out and four additional hands hustled down to secure the boat. Manny went up the gang plank as soon as the four came down and didn't come back out until the entire...whatever it was Boris had purchased...was consumed by the rats and they were getting close enough that his shoe was making contact with their fat, inquiring faces. It was also closing in on dusk. He decided to call it a day.

##  Tea and Education 1982

Thursday came, like it did week in and week out, and for the first time in five days he left the building by the front door, looking to see if Captain Cho was waiting. He was, and he seemed happy to see him.

He came hustling over to greet him, asking, "Are you going to have tea again, Boris?"

Boris decided he indeed would, as he had a little information he thought Captain Cho might be able to enlighten him with.

"Sure, same place?" Boris asked.

"If it's the best in the area there's no reason to change, is there?" Captain Cho replied.

They again made the walk to Gua's tea shop with Captain Cho greeting nearly everyone along the way. This time the block captain did not walk as fast, nor did he hold his back as straight as the last time.

As they waited for their meat pastry and tea, Boris initiated his conversation, "Julia took me shopping the other day. Shanghai is a tremendous place and the options are great." Captain Cho nodded his head in an all knowing way. Of course he knew his great Chinese city was magnificent. "However, one place confused me."

"Why, Mister Boris, was it the price haggling?"

Negotiating for price in China was famous, but it was also done in the street markets of his country. "No, that I'm familiar with, Captain. It was a specific shop. My sister was looking at pearls."

"Shanghai is quite famous for its pearl market. There are not many that compare, but you must be wary. Not every shop owner is an honest seller and party supporter."

Boris missed a step trying to figure out what being a party supporter could possibly have in common with being an honest seller, but he pushed on, "My confusion was about a particular shop. In this shop, every item was the same price. Not a low price, either, a very high price."

Captain Cho nodded knowingly. "This shop is not for you. Find another seller, Mister Boris."

"But why, Captain? I don't understand what this shop is about, it makes no sense." He had a pretty good idea what the shop was about, but he wanted to validate his assumption.

"Sometimes, young Boris, if something in life doesn't make sense to you as you look at it from the right, you must try to look at it from the left. If it still doesn't make sense, you must look at it from up, down and inside out." He shook a cigarette out of his crumpled pack, snapped a cardboard match to life and continued through the haze of blue smoke created by touching the flame to the tobacco trying to escape, "Looked at from its own direction, everything in this world makes sense. Everything is about balance and perspective."

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand."

Captain Cho exhaled his cloud and looked at him as his teachers used to when he was purposefully dense. "Who has money to purchase something as rare and exquisite as pearls, but doesn't care what the cost is? Who has something so rare and exquisite to trade, but treats them like a plain, white tea cup...each one the same?"

"People to whom the actual pearl is meaningless and is not the end desire?"

Captain Cho just looked at him and took another drag, this one turning into a wet hack coming from deep in his chest.

A money laundry in the center of the market. Boris was surprised, but intrigued.

##  Mitten Crabs 1982

He wasn't sure why he'd been interested in the pearl shop, but it was another piece to be tucked away for future reference. When he got home from his tea Julia was just getting up. "My last day sleepyhead. Do you want lunch or maybe dinner before you sing?"

She stretched and yawned. She could never get to sleep before 2:00 a.m. anymore. "I'd love a late lunch, Bori, let's go to The Black Star. I want to try their Chinese mitten crabs. Would you take me?"

He'd been spending money like he was on vacation since he'd gotten here, but spending time with his baby sister was a special treat. And he didn't know much about Chinese mitten crabs, but if Julia wanted to try them it probably meant they were some form of delicacy...thus pricey. "I would love to take you, sister. Should I rob a bank before we go?" He winked at her.

She smiled, closed her eyes and stretched some more. "Be a sweetheart and make me some tea?"

It was noon now and they didn't have to be to the club until 8:00 p.m. Boris spent the previous night carefully removing all the doubloons from Julia's trunk and repacking them in the two cases he would bring along tonight for the exchange. At the moment they were hidden deep within clothes of Julia's closet. Thirteen hundred coins weren't all that bulky, but they were heavy.

The Black Star restaurant was in a wealthy area of Shanghai dominated by classic mansions with large gardens. Many of the mansions had been confiscated during the Cultural Revolution and now held multiple families, but not all of the houses were repurposed. Those occupied by party leaders, or important government heads and military commanders, had been spared the transition. In general, the area was starting to thrive again.

They were greeted upon entering the restaurant by a traditionally robed young Chinese woman who escorted them demurely to a table within the dining room. There were no exterior views from the dining room, but the interior of the room was classically elegant. Chrystal chandeliers hung throughout the room, lighting everything dimly because, generally, half the bulbs were out on each one. There was dark wood on the lower half of the walls and wall-paper with a busy pattern on the upper halves. Boris touched the wall-paper and confirmed that it was fuzzy in all the red colored parts of the pattern. He couldn't tell if it was also smoke and oil stained, or if the pattern was just so crazy.

"You're very sweet to take me here, Bori. These little crabs are a delicacy here and all the foreigners talk about how delicious they are. They're a river crab; they come from the Yangtze River."

"That's okay, I'll still eat them. I'm hoping the boiling process kills everything they might pick up in that river!" He laughed and then quickly moved his leg so that she couldn't connect the toe of her shoe with his shin again.

They visited about family and memories of holidays past. The holidays were around the corner and Julia would not be home. The opportunities and the money in Shanghai were simply too good to miss this season as an entertainer.

Julia was tight lipped about her life in general. Being the youngest in the family made her the target of everyone's opinion and direction. She got advice from her dad, her two older brothers and her older sister all the time so she was hesitant to share her plans before making her own decisions and choosing her direction. However, she'd been contemplating her next move for a while and wanted to share it with someone. Boris seemed a pretty safe bet because he was leaving tomorrow. Even if he did spill the beans, there wasn't much anyone could do from the Philippines that would mess up the next step.

"So Bori, can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can, sister, I'm keeping at least twenty right now!"

"Very funny," she sipped her milk tea, letting the suspense build for a few moments, "I want to move to Germany. I think I can, too. I've been talking to talent scouts and agents and music lovers. There are people that think I have talent."

Boris chuckled, "Of course you have talent, sister, I've known that since I used to chase you down and steal the sweet cakes Papa used to make for you. You'd cry and the only way Papa could get you to stop was to sing to you and then ask you to sing along. Pretty soon you weren't crying, Papa wasn't singing and the rest of us were listening to you sing where he'd left off." He sipped his beer, contemplating before asking the obvious question, "But what does Germany have that you can't get in the Philippines or in China?"

The platter of crabs came just as he asked. They were beautifully presented on delicate bone china that was whimsically hand painted with a pristine river scape of the Yangtze. There were six hairy clawed crabs tied with string arranged in a circle around a small pot of melted butter. Boris could see the setting was supposed to depict the mouth of the river. He knew what that area looked like now and figured it represented a less industrial time...like maybe the golden age around 600 A.D.

The conversation was completely set aside in deference to eating the crabs while they were still steaming from their boiling plunge. Both siblings dove in with utensils, their hands and loud sucking sounds to separate every bit of meat and viscous bodily fluids from the hard, hairy shell that had once protected it.

As Boris was still licking his own fingers to get the crab juice and butter off them, Julia restarted the conversation about her move, "It's not so much what Germany has, as what it doesn't have. It doesn't have rules that break your incentive to sing well and try hard to improve your personal welfare. It also doesn't have thugs, despots and criminals running the country. I want to use my talent someplace where I can be the master of my destiny. Germany is full of hard working, rule abiding people. There's money there and they don't mind spending it for quality."

"There are rules everywhere, Julia, as well as despots. But I understand how you feel. If it feels like you have the talent to escape the mad house, go for it." He figured that of any of the four of them, Julia had the best chance of getting permanently out of the Philippines to a different life. One not run by the random vices and whims of whoever happened to be in power at the time. "What's your timeframe, anyway?"

"Oh, I haven't gotten that far, Bori. I have a lot of work to do to make a name for myself yet. One or two years? I hope to make it happen in less than five years, anyway. Keep your ears to the ground for Germans in the entertainment business!"

"Good luck, little sister, may your fortune be forever bright!" He raised his beer bottle to her and she took a sip from her tea.

#

After mitten crabs Boris and Julia headed back to her place to relax a bit before her set at The Bund Jazz Club.

"I'll be up later to catch your sets, okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Do you have to get up early tomorrow?"

"Nope, the ship doesn't leave until early afternoon. I'm not due till after lunch."

"I'm sorry you're not staying longer, but I'm glad you're going back to have the holidays with Papa." She went into her closet, brought out a bag and dumped its contents on the kitchen table. "I bought Papa some of the teas and spices he asked for when I was home. They're really fresh. I was thinking you could take them back. I hope the smell doesn't get to you." Most of what Julia had was in glass jars with stoppered lids, but there were a half dozen packages that were very fragrant.

"That's a great idea, sister, I have room in my bags and the smell will be pleasant. It will likely be better than whatever cargo this ship's carrying!" He laughed, honestly, at the joke. Not only that, but what better way to negate any possible smell his opium might carry with it.

After Julia left, Boris set to work with the doubloons. He had thought long and hard about how to move the heavy gold coins. Two briefcases was out. They were simply too wieldy to carry. A single briefcase was out because he hadn't found one that he knew would hold up under the strain of the weight. A box was too awkward. Finally, he'd decided on a combination plan. A single bag, backpack specifically, that he personally modified with several interior slings that dispersed the weight and volume around the bag was what he ended up using. He had to be careful not to look like he was having trouble with the weight of the bag when he was carrying it. Other than outright losing them there was not much he could do to damage the goods.

When the coins were all snug in the interior bags of the backpack Boris slipped his arms in and cinched the front strap to keep the momentum of the heavy bad from swinging around his back as he made his way to the club. He was self-conscious enough that he decided to hook a jacket on a loop of the backpack and carry it draped over his shoulder.

He took a real taxi to his destination this time since he was carrying the culmination of his life's work on his back. When he arrived he paid the fare and stepped up the curb to the sidewalk in front of the club. There was a car idling twenty-five feet away and as he watched it Orlando got out and waved him over.

"Boris, good to see you," Orlando patted Boris on the back, obviously checking for the gold he was expecting. "Why don't you let my colleague unload your bag into the truck and come have a chat with me in the car? The weather is so hot and inside the car the air conditioning is running." He indicated the open trunk of the car and the man standing, waiting to help him out of his backpack.

Boris unclasped the front strap and retrieved his coat from the loop before swinging the heavy pack off his back and stepping away, relieved of a small fortune. He watched briefly as the second man delicately began to check the interior contents of the backpack. Satisfied that this piece of the transaction had been made, he continued to the back seat of the car and got in after Orlando.

Orlando handed him another, similar, backpack which was lighter weight and told him to check everything. Boris took one of the interior bags and opened it enough to get a finger in. He put the powder to his tongue and it burned with a harsh taste of latex. Orlando gave him a new bag to repackage the one he'd broken into and waited while he completed that task.

"The pesos are in the lower compartment of the backpack. There's another zipper." Boris opened the zipper Orlando pointed to and took a couple of packs of pesos out to inspect them. They looked clean and real. There was a lot more pesos than opium. They were bulky, but at least they stacked well. The backpack he was going to leave with was lighter, but it was bigger than the one he came with...he began to worry about being able to layer all the bulk in the double walled luggage he came with. He may have to get home earlier than he'd planned tonight, but if not, at least he'd have time to transfer stuff and pack tomorrow before Julia got up.

"Are we good?" Orlando looked like he really did care. Maybe the guy did want to do future work with Boris, or more likely, the mayor.

"Yeah, it looks like it. I'm heading inside."

"Okay, good luck."

Boris could tell he wasn't going to be any good this evening with his sister and that he'd have to get out of the club to go get set up. He felt a headache coming on and thought, "Good, at least I don't have to fake it."

##  The Exit 1982

Exiting Julia's building through the stench of the garbage room was getting old, but at least it seemed that he'd given Captain Cho the slip. He'd left her apartment looking a little over burdened with a backpack, full of clothes and part of the spice gift for Gilberto, as well as his two double-wall modified suitcases. The hidden compartments in one of the cases was filled with opium. The other case held the remaining pesos. He didn't think there would be any drug sniffing dogs in the Chinese harbor, especially not in the boat he was taking, but as a precaution, he'd tried to confuse the scent with a couple of different spices Julia had given him, and he planned to add some fragrant delicacies from a couple of the food vendor's carts he would pass on the way as well.

His plan was to arrive at the dock early. Hopefully early enough so they wouldn't be organized. Instead of properly checking him in, they would simply wave through such a timely and organized passenger. He couldn't imagine it would be much of a process anyway. He'd chosen this passage because of its simplicity. It was a cargo boat that made only one stop, Taipei, before going on to Manila. Because of the straightforward Shanghai, Taipei, Manila route, there was some demand for passenger passage as well on the ship. This particular boat only had room for ten passengers though, so it was perfect. They would be totally ignored by most everyone.

He grabbed a taxi from the alley at his sister's place and it dropped him off when the road ahead got jammed up with a car / bicycle accident. It wasn't a great neighborhood, but was only a few blocks to the dock anyway. In the last few hundred feet, he pushed through a small crowd and rounded a corner. He almost ran into Manny.

"Follow me quickly," Manny said and didn't give him any chance to follow, but grabbed his arm and yanked him through a door. Once through, Manny grabbed a board laying on the floor, and just as Boris was getting set to fight, Manny rammed the board under the door handle.

Less than a minute later the handle jiggled and was pushed from the other side, but Manny was leaning hard on it and it didn't budge. Manny put a finger to his lips and pointed to a clerestory window up on a loft like landing. When Boris crept up to the window and looked out he saw a familiar hat and heard the hacking cough of Captain Cho. "Damn," he thought, "that guy's better than I gave him credit for. He followed me here." He went back down to the floor where Manny was now leaning up against the door having a smoke.

"Why?" Boris asked.

"Why, what?" Manny replied.

"Why everything, but why did you save my skin, mostly?" Said Boris.

"Eh, I don't know, exactly. Maybe I'm just a generous soul." Manny smiled and spit in the corner.

"So what now?" Asked Boris.

"Well, I'm going back to my dock, I finished what I had to do down here and then some. As for you, I guess you owe me. Pay it back in business." Manny stubbed out the butt of his smoke, kicked the board from under the door handle and left.

Even though it didn't work at Julia's apartment, Boris wandered through the building until he found another exit to another street. He turned toward the harbor docks and continued to his destination, keeping much more to the shadows, and didn't see Captain Cho or Manny again before boarding.

The boarding process was just as he thought, nothing. He walked up the gangplank, showed the stamped piece of paper that served as a ticket, and was given directions to his cabin.

##  Back Across The Water 1982

If he thought it was easy to get on the boat, Boris was even slightly more surprised by how easy it was to move around it. There weren't really any rules besides those on a sheet of paper, taped to the inside of his cabin door with yellowed scotch tape.

1. No smoking in your cabin. (It was pretty clear you could smoke anyplace else on the ship...just not in your cabin.)

2. No cooking in your cabin.

3. No firearms in your cabin.

4. No shooting outside your cabin without the Captain's permission.

5. In the event of an emergency, indicated by the siren, no leaving your cabin.

6. In the event of a fire, indicated by the different siren, no returning to your cabin.

7. No use of the emergency dinghies for non-emergency purposes.

8. No swimming in the ocean.

9. No fires on any of the decks.

10. No special orders from the kitchen.

Apparently the cook had been asked for input to the rules when the captain ran out of ideas after number nine.

All Boris wanted to do was disappear for the length of the trip. This ship had a Belgium born captain, a German first mate, a Taiwanese cook and the remainder of the crew was largely Filipino.

His cabin was tiny by any standard, but it was reasonably free from bugs and rodent droppings. Which he hoped meant it was reasonably free of bugs and rodents. It also had a very solid looking locker that could be padlocked. He put his precious cargo into the locker, removed the padlock and key provided by the ship and produced the padlock he purchased. After he locked things up tight he headed back out to get a feeling for the rest of the passengers.

There were only seven others on this trip. Two white guys that looked like hippies and smelled like pot. "Good luck with rule number one with those two," he thought. A very solidly built single woman dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt. A Taiwanese couple in their sixties. And an Australian couple in their late fifties. Boris was surprised that he was the only Filipino passenger.

The eight of them had been asked to come to the dining room when they got settled in and they were now milling around looking pensive and bored, except for the hippies. They were talking animatedly with the first mate in German. Boris didn't catch any of the conversation, but the first mate looked like he was being forced to swallow an entire apple-tart sweet cake dessert and was now having trouble keeping it down. There was a smile on his face, but it was strained and he was squinting his eyes like he did not understand what was being said to him. Or maybe he did understand and found it too hard to swallow after all the 'sweet cake' shoved down his throat?

Boris went and picked up a beer that was, hopefully, supposed to be part of the deal for the passengers, popped it and leaned against the wall. He did a little 'cheers' with the can in the direction of the single woman who was drinking something as well. She acknowledged him and wandered over in his direction, "Great crowd, huh? How'd you get trapped on this barge?" she asked him in Tagalog.

"Well I didn't get trapped, I bought a ticket," he answered in Tagalog as well, "My name's Boris."

"Mine is Nancy." She extended her hand and they did a quick shake. "Yeah, I also bought a ticket. In fact, I ride barges like this all the time."

"No need to apologize to me. This is a barge, but it's exactly what I signed on for. I'm just getting home cheaply and in a really relaxed fashion." He laughed at the last part. "A really relaxed fashion," he thought.

"Yeah, nothing like a slow boat to and from China to relax you. I'm a writer and I take these barges all over the world. It's much less expensive than a low rent hotel in Manhattan and who the fuck wants to stay in a low rent hotel in Manhattan?"

He chuckled a little and looked around the room to see if there was any other option for sane talk. Seeing that there really wasn't, he plunged ahead. "So why do you speak Tagalog, Nancy?"

"Because I'm on these barges so much. Don't tell me you haven't noticed that most of the crew is Filipino?" Nancy asked.

"Yes, I do know that. Seven thousand islands to sail around builds a love of the sea in my people," Boris said.

"And sailing with Filipino crews for seven to eight months of the year will force even the most stubborn American to learn Tagalog if they want to do anything more than survive," Nancy said.

"What do you write, Nancy?" Boris asked.

"Anything and everything, Boris, but mostly I write about mysteries and murders on the ocean," Nancy answered.

"All true stuff, then?" Boris said, with a glimmer in his eye.

"Yeah, not so much. Sailing the wide open sea gets to be just as monotonous as a newspaper job on the city desk, just without the boss looking over your shoulder twelve hours a day," Nancy answered.

About then the Captain came into the room. He took a beer, thought better of it and replaced it with a cola and began his 'welcome' speech.

"Welcome aboard to you few, brave passengers who will make your way to Taipei or Manila with our ship and crew these next six days. There aren't a lot of rules, but the ones we have, we keep. If you need anything, please let my first mate know and he'll see what he can do to accommodate you. As you're all probably aware, this isn't a luxury cruise. That being said, I hope you find it interesting. Feel free to wander around and talk with whoever you like. For your own safety I will ask you to follow the directions given you by any crew member, though. The sea can be a strong and unforgiving mistress when the mood strikes her. By the way, we've left the dock and are on our way to Taipei." He gave a little salute and exited the room.

Boris noticed the subtle motion of the boat and knew they had departed. He figured most of the people that traveled using this level of ship probably were aware of it as well. He tipped back his beer and then headed to his cabin for a couple hours of sleep before dinner.

Dinner was simple. There was a chicken Arroz Caldo, basically a rice porridge with chicken bits, along with Paksiw, a fish boiled in vinegar. There were copious amounts of rice to go with the fish, as well as a spicy tomato, olive, onion sauce to go over the works. If anyone happened to be vegetarian, Boris guessed they had the option of leaving out the fish and the Arroz Caldo. Just like Gilberto, the cook apparently liked to make puto, a sweet cake, as there was plenty of that for dessert.

Boris wasn't much of a reader and he didn't smoke, although the thought of six days on board made him consider taking it up just for something to do. The one thing he did like to do, besides drink beer, was to watch the stars. He decided to go out on deck as the sun was setting to see what the cloud situation would be like.

Finding a place on the main deck was easy as there were not a lot of people out there. Exactly zero, from what he could see, but the sky was clear and promised some great star gazing, assuming they didn't light the deck of the ship like an airport runway when it finally got dark. Wandering around in the twilight he realized he wasn't the only one on deck. There were other sailors out doing their jobs, getting the ship ready for the evening and making sure all was well with the rigging and tie-downs.

Seeing a stack of crates covered with a heavy canvas tarpaulin, he asked one of the crew if it would be okay if he went up to have an unobstructed view of the stars. "Sure, no problem. If you get knocked off by a big swell and fall in the ocean the Captain won't go back to get you, though." When Boris didn't react, turning and simply starting to climb the pile of crates, the sailor ended with, "But it doesn't look like we'll have any swells tonight."

Boris rolled his eyes and laughed to himself. He'd been piloting boats since he was six years old. Maybe not this big and certainly not in the middle of the sea, but he'd been in rough water before and he knew he wasn't going to see any of that tonight.

#

Later on, laying on his back on the tarp, he looked at the constellations above him. Boris always started with Orion when it was out at night, specifically in the winter months. It was one of the easier constellations from which to orient himself. From there his eyes were invariably pulled first to Taurus to the Northwest of Orion and then Gemini to the Northeast. He located various navigational pinpoints that grounded him in space. Using the brass mono-scope he loved, he lost himself in this exercise until, a couple hours later, the smell of pot made him look around for the hippies.

Spotting them a hundred feet away, he studied the shadows around them to see what was going on. As he eyes got accustomed to the shadows, he saw several other figures milling around a pile of crates that was maybe only three feet high. There was a person on their back on these crates, their legs bent back and to their sides, with another person actively working between them. Squinting harder he made out the Filipino sailor that had given him a lukewarm warning about getting tossed in the sea by a swell going at it between the legs of the fifty year old Australian woman. She was writhing around, holding on to the edge of the crate to keep herself from being rammed back away from the brown man's toy.

The hippies seemed to be just lounging against other crates nearby, passing a blunt between themselves and pointing every once in a while. On the other side of the frenzied couple, the Australian woman's husband, or at least traveling companion, stood smoking what Boris guessed was a plain cigarette. He was watching intently, but with no particularly noticeable emotion.

When the brown man made his last big thrusts into the woman's dark crevice, another Filipino sailor stepped out of the shadows where Boris hadn't noticed them before and took his place between her legs. The sailor that had finished tucked his package back into his pants, glanced up to where Boris was watching, and left. The second man was quicker than the first and he pulled out after just a couple of minutes.

Turning to get himself put together as a third man emerged from the shadows, the hippie who was free of the blunt quickly closed the distance between himself and the just completed sperm donor and sunk to his knees in front of him. He quickly took the still semi-erect cock into his mouth and began to suck it deeply while he clung to the ass of the man, sliding his pants down over round, muscled globes. After the sailor made a few weak protests, he gave in and quickly started pounding the hippies face almost as fast as he was pounding the Australian woman's pussy a few minutes before. When he came a second time, the hippie smashed his face against the Filipinos black, hairy crotch and rode with the thrusts.

Boris glanced over at the second hippie just in time to see him cum on the deck of the boat. The third man in place on the Australian then came and the Australian man stubbed out his cigarette, then helped his traveling companion off the crates.

And the show seemed to be over.

Boris almost laughed out loud.

##  Julia's Death 1984

The Opium runs were very productive. Boris found an easy swinging doorway in and out of Shanghai, where anything was available, but there were many ears and outstretched hands. In a crowd of millions it was easy to get lost.

However, Boris was connected to a unique and talented jazz singer and Julia shared some of her connections with her brother.

#

The first run of Opium Orlando facilitated for Boris had been a bonus for him as well in that it eliminated negotiations by the more experienced Mayor. As Boris became a more regular customer, he bargained more shrewdly and Orlando had to keep tightening his supply chain. At some point, greed seeps more deeply into all equations and multiplies the unknowns. Sometimes the greed pushed more efficiency and profit into the deal. Other times it threatened to dissolve the foundation and destroy the house of cards that the foundation only barely supported.

#

The bank of phone booths at the Landmark Center Hotel on the Bund was a favorite afternoon office space for Orlando. Tuesday found him speaking into the seventies modern mouthpiece of the phone in the third highly polished, wood paneled booth. "It can be done. If not by you, by someone else. There are plenty of poppies in the field, one of them will bloom for me. Go intimidate someone else, I'll find a new seller."

This particular deal was the largest one Orlando worked on so far with Boris. The smuggler wanted a hundred and fifty kilos of pure and he needed it tomorrow night.

What Boris hadn't told Orlando was that the deal was different than usual. He would deliver to an Indonesian this time. Manny was responsible for the introductions, hoping to keep his cut of both operators, both into and out of the port. Slightly unusual, but not unheard of, at least by Manny. Boris would be picking up in Shanghai and delivering to a small Indonesian island to the south of the Philippine province of Davao. The area was on the fringes of both countries, was always embroiled in political challenges, and tended to have indistinct oversight and authority.

#

Manny knew he'd screwed up when the group of Chinese police charged into his lowly office on the docks only hours after Boris left. As usual, the absolute requirement of the paperwork he was required to keep existed, but none of it would lead them anyplace because it was all either missing significant information (names, dates and vessel numbers) or was simply falsified.

One of the things required was a sailing plan from Boris so the Chinese could, theoretically, trace him from Shanghai harbor to his next port. None of the boats leaving from Manny's dock ever went to their next documented destination. Boris' stated destination was Manila. However, he would not even pass through the Taiwan Strait, he would avoid that typical route to Manila and head down the east coasts of Taiwan and the Philippine Islands to cut hundreds of miles off the distance to his actual destination.

At any rate, Manny was a bit more worried about his own hide than about Boris at this moment. He would warn him of the 'situation' with the Chinese drug police the next time he was able to get off a message.

#

The Chinese police were several steps behind the Chinese drug lords who were undercut by the deal with the Indonesians. Orlando stepped on the tail of a venomous enemy when he brokered the deal for Boris, even though he had no idea he was doing it. As the Chinese police were heading to the wharf, the Chinese drug lords were heading to Orlando's favorite hangout.

Their original intention was to slit Orlando's throat in the nearest alley when they cornered him, but they saw an unexpected opportunity. When it became clear that he would wait until the club closed and go home with the pretty jazz singer, they decided to send a stronger message. One that would be hard to miss. A warning that would be heeded by others in the business because it would include family.

#

Orlando knew something was wrong the moment he and Julia stepped from the cab that evening. Before he could turn and get back in the vehicle, the driver panicked and sped off. The two menacing looking thugs closed in quickly outside Julia's apartment door as a third blocked their entrance. Orlando went for his gun and Julia kneed one of the assailants straight in the nuts. Orlando watched the second assailant knock her out cold with a smashing jolt to her lower left jaw. Orlando had never taken the possibility of his failure very seriously, but was now overcome with a simple carotid artery move.

When he came to, the first thing Orlando saw was Julia bound in a chair opposite him.

"Ah, good, you're both finally awake," said a voice behind his left ear.

He made an effort to free himself and was awarded with a baton to the left side of his head.

"You made a big mistake stepping into our territory. The Indonesians are ours. Tell us who you're working with and maybe we'll let you die with dignity."

The person talking moved close enough to Orlando for him to smell what might have been last week's fetid dinner churned up in an unharmonious stomach. His captor's breath smelled like an old bait bucket.

He felt his gag being loosened.

In his periphery vision a large blade came into view. The tip was pointed at Julia.

"Make any noise that I deem inappropriate and your girlfriend loses an ear," said Bait Bucket.

Orlando recognized one of the associates from earlier as he stepped up to Julia, ran his fingers through her hair clearing it from her left ear and slipped an urban hunting knife under the lobe.

"Okay, who's your contact and how did you find out about the Indonesians?" Bait Bucket loosened the gag enough for Orlando to speak.

"Don't hurt her, she has nothing to do with this! It's between you and me!" Orlando said.

The knife came up tighter under Julia's ear and her eyes widened as she tried to stretch her neck away from it.

"That's very admirable of you, but doesn't come close to answering the question. Give me a name," Bait Breath replied.

Julia looked wild eyed at Orlando, made a muffled sound through her gag and shook her head in fear. In doing so she nicked her own ear on the sharp knife and a trickle of blood started to ooze down her neck from her ear.

"Boris...Boris James. That's the contact person and the transporter. I don't know anyone else, I swear!" Orlando replied.

"Where is he from? Who does he work with?" Bait Breath asked.

Orlando watched with wide eyes as the big knife pressed against Julia's throat.

"Everything I've done with him has been between here and the Philippines! I had no idea he was working with any Indonesians!" Orlando answered.

Orlando didn't think it was possible, but he saw Julia's eyes open wider. Then she sagged like a tire with a ruinous leak, deflating before his eyes. He could see that even if they got out of this alive, it was over. Julia James, the most beautiful singer he'd met in his life, now thought Orlando had used her this entire time to get close to her brother.

Orlando had given the only name he knew for Boris, but James wasn't even Julia's last name. It was her stage name.

"That's more like it. Keep it up and you might save your skin or maybe even that of your pretty girlfriend." Bait Breath said. "Tell me more about this Boris James and when you started dealing with the Indonesians."

"I swear, if he's dealing with someone other than Filipinos, I don't know when it started," Orlando answered.

"Oh, that's not a great answer, is it? If you know nothing, you're not worth much to us. We might as well cut our losses and move on," said the man, "Are you sure there isn't something else that might help save your skins?"

"The Mayor of Manila. That's who I've worked for, he'll vouch for me and you can ask him!"

That answer seemed to take the assailants back for a minute. They moved away for a brief conversation among themselves. All Orlando could hear was muffled exclamations and arguing. He knew it wasn't smart to involve the mayor, but all he was thinking of now was his and Julia's lives.

"If you need more business, I'm sure I could swing some your way with him. He's a very powerful man in the Philippines...he knows the president personally!" Orlando said.

The assailant's conversation ended and the three turned their attention back to Orlando and Julia. The leader nodded to Orlando, who took the nod as a positive sign.

"I can get you whatever you need in the Philippines. Connections, other jobs, you name it," Orlando said. Of course he was ignoring the fact he hadn't been back there since he was a child.

When the person behind him slipped the gag back over his mouth and tightened it up again it took Orlando by surprise, but he knew it wasn't a good sign. He began to struggle and argue, but his words were unintelligible.

Julia also renewed her struggle. She would have cut her ear even worse in the process had not the person holding the knife taken up a new task.

He took a thin case out of the breast pocket of the suit he was wearing and carefully opened it up to reveal a set of syringes, spoons and a lighter. From the other pocket he took a package of white powder and scooped a bit out with one of the spoons. His cohort took the lighter and held it under the spoon, melting the powder into a clear liquid which the man holding the spoon then expertly drew up into a syringe with one hand. They repeated the process, preparing two syringes.

The suit then proceeded to take out a rubber hose and tied it around Julia's arm. While the third assailant held her arm tightly, the suit found a vein and plunged the needle in, shooting her up with whatever was in the syringe.

Julia looked on, horrified, but unable to move to stop anything that was being done.

Orlando knew the end had come and was crying openly, mostly out of fear, but also in despair and regret from knowing he was the cause of Julia's imminent death.

After they finished with Julia, the process was repeated quickly for Orlando. His mind clouded fast and the last thing he took in before going into the final blackness was the three men untying both he and Julia, both of them slumping off the chairs as the rope and their own bodies gave up on them.

##  Steven Receives the News 1984

Steven sat on the chair in Captain Villanueva's quarters breathing heavily. The news of Julia's death was unbelievable and had slowed his thoughts to a crawl, muddling them with questions and rejections. He didn't know how to go on or what he should do next. The captain remedied that for him by ordering him to his quarters. "I'll come down myself in a bit and we can talk about what you need to do next. Drink the whiskey, it will settle your nerves a little."

It was more or less an order. The livelihoods, as often as not the very lives of everyone on the ship, depended on the captain and his decisions. He was very used to making them and then ordering people to carry them out. Steven swallowed the harsh drink, saluted and turned to go to his bunk. "I am sorry, Steven. I'll be by in a bit."

The pouring rain didn't matter anymore, the upcoming storm, Steven's skill at managing cargo and sailing operations, none of it mattered anymore. His savings, his aspirations, his goals, and the enjoyment he was looking forward to in the next port. None of it made any difference now. The only thing in front of him was identifying his dead baby sister's body in a foreign country, communicating the horrendous news to his father, who would certainly hold him partially responsible (why did you let her go, stay, live, sing in such a place?) and getting her body back to the Philippines. Julia must have a proper funeral, be blessed and laid to rest next to her mother, reunited much too soon.

Julia and Steven were unusually close for eldest and youngest in a family with four children. Theirs was the sibling friendship that was most solidly equal. While Boris adored Julia and she him, nothing tended to come before Boris' own needs, even his sister. Steven would do almost anything for Julia and she had known it. Which was the reason that she held back when asking things of him. She wanted to be treated like a fully responsible woman, not one that could get her way with a whim.

When she made her mind up to move to Manila she had asked him for help. Seed money, a loan, company and protection for the first month. He'd done it all, insisting she pay him back from her earnings. When she finished paying him back he knew she felt proud. He turned around and presented her with a savings account in both their names with all the money she'd repaid.

"That's your rainy day fund now," he told her.

Later, when she decided to move to Shanghai on the offer of work by several Chinese businessmen that frequented Manila and came often to hear her sing, it was Steven that poked around. He found that one of the people with an offer was not being truthful and that if Julia took the job from him she would likely end up beholden to him forever and be a sort of indentured servant. However, the other offer was fully legit and was made by the Chinese manager for two of the most highly regarded clubs in the reopened city. He had the means and integrity to offer her a pathway to singing prowess if she had the ability. She eventually made her own decision, but considered Steven's advice and made a good choice. She didn't need seed money this time, but she still needed a friend she could trust and Steven organized his sailor jobs in order to see her as often as possible in Shanghai from the beginning.

As with all the children in Gilberto's family, Steven and Julia thought they were invulnerable. They were the keepers of each other's secrets and futures. Julia never asked her dad to do anything more that write her letters and host her visits home. In fact, Gilberto never set foot in China while Julia was there.

And now it would be Steven who had to tell Gilberto of the death of his youngest child.

With a heavy rap on the door the captain entered. "Steven, am I intruding? I'd like to have a word, if I could."

"Sure, no problem, Captain, please." He waved him into the tiny double compartment. The boat's cabins were built for two crew members and were tight, but comfortable enough for what was expected of them. They were a bit tunnel like, with a door on one end and a 'window' on the other above a small side-by-side double desk made for writing or reading. On either side of the cabin were bunks. Only the lower beds were occupied on this trip, as with most, but the upper could be used if a larger crew was required. There were built-in storage units for personal goods at the foot of the bunks. The rooms were reasonably lit, but drab because of all the continuous painting that went on and the apparent abundance of gunmetal grey paint.

Steven had been lying on his bunk, his mind crowded with the plethora of questions he had about Julia and the impossibility of ever getting good answers for them. When the captain came in he offered one chair to him and took the other for himself.

"Steven, I can imagine the questions you have racing through your mind now," the captain said.

"I was going to see her when we landed in Shanghai," Steven replied.

"Yes, I figured as much, son. I wanted to relay to you again my deepest sympathies and let you know that I received very little information about your sister's death. I brought the message we received. You may have it." He handed a half sheet of paper to Steven for him to read.

To: Captain Villanueva - The Sea Wolf

Re: Steven Ramos - Death in the family

It is with regret that we must ask you to inform one of your crewmen, Seaman Steven Ramos, that his sister, Julia Sorenson Ramos, has passed away from a drug overdose sustained in her apartment. Her personal effects can be retained at Police Headquarters prior to viewing and beginning death exportation paperwork.

The address was in Chinese.

Steven again felt like he had been struck. The air leaving his lungs like a knife slashed tire. He was dumb-struck, reading and rereading the part of the note that said "from a drug overdose sustained in her apartment."

"How could that be? It is not possible. What am I supposed to tell papa?"

"Again, I'm sorry, Steven. It must be a very difficult thing to hear about someone you thought you knew."

Steven didn't reply. There was no adequate response to express his disdain for the jump the captain made between the text of the message and the assumption his statement conveyed.

Continuing, Captain Villanueva said, "I almost sent a note back myself, but thought better of asking questions that are really yours to ask and require answers of. If you would like to send a note back to them, the communications officer has their contact information and I've told him to let you send what you deem necessary."

"Thank you, Captain. I'll have to think a bit first, but I will be sending a response. I appreciate your offer." He didn't even want to think about the next request, but it would have to be done. "I will of course need to send something to my father as well. Will that be okay?"

"Of course, Steven, do what is needed." The captain looked around the cabin for a minute and finally asked, "We can make it without you for the remainder of the voyage, if you need to take time to process?"

"No. I'll have some things to take care of, but I don't want to sit and process this for the next week. It will be at the back of my mind enough as it is," Steven replied.

That was part of what worried the captain, but he could deal with that. He would make sure that Steven wasn't charged with the most critical duties prior to getting to Shanghai, that's all. "Okay, report to Morales when you're ready for your next assignment." He gave a casual salute and headed back out the door. Once outside he turned to say, one final time, "I'm sorry for your loss, Steven." That would be the last time the captain would mention it other than as business needs required. That's just how he was.

#

Right after Julia's death, Manny was able to get a message to Boris to stay out of Shanghai for a while. The warning served to spare Boris' life, but made it impossible for him to get close enough to anyone in Shanghai to uncover any leads on what really happened. He relied on information provided by Steven, who had his own contacts and methods of getting information.

##  Business Picks Up for Boris 1985

After Julia died, Boris again upgraded boats, avoided China and threw himself into smuggling to the east and south of the Philippines. The newest boat was sixty-five feet long. It was twenty years old, but had a steel hull, twin diesels that would potentially propel it a solid forty-five knots per hour, a cargo capacity of two and a half tons and greatly improved ship to shore communication.

Boris doubled its fuel capacity, added to the crew carrying capacity and placed some strategic, hidden weaponry. He created storage spaces that were essentially invisible to inspection and added reinforcements in the bow for ramming and armor plate in the stern for safer running. His final touches had been to upgrade the two diesels in order to add twenty-five percent more horsepower and improve the bow and stern thrusters for better maneuverability.

He was using it extensively around the islands of the Philippines between Malaysia and Indonesia. He learned via Manny that the Chinese police suspected the killing was related to a sour drug deal. He knew Julia lost her life because of her involvement with Orlando. He really knew very little about who or what Orlando had been involved with and never gave strong credence to the possibility he himself had been the trigger element.

Steven complained bitterly to Boris about being subjected to extensive questioning by the Chinese authorities. It seemed that Captain Cho had fingered both Boris and Steven as potential suspects, only withdrawing Steven's name after days of official complaints and intervention by Captain Villanueva. After that, Steven stopped communicating with Boris.

The successful run prior to his sister's death and the entire lack of concrete information after it left Boris to come to his own conclusions. Because they had been the one new wild card, he figured that somehow the Indonesians were involved. Hence his intense interest in traffic around the southern Philippines. Sulu and Davao in the Philippines and Manado in Indonesia all fit in his plan to get back at whoever was responsible for his sister's death.

##  Mayor's Associate 1985

Staying out of the way of Chinese officials wasn't that difficult, but Boris was still looking for information. Steven went quiet so he called someone else he knew with excellent hearing.

"Mayor's office, Renz."

Renz's official title was 'internal affairs coordinator'. The truth was he seldom did anything remotely related to the government. Well, that wasn't totally truthful, he did things relating to the government, but they were not things that he or the mayor ever wanted tied to the current administration or to themselves.

Boris had been ready to leave a message, but this was better. "Renz, Boris Ramos. I was wondering if I could buy you a beer?"

"Boris, yeah, sure, that'd be great!"

"You still hanging at the jazz place down the road?"

"From the mayor's office, yeah, I am. Six o'clock okay?"

"Should be okay, but if I don't make it on time, don't leave, I'll be there."

"Yeah, yeah, same here. See you."

Several hours later Boris finished his first beer at the bar, watching the current jazz singer and listening to her discordant yodeling. The bar, which was really what it primarily was now, had slid downhill fast when his sister left for Shanghai. He knew why they hired the current girl but for her body to distract him he needed a pair of ear plugs. It was dry and hot inside and outside and whenever the singer turned, exposing her back, which she seemed to like to do often, she displayed a sweat stain that grew larger the longer her set lasted. Finally, Boris gave up watching and turned to face the bartender, wishing he really did have a set of ear plugs to shut her out completely.

Renz walked through the door just as he rearranged himself. "Hey Boris, what's up?"

"Not much, just gave up on listening to this garbage."

"Yeah, she's not much to listen to compared to... well, compared to a lot of better singers."

"What are you drinking?" Boris asked, waving the bartender over.

"Redhorse, thanks." The music set ended shortly after the mayor's associate walked in, and the sweaty singer walked up to the bar to give Renz a peck on the cheek.

"Hi, Renzy! What are you doing here tonight?"

"Angelina, baby, I've got business." He returned her kiss on the cheek, patted her ample behind and said, "Wow, hot day for a tight dress, huh? You're sweating all the way down to your crack!"

"Honey, you're such a romantic!" She laughed and directed an order to the bartender, "A little coke over here, please!"

After Angelina wandered off with her cold cola, Boris decided he should maybe apologize, "Hey, sorry about the crack about the singing, Renz, I didn't know..."

"No problem, Boris, we both know she's a crap singer, but her body and sense of humor make up for it. She keeps the customer's laughing and she keeps me smiling." Taking a long sip of his Redhorse, he suggested they move to a little round table out of earshot of the bartender then continued, "So what's up with you, Boris?"

"I got that boat I was looking for, she's fast and strong and ready to work."

"I heard." Which meant the mayor knew. "Just waiting for you to pronounce her seaworthy."

"Oh, she's seaworthy. There's some pretty interesting pockets I put in that'll carry quite a load and keep it out of sight. I've been staying out of the way of the Shanghai crew since... well, you know. I don't have a line on all the details yet, but I've been working it."

Another long sip of Redhorse and a minute of silence. Boris almost stepped back in, but then Renz emerged from his thoughts and continued from where Boris left off. "Did you find out anything interesting?" Renz and Julia had never been an item like Renz and Angelina seemed to be, but it wasn't because Renz hadn't tried. Julia had stronger drive, more talent and a vision. Even though fate, along with someone Boris still intended to find, stepped in and blinded the vision early.

"I'm working a few lines of thought, but I keep coming up with something called the Triad or Tong or sometimes even the White Lotus Society. To me they seem like they're used interchangeably, but I don't know if that makes sense." Boris ordered another round for both of them. "You ever heard of these guys?"

Renz took his time finishing the last of his first bottle of Redhorse and followed it by carefully wiping the lip of his new bottle. When the bartender tried to remover his empty, he held on to it and told him, "later." Taking the empty bottle, he placed it a foot directly in front of Boris. "Let's say this is Shanghai." He took his own new bottle of beer and placed it just in front of himself, "and this is Hong Kong," and finally he placed Boris' bottle directly in front of Boris, in line with the empty, "and Taiwan." If you looked down at the table and connected the three bottles it would look like a backwards capital L or a triangle.

"The Tong is an old secret Chinese brotherhood or society devoted to self-promotion and preservation. The Triad is possibly even an older Chinese underground organization that runs everything from money laundering to prostitution."

That was more than Boris knew and more than he expected Renz to know. "So these guys are a big deal?" He asked.

Renz just looked at him. Finally he answered, "They swat flies like you and I off their dinner table every day."

"What about the White Lotus Society?" Boris asked.

"I'm not so sure, probably some historical reference. You know China, older than dirt and been around longer than God."

"So where do they operate? Only in China?" Continued Boris.

"Nope, that's why the layout on the table is significant. They have a circle of influence that encompasses Southeast Asia. They've been expanding recently." He let the waitress take the empty bottle this time and took a long swallow of his new one.

"There's a blockade to the Northeast in Japan. They've got their own organization called the 'Yakuza' that's probably been around just as long." After a few moments he offered one last tidbit. "I never said this and I'll deny it two minutes from now, but I've never seen anyone, including the mayor, willing to work directly with any of them. I think they scare the pants off them. I know they scare the shit outta me."

Renz drained the last of his beer and said, "Hey listen, Boris, it was good to catch up. Thanks for the beers and I'll be sure and let the mayor know your new outfit is operational."

"Well it ain't no pleasure yacht, but if he wants to have his own tour of the harbor sometime, let me know. I'm mostly running around home these days. Well, there and down south."

"Sure, will do, catch you later." He waved at Angelina, who winked back, and left out the opposite door he came in from.

##  Steven and Bettina 1989

She wasn't at home.

Her mother made it clear she wasn't going to tell Steven where her daughter was, nor was she going to try very hard to tell her he came looking for her. "I'll try to remember to let her know you stopped by; I'm sure she'll get in touch with you when she has some spare time."

Steven walked to St. Mary's hoping Bettina would be there. Her communications abruptly stopped several weeks into his last trip, and he hadn't heard from her in nearly six weeks. It was difficult to stay connected when he was sailing, but in the past they always communicated once a week.

It was a two hour walk, but when he was home on shore leave he walked as much as he could anyway. When he reached St. Mary's Hospital, Steven went in through the ER entrance.

"Hi, Grace," he greeted the front desk receptionist.

Instead of her usual effusive hello, she simply plastered a smile, as fake as a thirty peso note, on her face and raised her eyebrows in a "Yes, may I help you?" sort of way.

"I'm looking for Betts. Is she working?"

"Yes she is."

"Um, okay, is she in the back?"

"No."

"Any idea where she is?" He was mystified by Bettina's mother's reaction to him and now this.

"I do know where she is, actually," replied Grace.

"Any chance you could let me in on the secret?" It was very weird.

Rather than answer him, Grace picked up the telephone in front of her and dialed four digits. An internal number at the hospital. She made a big deal of hiding everything she said by covering her mouth and the hand-piece with her hand. It was a challenge because Grace had a pretty big mouth. He still caught bits and pieces of the conversation.

"...right here...yes, in front of me...why though? ...really? ...if you..." Grace seemed to be having an argument with the other end of the line, and she seemed to be losing. Finally, she simply handed the phone over to him and rolled her eyes.

"Betts, is that you?"

"Yes, what is it, Steven?"

"What do you mean, what is it? Why'd you cut out on me, what's up? And where are you?"

"I took a different position in the hospital, that's all. I didn't cut out on you. We're not headed anywhere."

"Ah, Betts, we've been over this before, just because I'm not the marrying kind doesn't mean we're not headed anywhere."

"That's what it seems to mean to everyone else in my life."

"Can't we talk about this some other place than on the emergency room receptionist's phone? Grace is giving me the real evil eye." And she was, he had no idea why, because there wasn't anyone in the ER waiting room at the moment and Grace had been filing her nails when he stepped up.

Bettina sighed heavily into the other end of the line, "Okay, Steven, come to the lounge in the west wing on seven. My break starts in a few minutes."

The west wing lounge on the seventh floor was blue with smoke when he opened the door. He coughed as politely as possible and backed out the door again. Glancing around he tried to get his bearings. When he figured it out, he popped his head back inside the lounge door to confirm. Yep, all guys. It was the room where the non-involved expectant dads waited for the announcement that their son or daughter had just arrived in this world. The smoking father's waiting room.

When Bettina rounded the corner he put on a smile and congratulated her with, "Maternity! That's great, Betts! It's got to be way better than cat bites, glass embedded in feet and hit and runs!"

"Yes, it is better, actually, and it's great experience."

"Sure, I bet, build that resume." He smiled and she returned only the vaguest resemblance of her usual smile. "What's up, Betts? What's wrong?" He was starting to panic a little, because he could feel there was definitely something wrong. Did she know something about his father, Gilberto? Was Katie sick? Did Boris finally get killed? ...he had to admit that one would throw him a bit less than the other two.

"No Steven, there's nothing wrong. Things are mostly the same as they've always been."

"Well what is it then, Betts? What does mostly mean? This is really not like you, you're scaring me."

"How long have we been 'together', Steven?" She actually did the 'air quotes' thing to him. He'd told her many times he hated it.

"I don't know, Betts. Maybe two years?" Two years, one month, three weeks and four days, actually. He was very well aware. What else did he have to do with his time off when he was on a ship?

"Yeah, at least two years. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Well now it's happened and you can blame me and charge off."

"What's happened, Betts? Is there someone else? Is that what it is?" He was really confused. He wasn't the jealous type, but Bettina never seemed like the type that was interested in a regular guy for just regular stuff, either.

"There isn't someone else, Steve. There never has been someone else. I've wished there could be often enough, but the truth is, I've got what I want, I guess."

"Well, what then? Are you moving? Did you get another job? Are you leaving the Philippines?"

"God, Steven, sometimes you can be so dense. Yes I got another job. I'm in it right now. I got it for the experience. They often put pregnant nurses into the maternity ward for experience."

Okay, that hit him in the gut. It took the air right out of him. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, the room started to spin around his head and he backed up to the wall because they were still standing in the hall having this conversation.

As he slid down the wall Steven thought, "She's pregnant with my child. I'll be a dad. I have no idea how to be a dad. God I wanna be a dad!"

Out loud he said, "You're pregnant? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you ninny. I work in a hospital. I'm working in a maternity ward right now. You think we don't know how to figure out if a person is pregnant or not?"

He started laughing and couldn't quit until after a couple of minutes. "Isn't there someplace more private, where the doors don't leak cigarette smoke, where we can finish this conversation?"

"Isn't it already finished? You don't want to be a dad. You don't want a kid. And I'm not going to force anything on you. You're free to go. Just leave, I release you!"

He giggled just a little bit again, but quit when she smacked him in the arm...pretty hard. "Come on, let's get out of the hall for a few minutes, okay? Who said I didn't want to be a dad, anyway?"

This brought a confounded look to Bettina's face and he could see she gave in. She pointed to the staff lounge on the opposite end of the hall. There were only a couple other people in there, so they went in and continued the conversation they'd started in the hall.

"So tell me truthfully, Steven, do you want to be a dad?" Bettina asked him.

The two people that were in there immediately hushed and stared fixedly at the television.

"Honestly, I've never had a goal to be a father, Betts, you know that, but when you said you were pregnant a rush so strong came over me. It almost knocked me off my feet. You of all people should know how hard that is to do," Steven replied.

"I do know, Steven, but I don't know if that is enough. So what does it mean?" Bettina asked.

"I'm not sure exactly what it means, but I can tell you I will stay the course with you. It doesn't change that one bit. Having a child with you will be beautiful. You'll be a great mom, I know it. I don't know what kind of dad I'll be, but I'll certainly love this kid like it ought to be loved," Steven answered.

Bettina slid up against him and closed her eyes. "I've gotta admit I was really afraid this would send you off for good. I'm not sure how everything will turn out, but I am sure I want this baby. I was determined to have it with or without you. It'll be a lot better to have it with you."

"How long do we have, anyway? I mean, how long do we have to plan?" Steven asked.

"Six months...about. Mom's already started on the baby room. And I've moved into the big bedroom in the house," Bettina replied.

"Don't you want your own house?" Steven asked.

"Are you quitting the sea?" Bettina asked.

"No, you know I can't," Steven answered.

"Then I don't want my own house. We'll live with my mom when you're here and she'll take care of our child when I have to work. Since I now have the big bedroom, we'll have the big bed as well, when you're here." She smiled when she said this and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

Finally, that was more the Bettina he knew and loved.

##  Konnor 1989

Bettina bore down once again and the pain washed over her. It was like nothing she'd ever felt in her life. She never thought she would go through pain like this by herself. Well, by herself wasn't exactly accurate. She looked through watery eyes and saw the little crowd just on the other side of the sheet over her raised knees. Childbirth took all modesty away from a woman in one final, painful blow. She didn't care who saw down there, didn't care what they touched, she just wanted her son's head to get the hell out of her body.

Damn Steven for getting her into this situation. Damn him again for not being here beside her while his son was trying to be born. Damn him again just for good measure.

"AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH, FUCK!" She let out a blood curdling scream. Thank you, Jesus, his head was out. She knew it by the smiles of the faces looking at her 'private' parts.

"One last push, Bettina!" Gilberto said, as he held her hand and smiled like the grandpa he already was and now would be again.

"Uuuuhhhhhhhhh, ugh!" The kid was out, he had to be. Now it just felt wet down there and her new son was the one wailing. Why was it nurses felt like they should be above the pain of childbirth? She wanted to go back in time and change her answers when the doctor discussed drugs with her before the birth.

As the doctor and nurse worked on umbilical cord, placenta and making sure everything was more or less in place, the receiving nurse wiped off her new son, wrapped him in a clean towel and handed him to her for the first bonding. He was her first, so she didn't know exactly what to expect, but the sight of him, ruddy and squalling, brought more tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat that she knew this little boy would always be able to bring back.

"Konnor, your daddy will be so sad he missed your coming, but he will be so happy to see you."

##  Marge and Konnor 1989

It became Marge's habit, as well as the expectation of the Ramos clan, to spend every Christmas she could manage with Gilberto and her surrogate nephews and nieces. Graduations, births and deaths were must years. Whether she went the other years depended on her money situation. Konnor's birth was doubly special because Steven called her soon after he was born and asked her to be his godmother. She would not be there in person for the christening, but it was a must to make it out for his first Christmas.

Each time she traveled to the Philippines she brought with her a few traditional decorations, gifts and eatable treats that were distinctly American. Each time she returned she took one distinctly Filipino gift home. When she visited during Christmas of 1963 she brought her own girl child, born the previous year. Of course there was a father, but there was not a husband and Marge decided to raise the child on her own, as a single mother.

The Christmas of 1989 Marge made a special month long trip and brought an entire suitcase full of goodies special for the holiday and the new baby.

"It's so good to see you again, Aunt Marge," Steven greeted her. Taking her bags and dragging them to the beat up van, he continued, "It's been a long time. When your own grandchild, Karen, was born, I thought that might be the end of your trips."

"Oh, Steven, some traditions must carry on. My daughter's illness made her decide not to come back. It was very disappointing to me, but she is my daughter. I honored her decision until she got married. I don't know if I'll ever be able to bring my granddaughter, but now that I have a godchild the visits simply must resume."

"Yes, hepatitis is a rampant disease here. I'm sorry it had to touch you, but she and Karen are both good, right?"

"Of course they are. I wish Christine would see reason and let me at least bring Karen to see Konnor. I had hoped they might grow up as friends, now I'm not so sure. Neither Christine nor Philip is too interested in a playmate for Karen who's living in a third world country."

Steven let the last comment fade away before saying, "Bettina and Konnor are so looking forward to seeing you. It's a little easier to tell with Bettina, but Konnor's been in a good mood for a week now. I think it's because he knows his godmom is coming to visit."

He loaded the larger of Marge's two suitcases in the back of the van first. "You are not traveling light this year, Auntie."

Marge just smiled as he lifted the second case in, put the carry on packages around them, shut the back and opened the side passenger door for her to get in.

Exhausted from the trip, Marge fell asleep sitting beside Steven in the middle seat of the van by the time the driver got them outside the airport limits. She knew this was a good way to manage the frustrating traffic anyway. When they were north of Metro Manila and cruising more smoothly she woke, a tiny bit refreshed, and they started chatting about her granddaughter. "She's only eighteen months, but she's saying my name already...well, gam-gam really, but I'll take it."

"Do you get to see her a lot, Auntie?"

"Not as much as I'd like, Christine and Philip moved with his company to Victoria. I'm pretty sure he means to move them all to Europe and this is the first step."

"Really? Why would he do that?"

"Oh, it's not a bad thing, I guess. It's his job and he's good at it. I'm getting to be an old lady so I don't always understand these things anymore."

"You know I've seen so much of the world being a sailor. I wouldn't trade it for anything... ask Bettina." He chuckled, but Marge knew it was only halfhearted.

"I hope that if they do end up moving, they go to a country that is significantly unlike the U.S. It's so good for kids to see how other people live. People get so isolated in their understanding."

"Yes, I hope I can show Konnor the world when he grows up as well."

They spent the rest of the trip visiting about changes in each other's lives since Marge was last there. Near the end of the trip Marge brought up Julia's death.

"Steven, how is Gil doing this year?"

"Dad has trouble with holidays you know. He did even before Julia was taken from him. Now he's lost Mom and Julia both, it's bound to make for tough holidays. I think this year will be better with both Konnor and you to lift his spirit."

"I'm counting on it, Steven."

They pulled up to the Ramos restaurant shortly after the lunch crowd had thinned out. Gilberto closed the restaurant at 1:00 p.m. owing to her arrival. There would be a big meal to celebrate the beginning of the Christmas season.

There was no pretending that they weren't waiting for her arrival. Everyone rushed the car as they pulled to a stop. Gilberto opened Marge's door and took her in a bear hug, swinging her legs around and clearing a circle of people. When he put her down, they were both teary eyed. Well, Gilberto was crying, Marge was a bit more stoic, but her eyes were definitely damp.

"Margie, it's so good to see you again. The kids have missed you so!"

"Well, let them come in for a hug then, you old man." She hugged Katie, Katie's husband Orlan, and their three kids. Each one of the kids gave her a handful of wild flowers they'd picked for the occasion. Larry was Katie's oldest. "My God, Larry, are you taller than your Auntie Marge now?!"

Standing just behind them she saw Bettina with a wriggling bundle. When she stepped up to her, Bettina gave her a peck on the cheek. "Hello, Godmother Margie. Meet your godson, Konnor." Bettina handed the bundle to her and the stoic friend, mother, grandmother and Godmother burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, that is so very unlike me!" She laughed and wiped away her tears. "Konnor, your godmom is just so happy to see you! I hope you grow up to be the spitting image of your fabulous mom and dad, your loving granddad and your beautiful grandmom." Hugging the little bundle to her, Marge looked around. "Now where is that Boris?"

"As usual, we're not sure where he is," answered Gilberto.

#

After Marge's first half dozen visits, Gilberto started to threaten to add on to the Ramos house with a room just to store Christmas decorations. Marge toned it down this year and only brought ornaments for each person, personalized with their name and the current year. She had a few extra as well, just in case she forgot anyone, or met new important people. She was pretty sure that Larry would not have a girlfriend yet, since he was only fifteen, but just in case, she was covered.

However, Marge brought presents for her godson in abundance. She was playing with one over his head right now. It was a mobile that would go above his crib or chair. A durable, colorful planetary mobile. All the Ramos kids seemed to have wanderlust like their mom. Marge thought maybe Konnor would want to see the planets since he would undoubtedly see plenty of ocean and islands where he was. "Katie, tell me what's going on with Boris these days. He's the one I haven't heard from in a long time."

"No one really has, Auntie. Julia's death hit papa the hardest, but Boris has never been the same since, either. He has a world of his own and it seldom intersects with our world anymore."

"That boy was always troubled, Katie, he needed something to hold on to. He never married, either, did he?"

"Nope. Apparently the Ramos boys aren't the marrying kind." She was making a jab at Steven because he'd never married Bettina, even though they'd been partners for years.

"Being a loyal husband and good father isn't always guaranteed by marriage, my dear."

"Oh Auntie, we all know you would defend Steven if he made a deal with the devil himself." It was another joke, but as with most things, the words were dipped in truth.

##  Family Trip 1995

Steven purchased a used motorcycle with a sidecar a few years after Konnor's birth and used it constantly when he was home. This time, Bettina was taking care of one of Konnor's friends, but that didn't slow down their family adventure. Konnor loved riding in the sidecar. On this trip he shared it with his friend and their backpacks, while Steven shared the motorbike with Bettina. The day was sunny and blue, but the waves were crashing onto the beach where they stopped. Steven asked Bettina if she would like him to take Konnor and his friend someplace else for a while, so she could relax and enjoy the beach.

When Steven asked Konnor and his friend what they wanted to do, they both exploded at the same time, "We want to go exploring!"

"Okay, I was thinking ice cream, but it looks like I'm outnumbered."

The two boys looked at each other and Konnor, looking very serious, replied, "Well Papa, we can go exploring and THEN go get ice cream, right?"

Chuckling, he herded them into the sidecar and Steven and the two boys headed farther up the road, away from the city. He remembered being up here with his father and siblings many years ago and decided to let memories carry him. Maybe he would find the place they visited.

The remembered trip was from when Gilberto was traveling, relieving his grief by celebrating Sophia's wanderlust. The trips always started out full of fun and promise and ended after a couple of nights of Gilberto getting very drunk and depressed. However, this trip lasted longer than most and the boys had fun wandering, while Julia and Katie hung out with their dad, cooing along as he sang and played his guitar.

The five of them found a beautiful, isolated inlet that was almost cut off from the sea by dazzlingly sharp rocks and underwater reefs. The beach was clean, but wasn't something that locals went to because of how hard it was to maneuver in and out of the bay. It wasn't popular with tourists because the locals didn't care much about it. It was perfect for Gilberto and his kids because they were exploring first and foremost. They seldom listened to local opinion.

Steven turned down the third densely overgrown path to nowhere and instantly knew it led to the lagoon he recalled. It was exactly as he remembered, ringed with rocks, with the water color variations indicating shallow reefs. They stopped on the sand with just enough sun left that he could catch a snooze before having to head back. "Okay boys, go have fun and explore. Don't go far and if you go into the water, wake me up first."

Konnor's friend, Criston, ran off in the direction they had been traveling because there was a vague trail continuing. They both had big sticks they were using as weapons and fought their way to a decrepit old building. It was obviously abandoned and had been for years, clearly the perfect opportunity for exploration.

"Come on, Konnor, let's go inside!" Criston wasn't much for swimming. He was more of a land lubber, and outside of the sea, he was not intimidated by anything.

"No, it will fall in on us." Konnor's caution was met with deaf ears as Criston was already through the opening that used to hold a door. He could hear Criston inside yelling and hitting everything that didn't move. Floor, walls, door and window openings...they all were challenged for the right of ownership and finally, Konnor decided he needed to go inside before there wasn't anything left to whack. Charging in with his stick over his head, he yelled, "Hu, Hu, Hu!" and took aim at the empty window pane opposite the door. Subduing it quickly, he turned to find his friend squatting in the corner and poking at a mound.

Sidling up to Criston, Konnor squatted beside him and poked in the same general area. Instead of soft dirt, as the rest of the floor had decayed to, it was a hard little mound. Never delicate, Criston stood up, taking his stick in both hands, and hit the mound hard. It seemed to break apart. Stepping back and poking at the splintered mound with the tip of their sticks again the boys broke it up enough to be confident that whatever was in there wasn't going to bite them. Konnor was the first one to reach into the dirt and pull out a chunk of what they had broken up.

"It's money." He said. Realizing this, the boys dug in with both hands, scraping the dirt clotted coins out of their hiding place.

"Six." Criston said.

"I found three more." Konnor worked his hands deeply through the dirt, sifting it with his fingers and caking it into all the skin wrinkles up to his elbows.

<<<<>>>>

### Books by R. Scott Tyler

### Smugglers in Paradise Series

### Game of Wit and Chance: Beginnings (Book 1)

### Available in 2016:

### One Fish, Two Fish, Big Fish, Little Fish (Book 2)

### Psychology of Choosing (Book 3)

Fanpage: www.facebook.com/RScottTyler

 Goodreads Author Page

Blog: karthlake.com

Author Email: RScottTylerauthor@gmail.com

Acknowledgements

I began this writing journey with enthusiastic optimism a few years ago. This was quickly overcome by the previously unimagined pitfalls that became apparent between writing words on paper and publishing a book to the discerning literary public. Specifically, publishing a book I would be proud of calling my own even if I wasn't a literary giant. As the final stage of birthing this book via publishing comes to pass, my enthusiasm has returned not only for 'Game of Wit and Chance', but also for the story remaining to be told in the 'Smugglers in Paradise' series.

I dedicate this book to my parents, who both passed away prior to its completion, but were supporters of my reading from an early age. My father was a voracious reader and loved to write limericks. My mother wrote journals constantly after being told they were good therapy. Together, the two of them walked for health and stress relief. Reading, writing and walking continue to be three pillars of my life today. Without them, who knows where I would be.

I would like to thank my family and friends for their continued support and encouragement during this often overwhelming process. Thank you to Andrew, Jay and James for their early encouragement, helping me believe that I had it in me to tell stories others might like to read. Special thanks to Paul, Dan, my family and other people that were summarily ignored when I needed to focus. Thanks to Friday, Linda, Paul, Jim, Diane, Dan and Gillian for honest critique that helped make me a better writer. A big thank you to Caddy for lots of technical help and for introducing me to Indie Minnesota when I needed to see others walking a similar road, and finally, thanks to Mike, who introduced me to the cover artist who helped make the book look like something I would pick up and want to read.

# Chapters

News at Sea 1984

Sophia, Portland 1942

Uncle Raymond 1939

Marge and Sophia, Portland 1941

Willapa 1941

Gilberto, Portland 1944

Escape 1945

Decision Time 1945

Resolve Evaporates 1945

Married 1945

Entering Manila Bay 1945

Manila Life 1949

Memories of Zambales 1950

Relocation 1950

Visit from a Childhood Friend 1951

Christmas in Zambales 1951

Zambales 1961

Navigation Test 1961

Test of Courage 1961

Boris' Beginnings in Manila 1966

The Mayor's Associate 1966

Lucky Charms 1966

Julia Sings on the Bund 1982

Back in Manila 1982

Grand Shanghai 1982

Orlando 1982

Steven's 1st Visit to Shanghai 1982

Touring With The Singer 1982

Boris Visits Shanghai 1982

Departure 1982

Virgin Smuggler, Shanghai 1982

Red Umbrella Meet 1982

Checking Out the Neighborhood 1982

Getting to Know the Block Captain 1982

Getting to Know the Harbor 1982

Tea and Education 1982

Mitten Crabs 1982

The Exit 1982

Back Across The Water 1982

Julia's Death 1984

Steven Receives the News 1984

Business Picks Up for Boris 1985

Mayor's Associate 1985

Steven and Bettina 1989

Konnor 1989

Marge and Konnor 1989

Family Trip 1995

