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From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 7 Aug 2004 02:10:37 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} True Love (True, Necro,Rom)
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Date: Sat,  7 Aug 2004 09:10:03 -0400
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True Stories
By Rachael Ross

This is the second of two parts. The first was a short piece called
'The Plantation' The copyright note and author's note are identical
for both posts, in case it confuses you.

Copyright 2004 by Rachael Ross. Similarities to actual places and
people is intentional. I did not name the specific Barangay where
these events happened. Please do not post or repost without my
permission. I'm only putting this in one public place I think; it's
mostly an experiment for me. Thanks. -rr.17mar04 Negros Del Norte


Introduction

I have some stories to tell. They are not fictional, although I
doubtless added some things, and left out some stuff in the interest
of story telling. I guess a little intro would be good, since I should
start someplace and I can't figure out how to say what I want without
mentioning myself and some others, probably in more detail than I'd
like, but...hey. Someday, maybe, when I have kids I can tell them...read
these, and you'll understand me better. Although at what age I should
let my child read something like gen19 is subjective.



True Love

It came to my attention one day, as I sat drinking some iced tea and
typed up some notes for my husband, that a necrophiliac had been
arrested. A man named Darius is the chief of police and he raises
fighting cocks very near our beach house. He stops by sometimes,
usually it seems when he knows that I'm alone, or as alone as I can be
with 3 maids and a house boy running around. He is nice, friendly and
a good person to have as a friend. Like I said, he's the chief of
police.

He was driving by and he saw me on the balcony and he stopped, honking
and calling me `Inday' (pronounced in-dye) anyway, that's a friendly
familiar term for a girl younger than yourself. People in the
Philippines generally do not require invitations to come in, like I
might have said if I was still in Seattle "Hi, come on up." ...here, he
just parked and walked in. Of course you can only do that with people
you're friends with. So...I covered up my bikini bottoms, just because
he is very...um, friendly. And had one of the girls get him a beer.

He sat down and with every other word Darius was touching me. Just a
little, just enough to know he cared. He likes that. I smiled a lot
and nodded and was glad I'd covered my thighs. But Darius, for all his
clumsy attempts to seduce me, is pretty much a great source of info. I
guess he has to be, given his position, so I don't mind him that much.

On this particular day he started telling me about a young man named
Borikito, which I think I spelled right. (Bore e key toe ...the I always
has the long e sound) Anyway, this man was 23 years old and he was
getting married. He was a pedicab driver around the market. These guys
pay 50 pesos a day for a bicycle with a passenger sidecar and drive
people around all day picking up passengers, 1 peso a person one way.
Not a bad deal, I usually give them 5 though because everyone assumes
I'm rich.

Borikito's wife was going to be a girl from the mountain. I wasn't
sure if I'd seen her before or not, but I knew the type. When we
stayed on the mountain these girls would walk by on their way into
town. Some of them in school uniforms, going to the high school, and
others with baskets, either full or empty. The full baskets were full
of things to be sold, like mangos, jackfruit, lanchonis, guava, stuff
like that. The empty baskets would be filled at the market with fish,
butchered pork or chicken, some rice, oil, cigarettes, you get the
idea.

This girl, who's name was Bebe, (pronounced like Baby) a very common
name by the way, was maybe 18, she'd finished high school at least,
but most people graduate high school at 16 here and are married with
children by 17, but we'll say she was 18. Okay? She'd been courted by
a number of boys, since she was both pretty (by all accounts) and
innocent, which counts for a lot. Virginity is a very real issue when
it comes to prospective wives. Sometimes I think the western world
lost something with the sexual revolution, puritanical me. Yikes!

Borikito though was tenacious. He did all the things a man who wants
to be a husband needs to do to impress the woman he wants to marry,
and more importantly, the people he wants for in-laws. Borikito
started driving the pedicab, it wasn't much, but it was a start. He
also went fishing with his brother at night, getting a share of
whatever they caught. When the weather was poor, he went to the
slaughter at 3am, butchering pigs and getting paid with some of the
meat, which he'd sell. Borikito built a little house, a payag, out of
bamboo and thatch. He raised some animals himself too, a couple
piglets and some chickens, and a goat that was pregnant. He was busy
because he was in love.

Every weekend, up in the mountain, there is a dance. Borikito would
walk the 8 kilometers or so with a friend or a brother, and meet Bebe
there. She was chaperoned, of course, because these were mountain
people who still had their self-respect and traditions. He'd meet the
parents, calling "Mayu!" from the gate, which is like saying `hey!' ...I
find it annoying personally, especially around Christmas. ...And the
father would come outside and talk to the boy.

The boy would have brought some rice cakes, or some dried fish maybe,
and the father would serve some coffee, or maybe just some water, and
he'd tell Borikito what his daughter had to have for her wedding. He'd
say, "Bring us a goat, 2 pigs, and fix my roof." But he'd only make
the price low like that if he liked Borikito and wanted him for a son.
If he didn't like Borikito, the father would ask for something
outrageous, like "...a cow, 3 pigs, and build me a house." Although I
did hear of one woman who was being courted by an extraordinarily ugly
man and she kept her father raising the price and he kept meeting it
until she had to marry him, and they're very much in love now.

Borikito and Bebe loved each other already though, so it was easy for
him to work hard and get what his future father-in-law demanded. His
brothers helped him fix the old man's roof, and he was very happy when
he could walk up the mountain pulling the goat, some pigs, and a dog
behind him. The dog was for eating, by the way. A date was set and
Borikito went to work saving up so he'd be able to buy the little
things he and his new wife would need for their house.

Unfortunately, a few weeks before the wedding could happen, Bebe died
of a fever. I'm not sure what it was, perhaps Dengue. They did not
take her to the hospital, instead she'd been treated in her home by
people like the `hilat' who is like a chiropractor, if your bones are
bad, or your muscles messed up, the hilat fixes it. There are also
witch doctors, and people like that, herbalists who know what plants
do what. Well...The girl died. And Borikito was just shredded by the
experience. It really broke him inside.

The girl's brothers built a coffin and they bought ice to put
underneath her. Her sisters washed her and put Bebe in her best dress.
Her uncles and aunts and cousins all came and there was a collection
taken, to help pay for food and to get a priest to perform the burial.
Her brothers built a thatched roof and three walls around it, and that
was where the coffin was, sitting on a pair of saw horses. People
would stay up for 3 days watching over her. Usually the men at night,
her brothers and male cousins, and they would drink and play cards.
The church let them borrow a statue of the Virgin Mary and Jesus, and
they placed food around it so that rats and evil spirits would smell
it and eat the food and not Bebe.

After 3 days it would be time for the funeral and a long procession
would walk the 5 miles down the hot dusty road to the town cemetery.
Nobody would talk and everyone they passed would stop what they were
doing and look. There was no laughing, no crying, just the sound of
shuffling feet as that small hand carved casket passed.

The cemetery is above ground; composed of small holes of concrete that
are sealed up when a body is put inside. Then another one constructed
behind it, or aside it, or on top of it. Until the place looks like a
haphazard collection of white rectangular blocks stacked by a giant 3
year old. Everything is painted white and just outside the gates are
vendors selling fried fish and pork, boiled peanuts, rice balls,
soda's and cigarettes. There are also vendors selling headstones,
while you wait. Usually the family will buy a small brass plaque that
is engraved, or hire a sign painter to print on the grave itself.
There are dogs everywhere, running around, barking, fucking, dying.

They buried Bebe after a short ceremony for which the priest received
500 pesos, about 10 dollars. That is the biggest expense, the cemetery
fee is only 200 pesos. Burial consisted of covering the hole with
cinderblock bricks and cement, a few days later someone would paint it
white.

Darius told me that the night Bebe was buried, Borikito went to the
girls grave, bringing along his hammer, and broke through the fresh
cement. He removed her coffin, opening it there in the cemetery, and
lifted her body out. The young man carried the woman he loved so much
back to the little house that he'd built for her. He undressed her,
bathed her from a small bucket of water, and then he had sex with her.
Several times during the night, Borikito made love to his dead fiancé.

Darius told me this in the most vulgar terms, I think because he
wanted to see how I would react. Darius himself was outraged by it,
telling my with his voice and eyes and body gestures how the idea
sickened and angered him.

I thought it was beautiful.

I didn't tell Darius that, however, nor have I been in the mood for a
long time to pretend I share anyone else's opinions. So I made no
comments, positive or negative.

The boy had been found out by his neighbors who had told the girls
family. Her father and brothers found Borikito already in Darius'
jail, which was probably lucky for him, as I do believe they would
have killed the young man. As it was, Darius gave them a chance to
beat him.

It is an interesting fact that victims in the Philippines are allowed
to confront the criminals who caused them injury. Even before any
trial, before guilt is proved. The jails here are like zoos, like
petting zoos, and in Borikito's case, Darius kept him handcuffed while
Bebe's father, mother, brother's and sisters all took their turns
slapping and punching him. It is also safe to say that Borikito did
not get a lot of sympathy from his cellmates. There are only 3 cells
in the jail here, but they are all large, and they are all
overcrowded.

I asked Darius if I could see the boy, making up an excuse that it
would be useful to my husband's work. Which it might be, I don't know
if I lied or not. Darius smiled and he was more than happy to bring me
to his little jail so I could see this `bugu' (boo-goo) or crazy,
necrophiliac.

Of course I don't think Borikito is a true Necro, he just lost it,
went a little crazy, he didn't make love to Bebe because she was dead.
That small fact was incidental...well, okay, she was dead so he did
it...but you know what I mean...someone is reading over my
shoulder...Anyway, he didn't choose to do it because he wanted a dead
woman. He chose to do it because he couldn't deal with her death, she
was still alive in his heart, if not in his mind, while he was doing
it.

I put on some jeans and a t-shirt, because I've been to the jail
before. The first time wearing short shorts over my one-piece bathing
suite, and even that was a little too provocative for those guys. It
isn't like they lock the murderers and rapists up in some big
penitentiary upstate, or over in the middle of nowhere like Walla
Walla, in the Philippines, they stay right there in that little police
station until someone decides to move them someplace else. And that
can take years...

Kind of a side thing. You can give stuff to the prisoners, it's like a
zoo, like I said, and as you walk by some of them line up and hold out
their hands for money or cigarettes, or food. Most of them are polite,
although they look terrible, and very grateful. So the first time I'm
there, even before I really started getting the language down, I go in
these shorts up to my ass and my bathing suit and I'm like `okay, no
big deal' I gave some guy a cigarette and stood there talking and
smoking with him for a minute and I ask him what he did. But he
doesn't speak English too well, so I give another guy a cigarette to
translate, and I'm enjoying myself, and then I find out this guy I'm
talking to raped and killed his two younger sisters. I said "Sisters?"
and the guy said yeah... (and you don't want the ages, this ain't that
kind of story) ...So I said "why?" and he says something and the
translator says, "What do you mean? He doesn't understand about `why'"
...so I said "Why did you kill and rape them, what did it give you?" and
they translate and the guy says "Oh, it just give him happiness. He
was very happy when he do it. Like this..." Then the translator starts
making like he's jerking off and the other guy nods, laughing and does
it too. "Happy!" he says, just jerking off and thinking about his dead
sisters.

Okay...Anyway, I go to the jail, Darius tells his guys to bring the boy
out, which is a real treat because I don't have to talk through bars.
And I have to tell you, this guy is sweet. He's just...he looks like a
young Filipino Tom Hanks, a young one, like in "Joe Versus the
Volcano" except he has brown skin and he's been pretty beat up. I
brought him some gasava, which is ...ah never mind...I brought him food
and some cigarettes, and he sat down.

"You want to hit him?" One of the policemen asked me, I swear to God.
I just ignored it, but I was really pissed by it. This guy just needed
some humanity, you know? God, I mean I write tough sometimes, and I
even act tough, and I've been abused and liked it, but not this guy. I
wish I could tell you we talked, that I'd really gotten in his head,
you know? But we didn't, not really.

I asked him how he was, and he was okay. I asked him if he needed
anything, he said no. I asked if his family had come around, they
hadn't. He was totally miserable; he just wanted to be dead. And not
because of the beatings and the abuse, but because he loved that girl
so much. It was in his eyes when I asked about her. I said, "What do
you remember most? What do you always think about." And it was like
the sun caught on fire all of a sudden; he just looked...at peace. He
found that place, where she still lived, remembering her. He didn't
tell me what it was.

That's enough true stories I'm really burnt right now. I want to
think.

end
rache696@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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