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Authors: Alan McDermott
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the first time I
stripped down to my bra and panties. I haven't taken these off since,”
she said, fingering the ragged material of the khaki blouse. “Apparently
it makes the Muslim men uncomfortable or something.”
“What's your story, Sam Grant?” asked
Moore.
Before he could answer, Ox came and
stood in front of him and rattled off some Tagalog that Grant barely
understood, although he did catch the word “ Sapatos ”
— shoes. Feigning ignorance, Grant simply shrugged but it wasn't enough
to deter Ox, who grabbed one of his feet and hoisted it into the air.
“Akin 'to,” Ox said. These are
mine.
Rather than get into a confrontation
Grant slipped off his sneakers and handed them over. Ox snatched them and
walked off to try them on, leaving Grant with not so much as a ‘Salamat’.
“You’ll get used to that,” Halton
said. “What’s yours is theirs, period. You’ll be lucky to hold on
to that T-shirt for much longer.”
Sure enough, Ox was back moments
later. He whipped off his grimy sando and threw it at Grant, holding out
his hand for the Lacoste T-shirt in exchange. Again, Grant handed it over
without complaint and Ox trotted away to show off his new attire. Grant
considered ditching the stinking rag but knew he would be grateful for it when
the mosquitoes got into full attack mode. He did, however, start to
imagine the things he would do to Ox should the chance present itself.
“So?” Vick asked.
“So what?” Grant replied, confused.
“What’s your story?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. My mind was
elsewhere.” He told them about the death of Alma’s brother and his
abduction from the hotel, and when asked for his reason for being in Manila he
gave them the same story he’d told his girlfriend when they had met.
Throughout the monologue he was acutely aware of Vick staring at him, a look of
fierce concentration on her face. When he finished he stared back at her
and she blushed when she realised what she had been doing.
“I’m sorry, but you just look so
familiar,” she explained.
“There’s an exhibit in the British
Museum called Neanderthal Man. Maybe you saw me there.”
She shrugged off his weak joke and the
look of concentration returned, and Grant was thankful when their dinner was served:
a pile of rice on a large leaf. Everyone tucked in, grabbing handfuls of the
bland food and shoving it in their mouths as fast as they could manage.
It was a free-for-all, with plenty of shoving and pushing, and the leaf was
picked clean within a couple of minutes. Grant had managed to get one
decent handful and could have easily outmuscled the others to get more, but
their condition was much worse than his and he figured they needed the
nutrition more. If he was going to be here any length of time he would
have taken all he could, but he was determined not to be in it for the long
haul: Either Farrar would come up with the money, or he’d fight his way
out.
Halton suddenly reached down to his
ankle and began undoing the twine.
“What are you doing?” Grant asked,
worried that his companion was about to do something stupid.
Halton shouted “Ebbs ako,” and the
nearest guard looked at him and nodded his head.
“I’m going to park my breakfast,” he
told Grant, and wandered away from the group grabbing a couple of large leaves
on the way.
“They just let you wander off on your
own?” Grant asked, clearly surprised. “Aren’t they worried that you’ll
run off?”
“You have to stay in view,” Vick
explained. “If you disappear into the jungle they’ll come after you with
their bolos. You don’t want that to happen, trust me.”
Grant assured her he would do no such
thing. “You’ve heard my story. What about you?” he asked.
“I’m a travel writer,” she said.
“I was doing a story about Apulit Island in Palawan and was enjoying an evening
on Rob’s boat. He has a charter company on the island and a few of
stripped down to my bra and panties. I haven't taken these off since,”
she said, fingering the ragged material of the khaki blouse. “Apparently
it makes the Muslim men uncomfortable or something.”
“What's your story, Sam Grant?” asked
Moore.
Before he could answer, Ox came and
stood in front of him and rattled off some Tagalog that Grant barely
understood, although he did catch the word “ Sapatos ”
— shoes. Feigning ignorance, Grant simply shrugged but it wasn't enough
to deter Ox, who grabbed one of his feet and hoisted it into the air.
“Akin 'to,” Ox said. These are
mine.
Rather than get into a confrontation
Grant slipped off his sneakers and handed them over. Ox snatched them and
walked off to try them on, leaving Grant with not so much as a ‘Salamat’.
“You’ll get used to that,” Halton
said. “What’s yours is theirs, period. You’ll be lucky to hold on
to that T-shirt for much longer.”
Sure enough, Ox was back moments
later. He whipped off his grimy sando and threw it at Grant, holding out
his hand for the Lacoste T-shirt in exchange. Again, Grant handed it over
without complaint and Ox trotted away to show off his new attire. Grant
considered ditching the stinking rag but knew he would be grateful for it when
the mosquitoes got into full attack mode. He did, however, start to
imagine the things he would do to Ox should the chance present itself.
“So?” Vick asked.
“So what?” Grant replied, confused.
“What’s your story?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. My mind was
elsewhere.” He told them about the death of Alma’s brother and his
abduction from the hotel, and when asked for his reason for being in Manila he
gave them the same story he’d told his girlfriend when they had met.
Throughout the monologue he was acutely aware of Vick staring at him, a look of
fierce concentration on her face. When he finished he stared back at her
and she blushed when she realised what she had been doing.
“I’m sorry, but you just look so
familiar,” she explained.
“There’s an exhibit in the British
Museum called Neanderthal Man. Maybe you saw me there.”
She shrugged off his weak joke and the
look of concentration returned, and Grant was thankful when their dinner was served:
a pile of rice on a large leaf. Everyone tucked in, grabbing handfuls of the
bland food and shoving it in their mouths as fast as they could manage.
It was a free-for-all, with plenty of shoving and pushing, and the leaf was
picked clean within a couple of minutes. Grant had managed to get one
decent handful and could have easily outmuscled the others to get more, but
their condition was much worse than his and he figured they needed the
nutrition more. If he was going to be here any length of time he would
have taken all he could, but he was determined not to be in it for the long
haul: Either Farrar would come up with the money, or he’d fight his way
out.
Halton suddenly reached down to his
ankle and began undoing the twine.
“What are you doing?” Grant asked,
worried that his companion was about to do something stupid.
Halton shouted “Ebbs ako,” and the
nearest guard looked at him and nodded his head.
“I’m going to park my breakfast,” he
told Grant, and wandered away from the group grabbing a couple of large leaves
on the way.
“They just let you wander off on your
own?” Grant asked, clearly surprised. “Aren’t they worried that you’ll
run off?”
“You have to stay in view,” Vick
explained. “If you disappear into the jungle they’ll come after you with
their bolos. You don’t want that to happen, trust me.”
Grant assured her he would do no such
thing. “You’ve heard my story. What about you?” he asked.
“I’m a travel writer,” she said.
“I was doing a story about Apulit Island in Palawan and was enjoying an evening
on Rob’s boat. He has a charter company on the island and a few of
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