Wild Song, page 8
He must have sensed our doubts because, after asking about our wellbeing, and whether we had enough food, and if we were keeping the toilet clean, he would try to remind us of the delights that awaited us in Saint Louis.
‘It is no ordinary celebration, it is a World’s Fair!’ he gushed. ‘There will be sights and sounds you’ve never seen before. The best of America will be on display. You will see things you did not even know could be imagined.’
The first time he had told us it was called a World’s Fair, we had looked at him blankly. We knew what ‘World’ meant, but Kinyo struggled to translate ‘Fair’ – ‘A celebration,’ he said, ‘such as the feasts we have after the harvest.’ But Truman Hunt seemed to be describing something bigger.
He said there would be grand buildings and statues and water fountains and people from faraway lands dressed in different costumes. He said there would be demonstrations of new technology such as machines that could send and receive messages through thin air, there would be cars that could fly, and there were even machines that could take pictures of the bones inside your body. There would be giant animals that we’d never seen before. He knew for a fact that there would be a horse that could talk and count.
It sounded incredible, Mother, hard to believe. ‘He’s exaggerating,’ Tilin giggled.
‘I’m not exaggerating,’ Truman Hunt said. ‘You will see for yourself, I promise I will take you around myself! I can’t wait!’
Even so, the hours between Truman Hunt’s visits dragged slowly by and after a while, even his cheerful talks became boring too.
The souls of the dead men were definitely bored too, Mother, because they began to have some fun with us. They tickled our throats with hacking coughs. They made us sneeze and caused our noses to stream. They made our bellies reject our food so that we all had to take turns throwing up into the carriage toilet. The Tinguian did some sort of dance in the narrow aisle to appease them. The Suyoc sang an appeal to the dead. And we Bontok tried pounding our gangsas to beg their forgiveness.
When we finally arrived in Saint Louis many of us were red-eyed and snivelling. Truman Hunt had promised that Saint Louis wouldn’t be as cold as Tacoma, but it was still much chillier than our blankets were made for.
The dead continued to play their teasing games, unbalancing us as we struggled to heave our packs onto our backs, knocking spears and axes out of our hands, tripping us up as we climbed down from the carriage’s high step to the platform.
I saw Truman Hunt talking to a man writing on a small pad.
Tilin and I trudged past with Sidong in tow, sneezing and coughing. The man raised an eyebrow. ‘The Igorots look rather worse for wear. Are they struggling with the climate?’
‘The Northern Pacific Railway kindly took up a collection to provide them with coats,’ Hunt said. ‘But on the way here, they threw all the coats out the window.’ He raised his shoulders and held up his hands. ‘You have to understand, these are wild people, sir. They would rather be naked than warm.’
‘Fascinating,’ the man murmured, scribbling on his pad.
‘Mister Hunt!’ I called. ‘Why you say that?’ My ears were better tuned to American words now. I had understood the whole exchange, Mother. Was Truman Hunt making a joke? Why would he tell the man we’d rather be naked?
But Truman Hunt was lunging to retrieve a small Suyoc boy who was toddling in the wrong direction. He didn’t hear me.
It was such a long queue out of the Saint Louis train station that we couldn’t even see the Visayans who were at the head of the line. There was a cordon of men in blue again, except their uniforms were fancier, with high red collars and bright gold buttons.
Truman Hunt gathered us together. ‘Now listen, everyone,’ Kinyo translated. ‘These men are called the Jefferson Guard. They will be policing the World’s Fair. They are here to protect you. If you are ever in trouble, just look for a Jefferson Guard and he will help you.’
Like Tacoma, there was an excited throng waiting for us. Once again, we found ourselves walking between lines of blue-clad men. After all of Truman Hunt’s briefings, we were so excited to see the fair, I thought we would walk out of the station and instantly find ourselves gawking at all these amazing things.
But no. There were only people, jostling and shouting. ‘There they are! The Igorots!’ ‘Hey, hey, hey!’ ‘Igorot! Igorot!’
Truman Hunt looked at us as if we should be pleased at such an exuberant welcome. ‘Wave!’ Truman Hunt shouted over his shoulder. ‘These people have been waiting for hours to catch a glimpse of you!’
But, Mother, the squirming, reaching mass made me feel exposed. I felt like running away.
The police line shook as the mob pushed against it. A small dog burst out of the crowd and hurried to us, wagging its tail. Sidong bent to pat it.
‘Keep your hands off her!’ someone screamed. A woman crawled under a policeman’s arm and, snatching the dog up, raced back into the crowd as if we’d chased her away.
Sidong looked up at me puzzled. I shrugged. ‘Don’t mind her, everyone looks frantic,’ I murmured, taking her hand.
A man suddenly appeared, reaching for the plug in my earlobe. I slapped his hand away, snapping, ‘Don’t touch me!’ A guardsman grabbed him and dragged him away. ‘Igorot!’ the crowd shouted. ‘Igorot!’
Up ahead, I heard a cry. ‘Here they come!’ Someone tossed something in the air that spattered down on the heads of a group of men, chanting: ‘This is the water of everlasting life!’
‘Ignore them!’ Truman Hunt yelled. As we hurried past, icy droplets of water sprinkled down on us. From behind the police barrier, a woman screamed: ‘EVERLASTING LIFE! EVERLASTING LIFE!’
Someone grabbed my elbow. ‘Leave me alone!’ I snapped.
But it was Sidong. ‘Luki, something is wrong with Tilin!’ she cried.
‘Nothing’s wrong!’ Tilin grunted.
But I could see that Tilin was sweating, even though it was freezing, and we didn’t have coats any more. Her hair was soaked, her blouse was sticking to her back. Her eyes were glazed and the way she put one foot in front of the other, she might as well have been dream-walking. Her upper lip was practically a wound from all her rubbing.
‘You don’t look good,’ I said.
She glared at me with bleary eyes. ‘Nobody could possibly look good after five days in a train.’
Samkad was suddenly next to us. ‘Do you need to sit?’ He put a hand on her forehead. ‘You feel hot.’
‘We can manage,’ I told him. ‘We don’t need your help.’
Tilin shook her head. ‘I can’t sit with a million strangers watching.’
‘Sit,’ I said. ‘Just sit on your heels. We will stand here and shield you from their eyes.’
She shook her head again.
I felt Sidong’s hand tugging. ‘Luki, look, up there!’
I raised my head nervously, fearful that another hand would make a grab for my ears, or somebody would try to throw more water at us.
I saw the sky, as big and blue as it had been over Bontok. And then I saw a wheel. It confused me. How could it be up there against the sky, as if someone had lifted it up and hung it on a hook? It was rotating slowly. And then I saw that there were train carriages, dangling from it at intervals, like fruit. Tiny carriages, Mother, with windows and all. And inside them, figures in the windows, moving. People, Mother, so far away, they looked like insects. It reminded me of how, looking down at the cascade of valleys below Bontok, I had often thought about lowlanders with pity, crawling like ants on their flat lands, unable to see beyond their own noses.
But here, the Americans had simply built themselves a giant wheel. They had created their own advantage. ‘Tilin!’ I cried. ‘Tilin, look!’
But then Sidong began to wail.
And there was Samkad, kneeling.
And there on the ground lay Tilin.
She had landed on her back. That is, she had landed on her pack, which was a great basket, filled with blankets and provisions. Her arms were spread wide, her face was flushed and her eyes were slightly open, as if she was watching us from under her lids.
Mother, for a terrible moment, I thought she was dead. ‘We are healthy and we are going to stay that way,’ she’d said, but now she was dead. Mother, I felt a sudden anguish in my chest, like a monstrous hand had wrapped around me and squeezed. Tears flew out of my eyes. I was shocked by how quickly I began mourning this girl who had unexpectedly become my friend.
Then I saw that her chest was rising and falling rapidly. My anguish gave way to relief.
Someone in the crowd had handed Samkad a bottle of water. For once the crowd was silent, goggling at us with their mouths open. He splashed some on her face and she groaned. In seconds, she was pushing herself up and shaking herself. ‘What happened?’ she asked groggily.
‘Drink, drink,’ Samkad said, putting the bottle into her hands.
She drank.
We helped her to her feet. Tilin scowled at all the gawking faces around us, but it was me she snapped at. ‘What are you staring at?’
And there was nothing to do but continue the journey. The mob on either side resumed their staring and chattering.
‘I am all right, I am all right,’ Tilin kept telling me.
But, though I let her be, I continued to watch her surreptitiously. She looked strange and dazed, her hairband slipping low over her eyes. She didn’t look fine at all.
Samkad, who had been walking just behind us caught up. ‘What about you, Luki? Are you feeling all right?’
‘Leave me alone,’ I said. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’
15
The Reservation
Samkad tied Tilin’s pack to his own and took Sidong firmly by the hand.
Tilin feebly tried to push me off, but she couldn’t manage on her own, and in the end we shuffled the rest of the way, with Tilin leaning heavily on my shoulder, and me whispering encouragements for her to put one foot in front of the other.
So, Mother, on that first day, we didn’t see much of the glorious World’s Fair Truman Hunt had been boasting about for weeks. And anyway, what was there to see, except guardsmen and crowds?
Soon, we arrived at a tall wooden fence. The crowd wailed as the guardsmen stopped them following us through the doorway. Oh, Mother, what a relief, to emerge on the other side to find trees and no crowds! The trees were young, standing in neat, evenly spaced rows, their branches arching over the path – nothing like our vine-tangled forest back home.
The mob’s cries faded as we made our way down the path. Tilin seemed instantly better. Her eyes were brighter and though she walked unsteadily, she seemed much stronger.
A fresh breeze was blowing from a lake, just beyond the trees. Sidong let go of Samkad’s hand and ran to the water. ‘There’s an island!’ she called. ‘Oh, look! I’ve seen that before!’
We joined Sidong on the lake’s sandy bank.
‘What do you see, little one?’ Tilin was saying. And then she gasped.
I was staring at it in disbelief. There was a bridge crossing over to the island. It was a massive bridge, with stone columns rising out of the water supporting stone arches. Iron posts stood at intervals, curving delicately at the top to dangle lamps.
It was the very same bridge that we had fled across in Manila.
And on the other side were the same stone walls and inside it, the very city we had glimpsed from the bridge in Manila. Somehow, the Americans had plucked it from the other side of the ocean, and set it down here, in Saint Louis.
Truman Hunt waved at us to cross the bridge.
It was not the actual bridge, but a copy. And so was the walled city, with its looming black walls, complete with the American flag fluttering on top. A copy of the real one in Manila, without its stinky bog.
‘This is the Philippine Reservation,’ Truman Hunt announced.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had suddenly shaken me awake, because the Philippine Reservation felt like something in a dream. Hadn’t we walked past these same buildings in Manila, bulging with fancy ironwork and sparkling with oyster shell shutters? And look, Mother, carabaos! Groves of bamboo! Banana trees. If it hadn’t been so cold, I would have thought we’d somehow magicked ourselves back.
Then we heard the music – the same music we’d heard when we’d met Johnny. And there, in a field outside this other walled city, was the same round stage with its tiled roof. The men making music were the same Constabulary men. And standing there, waving a baton to the rhythm, was Lieutenant Walter Loving.
As Truman Hunt walked us past, Lieutenant Loving nodded.
‘Can you see Johnny?’ Tilin whispered. I tried to spot him, but we were moving too fast and soon we were in another part of the Reservation, and Truman Hunt was explaining that the different groups would be living in their own villages.
He pointed out a village of small, thatched huts by the lake for the Aeta called the Negrito Village. There was a cluster of large wood and stone houses for the Visayans called the Visayan Village. And behind a bamboo palisade was a village for us called the Igorot Village.
Looking around the Philippine Reservation, I couldn’t believe that President Roosevelt had created this for us. But how could I have imagined that he would deign to share a fire and sip tapuy with us? He was a big man, able to summon the world to his feet, able to order pieces of the Philippine Islands to be recreated in Saint Louis.
It made me feel very, very small.
16
The Igorot Village
The Igorot Village needed more building work before we could move there, Truman Hunt explained. He would take us to see it tomorrow.
For the meantime, we had to sleep in a building called a ‘cuartel’ which reminded me of the Constabulary barracks where Tilin, Sidong and I spent our last night in Manila. It was three storeys high, with large rooms filled with beds. There was a fire outside where we could cook and a building filled with lavatory stalls.
That first night, Tilin didn’t look well at all, pale and squinting from a headache. She couldn’t stop coughing. I was glad to lay her down on a bed and tuck a blanket around her.
‘Is she going to die?’ Sidong whispered as she lay down in bed beside me.
‘Of course not!’ I said cheerfully. ‘Go to sleep now. I’m sure she’ll be fine in the morning.’ But long into the night, I couldn’t sleep, listening to Tilin’s wracking coughs.
In the morning, there was a great cauldron of rice and some cured pork for breakfast. Tilin got up to eat but soon returned to bed, leaving her breakfast uneaten.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ Sidong asked, and Tilin laughed, pulling her little sister on top of her. ‘I’m just tired!’ But it didn’t convince Sidong, who began to whisper into Tilin’s shoulder.
‘What are you doing?’ I called. ‘Truman Hunt is here. We are going to the Igorot Village now.’
‘I’m telling Tilin’s spirit to stay where she is because if she decides to wander, Tilin might die.’
Tilin laughed and kissed Sidong goodbye. When we left she was snoring.
It was not far to the Igorot Village behind its bamboo wall, so closely lashed together it was impossible to peek through to the other side.
Outside the tall entrance gates were little huts where, Truman Hunt said, people would buy tickets to enter the village. He unlatched the gates and pushed them open.
Eheh, Mother, it was not a village at all. It was a mess.
There were piles of lumber, bamboo and rubble everywhere. Several men, Constabulary by the looks of their uniforms, were labouring over the beginnings of huts, some just wooden posts. None of the huts had rooftops. The one building that looked finished was a little jail. It was a small box house with three walls, bars on one side and an iron roof. It was odd to see it. The Americans were always pressing the ancients to build a jail in our village, but the ancients saw no reason for it.
Truman Hunt looked happy though. ‘The World’s Fair does not open for a few weeks yet, and by then we should be done building the village. I had all these materials shipped from the islands,’ he said. ‘These men have made a start, but you will need to finish them. The thatch is arriving tomorrow, and you will have the chance to build the rooftops to your own satisfaction.’
Everyone began talking at once. The Suyoc pointed out that the buildings had the wrong supports and cross beams. The Tinguian complained that the houses should have been built higher above the ground on thicker posts. The Bontok from the lower valley protested that the walls should have been only shoulder high, while the Bontok from the upper valley complained that the walls should have been taller. And what about these carabao skulls tied to a post? At home, each skull would have represented a wedding, a death, or a moment of great import – but none of these could have happened in a place where no one had ever lived.
And then Samkad pointed out that there was no Council House where ancients could build their fire. No boulders arranged in a circle where ancients could sit. He looked scandalized.
Truman Hunt smirked at him. ‘There is no Council House because there are no ancients! No ancients to tell you what to do!’
Personally, I couldn’t understand why everybody was complaining so much. Yes, the houses were not precisely like the ones we had at home, but we were not at home, we were in America! Anyway, we may have started out as different peoples – Bontoks, Tinguian and Suyocs – but we were Igorots now … and this was the Igorot Village. This thing President Roosevelt had created was incredible, we should just be glad to be part of it.
‘Mister Hunt—’ Samkad was trying to be heard above the clamour.
‘There will be plenty of time to finish the houses before the World’s Fair opens to the public,’ Truman Hunt was saying. ‘There is—’
‘MISTER HUNT!’
Truman Hunt sighed, folded his arms across his chest and glared at Samkad. ‘What?’
