Out in Manila Bay

The early morning sun is shining across Manila Bay revealing much of the cobbled streets and vehicles going up and down Roxas boulevard. The windows of the hotels reflecting the sunlight back to the sea where street children, not heeding the “no swimming sign” on the sidewalk are jumping in and out of the surf. The water is pretty deep even by the shoreline and they are having the time of their lives doing flips from the rocks. Little do they know that if they slipped, it would be the end for them. That’s the trouble with signs sometimes. Almost every time something is prohibited, some people just do the opposite. The parents of those street children would probably cry their eyes out if one of them slipped to their deaths either by hitting their heads on the rocks or drowning because of an undertow. 

Never mind that the water is mildly polluted judging from the amount of plastic debris being washed up on the shore and near the breakwater. Some people just take the simplest pleasures of life and make it their own. Indeed, the simplest pleasures seem to invigorate certain individuals and they would seem to be at their happiest whether it’s taking a dip in the ocean or just breaking the law entirely.

That may be the case for Dante Lozado as he is lounging on the deck of his 50 foot yacht just 3 miles out in the open sea far from the stares of street children and the early morning risers who jog along the sidewalk. He is sipping on coffee so expensive, it would feed a homeless family for a month. Wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses, he is staring into the horizon and ignoring the two women fast asleep on either side of him. He takes a deep sigh and mutters to himself “I feel him”. He stands up leaving the two women on the deck and after putting on a white robe, he enters the boat and makes his way to his cabin. He takes a cold shower and ponders over the events that took place the last few days. He is tired and the interrogation of the witch only raised more questions to be answered. Try as he might, he could not get over the fact that Nolan still lived. He had been in a mood since then and took to drinking once more along with the company of women. 

As he is drying himself, a buzz on the intercom interrupts his thoughts. “Good morning sir” the voice of his butler Sebastian comes on. “There is an urgent message for you.” “What is it?” Dante replies. “I have yet to find out sir. A Mr. Paulino is arriving shortly by speedboat to give it to you himself.” “Thank you Sebastian. I’ll be out in five minutes.” Paulino? Dante is unfamiliar with the name. Who would deliver him a message by person when he or she ciuld have just called? 

In the middle of putting on his pants and loafers, Dante hears the unmistakable sound of a speedboat coming closer. He looks in the mirror just behind the shower door and examines his reflection. He sees what he expects to see. Solitude and sorrow in those dark green eyes of his. “Never mind” he says to himself and climbs up to the deck to meet his visitor.

Mr. Paulino appears to be a man in his late forties with a greying beard and a clean shaven head. His prodigious belly stands out as his thin and spindly legs clearly visible as he is only wearing shorts speaks to the fact that he is not overweight because of food intake but most likely because of the over consumption of alcohol as most people in this city are prone to do. He is wearing purple slippers and a pink shirt one size too small which only makes his belly stand out even more. He walks over to Dante and holds out his hand. In it was an envelope. “Mr. Zulueta asked me to give this to you.” He says.

Dante takes the envelope and turns it over. It’s sealed with wax and the image of the seal causes one of his eyelids to rise as if in contemplation and annoyance. The Zulueta family seal. Three stars hovering over an eagle. He breaks the seal and takes out a small hand written note on a piece of paper from a stationery out of the Hotel De Marques, a five story luxury institution in the heart of Manila. He takes one glance at the message and turns to Mr. Paulino looking at him intently in both eyes. “When did he give this to you to send to me?” Dante asks Mr. Paulino. “Three days ago sir. But he left me with instructions to give it to you today and not before.”

Immediately, Dante turns around and addresses Sebastian who was standing behind him. “Tell the captain to set sail for Batanes at once. I don’t care what it takes, we’re leaving now.” “As you wish sir.” The butler politely bows. “Wake up the girls and have them leave in the speedboat with him as well.” “Very good sir”. With that, Dante walks back into the yacht and his cabin. He stares at his bed, covered in silk sheets and neatly made by the help. He closes his eyes and reaches for a button hidden just underneath the set table by the door. The wall on top of the bed’s headboard opens up and an array of blades and edged weapons soar into view. He stares at the one in the center. A kukri made by his grandfather. Though old, it is still as sharp and deadly as when it was first quenched in oil and blood. His blood. The blood of the his family which could be traced to times even before the Spanish Conquistadors arrived and claimed the soil of this land. He stares at the weapon and then down at the note still clutched in his hand. Only two words are written on it. “He’s home.”