“What are they saying?” I asked.
Ligaya listened carefully. “Have you ever seen a dead man? Have you ever seen a dead man? That’s what they’re saying. Can’t you hear it?”
I couldn’t understand insects, not like Ligaya, who came from the island of Samar, where all witches come from. I looked nervously into the garden.
“Where are you going, Angela? I have a riddle, one that you will like.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“He sought a feast and found a bed,” she said. “What does it mean?” I was about to step back but she grabbed my arm. Her eyes lit up. “You’ll figure it out, smart thing like you.” She let me go. As I ran down the driveway toward the gate, her laughter followed me and I could feel her eyes on my back.
The guardhouse, a small cottage built into the wall by the gate, stood between me and the street beyond. From the other side of the wall, I could hear a junk peddler calling out, “Dyaryo, bote,” again and then again. I was out of breath. Ligaya’s handprint, wet on my arm, was disappearing in the heat. Inside the guardhouse, there was snoring, heavy snoring, and the sound of paper rustling gently. I moved to where I could see through the window. Babylon was asleep. There was a half-full bottle of Tanduay rum beside the chair, next to where his right hand hung down, ready to grasp it when he woke up. His shirt was open and his fat belly hung over his belt. On his lap was a comic book, which was disturbed with every intake of breath. I watched silently. On the floor beside his left hand, I saw the gun.
“Wake up,” I said. “Wake up!”
Babylon shook his head and blinked at me.
“Why are you here?” I said. “I thought my aunt gave you the day off.”
“Where should I be?” he answered. “This is what I like to do.”
“You should be watching a movie. Every time we give our guard a day off, he goes and watches a movie.”
“And what kind of movie does he go see? Action? People shooting each other, boom boom? I don’t need that. Go away. Let me sleep.”
“I hear you shot someone.”
“Your aunt told you that? Yeah, I shot someone last night.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you kill him?”
“I don’t know. Who are you anyway, the police? Maybe I’ll shoot you. Go away and let me sleep.”
“You’re drunk,” I said.
“So what? I wouldn’t shoot you if I was sober.”
We looked at each other as I pondered this and came to believe him. He was better left alone and wasn’t going to tell me anything anyway.
I wandered along the side of the house and into the back garden. My aunt kept a huge pig there, beside the maids’ quarters. I approached the pen nervously and then stood up on the railing watching it, not minding the smell. The pig was grunting cheerfully, probably hoping that I had brought some treat from the house. It had stiff white hairs on it and little black eyes that seemed to catch everything. I saw Bebeng walk out of the maids’ quarters.
“Ah, Angela,” she said, “look at this pig, munching away. On your Tita Elena’s birthday we will eat him.” She looked across the pigpen to the far end of the yard.
“He looks so happy,” I said. “Why do we have to kill him?”
“Because that’s what we do. Have you ever heard a pig being killed?”
I shook my head.
Bebeng took some rotted greens from a basin by the outside sink and tossed them to the pig. We watched him eat. “Pigs scream. They don’t howl like other animals. They cry out, like a man, a man being killed.”
I stepped off the railing, suddenly afraid of Bebeng, who had always seemed so kind to me.
“We kill a pig by piercing its neck with a bamboo stick. While he’s still alive, we bleed him into a bowl. He screams until he’s dead, until we bleed the life out of him. Everything is used. Every last drop of blood has a purpose. Don’t feel sorry for that pig. Feel sorry for men, who shed blood so uselessly.”
“What men?”
“What?” She hadn’t heard me.
“What men bleed?” I asked again.
“What men bleed, what men don’t — that’s not important. But any blood shed by any man is useless.”
Bebeng stood gazing at the pig with a sad smile on her face. She was still there when I walked away.
Past the pigpen, past the maids’ quarters, past the shed where the gardeners kept the lawn shears and the buckets for watering the shrubs, was the garage. My aunt kept her three cars there: the Mitsubishi, which she used, the Mercedes that had been Uncle Chuck’s and that she couldn’t bear to part with but didn’t drive, and my cousin’s white BMW that had replaced the black BMW after he drove it into a tree. I didn’t usually go near the garage. My mother didn’t want me hanging around the drivers, but I could hear their laughter. I glanced back at the house. No one was watching, no one that I could see. I tied my shoelace, which had come undone, and went to explore. Manong Cisco, who worked for Tita Elena and lived here, was fiddling with his radio. Manong Pepe, who drove Tita Baby, and Benny, our new driver, were bouncing peso coins off of each other, placing bets, cursing and yelling. Manong Cisco joined in, but he was quiet, and every now and then he would look over at Tita Elena’s house as if he thought Benny and Manong Pepe might be too loud. I didn’t know why Manong Pepe was always here. Tita Baby only lived one block over and it didn’t seem far enough to drive. I watched from behind Tita Baby’s Land Rover for a short time before the drivers noticed me.
“Angela!” exclaimed Benny. “Come join with us. You look like you could use some fun.”
“I don’t know how to play.”
“We’ll teach you,” he said.
“I have nothing to bet.”
Manong Pepe laughed hard at this, tearing up, but I did not even smile. Manong Cisco watched me nervously.
“The little señorita has nothing to bet,” said Manong Pepe.
“How sad,” said Benny. “Do you know what happens to people that have nothing?” He smiled at Manong Pepe, who was patting his bald head with a handkerchief. “Hey, Angela, if you’re so smart, answer that. What happens when people have nothing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” said Manong Pepe.
Benny quieted him with a raised hand. “Angela, think hard. People want things that they don’t have.” He sat back on his heels, squinting against the sun. “You want to play with us, but you have no peso coin. Take his.” Benny looked over at Manong Cisco. “Go on. Take your Manong Cisco’s. He’s not going to say anything.”
Manong Pepe laughed again, but I stayed still.
“Yeah, you are smart,” said Benny. “I guess you know what happens to people who try to take things around here. Tell her, Cisco. Tell her what happens to them.”
“I don’t know, pare,” said Manong Cisco. “What are you talking about? You’re gonna scare the kid.”
“Not this one,” said Benny. He smiled at me as if we shared a secret. “Did you ever want to learn to fly, Angela?”
“Be the shortest flight ever,” said Manong Pepe. “You’re gonna fly straight down.”
Benny laughed loudly with him but then grew quiet. “You know what I’m talking about. I know you do, because you’re so smart. I’ve seen you watching people. And I’ve been watching you, Señorita Angelita. You hear everything, and you remember, so what do you think happened to that idiot son of a puta that tried to break into your tita’s house?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I asked Babylon. He doesn’t know either.”