BOOKSHOP CECILIA MANGUERRA BRAINARD: PHILIPPINE AMERICAN WRITER CALIFORNIA CEBU
EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL MAGDALENA BY CECILIA MANGUERRA BRAINARD
WINNING
HEARTS AND MINDS
(1967)
During a visit to Nakhon Panom Air Base in
He said this matter-of-factly.
This was his second war, and he had learned to look at war in terms of
winnings and losses, as if it were a giant chess game with pawns and horses
sacrificed for the more important chess pieces.
His men, however, were young; and they assumed a somber tone.
“I knew Ron,” someone said, “he’s got a wife and
two kids.”
Another spoke: “Once I went with Ron to
Thinking to console them, the colonel added, “His commanding officer
recommended he be listed as MIA (missing in action) instead of KIA-NBR (killed
in action, no body recovered) so his widow will continue collecting 20 grand
a year. If he’s KIA-NBR, she’ll
get a lump-sum settlement and less than half the continued compensation.”
The airmen proceeded to talk about their preferred listing if something
did happen to them in
*
The owner of the bar was an expatriate German named Karl, a loud, effusive
man, whose life centered on his bar. “We
have some new girls,” Karl said with a thick German accent.
He gestured toward the stage in the center of the bar where half a dozen
Go-Go girls were dancing. “Some
clubs have goldfish, I have beautiful girls.”
He sat beside the Colonel and ordered a bottle of Scotch for the Americans.
“Look at that. Just
look at that, their bikinis are no larger than postage stamps,” he said
with a wink.
The airmen laughed and hooted.
The colonel relaxed, glad that the fiery memory of O’Connor was
receding from his men’s minds.
“They come to me, begging for work,” Karl continued.
“I take good care of them.
Why some of them have married my clients!
Last month, a dancer stopped by with her New Yorker husband -- and a
three-carat diamond ring. Not too
bad for someone from a barrio. I
am the one who picks them, each and everyone of them.
I go to small barrios; I pick the prettiest.
Sometimes I pick some ugly ones, like that one over there who looks like
King Kong. Believe it or not, some
men like ugly girls. But this girl
with the ring, she was beautiful. And
obedient. What else can a man want?
Her husband must be very happy.”
He slapped his thigh and guffawed.
The colonel glanced at the smiling dancers who were furiously gyrating;
and for some reason, he remembered his wife, two children, and their Golden
Retriever back in
“So, Colonel, how is your war coming along?
News is always about
Before the colonel could answer, the German left.
The colonel was relieved. The
German’s accent grated on his nerves.
The whiskey loosened the knots in his shoulders.
He closed his eyes and pictured the airy houses in
A girl spoke, startling him. “Maybe
you find it one day.”
He raised an eyebrow at the girl who had sat beside him.
“What you are looking for,” she continued.
“A while ago, you said, ‘I need to find them.’”
Embarrassed that he had voiced his foolish thoughts, he said, “It
was nothing.”
“Do you want more Scotch?
Sir says to take care of you.”
She pointed at the German who was now at the other end of the room.
“I’m sorry. I
have to leave.”
“If you go, he’ll
think I’m no good. He’s
watching me because I’m new here.
I’m a singer. I started
work last Wednesday. Were you here
last week?” she asked.
The colonel shook his head. “No,
I was in Pleiku.”
“What’s ‘Pleiku’?
A beach or something?”
“No, not a beach.”
“Here in
“In
“Ah, yes,
“It’s a place in
“You have to be happy like others.
Sir likes everyone happy. Want
to dance?” She gestured toward
the pulsating dance floor.
The colonel shook his head.
She hesitated, but said: “Maybe you want a good time?
Bar-fee is twenty dollars, but the boss says to go with you, no problem.
He wants you to have a good time.
He likes Americans here. Lots
of dollars. I can give you a good
time. Two hours, three hours, even
four, forget the sad times; be happy.
But not all night. I go
home before morning.”
She was wearing tight black pants and a sparkly red top.
Although her lips were bright red, her face looked young, like a fourteen-year
old playing grownup. Her hand was
resting hear his, and her skin looked soft.
For a moment, the colonel imagined the feel of human skin against his,
and how comforting that would be; and he was tempted.
No one would care; and his wife wouldn’t know.
He could take her to the hotel down the street; they could be together
for a couple of hours. He would
feel her body, taste her lips, find release; he would forget O’Connor,
Pleiku, the war. One hundred twenty-minutes,
that was all; and there the matter would end.
But quickly lust gave way to anger at his weakness; and later, anger
at the corruptness in Asia, how women like their politicians sold themselves,
just like that. Here there was
a price for everything. And here,
in this far-off, God-forsaken place, men like O’Connor were dying.
What for? What were they
sacrificing their lives for? If
he died, would he have died for his country, or for Asia?
And what in hell were they doing in Asia in the first place, a place
he didn’t even like, peopled by people he couldn’t even understand;
peopled by people who didn’t even like Americans?
What was it all about? Americans
would bleed to death as the French had in Dien Bien Phu until it fell in 1954.
That was the fate of Americans in Vietnam.
This war was a waste of time, a waste of money, a waste of American lives.
He got up, ramrod, and headed for the door.
Unfazed, the girl shouted after him, “I’ll tell Sir you have
a wife back home.”
*
Saturday, the colonel did a double-take when Captain Nathan Spencer reminded
him what his afternoon schedule was.
“A child care what?” the colonel shouted.
“Its inauguration, Sir. A
child care center, in Ubec. You’d
okayed giving them old medical and dental equipment, Colonel, and the women
had invited you to give a talk. You
said yes.”
“I don’t care about the equipment; they’ve had it.
But what is this about a talk?
I’m here to fight a war, not to give goddamn lectures.”
“You accepted their invitation, Colonel, Sir. You agreed it may
be a good way to win the hearts and minds of the people.
I understand the center is for children of prostitutes, Colonel, and
apparently a lot of the kids are half-Americans. The women organizing the event
wanted to make sure you’re aware the archbishop and mayor will be speaking
along with you, Colonel.”
“The church and state will be there, so by gum, the US government
must be represented.”
“Something like that, Colonel.”
“Well, then, you come
along, Captain.”
Before serving in Asia, Colonel Adams had been part of the mission at
the North American Air Defense Command in Colorado and he had taught part-time
at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs where he had met Captain Nathan
Spencer and struck a friendship with him.
He liked the young man and gave him what he considered fatherly advice.
On the way to the city, the captain said, “I can’t help wondering,
Colonel, about the poverty here. I
understand there are a lot of resources, gold, silver, copper; the land is rich.
I’ve flown over acres and acres of green rice paddies; clearly the
land is fertile. Yet I’ve
heard babies die from disease and hunger.
It’s fascinating, Colonel, the contrast between the beauty and poverty
here. I can’t figure it out.”
“Corruption, Spencer. There’s
corruption on every level of society.
You can’t get anything done without paying someone.
We’re doing our best for them, trying to establish a democracy in
these countries, but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”
“And there’s the question of democracy, Colonel.
I’ve read the Vietnamese government is repressive.
And we’re supporting them, Sir.
I should be simply doing my job, I know that Colonel; but I saw that
picture in Time, a Vietnamese village, Sir, in flames, with a child bleeding,
and other people around. And Colonel,
well, when we’re up in the air, we don’t see the faces of these people.
The navigator locates the target; the bombardier pushes the button; and
we return to the base. I guess
what I’m saying Colonel, was that it felt strange to see that picture,
to realize we were responsible for all that.”
“Let me give you sound advice, Captain.
Don’t do drugs; avoid the women; do your job in the best way you
can, and you’ll get out of here alive.”
It had sounded so simple; surely Ron O’Connor had followed that
advice, but Ron was dead. The colonel
wondered what else was needed to survive this war.
*
Erlinda Sabados and Josie Martinez, president and vice-president respectively
of the Catholic Women of the Virgin Mary Most Pure, greeted the men.
"Colonel Adams, Captain Spencer," Erlinda began in a sing-song
voice, "how nice of you to join us.
We are happy, so very happy that you are here with us."
She was a large woman, a spinster, in her mid-fifties.
"So happy, Colonel," said Josie who was a younger, smaller
version of Erlinda (Erlinda's shadow, Ubecans called her).
"You have fifteen minutes, Colonel.
You come after Archbishop Montalban and the mayor.
You're with two very important figures in Ubec, so you see Colonel, how
much we consider American support an honor."
Erlinda stood on tiptoe and draped a sampaguita lei over Colonel Adam's
neck and another over Captain Spencer's neck.
"An honor," Josie echoed.
"Some GROs will be present Colonel.
The women. The mothers
of the unfortunate children. Out
of delicadeza, we call them GROs,” Erlinda whispered.
"Guest Relation Officers," explained Josie.
"Even before Kaugma-an was finished, twenty children signed up,
Colonel. Somehow, the GROs heard
about the center and begged that we take their children in.
Because they are out all night, they sleep in the daytime, leaving the
children totally unattended. No
Catholic training whatsoever, none. Those
poor children grow up like heathens. A
place like this is a haven to them. The
GROs have been particularly busy, Colonel, as you know.
Since you Americans expanded your base, there are quite a lot of soldiers
around our city.
“I’ll be frank, Colonel, when I first introduced the idea of
a child care center, there was great resistance from members.
They accused me of avoiding the real issue, prostitution.
They insisted prostitution is immoral, corrupt, not to mention unhealthy;
and that prostitution needs to be stopped once and for all.
I agreed with them; but the question was how to stop prostitution.
How do you stop the oldest profession?
Do you have the answer, Colonel?
I didn’t. We thought
that since GROs were in the business for money, we could start a training center
to teach them some other trade - sewing perhaps, or cooking, or some other small
cottage industry. The idea was
shot down by a GRO herself who said it would take a week of stitching rag-dolls
to earn what she made in one night as a prostitute.
And of course your Base, these Americans on R&R with their dollars
to spend - well, it was an issue of economics, pure and simple, and eventually
the others supported my proposed child care center project, hoping to save these
children since we can do nothing more for the mothers.”
This was a matter that the colonel had never even remotely considered,
and he became curious. He asked
if the center’s name, Kaugma-an, meant anything; and he nodded approvingly
when Erlinda said it meant tomorrow. He
observed the three rooms that served as classrooms, the kitchen, the nursery,
and the clinic with the American equipment.
He was glad that he had had the wisdom to give them the old equipment.
The women led them to some chairs near the podium in one of the larger
classrooms, and they left to test the mike and gather everyone for the program.
The mayor and archbishop, who were already seated, were discussing the
Catholic Women.
“These women are the backbone of Ubec society,” the archbishop
expounded. “Good and pure.
They do not let their wealth get in their way.
They see everything in clear perspective.
They fixed up the old Spanish fort; now they are taking care of these
unfortunate children. They use
their own money; they beg, they borrow, they virtually steal, to get these worthy
projects done. But they get them
done. God bless them.”
The mayor spoke: “Monsignor, let’s not forget the city donated
the building. It’s old, that’s
true, but it’s rent-free. And
of course Monsignor, our good American friends here have donated medical and
dental equipment. You cannot imagine,
Colonel, how very much appreciated these things are.
The doctors, all volunteers by the way, had nothing more than stethoscopes
- I exaggerate - but seriously, they had little else.
But now, they have these fancy American equipment, why these are better
than the equipment at Ubec General Hospital.”
The colonel felt embarrassed; he had simply been junking the equipment.
Helping these children, these people, had been the last thing in his
mind.
Erlinda and Josie returned with soft drinks and plates of food, which
they set in a low table in front of the men, and then Erlinda started the program.
She spoke for a long time, and the solitary electric fan could not dispel
the heat that sprang from the cement floor.
The colonel took his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
He glanced at his watch, and noted that it was already mid-afternoon.
Tomorrow, he had to fly to Vietnam for a meeting with General Westmoreland.
The program plodded along.
Erlinda introduced another member of the Catholic Women, who in turn
introduced a priest, who in turn introduced Archbishop Montalban.
The archbishop congratulated the Catholic Women on the completion of
the child care center; he praised their vision in responding to "what was
happening in Ubec in the face of the expansion of the nearby military facility."
He touched, very delicately, on the unfortunate reality that GROs could
not afford to acquire respectable jobs; and he talked at great length about
the children of these women, the innocent children, who fortunately would be
in a proper Catholic environment within this child care center.
Erlinda returned to introduce the mayor who kicked off his talk by reading
an excerpt from "The Hound of Heaven."
Nobody got the connection between the poem and the center, but the mayor
was an eloquent orator, and he segued nicely into a detailed account of how
the Catholic Women had asked him for the city's support, how delighted he had
been that he could provide assistance, and he assured everyone he would continue
to help them as long as he remained in office.
It was the colonel’s turn.
Erlinda introduced him. Colonel
Adams had planned on speaking for no more than five minutes.
He surprised himself when words flowed.
He sidestepped the issue of prostitution and the question of the children’s
paternity and started to talk about how pleased the American people were to
provide assistance to Filipinos and other Asians.
He found himself elaborating on how Americans wanted nothing better than
to win the hearts and minds of the people.
When he sat down, he thought he had sounded more like a USAID officer
than an Air Force Colonel.
There were more speeches from various officers of the Catholic Women,
from the doctors who volunteered at the clinic, from the woman who made lunch
and snacks, from the restaurateur who donated food, and then, to the colonel’s
great surprise, a familiar-looking woman took the mike.
It was the singer at St. Moritz Bar.
The memory flustered him. He
hoped she would not recognize him.
Her eyes paused ever slightly at the Colonel, but her face showed no
sign of recognition. “Good
afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I
am a singer,” she began, “I sing at night, at St. Moritz.
Some people say it is a bad place, but they pay and I am able to buy
food and clothes for my child. I
have a little boy. At night he
is with my mother, but in the daytime, he comes here.
He can now make the sign of the Cross; and he can say ‘Jesus.’
One day he will have a better life than me; and it will be because of
you. Kaugma-an -- Tomorrow -- he
will do better than me. Thank you.
Now I will sing.”
She sang a plaintive rendition of "We
Shall Overcome" followed by a rowdier "Boots Were Made for
Walking." A ripple of tension
swept through the audience when the singer marched provocatively around the
room, but vanished when the archbishop himself cocked his head to one side,
and started snapping his fingers in time to the music.
Later, the singer brought the children to the middle of the room. The
older children giggled and pushed one another.
The younger children clung to the woman’s legs.
The colonel wondered which one was her son.
When they were in position, the woman whispered something to the children
that made them smile and relax. Eyes
riveted on them, she lifted a finger and led the children to sing a playful
Ubecan song about a local fisherman, Filemon, catching a tambasakan fish.
After, they sang a couple of medleys that involved audience participation.
There was a final dance number by the younger members of the Catholic
Women who did a bamboo dance. Clad
in colorful native costume, they hopped and glided over bamboo poles that were
rhythmically banged together; and finally the program ended.
Colonel Adams and Captain Spencer got up and said goodbye to the mayor
and the archbishop, who suddenly exclaimed to people’s bewilderment, “Yes,
Sinatra! The daughter sang the
song!”
Erlinda and Josie escorted them to the main door.
There, waiting by the side was the singer, with a little boy in her arms.
“Sir,” she called, addressing the colonel, to the surprise
of everyone. They paused.
“This is my boy,” she continued.
The colonel looked at the child.
“I come home to him every night, after work.
Every night,” the singer said.
“He’s a nice-looking boy.”
“Do you think so? Sometimes
he is naughty.”
“A strong will, that is all.
He has strong jaws. A strong
will is good.”
“I want him to do better than me.”
“I believe he will. He’ll
do all right.”
The singer beamed. “Thank
you, Sir. Goodbye.”
The colonel nodded and he and the captain continued to the doorway.
They said goodbye to Erlinda and Josie who appeared puzzled at the exchange.
When they were in their
car, the captain said, “That was a good speech, Colonel.”
“I overdid it, Captain. I’m
a soldier, not anything else.”
“Oh, no, Colonel, I believe your speech won their hearts and minds.”
The colonel looked out the window and saw shanties along the road and
piles of garbage. Young children,
no older than the bigger children at the child care center, were rummaging through
the garbage. Sticks in their
hands, they poked through incredible filth to find empty bottles and newspapers,
little treasures which they could later sell.
He must have seen them before; but this was the first time the colonel
noticed these children. How peculiar
Asia was, he thought, with all its different facets.
He paused and said, “And I’m afraid, Captain, they have won
ours.”
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