Zackito threw his hand down, chatting with the other men, who laughed among themselves and then patiently, reluctantly, began to pack up their cards. No doubt there would soon be another game for them. Top Gun was now handing out bottles of whiskey and cigarettes. Inchoy had started shaking again, crying, but trying to hide it. My group had abandoned the rosary as the ensaymada from Aristocrat was now being distributed. The children were opening the rolls wrapped in crinkly paper. I started crying then, big fat tears that I knew were leaving trails of mascara down my face. I couldn’t make myself wipe them away or pat beneath my eyes with the back of my hand, which is what crying women did.

“Ting,” said Chet. “Ting, later.”

“I can’t—”

“What?”

“It’s just that Bibo—” I paused. “It’s just that Bibo was so happy.”

Part II

II

I

I

The call demanding ransom came four days after Bibo’s funeral. Abu Sayyaf wanted 30 million pesos and they wanted it in two weeks or Laird would be executed. Laird’s parents, Richard and Crystal, had arrived in Manila along with my tita Remi’s granddaughter, the girl Laird was marrying. I didn’t want to meet the parents. I reminded myself that I was in no way responsible for Laird, that I hardly knew him. But this in itself produced an element of shame. He had admired my writing and I should at least have appreciated that. He had been serious in his desire to improve things, although the particulars of this desire remained unknown. I had been successful in protecting myself from him and now he was just a mystery sealed in silence.

José Martin had also been caught by surprise by the abduction. He thought that Laird didn’t fit the profile. Abu Sayyaf kidnapped a lot of people and at the current moment were thought to have twenty hostages, but the ones who made the headlines were the white guys: the two Canadians, John Ridsdel and Robert Hall, who had their boats moored at a resort, easy prey with access to dollars. The Canadian government did not do business with terrorists and first Robert Hall had been executed, the matter of his final moments unflinchingly recorded. Ridsdel’s family had desperately attempted to collect the funds for his release, but while they were still counting the dollars as they trickled in, he too had been killed. I remember following the story, after watching the fate of Jürgen Kantner, the German who had been snatched from his boat, his wife shot as he looked on. These three had all been beheaded. John Ridsdel’s head had been left on the streets of Jolo township in a plastic bag. Townsfolk had seen two men on a motorcycle deposit the bag and then track quickly out of town. Then they were absorbed back into the jungle, improbably disappearing without a trace.