“It’s a smart move,” said Chet. “Do you know how many Filipinos are working in Israel right now? Over thirty thousand.”

“He went to visit the overseas workers?” I produced a wan smile. “How nice of him.”

“Ting, the Jews understand us.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. They’re all over the place and we’re all over the place.”

“You should go into foreign policy,” I said.

“Thank you, Ting. I hear the sarcasm. But remember, you asked me why Gumboc is in Israel. And why did you do that?”

“Because I’m bored.” I said it in a mild way. I realized that I was flirting and saw Chet register this.

The official word on Gumboc’s visit was that the Israeli government was thanking the Philippines for taking in Jewish refugees during World War II. This little-known moment in history was now significant enough to get Gumboc an invitation to inaugurate a Holocaust museum in Jerusalem, despite the fact that Gumboc was on record as having compared himself, with pride, to Hitler, his war on drugs as merciless as the Führer’s own inhuman projects. But Gumboc had recanted, said that he hadn’t really meant it, scratching his head, throwing up his hands: just a guileless joker who occasionally spoke without thinking. Of course there were the usual rumors that Gumboc had been visiting arms factories, which might be passed off as a hobby, but it was hard to watch a man like Gumboc do this without wondering who exactly was destined to be on the receiving end of the weapons. Regardless, the Filipinos had aided the Jews in the Second World War, President Quezon, like Schindler, disguising the rescue as simple recruitment of labor and saving the lives of twelve hundred people. If this reason for a visit to Israel was simply a cover for Gumboc’s actual goals, it functioned well.

I looked over at Chet, who was lost in thought, the act of driving, his brand of meditation. We were now in the heart of Makati, its gleaming glass and skyscrapers, a stretch of city with smooth roads and an even, sunlit glow that evidenced no poverty, a kind of Disneyland where one could pretend that the Philippines was a first-world nation.

“Where are we having lunch?” I asked.

“That’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Yes you do.”

“I do?”

“Yes. If you haven’t had time to analyze and make a decision, you think you’re off the hook. You don’t like to decide things. You like things to happen and then pretend that it had nothing to do with you.”