The San Isidro Mysteries 02: The Chinaman in the Well

A great many thanks to chasten, NOG77 and pickfiction. ⁷Without your help, I would never have finished this tale.

Thank you to the Avengers Assembly who are my idols.

This is a sequel to "Maria del Sueño." It also occurs in the town of San Isidro, Luzon, during the latter part of the 19th century. Capitan Andres Gonzales must again solve a mystery while falling in love, and to top it all, he must also contend with the seeds of revolution which have been sown in the town and are steadily growing.

All the characters in this story are 18 years of age and above.

For Jason and William and Heiser.

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The two men waited outside San Isidro. They had been camped on the hilltop near the huge rice field since noon, but now it was long past sunset; the instructions they received were very clear: if they wanted to be paid, they had to wait; unfortunately, there was never any mention of how long they were to wait.

Maximo, the younger of the two, stood up and, for the fourth time that night, looked down on the paddies.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked as he paced up and down the edge of the well-worn track.

His companion shook his head.

"And, no, I don't know when he will come, all Kidlat said was to wait," Jaime added before Maximo could ask anything else. "Now, can you please sit down? - your pacing up and down is making me dizzy. Soon, all this will be over - and you'll be going home to your wife with some cash, for a change."

Maximo sat down.

"I'm hungry," he said sullenly.

Jaime took one last puff from his cigarillo. He squeezed the lit end between two fingers, putting out the tiny flame.

"I told you to eat before we came up here," he said.

"I did, but I had no idea it would take this long," Maximo complained.

A sound stopped Jaime from answering. The two men looked at the path they had used earlier. A figure on a small pony rode up and stopped a few feet from where they were.

"Is it done?" the rider asked.

"Of course," Jaime said.

"Are you sure no one followed you up here?"

The two men nodded.

The man on the pony threw down a small bag.

"Your payment," he said and turned the small horse away and down the path.

As soon as he disappeared, Maximo grabbed the bag and opened it. He gasped; inside were wads of money - more money than he had ever seen in his life!

"What did I tell you, compadre? It pays to be patient," Jaime said.

Porcia Fuentes heard the lock on the front door turn. She quickly got out of bed, wrapped an old mantilla around her shoulders, and hurried down the small staircase.

She was halfway down when her father, Alberto Fuentes, entered the small sala. He looked tired, a frown knit his brows together, but he quickly smiled when he looked up and saw his daughter.

"You should not have waited for me, hija," he said as father and daughter made their way to the small kitchen which also doubled as the Fuentes' dining room. A cold supper was laid out on the table: kesong puti - white goat's cheese - and the local bread, pan de sal, - and coarse granules of the native coffee - kape de baraco.

Porcia fired up the small wood stove to boil water for the brew; as the liquid simmered, she once again noticed how troubled her father looked, she hoped nothing was wrong at the shop he owned and managed. The Fuentes' were not moneyed, but the young girl had grown in a loving home and had not wanted for anything.

Things changed, though, when her mother was stricken with a strange ailment a year ago. Almost overnight, Elisa turned from warm, caring, and loving to distant, suspicious, and increasingly violent. She refused to be seen by a physician, heaping such verbal abuse on her husband and daughter when it was suggested that Alberto was forced to call upon the services of the town's hilot, Mang Sisto, instead.

The shaman came and spent one afternoon exorcising the demons he believed had taken hold of both Elisa and the Fuentes' home. He burned incense and several leaves which he refused to identify - trade secrets, he explained - he hung strange charms above the windows and doors and finally offered sweet rice cake to the unseen entities by leaving a plate of it out in the garden overnight.

But when none of them worked, Mang Sisto was forced to declare that Elisa was not possessed, but ill.

"Do not take this the wrong way, compadre," he said to Alberto, "But your wife's illness is here," he added, pointing to Alberto's head.

Her mother now spent most of the time in bed, barely talking to anyone and getting up only to eat when she felt like it.

The water boiled over. Porcia carefully picked up the small kettle and gingerly poured the water into the cup over which the coffee grains were placed, wrapped in a thin muslin cloth. Soon a rich aroma filled the kitchen as dark drops of the strong brew seeped through the cloth and began to fill the cup.

She added a heaping teaspoon of moscovado into the brew; her father liked his coffee black, but sweet, and he liked the taste of brown sugar more than white, which was a good thing since white sugar was very expensive. She brought the cup to Alberto; her father smiled his thanks.

"Sit down and keep your father company, Porcia," Alberto said

The young girl kissed him on the forehead and took the seat beside him.

"Guess who came by the shop this afternoon, hija."

Porcia smiled and thought for a while.

"Let's see, the alkalde-mayor, perhaps, finally realizing how much better your work is?"

Her father laughed a little.

"No, dearest, it was Francisco, your godfather."

The smile on his daughter's face quickly faded.

"And what did he want?" Porcia's voice was cold.

Alberto placed one hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers.

"Let us stop bearing ill will towards him, Porcia. The matter is over, as far as I'm concerned and we've weathered far worse storms in the past. Besides, with the coming Christmas season, I'm sure business will pick up a little. Have you forgotten how close you and your ninong were before?"

Porcia sighed. That was true, Ninong Francisco had more than diligently fulfilled the role of godfather to her; being a childless soltero, Francisco had grown to love Alberto's daughter as his own. Porcia sighed.

"If you can forgive him, Papá, I can, too."

Alberto patted his daughter's hand then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a beautifully glazed wooden case. He set it down in front of Porcia.

"He sent this for you, hija."

Porcia opened the case. Inside was an exquisite black ceramic fountain pen. She carefully uncapped it and was surprised to find her initials carved on the side.

"He knows how much you hate your old quill pen. He said it holds a secret, and you would know enough to discover it. He hopes you can tell him all about it when you see each other again."

Porcia smiled.

"Never settle for the obvious, hija."

That was Ninong Francisco's favorite expression whenever he gifted her with one of his strange gadgets. They were common everyday objects, but when turned or pressed or pulled apart, would turn into something quite extraordinary; a razor into a fan, a butter knife into a jeweled comb, a pen into - Porcia's smile grew wider - her fingers had easily found the tiny latch on the pen's cap, she pushed it...and a slender silver letter opener slid out smoothly from the other end. Both father and daughter gasped in surprise.

"I shall go and thank him tomorrow, Papá."

"Well, Francisco said he's quite busy at the warehouse, what with the re-location to Manila; perhaps we can visit him next weekend, yes?"

Porcia nodded and placed the pen back in the case.

They were chatting idly about the shop when there was a knock on the front door.

Alberto stood up and opened it. Outside was her Tiyo Jaime, Elisa's brother, and a younger man he introduced only as Maximo.

"We can't stay, Alberto," Jaime said.

He reached into the small sack he was holding and drew out three thick bundles of cash.

"Here," he said, giving the money to Alberto, "maybe this will help in getting Ate Elisa better," he turned to the young man beside him, "let's go."

Porcia and her father stood by the open door and watched as the two men disappeared into the dark.

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"A little more, Sargento, it's almost near the rim," Capitán Andrés Gonzales called out to dela Paz.

A small crowd had gathered around the old water well just outside the town center of San Isidro. News always traveled fast in such a small community, but nothing piqued the residents' interest more than news of strange deaths - and there had been an abundance of those lately.

With a loud grunt, Sargento dela Paz finally pulled the corpse over the rim of the well. The interested onlookers edged nearer to get a closer look at the strange bundle dangling from the end of the thick rope.

Though the head was wrapped in a buri sack, it was clear that the body belonged to a man; dressed in a white camisa de chino and loose white trousers, his hands and feet were bound by twine, across his chest the word "CUIDAO!" was painted in bold black letters. He swayed grotesquely over the water hole.

"Hoy, make space there quickly!" Illuminado, the calesa driver, called out to the crowd, "Julio will drown if he doesn't get out of the balon now!"

A few moments later, Julio's head popped up from beneath the water. He had gallantly volunteered to dive into the well to secure the rope around the dead man. As he came out of the balon, Illuminado took hold of his compadre's hand and raised it in victory; a ripple of appreciative applause went through the crowd of bystanders.

The sargento could not help but smile at the antics of the two cucheros; they had proved to be quite useful over the last month and he found their good-natured arguing amusing, though he doubted if the señor capitán would agree with him.

"Do you think he drowned, Jefe?" the sargento asked Gonzales as he secured the rope.

The capitán did not answer, he seemed transfixed by the stiff figure dangling over the old well.

There was something odd about the corpse.

He took out his sword, lifted it and hit the lifeless body with the flat side of the blade; everyone around the well ducked - fearful of being splattered by blood (and who knew what else!) - but only a dull thud emanated from the swaying bundle. Gonzales whacked the bag around the body's waist, this time a metallic clunking sound echoed around the well.

"This isn't a corpse!" he called out to the sargento.

He looped his sword around the rope and pulled the bundled figure closer. Dela Paz and the two cucheros reached out and grabbed it as the capitán cut it loose; it fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

The curious onlookers edged even closer as Gonzales removed the sack that covered the face - a pair of dull glassy eyes stared back at all of them.

Illuminado turned to Julio.

"It looks like you've just rescued a doll, compadre."

"What do you make of it, Jefe?" dela Paz said the next day.

The "corpse" had been transported to the town morgue and was now lying on the concrete slab.

"Let's find out," Gonzales replied.

He took out his pocket knife and cut the pieces of twine that were tied around the mannequin's stiff limbs. Then he began to methodically slice through the clothes it wore.

"Why tie it up like that? It's not as if this... doll could escape." dela Paz said.

"I think the sign and these bindings are meant to serve as a warning and an example - of what exactly - remains to be discovered. Now let us go through this - doll - as thoroughly as possible."

He started examining the various pieces of cloth.

The garments were well made, both the material and the stitching were of very good quality, but did not bear any identifying tags. Both men turned their attention to the mannequin, scrutinizing it top to bottom and back to front, but again, they found nothing. They were about to give up and label the case a hoax when Gonzales found some markings on the mannequin's nape.

"Do they look familiar to you, Sargento?" the capitán asked.

Dela Paz peered at the markings.

"They look like Chinese characters, but I'm not so sure, Jefe," he said, hesitantly.

"And why is that, Sargento?"

"I've... ah, not really dealt a lot with San Isidro's Chinos," he said.

The capitán did not say anything, but he knew that there was a deeper reason why dela Paz did not "deal" with the Chinese residents of San Isidro - both the Illustrados and Indios in the archipelago were suspicious of the Chinos; the common belief was that they cheated in their business dealings and that most of the said businesses were shady to begin with.

The intricacies of commerce, however, did not concern Gonzales at the moment, but an elaborate hoax such as this did.

"This mannequin is a tailor's dummy. Do you think you can get a list of all of San Isidro's tailors?"

"There used to be two tailors in San Isidro, Capitán, Estanislao Javier and his shop, the El Hombre Javier, catered to the de buena familias of the town, but I heard he and his partner, Francisco Chua, are relocating to Manila."

The jefe nodded.

"What is the name of the other tailor, then?"

"Alberto Fuentes, Capitán, he owns the Trajes de Hombre."

Porcia was alone in her father's small tailoring shop a few days after her Tiyo Jaime gave them the money. She had persuaded her father to finally take Elisa to Manila; they had heard that a doctor in the big city had a clinic which specialized in the illnesses and afflictions which did not affect a person's physique, but rather his psyche, and her uncle's gift would take care of the travel expenses as well as the doctor's fees.

Her father was reluctant at first; their neighbors were bound to find out that they had sought the services of a psychiatrist to treat Elisa and would, no doubt, label his beloved wife insane. But when he awoke one morning and found her cutting her arm with one of his tailoring scissors and then trying to jump out the window when he tried to stop her, he realized that the visit to the Manicomio del Ciudad de Manila might just be her - no, their - only chance for salvation.

Porcia was not a novice when it came to sewing, she could stitch together the shirt patterns her father cut extremely well and, at a young age, had already started helping out in the busy shop; but business slowed down considerably when Estanislao Javier opened another haberdashery only a few blocks away. Alberto had seriously considered closing the Trajes altogether when, three years after opening, Señor Javier suddenly moved out of San Isidro and transferred to Manila.

Her father was sure their business would recover, but it had been six months since El Hombre Javier closed its doors and trade was still slow.

Porcia sighed - perhaps the approaching Christmas season would see them turn the tide.

She looked up from the shirt she was embroidering when she heard the bell at the front door of the shop tinkle. That would be Abel, Porcia thought - her friend and father's assistant. She placed the garment down and stood up, ready to scold the young man for his habitual tardiness, but it was not Abel's chubby face she saw across the counter; instead, she found herself staring into the rather stern countenance of San Isidro's jefe, Señor Capitán Andrés Gonzales.

The smile on Porcia's face quickly disappeared. She hoped the jefe's first visit to her father's shop had nothing to do with the unexplained cash her Tiyo Jaime had given them, and everything to do with having a new uniform made; the one the capitán was wearing at the moment was certainly ill-fitting and badly sewn.

Andrés Gonzales was taken aback; he was prepared to meet with a gentleman's tailor as the sign above the small store boasted: "Trajes de Hombre," but instead, a young maiden stood behind the counter. Nothing was said for several moments as Porcia's dark brown eyes studied the jefe rather critically from head to foot, which made him rather uncomfortable.

"Magandang umaga," he finally said.

"Buenos días," Porcia returned softly.

Andrés cleared his throat.

"Is Señor Fuentes, the tailor, here, Señorita?"

Porcia's eyes lit up. So he was here to have something sewn after all!

She quickly took out a thick catalog from under the counter and placed it in front of the capitán; the word "SEARS" was printed on the cover, she then removed the tape measure hanging around her neck and stepped out from behind the counter.

"We bought this catalog only last month and it carries the latest in men's suits. Look over it, Jefe, you may find something you like. Of course, we may not be able to use the material recommended in the catalog, but I'm sure we can find a suitable replacement in our stock," Porcia said. "Now, if you could turn around, I can start taking your measurements," she added, stretching the tape measure.

"Erm... Señorita, forgive me, but is Señor Fuentes here?"

Here we go again, Porcia thought; it seemed the capitán was yet another man who distrusted her abilities simply because she was a woman. She could not see any reason why some of San Isidro's gentlemen found it difficult to understand, much less accept, that a woman could practice a trade, even run a business, just as well as they could - perhaps, even better.

"Let me assure you that I can take precise measurements just as well as I can cook, clean - and sew, Capitán; unfortunately, my father is not here at the moment, nor is his male assistant," she said coldly, winding the tape into a coil.

She returned to her place behind the counter, picked up the catalog, and placed it back under the shelf.

"You can return tomorrow; Abel can take your measurements then. But if you are as fastidious as you seem to be, you'll have to wait longer, it may be two weeks before my father comes back."

She sat down on a stool and started on the shirt again.

The jefe was bewildered by her behavior. She seemed upset when he first entered the shop, then she became almost friendly, and now - he knew he had not done or said anything wrong - but she was certainly upset again.

Andrés Gonzales was a gentleman and knew when to concede defeat.

"Please, forgive me, Señorita Fuentes, I may have inadvertently misled you. What I have to discuss with your father has nothing to do with suits at all, but with the tailor's mannequin that was found in the well the other day," he said softly.

The young girl stopped sewing, she had been rude, and not accepting his apology now would also make her petty.

Porcia looked up at him.

"Forgive me, too, Jefe, my father has said many times over that I should learn to contain my temper."

Andrés smiled in return.

"If you will not take it amiss, Señorita, I found it - refreshing."

"What do you mean, Señor?"

"Very few ladies dare speak their minds."

"Ah, I am certainly one of those few, Jefe."

Porcia stood up and approached the counter.

"You wanted to speak to my father about a mannequin?"

"Yes, more to the point, do you own any?"

"We had one given to us by Francisco Chua, but my father sold it to Estanislao Javier some months ago. We... we have not been able to replace it, they are extremely expensive."