The San Isidro Mysteries 02: The Chinaman in the Well

"I see, so is it still with Señor Javier?"

"I cannot say, Jefe, I think it ended back with Señor Chua; he and Señor Javier are partners, you see. Why is this mannequin so important, Capitán?"

"It is not the mannequin that interests me, Señorita, but those involved in making it look like a drowning victim. I have found that people who derive pleasure in such a cruel joke often go to more horrible extremes to fan their macabre sense of humor."

"I hope you are wrong then, and that this hoax is simply that. San Isidro has seen too many horrible extremes these past few months."

The señor capitán nodded.

"I hope I am mistaken, too, but as jefe, I must chase down the most inconsequential matters."

"Chasing them down to ensure the safety of everyone in San Isidro is far from inconsequential, Capitán."

"Gracias. Now, you said you wanted to take my... measurements?"

To Andrés' surprise, it did not take long for Porcia to complete the task; she was, indeed, an expert and knew exactly where to place the measuring tape to take the most accurate sizing.

She wrote the figures in a small notebook with her new pen then turned to look at the wall calendar behind her.

"If you can come back in three days' time, Jefe, you can try on the uniform," she said, turning to face him again.

"Yes, I can. I...hope you will not think me too forward, Señorita, but my friends call me by my baptized name, Andrés. May I call you by yours?"

She smiled and held out her hand.

"My friends call me Porcia... Andrés."

The jefe was about to take her hand when the sargento came through the shop. He doffed his cap to Porcia.

"I found this inside the mannequin, Capitán," dela Paz said, handing over a small cloth pouch, "I noticed a slit that had been stitched over on its stomach. We didn't see it yesterday."

Gonzales opened the pouch and tipped the contents onto the counter, several small brownish cakes tumbled out of the bag. He sniffed them.

Opium!

The overland trip to Manila took longer than expected, and though Alberto Fuentes had hired a private carriage, the ride was far from comfortable; the road was dusty so they could not open the windows and the inside of the coach was soon hot; fortunately, Elisa slept most of the time.

They also had to make three stops instead of the normal two: one of the carriage wheels broke and Alberto was adamant about having it fixed before continuing; the cuchero was argumentative at first, but when the tailor said that he would take care of paying for the repair, the driver was more than happy to oblige.

The unexpected mishap caused them several hours delay; thus, it was well past six in the evening when Alberto and Elisa reached the big city. After a short conversation with the carriage driver, Alberto secured their bags and sat beside the wooden bench where Elisa was resting.

Porcia's father took out a crumpled letter from his pocket and once again read its contents; Dr. Alejandro Vito Cruz, the physician-in-charge of the clinic had quickly responded to Alberto's telegram and informed him that he would be more than happy to examine Elisa.

"Have we reached Manila?" a soft voice beside him asked, weakly.

He nodded.

"Are you too tired to walk, Elisa? It's best if we get to Javier's house before it becomes too dark."

"Is it far?"

"No, querida, the cuchero said it's about five streets away."

"I can walk," she said softly.

He stood up, lifted the two bags of luggage they had brought with one hand, and held out the other to her. She placed her hand in his and for the first time in months, smiled at him.

Alberto caught his breath; despite twenty years of marriage and her unexplained ailment, Elisa was still very beautiful. He often wondered why she, among the many more eligible young men who were seeking her favor before, had chosen him.

"Come on then," he smiled down at his wife, "it's been a while since you and I had an adventure."

-----

Abel Medina hurriedly crossed the street as he made his way to the Trajes de Hombre. He had promised Porcia he'd be on time the day before, her first day of minding the shop alone; however, because the previous night's events had gone past midnight, he had not been able to come in at all.

When he finally woke the next morning, it was almost noon! He would have still come into the shop but Ka Kidlat, the man who conducted the meetings Abel attended, had asked him to write down a message to their highest leader, the supremo, since Kidlat could neither read nor write. The young man had no choice; being a member of the secret society meant giving up everything for the cause...and the cause was liberty and independence for the islas from Spain.

He reached the small storefront and peeked through the window; Porcia was already inside.

They had known each other since childhood and were the best of friends, but he was also well acquainted with her temper - he braced himself as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Porcia had already seen him. She did not look up as he entered the store. She kept her head down, writing in the ledger with the pen her ninong had given her. Abel removed his cap, made his way to the counter, and stood in front of her.

"Buenos días, Porcia," he said tentatively.

Porcia kept writing.

"I, um, I'm sorry about yesterday. I was out with some friends the night before and..."

"I left some patterns for you to copy. They're on your worktable," Porcia answered, still not looking up.

"Oh, of course, I'll get to them right away, but about yesterday, Porcia, it was... "

"It was Rodrigo's birthday, was it? Oh wait, his birthday was last month. Let me see, perhaps it was Fernando's or Fernando's wife?" she said, finally looking at him, "Abel, you promised you'd be on time yesterday and what did you do - you did not come in at all! And I know that it's been happening quite a lot. Papá may be patient and understanding, but I am not. You are my best friend, but be warned, do what you did yesterday and you will be out of a job."

Abel nodded then he reached out a finger and gently touched her forehead.

"It's red," he said.

Porcia looked at him quizzically.

"Your forehead, it turns red when you're upset or angry, mostly angry, and right now, it's very red."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

It was impossible to stay mad at Abel, he was such a kind and gentle soul. She had known that from the first time they met - way back in their early school days - when she had seen a pudgy little Indio boy being beaten up by an older and much bigger mestizo.

It was clear that the young Indio was not putting up much of a fight; the big bully was astride him and was pummeling the smaller boy with his fists. All that Abel could do was cover his head with his hands, tears of pain and humiliation running down his chubby brown cheeks.

But Porcia Fuentes was made of sterner stuff; she removed the sturdy wooden clogs she was wearing, took one in her hand, ran to the pair of boys, and hit the assailant's head with her bakya.

Needless to say, the fight ended quickly; the bully went home with a bloodied head, embarrassed at having been beaten by a girl, and Abel found his best friend.

She opened her eyes and looked at the contrite face of the young man standing on the other side of the counter.

"Am I forgiven?" he said.

"As long as you copy those patterns perfectly," Porcia answered gently.

The young man smiled and headed to his work table.

The shop was quiet for some time as each one busily worked, Abel at the backroom, tracing the patterns onto the suiting materials, and Porcia, tallying the little store's accounts out in front. It was almost midday when Porcia called out to her friend.

"I forgot to tell you, the new jefe came by yesterday to ask about the mannequin we sold to Señor Javier: he thinks it's the same one they found floating in the well, and guess what - the capitán put in an order for three uniforms and two suits! Papá will be pleased."

Her young friend had stopped cutting the patterns when he heard the word jefe.

The society was wary of the police force, especially its officers, and though several of them were Illustrados and mestizos who were sympathetic to the cause of freedom, it was difficult to know just who they were. One careless remark, one wrong move, could spell disaster for the society; a founding member of the group had even been inadvertently turned in... by his own sister.

"Oh yes, your father will be happy about that. Did the...jefe ask about anything else?"

Porcia closed the ledger.

"No, he left soon after, but he will be back in two days, to try out the uniform. You will be here then, I hope."

"I will be here, Porcia," Abel answered.

"No one's answering, Jefe," Sargento dela Paz said, as he, the capitán and the two cucheros stood in front of a warehouse in the town's Distrito de Chino - a misnomer, of course, for the district was almost the size of San Isidro itself and was located several kilometers outside the town.

The sargento twisted the doorknob.

"And all the windows are barred," he muttered, as he peered through a window.

They had been knocking for a good five minutes, but the door remained closed.

"Perhaps we should come back tomorrow," Illuminado volunteered.

"It seems Señor Chua runs this business all by himself. I would think he had an assistant or some relative to manage it when he was not around," the capitán said.

"Jefe, Chua has a younger brother, Rodolfo, but he's an invalid and can move about only in a wheelchair. He has a separate house, deep inside this district, and rarely comes out; he's a bit of a recluse, and very frail. Francisco employs two women from the town to take care of him," Julio answered.

"And how long has Rodolfo been in a wheelchair?" Andrés asked.

"Since birth, Jefe, though there are those who believe it's a curse because the older Chua, the patriarch, was extremely ruthless in his business dealings that he made quite a number of enemies and these enemies hired a hilot to curse the younger son in revenge for the father's cheating," Julio answered.

It was becoming clear to Andrés that the Chuas had more than their share of enemies both inside and outside the Chinese district.

Julio went down the steps and proceeded around the corner of the large compound.

"Francisco's office is at the back of the warehouse," he said.

Andrés nodded and followed Julio to the other side of the large enclosure.

"How do you know so much about these people, compadre?" Illuminado asked his friend.

"When I was a little boy, Nanay did the laundry for the Chuas. They lived on the floor above the store and whenever their lodgings needed cleaning, she brought me along to do it. That's how I recognized the markings on the mannequin, they labeled almost all of their goods that way."

The back of the building was as quiet as the storefront and equally deserted. Dried leaves were scattered across the sizable yard, there were a few large fruit trees in the compound, while several rows of wooden crates were stacked chest high under a roofed shed and a few more stacked against the concrete fence; a covered balon - much older than the one at the ciudad and obviously in need of repair - stood near the southern wall of the establishment.

"Sargento, you and Illuminado go on ahead and try the back door. And you have my permission to force it open."

"Chua's goods are delivered in those," Julio said, nodding toward the stacked crates.

"What exactly does this Francisco Chua deal in?" Andrés asked.

"Chua deals with haberdashery items: clothing material, threads, mannequins; the one I saved from the well definitely came from his store. But what he has is a lot of fabric; he has it shipped from Macao."

"Does he sell any of it here, or does he send it straight to Manila?"

"He keeps some bolts in the store for Señor Javier."

"So he never dealt with Alberto Fuentes, then."

"Funny you should say that, Jefe. They were once good friends, Francisco and Señor Fuentes, Chua used to sell the material he kept to the Trajes, but a few months after Estanislao Javier opened his shop, Chua stopped dealing with the Fuentes' altogether, even though he is godfather to Alberto's daughter. Poor Señor Fuentes had to source his fabric from outside San Isidro, doubling his expenses."

Andrés nodded, wondering how Porcia had reacted to losing not just their business to Estanislao Javier, but Francisco Chua's friendship, as well.

"But with the Christmas season approaching," Julio continued, "I guess business will pick up a little for Señor Fuentes; I always thought he was the better cutter and his daughter the better seamstress."

"Jefe!" Illuminado shouted as he ran back to the capitán and Julio.

"Come quickly, but you will not like what you're going to see inside that shop."

-----

Dr. Alejandro Vito Cruz gestured for Porcia's father to take the seat across his desk. After three days of tests and observations, as well as conversing with both Alberto and his wife, he believed he finally knew what ailed Elisa Fuentes, but it was not going to be easy telling her poor husband what it was.

"If you don't mind my asking, Señor Fuentes, where are you staying in the city?" the doctor asked after he settled himself in his chair. "Do you have kinfolk here in Manila?"

"No, doctor, but my wife and I are fortunate to have a good friend in the city, Estanislao Javier, I'm staying with him at the moment. His apartments are quite near the Manicomio."

Dr. Vito Cruz nodded.

"That is good for I need you to be close to your wife as she recuperates, Alberto, her condition is serious... but certainly treatable, though it will take some time for her to recover."

Alberto closed his eyes as his stomach tightened in fear. Then he heard the doctor's soft voice again.

"Do not worry, Alberto, your wife is in very good hands and I promise you, she will get better."

"Gracias, doctor, gracias. What... what is she sick of?"

"Elisa is addicted - to opium."

The woman ascended the stone staircase, whispering as she climbed:

"Oro," she said as she placed one foot on the first step.

"Plata," she whispered on the second step.

"Mata," she said when she reached the third.

She looked up the staircase, she had climbed its steps several times that year and she knew there were three more before she reached the top.

"Oro, plata, mata; gold, silver, death."

Both the chant and the staircase ended in the word "death." That was never good, she thought, misfortune would befall those who entered this house. She choked back a bitter laugh, she knew she would not be exempt.

The door at the top opened. A man came out and stood on the last step, looking down at her.

"You took longer to come today," he said, "I thought, perhaps, you had changed your mind."

She did not answer nor did she move. The afternoon breeze fanned the long loose skirt she wore, the thin material wrapped and clung around her, revealing the shape of her hips and legs beneath the saya. He reached a hand down to her.

"I know what you want and you know I can give it to you."

She still did not move, but she began to breathe faster, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. She looked up at him, a silent plea in her eyes.

The man smiled and climbed down to where she stood. He lifted his hands, cupped her face between them and gently placed his thumbs over her lips.

"Oblige me first, Señora, and you will receive an even bigger reward," he said softly.

He moved his hands to her nape then down the length of her hair which reached almost to the middle of her back; he breathed in her fragrance - a heady blend of citrus and jasmine - he twisted one hand through the dark tresses and pulled gently, exposing her neck to his gaze. He bent closer and gently ran his tongue over her mouth, he felt the softness of her breasts against his chest, he smiled and bit her soft full lower lip.

"The benefits are always mutual, are they not?" he whispered against her cheek.

She gasped as he suddenly thrust his tongue into her open mouth, moving and gliding as he tasted the soft moist flesh inside. He broke the kiss and looked down at her flushed face. Her eyes were closed. He moved one hand down and reached under the short blouse she wore, trailing the tips of his fingers on the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts. He gave a small satisfied smile as her eyes suddenly opened, desire and hesitancy in them. He cupped one full breast, caressing and kneading the soft mound, she tried to turn away but his other hand yanked her head back, he bit down on her lips again as she tried to stifle the moan of pleasure rising in her throat. That was futile, of course, a soft almost desperate groan escaped from her.

What kind of wife was she, she thought, finding such wanton fulfillment in the arms of another man? He bent his head lower and began sucking and biting her breasts alternately through the thin material of her dress. Her body arched and began to thrust against him in almost mindless response. He drew slightly away, took hold of the edge of her kimona and tore it away from her, leaving her naked from the waist up. She lifted her arms to cover herself but his strong hands gripped her wrists and pulled them behind her. She gave a small whimper of exquisite pain as he bent his head and began nibbling at one breast once more, bathing the fleshy mound with his lips and tongue; her knees buckled and she cried out as he finally took the hardened nipple between his teeth and suckled, she would have fallen, helpless, at his feet if not for the strong arms wrapped around her.

Several minutes passed before he pulled her up. Her breasts were swollen from his ministrations, the nipples pebble-hard and glistening with the moistness from his mouth. He looked at her face and saw a faint streak of pink staining her cheeks. He smiled, before reaching for a small packet of brown powder in his pocket. He placed it in her hand, and closed her fingers over it. Then he led her up the steps and into the house.

She heard the click of the door as it was opened. She did not know what time it was nor how long she had been in the small room; she was enveloped in a haze of smoky pleasure that sharpened her senses: everything around her seemed so new and well-defined, the colors of the walls and the sheen on the polished wooden floors seemed almost blinding, the ticking of the clock on the mantel as clear as birdsong, and the fragrance of the smoky haze floating in the room was an exquisite perfume. She felt him behind her, touching the waist of her saya, she looked down and saw his fingers loosening the ties; the long skirt fell and pooled around her ankles as she stepped out of it. She tried to turn and face him but his hands restrained her, and when he pulled her naked body against him, she realized that he, too, was unclothed. A small gasp escaped her lips when she felt the hardness of his manhood against her back.

"Are you really surprised at all this, Señora? Surely you knew how I would - feel - at your coming," he whispered into her ear.

She knew what the words really meant but he gave her no time to reply, he began licking the soft flesh of her shoulder as his hands moved over her breasts once more, the fingers encircling the full mounds, rubbing and pinching the nipples almost roughly. She began to shiver, not from the cold, but from the rising heat between her thighs. Her legs trembled, as he moved one hand slowly down her belly and lower still until he reached her womanhood. She felt his fingers pushing against her, she closed her eyes, savoring the sensations that started to build in her loins until at last, unable to bear the rising need, she spread her legs. His hand quickly swooped between her thighs touching the growing dampness between them. She gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder, her long dark hair spilling across his chest, as he pried the nether lips open with his fingers.