"Manila will be a mess on Monday--it takes them a day to clean up the streets, and all the hospitals are still dealing with the injured," Miriam said. "Go Tuesday--the afternoon is best. The most fanatical people do everything as early in the morning as they're allowed--don't go in the morning," Miriam told him.
"Okay," Juan Diego said. Just listening to Miriam made him feel as tired as he might have felt if he'd marched in the Black Nazarene procession, suffering the inevitable crowd injuries and dehydration. Yet as tired as he was, Juan Diego doubted what Miriam had told him. Her voice was always so authoritative, but this time what she said seemed exaggerated, even untrue. It was Juan Diego's impression that Manila was huge. Could a religious procession in Quiapo really affect the Makati area?
Juan Diego drank too much San Miguel beer and ate something curious; any number of things could have been the cause of his not feeling well. He suspected the Peking duck lumpia. (Why did they put duck in a spring roll?) And Juan Diego didn't know that lechon kawali was deep-fried pork belly, not until Miriam informed him; the sausage served with bagoong mayonnaise took him by surprise, too. Later, Miriam told him the mayonnaise was made with that fermented-fish condiment--the stuff Juan Diego thought gave him indigestion or heartburn.
In truth, it may not have been the Filipino food (or too much San Miguel beer) that upset his stomach and made him feel sick. The all-too-familiar craziness of the fervent followers of the Black Nazarene upset him. Of course the burned Jesus and his charred-black cross had come from Mexico! Juan Diego was thinking, as he and Miriam navigated the escalators in the vast mall of the Ayala Center--as they rode the elevator, up and up, to their suite in the Ascott.
Once again, Juan Diego almost didn't notice how his limp seemed to go away when he was walking anywhere with Miriam or Dorothy. And Clark French was assailing him with one text message after another. Poor Leslie had been texting Clark; she'd wanted Clark to know his former teacher was "in the clutches of a literary stalker."
Juan Diego didn't know there were literary stalkers; he doubted that Leslie (a writing student) was besieged by them, but she'd told Clark that Juan Diego had been seduced by a "groupie who preys on writers." (Clark persisted in calling Dorothy just plain "D.") Leslie had told Clark that Dorothy was a "woman of possibly satanic intentions." The satanic word never failed to excite Clark.
The reason there were so many text messages from Clark was that Juan Diego had turned off his cell phone before the flight from Laoag to Manila; not until he was leaving the restaurant with Miriam did he remember to turn it back on. By then, Clark French's imagination had taken a fearful and protective turn.
"Are you all right?" Clark's most recent text message began. "What if D. is satanic? I've met Miriam--I thought she was satanic!"
Juan Diego saw he'd missed a text message from Bienvenido, too. It was true that Clark French had made most of the arrangements for Juan Diego in Manila, but Bienvenido knew that Mr. French's former teacher was back in town and that he had changed hotels. Bienvenido didn't exactly contradict Miriam's warnings about Sunday, but he wasn't as adamant.
"Best to lie low tomorrow, due to crowds attending the Black Nazarene event--at least avoid any proximity to the procession routes," Bienvenido texted him. "I'll be your driver Monday, for the onstage interview with Mr. French and the dinner afterward."
"WHAT onstage interview with you Monday, Clark--WHAT dinner afterward?" Juan Diego immediately texted Clark French, before addressing the satanic situation that had so excited his former writing student.
Clark called to explain. There was a small theater in Makati City, very near Juan Diego's hotel--"small but pleasant," Clark described it. On Monday nights, when the theater was dark, the company hosted onstage interviews with authors. A local bookstore provided copies of the authors' books, for signing; Clark was often the interviewer. There was a dinner afterward for patrons of the writers' onstage series--"not a lot of people," Clark assured him, "but a way for you to have some contact with your Filipino readers."
Clark French was the only writer Juan Diego knew who sounded like a publicist. And, like a publicist, Clark mentioned the media last. There would be a journalist or two, at the onstage event and the dinner, but Clark said he would warn Juan Diego about the ones to watch out for. (Clark should just stay home and write! Juan Diego thought.)
"And your friends will be there," Clark suddenly said.
"Who, Clark?" Juan Diego asked.
"Miriam and her daughter. I saw the guest list for dinner--it just says 'Miriam and her daughter, friends of the author.' I thought you would know they were coming," Clark told him.
Juan Diego looked carefully around his hotel suite. Miriam was in the bathroom; it was almost midnight--she was probably getting ready for bed. Limping his way to the kitchen area of the suite, Juan Diego lowered his voice when he spoke on his cell phone to Clark.
"D. is for Dorothy, Clark--Dorothy is Miriam's daughter. I slept with Dorothy before I slept with Miriam," Juan Diego reminded his former writing student. "I slept with Dorothy before she met Leslie, Clark."
"You admitted you didn't know Miriam and her daughter well," Clark reminded his old teacher.
"As I told you, they're mysteries to me, but your friend Leslie has her own issues--Leslie is just jealous, Clark."
"I don't deny that poor Leslie has issues--" Clark started to say.
"One of her boys was trampled by a water buffalo--the same boy was later stung by pink jellyfish swimming vertically," Juan Diego whispered into his cell phone. "The other boy was stung by plankton resembling condoms for three-year-olds."
"Stinging condoms--don't remind me!" Clark cried.
"Not condoms--the stinging plankton looked like condoms, Clark."
"Why are you whispering?" Clark asked his old writing teacher.
"I'm with Miriam," Juan Diego whispered; he was limping around the kitchen area, trying to keep an eye on the closed bathroom door.
"I'll let you go," Clark whispered. "I thought Tuesday would be a good day for the American Cemetery--"
"Yes, in the afternoon," Juan Diego interrupted him.
"I've booked Bienvenido for Tuesday morning, too," Clark told him. "I thought maybe you would like to see the National Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe--the one here, in Manila. There are only a couple of buildings, just an old church and monastery--nothing as grand as your Mexico City version. The church and monastery are in a slum, Guadalupe Viejo--the slum is on a hill above the Pasig River," Clark carried on.
"Guadalupe Viejo--a slum," was all Juan Diego managed to say.