Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

It took all night for the tropical storm to sweep across the island. By first light the rain was over and the violent wind was replaced by a light and pleasant breeze. To the east the sky was clear; to the west the backside of the storm was moving away from the village across the jagged mountain peaks in the island’s interior. Meding stepped out on the porch to survey the damage caused by the storm. Her chickens were in the yard foraging busily for food. She saw that the damage was slight: a few fronds on the house roof were awry; a small coconut palm had been blown over; the yard was strewn with tree branches; and brown and green coconuts of assorted sizes were on the ground everywhere.

“Good morning.” Jess waved to her from the muddy road behind the house, then started down the path, picking his way through the fallen tree branches. He pointed to the misplaced fronds on the roof of the house. “I will fix,” he said. “I have the time — there will be no fishing until late tonight.”

While Jess worked on the roof, Meding fed her animals, then cooked rice and made coffee. From a young vendor who made regular morning rounds of Antipuluan on a bicycle, she bought pandisal to go with their breakfast. When the food was ready, she laid it out on the battered porch table and the two sat down to eat.

“At Paquette’s birthday party,” Meding said, “what did the men talk about?”

Jess shrugged. “The usual things: our families, our boats, fishing and farming — that sort of thing.”

Meding persisted. “Later in the evening your talk was of other matters?”

“Yes,” Jess replied hesitantly. “Roberto happened to mention that the leader of the bandits had come to see him and told him that there will now be a weekly tax on everyone in the village. The bandit said that Roberto would collect this tax. There was much discussion about this; of whether or not we should pay this increased tax.”

This was a development Meding was not aware of. The bandits Jess spoke of were the militant part of the longstanding Moro or Moslem uprising on their southern Philippine island. The improbable goal of this group was to take control of the island and secede from the rest of the Philippines, thus establishing a Moslem nation independent of the Manila government; this in spite of the fact that the majority of the island’s people were devout Catholics. Outlawed but tolerated by the government, several bands of pseudo-guerrillas subsisted in the mountains, coming down into the villages occasionally for food and to try to recruit supporters for their cause. When they came into the villages, they carried military rifles and wore bandoliers of ammunition draped across their chests. Because the men were armed and possibly dangerous, the villagers in Antipuluan and elsewhere put up with them, listened to their political speeches, and paid the nominal taxes the bandits demanded. The people considered the taxes a voluntary donation because sometimes they couldn’t pay and the bandits, so far at least, had done nothing in reprisal. Antipuluan’s elders, Meding included, had long ago decided that it was in their best interest to cooperate and meet the minimal demands of the bandit group.

“Why wasn’t I told of this?” Meding demanded.

“I was going to tell you today,” Jess replied sheepishly.

“Pah,” Meding spat out. Was she getting too old for her opinion to be respected?

“And what did the American have to say about this,” she asked, controlling her anger with an effort.

“He had much to say,” Jess replied. Meding saw the sudden fire come into his eyes. Resentment again?

“The American said that he had been an army advisor during the early years of his country’s fight with the Vietcong guerrillas in South Vietnam.” He pointed to the west; Vietnam lay just across the narrow South China Sea from their island. “He told us that in the beginning, the Vietcong behaved much the same as our bandits. But later they demanded that their taxes be paid and took the young men from the villages against their will to become Vietcong soldiers. He said that we must be careful to not let such a thing happen here.”

“This sounds like good advice,” Meding said.

“But what does he know?” Jess said. “He is an outsider here.”

“Right now he is,” Meding said. “But the American is considering living here with his family, so it could be said that he does have an interest.”

“I know that he is considering this,” Jess replied. His tone and smoldering eyes said to Meding that he wasn’t happy about the prospect.

“You and Paquette were schoolmates?” Meding asked, changing the subject abruptly.

Jess nodded.

“Did you like her then?”

“Of course I liked her; she was very popular.”

“I mean did you like her in a special way?”

Jess’s eyes flashed anger for a moment, then cooled.

“Yes,” he said. “In fact, I wanted her to be my wife after she finished school in Puerto Princesa, but—”

“But instead,” Meding added softly, “Paquette went to the United States and now is back here with an American husband.”