A Twist Of Time

seven

I've been bored. Nothing really happens in the palace nowadays; Aurora, which was the only exciting person in the whole residence besides Jane and Margaux, went home to a nipa hut she and Manuel owned because she didn't like living in the Malacañan. The small chef I tried talking to is now always busy preparing food for the Nacionalists who decided to stay. It's either that or he's feeding his pet chicken that he secretly keeps in the chef's quarters.

Jane was also busy as well; and Barbara was allegedly fired from her job by an angry Nacionalist who screamed at her for not serving potato chips. Her lamb sauce was never found, which is kind of sad when I think about it. She got fired before she even had the opportunity to look for it.

I eventually ran out of books and notebooks to scribble in, and I realized that I started missing Osmeña's endless frustration towards me. I missed accidentally bumping into him in hallways and pissing him off. I also missed Quezon, though only getting to meet him for a small amount of time. He was a great man.

How I wished there were phones back then, in that way, I could text them or call them and ask them where they've been. But you're in the middle of the second world war, I thought. They're busy.

Nacionalists roaming around the Malacañan was normal nowadays. Some of them even got the bedazzling opportunity to touch the sea pearls the Malacañan had in stock. Nobody knows how they got there. They just did.

A few weeks later and the Japanese were now in control. Jose P. Laurel was appointed as the new president along with Jorge Vargas, and we, the entire palace, were told to move from Malacañan to Corregidor to stay safe from the alarming rates of murder and abuse coming from the Japanese. We were transported there and supposedly, Manuel stopped by Corregidor before heading to Australia and brought Osmeña with him there.

Moving to Corregidor was a nightmare, though. I didn't know why I needed to come; Raven Turner wasn't involved in any political movement except maybe investments. Other than that, I was lost.

There were so many soldiers and every move we made was guarded day and/or night. This also meant new staff and members of the palace crew. Some of the crew got the miserable fate of getting fired by General Wainwright, some voluntarily resigned from their positions in fear of the Japanese.

Corregidor was fairly nice; we stayed in Malinta Tunnel. It had a big space and only a few could occupy some rooms due to the fact that paperwork was flooded in nearly every room. Margaux and I were lucky to get a room that had no hints of paper nor typewriters.

An 40-year-old lady named Maribeth Resolbiano was hired along with 5 others by Jane as personal janitors to clean after her messes since Barbara wasn't there to do her job. Now, Maribeth's not the type of person you'd want to be friends with; she's strict and always mad for some reason. I tried coping with her but got tired of being plastic so I decided staying inside my room—wait, no, my shared lair—was the best way to avoid her yapping.

I had to share a room with Margaux because all the others were taken by American soldiers. It was great anyway. We became closer through our nightly chats and book sessions. Jane would sometimes join us and rant about the endless food requests of the soldiers.

Maribeth came in one night carrying a broom. She glared at the both of us and started sweeping near Margaux's place where Margaux was reading today's newspaper.

"Ano ba? Umayos ka nga, Westfeld. Alisin mo 'yung paa mo o isusumbong kita sa tatay mo," (Fix your attitude, Westfeld. Remove your feet or I'll tell your father.) the maid said. Margaux's eyebrows raised then frowned, and her hands put the newspaper down.

"Pero patay na 'yung tatay ko." (But my father's dead.)

"Tinanong ko ba? Ayusin mo lang at alisin mo 'yung putang inang mga gamit mo o itatapon ko lahat 'yan." (Did I ask? Just arrange your fucking things or I'll throw all of those away.)

I saw Margaux roll her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She then lifted her bag and books up on her bed. Maribeth did her cleaning on my place right after but looked me sternly in the eye before she started sweeping.

I reviewed their conversation in my head. What else could I do? I was bored and had nothing to do.

What was with Margaux's father that Maribeth the Skank could easily tell her aches about his daughter to? He was dead. She'd be talking to a corpse.

Maybe they were friends before he died. Let me ask her—that's a bad idea—but it's worth a shot. Just enjoy being screamed at.

"Maribeth, ka-ano-ano mo 'yung tatay ni Margaux?" (Maribeth, how are you related to Margaux's father?) I wondered aloud. She slammed her broom on the floor and sighed.

"Pakeelam mo ba? Wala kang alam. Wala akong sinabi. Wala." (Does it concern you? You don't know anything. I didn't say anything. Nothing.)

She left quickly. "What's up with that nasty old woman and telling me to my 'father?' "

"I don't know. But she's annoying. I wish she gets fired."

"Same as you."

I sighed. A noise started erupting from outside the door; a collective rumble of footsteps and manly voices, overshadowing the source of light leaking from the small gap between door and floor. Guessing that it was the soldiers returning from outside, Margaux and I decided it was best to stay inside the room if we didn't want to get crushed alive.

I was about to ask her if I could borrow the newspaper that she just finished reading but was interrupted when a sudden silence fell within the outsiders. Margaux looked around suspiciously.

"There's something going on out there."