is playing the guilt thing again, & he senses it, & he says, Your hair, why did you cut your hair?
I tell him I had to look inconspicuous. Like I was already enlisted. Like I was just on furlough.
Good thing, he says. The government’s banned long hair.
I know all about it. The lieutenant says it all the time, says long hair is a sign of decadence. The Beatles are messengers of the Antichrist. Rock is the music of the devil. Hippies are souls that have gone astray. There’s a strong message of divine righteousness in dictatorships. Every megalomaniac has to believe his actions are sanctioned by God.
Long dark-blond hair, Nick says wistfully. You looked like James Taylor in Two-Lane Blacktop.
James Taylor had darker hair, I tell him.
You know what I mean. Now you’re just damn skinny. What the fuck got you here anyway?
Here we go. I knew it was coming. To do that, I tell Nick, we’ll have to talk mojo.
* * *
Talk mojo, noun, or verb, or whatever: a language of negatives, purely intended as a private joke. Nick & I invented it, one stoned & drunken night at a bar or something. Hard to remember where.
Examples: I’m never getting high again. I’m not so going to fuck that girl. I’m never horny. We used to banter it around in the red-light district & got all the putas puzzled or pissed & afterward Nick & I had a good laugh. & of course sometimes it backfired. She’s so not good looking is something no girl wants to hear. & Nick liked it when it backfired because he didn’t like it that the girls liked me & just sort of liked him, because he was a doctor or a baron or some kind of important person from the US consulate & that’s supposed to turn them on.
Talk mojo. I knew that shit was going to be useful someday.
* * *
I haven’t been avoiding the other American residents in the city. I don’t hang out with the few backpacking dharma bums just passing through. They don’t tell me to lie low, to go somewhere else. They don’t tell me it’s too risky here. The army’s not going to conscript every fucking one of us, no matter where we are. I don’t follow their advice. I don’t disappear somewhere myself. I haven’t been living in the south, on the island of Cebu.
& absolutely none of this can be blamed on Liana.
* * *
The language of negatives poses some problems. How do I tell Liana to stop asking about me? How do I tell Nick not to mention her ever again?
Here is what Andy did, in real language.
Follow Liana to Manila, where she has found work as a Peace Corps volunteer. Don’t ask why. Filipina American UC Berkeley activist wanting to go back and do something for her country. Immediately finds a local boyfriend, a friend of the family, whatever. Me alone with Nick, that’s the only friend I have left. The girls. Anna, most of all. Liana gets insanely jealous, but what the fuck? She’s fucking someone else, I get to do the same thing, right? Draft happens; I receive a notice to report to base headquarters in Olongapo. Anna knows how to get me out, use a fake passport. I fly south, to her town, the only one I know. Fucking stupid mistake. Wind up like Anna & her friends, owe these people money for passport, other things. Drugs. Nirvana. Owe too much. Have to pay them back. Everybody is for sale. Big business. Big money. Everyone involved. Cops, military, politicians, maybe even the president. Then people warning me the government is planning a big-time cleanup, everyone’s got to clean up his act. Get out while you can. Rumors in town that Manila is under siege. Gang bosses get arrested. All gone. Babies are born, Anna & family need money not babies. Beg me to take them home to US, otherwise they will become child prostitutes. That’s all they’ll be good for. Half-breed gooks are nice to fuck. Arrive in Manila the night martial law is declared. Stay with this American woman for a night. I go back to Anna, tell her I’ve sold the kid, she runs away. Look all over for her. The lieutenant has been waiting for me, greasy pork smile, fascist pig throws me in provincial jail. This is where I’ve been. This is how I found the long, thorny road to hell.
How do you talk mojo & say all that? Impossible. I will never be able to tell my story.
I explain to Nick that I can’t tell him anything, not even if I talk mojo.
What the fuck? he says. I’m here to help. What the flying fuck?
Double negatives are long & awkward. It’s not math, you can’t negate what you’ve already (-) & get a (+). It doesn’t work that way. What you’ve broken apart can’t become whole again.
Nonformula: (-) ± (-) ≠ (+).
Remember this. Always remember.
We are held in place by gravitational forces
Then the Life Crusaders blow our place up.
It begins that afternoon, when Mother and I come back from the supermarket. As we unload the bags from the trunk, a car speeds by, and somebody hurls a couple of beer bottles straight at us. One grazes my shoulder, and smashes against the hood of the trunk. The other hits Mother on the forehead. She reels, puts one foot back to steady herself. The car has already sped away, someone poking a dirty finger at us.
I help Mother in and as soon as I sit her down I notice the blood dripping down the gash on her forehead.
“Fuck, Mother, I’m calling the cops.”
“Don’t.” She walks into the clinic and comes out minutes later with her wound sealed with a thick wad of gauze, a small bright spot of red the only sign of her ordeal.
“I’ll take you to hospital.”
“No need.”
“What did you do?”
“I’m not letting them hurt me.”
I lift the gauze a little. The stitches she’s done are fine and tight. “You could have asked me to help you.”
“No need.” She unloads the bags and starts putting the groceries in the fridge. Then she falters, stands dazed for a few seconds. I rush to her and catch her just before she hits the ground.
* * *
“How long was I out?”
“Two hours.” The steaming bowl of soup by her bed is starting to form an ugly crust of grease. “Bad soup. We should have gotten the other brand.”
She gets up. “I feel fine.” She walks out of the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Tea. Want some?”
I follow her to the kitchen. She’s scrounging around for the pot. I pull it out from under the sink. “Mother, we have to do something.”
“You show them you’re scared, that only makes them stronger.”
“I am scared. And they are strong. People who think they have the full support of God, any god, think they’ve invincible. They
