THE LAST TRACES OF HOPE
A Novel
By
N. MADERA AGUILAR
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The Last Traces of Hope
Published by N. Madera Aguilar
In E-Book Form
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011
By N. Madera Aguilar
All Rights Reserved
By the Author
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Prologue
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Prologue: The Fear
The unsettling events that transpired during the last few days of July, 1990 exacerbated the volatile situation in the Mideast, particularly Kuwait, and it sent Brian Rios, the Deputy Employment and Welfare Attaché assigned in that small nation, worrying. He was working on a report to be submitted to the Middle East Coordinator’s Office in Manila but the vexation in his mind had affected his writing. He simply could not finish the paper work.
The relations between Kuwait and its neighbor, Iraq, had deteriorated and this drove Brian into fear. Any further worsening of such relations could place him in a precarious situation. As the Kuwait-based DEWA of his country, he was watching over thousands of Filipinos working in that country alone—tens of thousands, in fact. He was next in rank to the Employment and Welfare Attaché who was based in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and in charge of providing for and overseeing the employment and welfare needs of all the overseas contract workers in the Mideast. The latter carried the appellation of EWA. Naturally, Brian was always referred to as the DEWA by his countrymen in Kuwait.
The dispute between Iraq and Kuwait had been escalating day after day. The most recent developments pouring in from both countries did not augur well for peace. Brian saw to it that he was kept fully abreast of news updates from the two countries.
A bulletin furnished him by diplomatic sources read in part: “… even the Organization of Islamic Conference, made up of forty-eight members had urged the two fellow member-states to resort to peaceful means in resolving their differences. Iraqi President Saddam Hussein, however, is hard on his demands that Kuwait cut oil production, pay for oil allegedly pumped from the border which Iraq claims as part of its territory and write off billions of dollars in loan.”
And as he further leafed through the pages, Brian arrived at the concluding statement: “… on the part of Kuwait, its demands focus on the withdrawal of Iraq’s forces from the 160-kilometer border. It views such massing of Iraqi forces as a threat. The withdrawal is a pre-condition to the holding of any negotiation. This, apparently, is Kuwait’s position.”
Brian could no longer conceal the fact that he was on the verge of panic. He feared that the consequences would be beyond estimation should the talks between the two countries fail.
Part 1:
The Inroad
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Chapter One
It was the twenty-fourth of July, 1990 and Captain Porfirio Villar had just turned fifty. Already, he was beginning to entertain the idea that since lately he had gone down to being some sort of a Midas in reverse: everything he touched seemed to turn into stone. He decided, anyhow, to proceed with the celebration and the bridge, this time, had become a rowdy place—in contrast to what it was supposed to be and had always been: the hallmark of quietude. It was here that precision was being guarded to the fullest. And it was here too that mistakes were committed, the effect of which was still taking its toll on him. For one, he permitted his men to do welding jobs at the port side of the ship while they were on the high seas, which he should not have done so. For another, he allowed his men to do battle with pirates in Western Africa, resulting in the death of one of the marauders when they could simply have left them behind as the latter had slower boat. One good thing though was that nobody got hurt among the crew members. But then, today was an extraordinary moment.
“You can go on but the officers on watch should always be on the alert and may join in only after relief,” he instructed as he prepared to leave the bridge.
“Aye, aye, sir!” some of them chorused.
“Hail to the master!” someone from the group voiced out.
“Hail!” all of them echoed, followed by the raising of the hands with glasses and squeaking sounds as if there were breakages.
“I’ll be in my cabin.”
“Good night, captain,” Alan Blancaflor, the apprentice mate bade.
“And happy birthday, sir!” almost all of them shouted.
***
Some nautical miles away, a naval vessel was roaming the vast and almost boundless Arabian Sea. Dean S. Eaglewood, a navy ensign on board, was taking things lightly while another man, apparently his subordinate, was busy with his hands on certain gadgets and his eyes on what appeared to be a modern screen wide enough to be mistaken for a home entertainment tube.
“What’s the latest, Brundy?” Ensign Eaglewood asked.
“It appears that this thing is headed for Kuwait,” Brundy responded.
“Well, that’s interesting. Tag it.”
“I think we should, sir. I’ll be doing it.”
***
Inside his cabin, Captain Villar prepared to take a respite from the grueling day. The job in the bridge had to be done and an assurance that the ship should always be fit had likewise to be upheld. Yet, this day, a celebration could not be denied his men as they had already been wont to it for the past couple of years. He was glad though that it was almost over as the night deepened.
As he was lying down and beginning to close his eyes, the reminiscence of the past suddenly came to him. The graduation scene at the maritime academy in the Philippines’ capital city, Manila, once again unfolded in his mind and the vivid portrayal of his role as his class’ top ranking cadet, which he had always cherished, re-emerged.
The same scene unfurled as the apprentice mate Alan engaged in reverie after the celebration attained its finale and time came for him to go into respite in his quarters. After the mess had been fixed by him and the ordinary seaman, there was nothing to busy himself with for the rest of the nocturnal stretch, thus, other thoughts had to be entertained before sleep finally set in. The setting, however, differed as the number of years in between was simply too large. In his imagination, the graduation rites were carried out quite pompously, with him taking an outstanding role as, just like Villar, he finished the course as the most outstanding graduate. He was topnotcher of Class ‘89, a feat Villar achieved in the ‘60s. Both of them belonged to the same Alma Mater, one reason perhaps, aside from his potentials, why it did not take him so hard to get into Villar’s ship.
In Villar’s mind, the ceremonies commenced as midshipmen—maritime cadets—in their white gala uniform marched toward the front of a stage where graduation rites were to be conducted. Flashes of the cameras produced a momentary blinding effect on him as his turn to take his slot came. The ensuing program was highlighted by an announcement that he made it on top of the class. Praises heaped upon him seemed endless.
In Alan’s recollection, the march the band played as he went up the stage to be pinned with tokens of achievement by his father and mother overwhelmed his emotion. He embraced both of them with a profuse outpouring of gratitude after a medal and a ribbon became visible on his breast.
A raucous restaurant scene, where food was sumptuous and drinks flowed, followed the graduation events which featured topnotcher Villar.
It was a different scene which came after Alan’s own. A graduation ball was held for the graduates in one of Manila’s gleaming hotels and this was attended by Alan with his girlfriend Tina. Males were in their coat-and-tie best while females wore gowns. Most of their companions were dancing merrily but Alan and Tina were engaged in serious conversation.
“Are you leaving me soon, Alan?” Tina asked.
“Tina, we’ve come to a point in our lives where we have to walk the path that is destined for us,” Alan answered.
“Why did you have to choose this kind of occupation?”
“I simply found that this is the right one for me. I will be leaving but it’s only temporary. I’ll keep coming back, you’ll see.”
Alan and Tina walked out of the ballroom, crossed the hotel lobby and proceeded to an area beside a swimming pool. They sat together and held each other’s hands.
“Hey, Alan, not having a slot upstairs? Hurry and get one. This night’s the queen of all nights,” a passing guy taunted Alan upon seeing him with Tina. He and his girl were up to something.
“Of course, it is. There’ll be princes and princesses soon,” Alan responded.
Tina poked a finger at Alan’s waist, a reminder that there was no necessity for his statement. But the two men just laughed.
“Baby, your guy’s a good one. He’ll handle you well. Good luck,” Alan’s friend, after leaning to take a good look at Tina, took his girlfriend’s arm and led her away from them.
“Who was that?” she asked Alan.
“A classmate, Dennis Nillos. Graduated, too. The girl with him is his new one … after the break-up with the first.”
Later, they approached the front desk and negotiated for a room. When they entered the one assigned to them, Alan began touching the switches and left only a single flickering bulb. He and Tina soon opted to make love.
***
Their recounts over and both of them now slumbering, the captain and his apprentice mate had no inkling as to what was going on in a different ship quite far from them sailing on another portion of the sea, but the occupants of which maintained a steady, watchful eye on their vessel.
“Ho-humn …”
Brundy kept hearing this from his immediate superior until he found that it was the last one from him. But he did not turn to look at the latter since his eyes were captured by the screen he was faced with.
“They have somehow reduced speed. Ah … they’ll be docking in Kuwait. It’s quite certain …” Brundy intoned while still being engrossed with the object on the screen.
No reaction having been received from Eaglewood, Brundy turned his head and saw that the ensign was immobile with his eyes shut. And the latter started snoring.
***
The Qasrah Regal Hotel stood as an imposing four-storey edifice inside a fenced complex, with all the facilities surrounding it, situated at the southernmost outlying district of Kuwait City. It had a well-landscaped setting, adequately sized pool and wide parking space. It was the city’s newest tourist attraction and a haven for foreigners although it was smaller than the famed multi-national five-star lodgments. Yet, it was just as luxurious and even more accommodating. Its staff was trained to be clientele-oriented and the motto ‘the guest is always right’ was adhered upon by all employees, most of whom were citizens of different Asian countries. Even though the staffers were of diverse nationalities, each one had his own contribution to make it the guest’s perception that the QRH provided the feeling of being at home away from home.
The hotel had been fully booked during the first half of July, 1990 but when the third week came there was a marked reduction of reservations with statistics going steadily downward. On the last week of the month, less than half the total number of rooms were occupied. On the first day of August, 1990, more guests had checked out.
“Your beau is checking out too, Myra?” a uniformed girl at the reception counter asked a similarly attired employee beside her. The former was checking things out and appeared ready to leave.
“He will, tomorrow. His liberty has expired and his ship is leaving the day after, Tanya,” Myra replied.
“Can you tell me how this seaman landed into your lap, Myra?”
“I was the one who landed on his, Tanya.”
And they both laughed.
“By the way, more guests are leaving. Did you notice that, Myra?”
“Yes, how come…?”
“I think they’re being unnerved by the news of word war between Kuwait and Iraq.
Myra was intrigued by Tanya’s statement. But it was cut short by the sight of his boyfriend coming.
“There he is approaching us,” Myra said, lifting her bag. “Thanks so much for being accommodating to him, I mean, for lending your space in our room to him, Tanya.”
“Ah, don’t mention it. It’s a matter of one day. Besides, I’m on night duty and we have the available quarters in the hotel,” Tanya responded as Myra edged herself out of the counter to join her boyfriend.
“Hi,” the latter waved to Tanya.
“Hi … Go on and enjoy….” And Tanya smiled meaningfully.
Chapter Two
The vessel with stripes of blue, yellow and red on its funnel was docked at the international port of Kuwait City. After several days of unloading its cargo intended for the port city, it was all set to sail on August 2, 1990 although the ETD posted on a billboard at the pier stated 1800 HRS, 03 Aug 1990. It was merely waiting for its chandler who seemed to have incurred delay and Captain Porfirio Villar thought that the allowance for his boat’s estimated time of departure was but appropriate. He had prepared this ship for a voyage that would take him and his men to another destination.
He was standing in the bridge with a telescope hanging from his neck when he heard distant sounds of explosion. He gazed at a distance, looking at a black smoke rising towards the sky. Although bothered, he believed it would not affect them since they were on board a commercial vessel of foreign registry.
Alan entered the bridge wearing a chambray apprentice mate’s uniform. He was holding a cup and saucer with steaming black coffee which he immediately handed to the master. The latter, without hesitation, sipped at the cup and savored the brew.
More sounds of explosion resonated and the captain observed dark billows of smoke appearing at the skyline which seemed to multiply.
“Is there war going on here? I wonder what this is,” Villar uttered.
Alan was speechless. He simply stared at the captain with looks of perplexity.
“Tell all of the officers to come to the bridge,” the master ordered Alan.
“The chief officer’s sick, sir. He has fever. The third mate is coming after me,” Alan replied.
“The second officer?”
“He’s on liberty, sir.”
“He was, four days ago. Both of you left this ship on pass in the morning of that day. While you returned in the afternoon, he stayed on shore. Does that last to this day? His leave expired yesterday,” the captain stressed.
“He hasn’t returned since he disembarked on the first day of his leave, sir,” Alan told Villar. “We went to the Qasrah Regal Hotel together. His girlfriend works there as an overseas contract worker, a co-employee of my fiancee’s sister, Tanya, who’s a year older than my girl, Tina. We both visited them. He checked in at the hotel as I left.”
“I have been expecting him to report today. For the time being, the third mate will take over his job. You will assume the latter’s functions,” the captain said.
“Sir?” Alan exhibited surprise, but it was coupled with unexpected glee.
“You’re learning fast, Alan. After a year of apprenticeship, you appear ready to take on the officer’s job. It’s a matter of time and you’ll be issued a license,” the master commented.
Alan took pleasure on what he considered an accolade from his superior when the third mate entered the bridge.
“Sir, there are soldiers poised to board the ship,” the vessel’s third mate informed Captain Villar after entering the bridge. He was earlier summoned by the captain for a different task.
“Soldiers?”
“Yes, sir, soldiers,” the third mate stressed.
The ship’s master was perplexed. He immediately dispensed with the cup of coffee, walked out of the bridge and went straight to the starboard side of the vessel which faced the pier.
The soldiers were already at the other end of the gangplank when he saw them. They were about twenty, and when their commander saw the ship captain, the former walked through the gangplank to board the ship—followed by his men. Obviously, they were not Kuwaitis.
“Who’s in command of this vessel?” the soldiers’ commander asked.
“I’m the master of this ship,” Captain Villar told him.
No handshake transpired between the two officers.
“I’m Major Abu Qassif. I have instructions from Baghdad,” the Iraqi officer told the ship captain.
“May we know what they are, and why?” the master asked.
“Iraq has absorbed Kuwait into its territories. This ship will have to remain in Kuwait City until further orders,” Major Qassif announced.
“No, that’s piracy!” the captain protested.
“Call it what you will, but we are doing this in the name of the noble cause which our country upholds for the good of the entire Middle East. We have reclaimed Kuwait for integration to our dear Iraq,” the major spoke sternly, sidetracking the captain’s indignation.
Captain Villar wanted to say something more to Major Qassif but the latter immediately turned his back on him and motioned his hands with instructions for his soldiers to leave.
After two steps on the gangplank, he turned his head and spoke to Captain Villar: “I’ll be back tomorrow for more instructions. I have so many things to attend to today. Just stay put as guards will oversee the pier and keep watch on your vessel.”
Long after the Iraqi major had left, Captain Villar remained dumbfounded and was shaken in disbelief. His men who had gathered around him were speechless, unsure of how to react to what had just transpired. Their faces epitomized the confusion that suddenly engulfed their being while fear began to build in them.
“Tell everybody to come to the mess hall for a meeting,” the captain announced. Although it was primarily directed at the apprentice mate, Alan was sure he had lesser job to do as almost everybody on the deck was present. He needed merely to contact the engine people.
“Aye, aye, sir!” and Alan quickly left.
When he showed up later at the start of the meeting, he had news to bring—the chief mate’s condition seemed to have worsened as his body temperature kept on rising.
“Just stay with him all the time, Alan, and make sure that his medication is precisely attended to. This time you’ll be doing the second mate’s job,” the captain instructed Alan.
This caused a light moment to prevail in the meeting as some subdued smiles flashed on the faces of those present. The second mate acted as the ship’s doctor.
“You’ll be doing the second mate’s job even before you assume the third mate’s functions, Alan,” the ship’s quartermaster commented. The smiles sported by some of them turned into chuckles. The QM was perhaps the captain’s most trusted personally on the deck.
As Alan left the hall, Ben Gomez, the third mate, arrived. He was the last one to join the meeting and had some information to share with those present.
“He told me he was seeing a girlfriend employed at the Qasrah Regal Hotel which is Kuwait City’s farthest from here. I think he stayed there for the duration of his liberty,” the third mate averred, referring to the second mate.
“Well, I think Peter can manage. He does well in judo and karate being a red-belter. He can ward off a trouble maker whom he may encounter. Besides, his Indian profile could have him mistaken as an Iraqi,” Arthur Ng, the ship’s quartermaster interjected. Nobody, however, took him seriously.
“The situation’s getting more complicated for us,” the captain was shaking his head as he spoke. “First, there’s war. It merely waited for us here. Now, we got stuck to it. Suddenly, each one of us seems to be falling into its snare.”
As they listened to the ship master’s speech, the faces of those present had turned sullen. They were beginning to realize that, with them trapped in the arena of conflict, the captain had shuddered at the thought of future events.
Chapter Three
Just before daybreak on August 3, 1990, a military van was cruising along one of the streets in the outskirts of Kuwait City carrying six uniformed Iraqi soldiers. It was driven by a sergeant and seated beside him was a lieutenant. Two privates were behind them while the remaining two were positioned further back. It was negotiating the road slowly when the lieutenant ordered the driver to stop.
The lieutenant disembarked and the rest of the soldiers followed him. He stood in front of a five-unit apartment and found that one of the units, particularly the middle of the five, had its light on in the ground level. The leader walked to the door and signaled his soldiers to break it open. Two of the privates obliged. They raised their rifles and alternately hit the knob with the butts of their long arms until the door gave way.
The Iraqi officer, finding nobody in the ground level of the apartment unit, removed his pistol from its holster with his right hand while his left made a sign for the four privates to remain as he and the sergeant were to ascend the stairway leading to the second level.
In one of the three rooms upstairs, a couple cringed, apparently having been roused by the noise caused by the breaking of the door downstairs. The door of the room, meanwhile, swung open after having been banged and the Iraqi lieutenant, followed by the sergeant, appeared. They looked at each other and the sergeant stepped back, closing the door of the room upon exit and went downstairs to join the privates while grinning.
The lieutenant stepped toward the couple, pointing his pistol at the man’s chest while the woman screamed.
“Nooo!”
The man suddenly lunged at the lieutenant, grabbing his hand holding the pistol which went off. They wrestled for the position of the handgun which fired again, hitting the Iraqi on his stomach. The woman continued screaming while the man threw karate chops on the lieutenant to finish him off. The lieutenant dropped on the floor.
“Hurry, let’s take the fire escape stairs through the window,” the man ordered the woman, grabbing his companion’s outer garment hung on the wall and throwing it to the woman who was only in her nightwear. The man was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt with print: Second Mate, M/V Hope. They descended from the room through its window as fast as they could using the fire escape stairs made of steel.
Meanwhile, on the first floor of the apartment unit, the Iraqi sergeant could not stop grinning as he faced the four privates who too wore smiles in their faces.
“Vintage style of the lieutenant,” said the sergeant. “Loves to take a girl with a mate. Enjoying while she screams and finishing lover with two shots. Wants it very private, though.”
Moments dragged on and the smiles on the soldiers’ faces gradually disappeared. The sergeant’s turned sour.
“He doesn’t do it that long. I know he’s a quick reliever. Why is he still there?”
His companions could not answer him.
Several minutes more passed and the sergeant could not take it anymore. He ambled through the steps of the stairway and leaned on the door of the room.
“Sir?”
Getting no answer, the sergeant decided to open the door himself. What he saw shocked him. The lieutenant was lying on the bloodied floor, seemingly lifeless. The man and the woman were nowhere to be found.
“Hurry up! Get quick! Let’s take him to the hospital,” the sergeant turned frantic. His companions found it difficult to prioritize their moves.
***
Ship Captain Porfirio Villar had long been wide awake and, as a matter of fact, was on the verge of finishing his first cup of coffee for the day when daylight descended. He gazed at the smoldering skyline and observed that the bombardment at dawn of this day was heavier than that of the previous day. To him, this became a hint that the events of the preceding day were here to stay. He could not fathom the depth of Qassif’s designs, especially on how long they were holding his ship from sailing. And why they were doing so, he had not the faintest idea.
The unexpected disappearance of his second officer had remained a puzzle to Captain Villar since the day Peter Singh was supposed to return to his ship. Now, as he had emptied his cup while standing in the flying bridge and staring at the recycled hue of the sky, his presumption that something untoward might have happened to his Indian mestizo second officer became more concrete. His doubts could be as true as the crimson sky now being unraveled before his eyes.
The second day of the occupation of Kuwait—and for that matter of his vessel—by the Iraqi forces was now fully unfurled as sunburst had its fallout all over the area. The master’s attempt at getting a cue on why they were being held indefinitely in the port of Kuwait proved futile. It was a burden trying to solve the puzzle of why they had to remain moored indefinitely. They could be sailing to move out of the Gulf area now had they not been held at port for unknown reasons.
“I need another cup, Alan,” the captain told the apprentice mate. He was a heavy coffee drinker.
“I’ll bring you another cup, sir,” Alan obliged. He had proven himself to be attentive to the needs of his superiors and this made the captain conclude that he would make a good officer someday.
When Alan came back, he handed to the master a steaming cup of the latter’s brew prepared according to his specifications. Villar wanted it black with low sugar. Alan was glad that it would take hours before the master would again require him to get ready with the specified brew. It was only the distance from the first to the second cup which seemed too brief.
“How’s Eldon?” Villar asked after his first sip of the second cup. He was referring to Eldon Ramos, the chief mate.
“His temperature has stabilized, sir, and it seems he is in better situation now than yesterday.”
The captain just nodded. Then he asked Alan: “Ready for the chores of third mate?”
“Quite ready, sir,” Alan smilingly answered.
“Good.”
As he sipped some more at his cup, Villar laid down a plan.
“Tell the third officer to have coffee with me,” the captain ordered the apprentice mate.
In a few minutes, the third mate joined them in the bridge.
“You’ll be acting second officer,” Captain Villar announced to his third officer.
“Sir?” the latter did not expect it.
“Yes, you will.”
“And…”
“You begin transferring some of the third mate’s responsibilities to Alan. He can tackle the job. He’ll be acting third officer. It’s a matter of time and he’ll be issued a license.”
Alan was elated. He was the last to expect what he had just heard.
“And Peter, sir?” the third mate managed to complete what he wanted to utter.
“I don’t think Peter is going to ever show up,” the captain said, emptying his second cup of coffee.
Alan received the utensils, consisting of cup and saucer, from the master and placed them on a tray for disposal. As he was getting the petty things done, he reminisced the early days he spent on board the M/V Hope, learning to do tasks the way the captain wanted them done. He was quick to receive his instructions and was ready to adapt to his lifestyle on board. The captain was a man who had penchant for details and was very particular about order and precision on board.
Outstanding as a midshipman and a fast learner on the deck, Alan believed he had all the readiness to become a third mate.
***
Despite their being already seated, albeit uncomfortably, beside a pool at the Qasrah Regal Hotel, one of Kuwait’s highly rated, the couple could still hardly catch up with breath.
“Don’t worry, Myra, we’ll get through with this,” the man said, calming down his tense girlfriend.
“Why did you have to do it, Peter?” Myra asked her lover, rubbing her eyes with her fingers to quell the tears which were beginning to form again.
“What else would I have done? It’s instinct. My training in an advanced reserved naval course would have been useless if I did not apply the basics of what I learned. Besides, it’s a matter of self-preservation.”
“What if they would hunt us?”
“You should be glad we’re in this hotel. At least we’re safe for the time being,” Peter said, trying to seek reassurance.
“It wasn’t easy getting in here. I never experienced in my whole life leaving a two-storey house through a window, inching my way through narrow passages under the cover of a fleeting darkness, dressed unusually…” Myra stressed.
“I was attired like being in an early morning jog,” Peter tried to be funny but Myra was solemn.
“Not me. I was a puzzling woman when I entered the hotel premises. The way I was dressed, that is. Good thing the guard knows me. Not a lot of people are around … Thank God, there was no untoward … It wasn’t easy, really …”
There was silence for a while.
“The guests were frantically leaving yesterday, some saying they’d shun the invasion. The hotel’s almost empty now. And then, such thing which just happened to us. What’s behind this occurrence, Pete?” Myra sought for an answer.
“My fears have materialized, Myra. The Iraqis are here,” Peter answered.
***
As the sun moved up higher in the sky, the exploding sounds were getting fewer. The heat which subsumed the coolness of dawn had become unrelenting as Villar waited for Qassif to return but it appeared that there was still no shadow of him although it was nearing high noon.
After taking his lunch, the captain went to the gangplank but found no sign of Qassif’s arrival. Instead, his eyes got irritated by the unsightly moves of Qassif’s guards in the vicinity of the gangplank’s entry point along the pier. They held their weapons as if they were ready to fire in an instant and looking up at the ship like a hunter seeking for a target.
When the captain was convinced that Qassif was not coming back at all, he decided to take a nap. He was about to depart from his fleeting consciousness when a commotion took place on board the vessel. This brought him to total wakefulness and a finding that Qassif had arrived. The latter had more men with him this time.
***
Myra had finished packing up her belongings at the hotel. It was nearly noontime. She had requested for a three-day leave of absence from the hotel management and was subsequently allowed such avail, given the circumstances prevailing.
Myra went to the hotel’s locker room and emptied her locker with contents of personal effects. She was glad that her credit card was left there as she would make use of the same in paying the hotel’s Items Shoppe for new sets of apparel she and Peter purchased to have something new to change with. After having placed all the articles from her locker in a large-sized shoulder bag, Myra passed by the reception counter and intended to exchange parting words with three other employees, two males and a female, who were in the midst of a conversation.
“Are you really a Sri Lankan, Derik?” the Filipina receptionist was questioning one of her male companions.
“Actually, my mother’s a Filipina and my father a Sri Lankan. I carry the citizenship of my father, Tanya. And that’s why friends and acquaintances have always referred to me as the Sri Lankan,” Derik explained.
“I see … unlike Elmo here, a full-bloodied Manilenio,” Tanya said.
“Of course,” Elmo confirmed.
“Excuse me, but I’ll be off now,” Myra found an occasion to butt in.
“Take care,” they said to Myra.
“Thanks. Take care, too, the three of you. Elmo, Derik, be on guard for Tanya,” she uttered as she waved goodbye to them. Tanya was assigned at the reception counter, Derik a valet and Elmo a driver of the hotel.
“We’ll miss you Myra,” Derik intoned as Myra was moving away.
“You’re not hiding the tone of despair in your voice, Derik,” Tanya commented with Myra getting more distant. Meanwhile, Elmo just flashed a meaningful smile on his face.
“How can I…?”
“Brush it off, Derik. Your crush on Myra will only bring you more sadness as you continue to cherish it. She’s so attached to him now,” Tanya counseled the valet.
Myra left the hotel in the company of Peter who carried her shoulder bag through the side gate. After standing at the road side for a few minutes, an empty taxi was chanced upon by them as it made a right turn from the nearest road junction. They immediately boarded the vehicle when it stopped beside them.
“Get fast please, we’re in a hurry,” Myra requested the driver.
Their destination was the Philippine Embassy in Kuwait City.
As the cab swiftly negotiated the road and turned left at the next junction, a column of military vehicles with a tank at the tail end arrived at the hotel.
Part 2:
Raging Moments
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Chapter Four
Captain Villar quickly moved and hied himself to the gangplank but Qassif was already on the deck when he met him. Without hesitation, the Iraqi major made an announcement.
“We are replacing the complement of this ship with our own people. Only the captain and his chief officer are to remain on board. The rest will have to disembark as our own personnel will now take over,” Major Qassif made clear his instructions.
“No! Over my dead body!” the captain’s voice boomed, his blood pressure rising and at the same time maintaining a steadfast posture. He would have thrown a mailed fist at the major’s mouth had it not been for the fact that dozens of guns were supporting the Iraqi officer’s back.
“In that case, dead bodies will be floating overboard,” the Iraqi officer coldly remarked.
“Captain, please…. Major, give us a moment,” Chief Mate Ramos, who had just arrived aided by Third Mate Gomez, interceded, pacifying their superior officer and shoving him away from the Iraqi as they whispered something to him.
“Sir, we are in no bargaining position. They have staged an invasion. They are waging war,” the chief mate intoned, appearing to have prevailed upon the former to calm down as they retreated several steps from the major.
As the chief and third officers pleaded with Villar, the tense situation was diffused. Qassif merely looked at them nonchalantly while maintaining an alert, hard and fast stance.
“A moment, major …” Chief Officer Ramos addressed Qassif with his right hand raised as if seeking permission to do something.
The major, saying nothing, just stared sternly at the three seamen as they stepped back farther and withdrew toward the bridge at the upper deck as the tension ebbed completely.
Meanwhile, Alan remained immobile, gazing in amazement at the major and his men. He saw, instead, that his world was crumbling down. Minutes earlier, he had built a dream so grand and beautiful. Now, he found it disintegrating into pieces.
Swayed by his subordinates’ insistent pleading with him, Captain Villar’s rage died down. He had finally come to a realization that it would be futile for him to maintain a combative posture. Sitting down and composing himself, he issued instructions to the chief mate.
“Tell that intruder I alone would like to remain in this ship if they have available personnel up to the level of chief officer and engineer,” the captain ordered the chief mate.
“But, sir, the two of us are needed on board,” Chief Mate Ramos protested.
“No. Leave this matter for me alone to deal with. I’ve been a ship master for the good part of my life. The rest of you still have to work out a future for your selves. Go, find a way out of this if you can,” the captain indicated he needed no further argument on his desire.
With motions of his hands, the master dismissed his chief officer and the latter reluctantly left the bridge, proceeding to where Major Qassif stood in order to make known Villar’s desire.
Qassif at first tried to think it over.
Then he said: “Our complement will be arriving from Baghdad this afternoon. I think we can dispense with everybody, including mates and engineers, as we have enough technical men and volunteers to run this vessel. We only need the captain as our link to the owners of this ship and as communicator on our behalf.”
“I’ll relay the information to the captain,” and Ramos slowly moved, returning to the bridge.
Arriving there, he apprised the captain of the Iraqi’s response.
“He’s amenable to your wishes, sir.”
“Good. Don’t waste time then. Have all your belongings ready for disembarkation. The men, too, instruct them.”
“It pains me to leave you alone here, sir,” the chief mate intoned, exhibiting an air of sadness.
“It would be more painful if you stay behind,” the master coldly remarked. He would have intended to assuage his sailing mate’s heavy emotions but did not produce the desired results as Ramos sobbed.
It was then that Alan entered the bridge followed by Third Mate Gomez.
The two highest officers of the ship were prompted to turn their heads.
“Sir, what recourse do we have now?” Alan asked, his face sporting an expression of bewilderment. His grim mood was shared by the third mate.
Villar skirted his apprentice mate’s question and went direct to the point. He said: “Alan, I was building a grand dream for you. But circumstances have reduced everything to pieces. I wanted to touch you a gold, but it seems that a stone is what I instead produced. You should hurry, pack your things up and leave the ship. Nothing is certain now.”
“Sir …” Third Mate Gomez wanted to say something too but he was at a loss for words.
The captain turned to him. “You, too, Ben … Lose no time in leaving. This is my ship. I go where they take it.”
Gomez showed an expression of despair in his face. His pained looks exacerbated the prevailing mood in the bridge.
Less than an hour later, a squad of sailors was seen flowing down the gangplank of M/V Hope. Each seaman was carrying his own packs and belongings. Tailing the line was a disappointed Alan and he carried the heaviest of faces. Immediately before him was the chief mate who was so saddened by what they got into. The quartermaster headed the line followed by the third mate. The engineers and other members of the complement were in between.
Captain Villar stood on the ship’s side alley, his hands holding the railing. For the last time, he and Alan looked at each other before the latter finally went down the gangplank. The captain flashed an uneasy smile and a thumbs-up sign. He likewise acknowledged the last glance from his chief officer with a nod. When he turned around he found Qassif with his back on the railing but watching him through a side glance. As he passed by him, the major uttered words as if whispering.
“Tomorrow the ship will start loading its cargoes,” the Iraqi said.
Villar just looked at Qassif but did not say a word. He went direct to the bridge.
Meanwhile, the group of dislodged seamen from the ship M/V Hope who were already on the wharf found that there was a yellow commuter service bus waiting for them in one of the port’s perimeter limits. Dusk was already setting in and it was getting hazy fast. The sailors walked toward the vehicle in single file guided by four Iraqi troopers who led them to the bus.
When not one of the four soldiers was looking at him as he was at the end of the file, Alan suddenly detached himself from the group unnoticed and hid between a pile of cargoes they had passed by. He further inched himself through the narrow alley created by the space between the heap of loads and slowly crawled deep into the inner storage area inside the port limits. When Chief Mate Ramos turned his head before boarding the bus, he was shocked to find Alan was no longer behind him. But he kept it to himself. The guards perhaps failed to notice or they didn’t care at all. It was getting dark and they were not particular about their captives’ number.
When all of the seamen had embarked on the bus, the vehicle left the harbor with four Iraqi guards on board. Alan, who remained unnoticed, peeped through a space between two crates from a distance and saw the departing bus until it vanished from his sight.
“Where are we bound for?” Third Mate Gomez who was seated behind the driver asked the latter.
“They’re taking you to Baghdad,” the driver answered without looking at the third officer.
Seated behind the third mate was the chief officer who heard the conversation but did not seem to care as his mind lingered. He was sure Alan had not gotten into the bus and still, instinct prompted him to look around. It was a confirmation that the apprentice mate had gone elsewhere. The Iraqis nevertheless remained unconcerned as they ordered the bus driver to proceed to their destination. Either they missed what was supposed to be the total number of passengers escorted by them or they did not care at all if such total was minus one. As the bus was speeding toward the desert, gloom commenced to descend.
Chapter Five
Earlier in the afternoon of August 3, 1990, when Peter and Myra arrived at the Philippine Embassy in Kuwait, they immediately looked for the Deputy Employment and Welfare Attache but he was not in his office. His secretary told them that Brian Rios, the DEWA, was busy somewhere in the embassy premises attending to the multitude of Filipinos who had sought refuge therein, mostly runaways from their employers.
At the Philippine Embassy in the Kuwaiti capital, a throng of people seeking refuge was simply an awesome sight. The explosions they heard at first signs of the inroad on Kuwait had jolted them and sent chills to their nerves, prompting some to flee their residences without ado and others to abandon their places of work. The eventual spread of uniformed Iraqis in the streets of Kuwait City drove them away, fleeing to the embassy compound. They were Filipinos, jobseekers who finally landed various kinds of employment in the Middle East, particularly in Kuwait. They grasped all sorts of employment contracts just to have an alternative to the scarcity of jobs at home. They had left their country hoping that with the earnings they would get from a foreign land they could improve the living conditions of their families back home, and also their own while away on a work mission. The way the circumstances had evolved now could obliterate all that.
“I don’t have to wait for him, Myra, you’ll be safe here. I have to go back to my ship. It’s supposed to sail this afternoon,” the second mate said to Myra.
“Are you still leaving me, Pete? I thought you’d stay with me all the time now,” Myra held the arms of her beau.
“I am a sailor, Myra, and I have not yet retired from navigating.”
Myra embraced Peter and started to weep.
“When will it stop? I mean your having to leave again … and again?” Myra asked Peter after regaining her composure.
“It will, in the near future. We’ll be together once more … and be with each other forever when all things get done and its appointed time comes,” Peter replied.
“Is my necklace with you, Pete?”
“No….”
“It wasn’t in my locker at the hotel.”
“Don’t worry I’ll buy you another one when I reach the next port.”
“The pendant contains my picture.”
“Pose for a better one. We’ll attach it to a dearer jewelry,” Peter whispered to Myra. He kissed her and left the embassy.
***
When the soldiers arrived at the Qasrah Regal Hotel after the departure of Peter and Myra earlier, reactions of those still there were varied: stunned silence, disturbance, panic and hysteria. The remaining few guests who were jolted from their shares of the siesta ran to the doors of their rooms and heads popped out almost simultaneously. Some chorused ‘what’s that’ in unison. One man nearly jumped out of the window until he realized that he was on the fourth floor of the hotel.
The appearance of the soldiers who started to pour in at the hotel caused the atmosphere of conviviality, which usually permeated the lobby, to be subsumed by a surging cloud of perplexed anxiety. There was certainty in the thinking of some occupants that the hotel could have been among the few establishments lately intruded to by the soldiers since they signaled their coming with explosions the day before. It was the farthest from the central portion of the downtown area, being situated in the southernmost outskirts of the city. The Iraqis came from the north. They realized that had they been so quick at all, they could have avoided the soldiers if they instantly left at the first bursts by cruising downwards to Saudi Arabia. But they had no inkling that the soldiers would reach their hotel. Those who had did not waste a single moment.
An uncanny fear struck the three employees of the hotel when one of the soldiers approached them. Tanya, the uniformed girl at the reception counter, was still conversing with Elmo and Derik when the uniformed man, a sergeant, asked her a question.
“This hotel is what they call QRH, right?”
“Yes, sir, the Qasrah Regal Hotel,” Tanya answered.
Four other soldiers approached the sergeant. They were privates. One of them handed a necklace to him which the sergeant showed to Tanya.
“You know this girl, don’t you?” he asked Tanya.
The hotel employee examined carefully the necklace presented to her by the sergeant, and to her consternation, it was Myra’s picture in the pendant at the back of which the letters QRH were engraved. Her two male colleagues were aghast.
“You know her?” the sergeant repeated.
Tanya first cast a meaningful look at Elmo and Derik before answering the sergeant. “She must be a guest who already checked out.”
“Why does she have a QRH?”
“Any guest can buy that at the Items Shoppe. Pardon me, sir, but why are you looking for her?” Tanya’s reaction with an inquiry was spontaneous.
“She just killed our detachment commander!”
“Ugh!” Tanya coughed, as if she swallowed something hard. Her two male companions grimaced.
“That’s incredible!” Elmo could no longer withhold comment.
“Why do you say so?” the sergeant turned his attention to him.
“I mean she’s just a girl … as you said. How could she do it?”
The sergeant did not mind him anymore and instead turned to his four privates. “Let’s go to the Items Shoppe.”
***
Myra spent almost the entire afternoon waiting for the DEWA but he was simply being too busy with the other seekers of his attention. He was personally administering the registration and data-gathering of the persons who had sought shelter at the embassy. His office was grossly undermanned and its facilities could not provide the needed accommodation to be extended to the ‘guests.’ It would take time before she could get to him.
A long-haired woman about five years older than her approached Myra. “This situation is incredible,” she said.
“You’ve been here since yesterday?” Myra asked her.
“Since early this morning, and I don’t think we could get him to immediately whisk us out of here. He seems to be making all instructions to the welfare assistant. Isn’t he planning to leave ahead of us?” the woman spoke anxiously.
“But why …”
The woman snapped Myra. “I have talked to two other women devising a more expedient plan. Listen to what they said.”
And she whispered something to Myra.
***
It was being cast with darkness when the international port of Kuwait appeared in full view of Peter Singh. As he was approaching the gate of the port premises, he saw a yellow commuter service bus leaving the area. He crossed the road separating him from the gate and passed through the guard house. The sentry assigned at that particular hour was the one who had logged him out when he first left the pier and he instantly recognized him. The Iraqis had not relieved the guard.
“Didn’t they take you too?” the sentry asked Peter.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your companions on that bus with the Iraqis.”
“Whaat?” Peter could not believe what he had just heard. “I’ll go to my ship anyway.”
“Proceed, sir. The Iraqi soldiers may be waiting for you,” said the guard.
“Huh?!” The puzzlement of Peter was total.
***
As the shadowy surroundings gripped him, Alan was at a loss on what to do and where to go. He had gone out of the port zone after inserting himself between crates and boxes, buildings and structures, fences and broken walls, sometimes almost crawling and at one instance climbing a six-foot high wire fence serving to mark the perimeter in order to completely extricate himself from the seafront tract of land.
He was too careful in not being seen by a couple or the few other individuals he happened to spot in a distance as he sought for a safer route in his unstoppable dash, deep into the city. Reducing himself into a mere silhouette whenever a trace of light or glimmer sometimes became inevitable while he was taking his route, Alan made sure that it was but momentary and could not draw attention.
Approaching the urban center, Alan noted that several deserted buildings were burned; he presumed that these were bombed by the Iraqis. He stopped beside a structure which was still smoldering and noted that it was a grocery store, burnt partially as there were items of merchandise still visible. He went inside slowly, careful not to injure or inflict pain upon himself, and found that there were food items he could still make use of. As these were canned or packed, he was certain the same could stave off his hunger. He started scavenging until his rummage paid off. There were even unscathed bottles of mineral water underneath the charred articles.
Alan located some partially damaged bags and culled those he could still make use of. He was able to lift two bags and strode to the back portion of a damaged edifice which turned out to be an abandoned storage compound. He positioned himself in what used to be a small warehouse and slouched over the used boxes. He lost no time in unpacking his spoils, consumed them and gulped the still warm contents of retrieved mineral water. His weariness sent him to slumber on top of the discarded cartons.
***
The bulbs atop the lampposts scattered along the extensive grounds of the harbor emitted bright lights and Peter immediately drew the attention of the soldiers guarding the M/V Hope and its berthing space when he arrived there.
One of the Iraqis accosted him, almost blocking his way.
“I’m the second officer of that ship,” Peter told the trooper and, raising his arm, pointed his index finger to the vessel.
The confused soldier turned his head to the other guards who signaled him to lead Peter nearer the ship. When they reached the base of the gangplank, Major Qassif appeared before its upper end.
“What’s the problem down there?”
“Sir, this man claims he is the second officer of that ship,” one of the guards responded, almost shouting to ensure Qassif heard him.
“A second officer?” the major was stunned.
Calling his aide, he yelled: “Get the captain out here!”
A few minutes later, Captain Villar emerged and joined Qassif near the gangplank.
“Sir?” Peter called out upon being sure that it was Villar who showed up.
“Do you know that man?” Qassif asked the captain.
Villar was distraught but remained silent. He could not decipher what he was undergoing at that precise moment.
“I am asking you whether you know that guy who claims to be your second officer. Are you listening to me?” Qassif hollered at Villar.
“I don’t know him,” Villar coldly uttered.
“Get him out of here!” Qassif ordered his guards. “The captain says he doesn’t know him. He’s a fake, a nonsense.”
“Captain Villar, it’s me, Peter!” the second officer shouted. He was shocked at the unexpected turn of events. His voice had gone down to hoarseness as he cryingly blurted, “Are you out of your mind? What do you mean you don’t know me? I am your second mate!”
As the captain and the major made themselves no longer available, the soldiers guarding the ship grabbed Peter by his arms and dragged him out of the port compound. He tried to ward them off and do battle with them but their sheer number made it impossible to let his chops and kicks triumph. In the end, he went down like a falling tree.
“You can’t do this to me!” Peter continued to make known his protestations and misgivings at the top of his voice as the guards loaded him on a trailer and drove beyond the gate. The sentry who had earlier been accommodating to him could not believe what his eyes were seeing.
After being maneuvered out of the gate, the vehicle which carried the second mate stopped when it reached the nearest road junction. The soldiers instinctively pushed Peter off and drove back to the pier. The seaman agonized when his body went down flat on the road. As he screamed to let out the pains—in both body and spirit—a white-colored Turtlehouse crew cab passed by and sounded a loud ‘screech’ when it stopped beside him.
On board the M/V Hope, the Iraqi major went to the owner’s cabin to retire. It was there where he billeted himself. Villar stayed at his captain’s cabin, most of the time having his eyes shut while sulking in his bunk. When he opened them they were red.
***
When twilight came, it brought confusion to those who occupied the Philippine Embassy in Kuwait, and they lingered aimlessly, dawdling around without definite direction. Taking advantage of the crowd’s uncertain mood, four women slipped by and surreptitiously left the embassy ground while nightfall was gradually taking over, running toward a waiting Kuwaiti police patrol car with two constables sitting in the front seat and expecting for them. The four women squeezed themselves at the back seat. The fourth passenger was Myra.
With all doors shut, the patrol car promptly pulled away from the scene.
“This is Corporal Charles Ubaud of the Kuwaiti Police, a special friend of Grace,” the woman who earlier whispered something to Myra said. She pointed to a constable beside the driver and then turned to one of the domestic helpers who rode the car with them.
“Hello and thanks,” Myra said.
“We’ll take you to the pier and let you board a small boat bound for Basra,” the corporal said. “A man will wait for you there and let you board a bus which will take you to Jordan. From there arrangements will be made to have you get back to your country.”
“Oh, we’re grateful. You’re really so kind to us,” Myra was profuse with thanks.
“I’m just returning a favor. Your friend Grace has done a lot, making me happy.”
Myra moved her sight towards the domestic helper mentioned but Grace avoided seeing her eye-to-eye. The two other women seemed not to care.
“Pardon me, but you’re Kuwaitis, right?” Myra asked, having turned to the constable once again.
“Of course. We just pretended as defectors to the Iraqis. Our car is flying their flag, you see? You’re in safest hands.”
When they were about to come nearer a junction that would lead them to the pier if they were to veer right, Myra saw a white-colored Turtlehouse crew cab parked beside the road while an obviously unconscious man was being loaded into the vehicle which instantaneously left the area even without having its doors fully shut yet.
The patrol car turned right at the junction and entered the port gate. The sentry at the guard house even rendered a salute. Myra saw that the pier was illuminated and soldiers abound. But they were all gathered near a large ship, not minding the small boats moored at the far end of the wharf.
Myra and her three companions disembarked from the patrol car and proceeded to one of the small boats. She noticed that Grace was the last one to get on board as she had to embrace the corporal and receive kisses from him. It did not take long and the boat left the pier.
Myra stared at the single large vessel which could be seen along the harbor. She was certain it was Peter’s ship. She was thinking he could be well on board now returning to his chores.
Meanwhile, the white-colored Turtlehouse crew cab was speeding toward an unknown destination.
Chapter Six
As the soldiers loitered in the different parts of the hotel, the apprehensions of those seeing them intensified. Tanya was at the reception counter examining the contents of her handbag to make sure that everything she wanted it to contain had been placed there when Elmo came back from a nearby function room. Following him was Derik. It was nighttime and hours after the three of them first gathered and made the conversation in the same spot.
“It’s trouble now. The Iraqis are lording it over toward everybody here in Kuwait, Tanya,” Elmo commented.
“You mean, all those soldiers are Iraqis?”
“They are. Everyone of them,” it was Derik who responded.