Yes, I need to make a field trip to Quiapo soon. Normal citizens living their sheltered lives usually think protection money is extortion, but Crispin didn’t care. His conscience was clear: he offered a service, did it well, and was paid his due.
He protected the area surrounding St. John the Baptist Church in Manila, more popularly known as Quiapo Church, one of the country’s oldest basilicas, built by the Spaniards in 1582. Behind it, near the alcove where the devotees of the resident image of the Black Nazarene gather between feast days and parades, is R. Hidalgo street, the center of the underground religious economy, both the Roman Catholic and the alternative.
Here, amidst stalls selling freshly-cut flowers for offerings, novena pamphlets, hymnals, missals, rosaries and replicas of popular religious icons, the visitor, tourist, devotee or miracle seeker will find old ladies offering to light candles and pray by proxy for a fee,
herbolarios hawking snake oil, incense, potions and other alternative remedies, as well as mystics selling amulets, talismans, curses, spells and counterspells.
As a territory, it wasn’t as lucrative as Binondo where the Chinese traders wholesaled everything from garments to fake designer goods and pirated DVDs, but he was fine with it. The only people he had to contend with were the purse-snatchers, pickpockets, and misguided policemen. Plus, it was where he grew up, and they were his people.
His preferred payment was cash, and often, the people in his territory would offer him their services in exchange, but the only people he allowed to pay him in trade were the fortune tellers. He liked them, liked what they told him, and once in a while, what they said came true. And even when they didn’t, it was still nice to be told good things.
So when they came to him with complaints, he took them very seriously.
Aling Carmela was one of the oldest fortune tellers, and one the most popular, batting an amazing 95% in her predictions—a fact she owed to her ability to sense what people wanted to hear, and express them in such a convincing fashion that the people believed them so firmly and fiercely, until they came true. Her only failure that he remembered was the time she told a young man he would win the lottery, whereupon he promptly bought a ticket, got caught in a crossfire between policemen and some bank robbers, and died. Still, no one could prove it was totally false, as the said lottery ticket was swept along with the rest of the resulting debris after the shooting had died down.
She and a group of other fortune tellers now crowded in what passed for his dressing room at the Blue Hawaii, a girly joint that advertised nude shows with bananas, pingpong balls and similar props; where he had a regular gig doing the intermission numbers between the regular stripteases and live shows.
They were not happy.
“She’s ruining our business!” Aling Carmela wailed. “And she isn’t following the rules!”
“Who? What? Where? When?”
“The-the-the-the new girl!”
Aling Carmela was by now livid and stuttering, so Mang Selyo, an old transvestite who declared himself the last of a long line of
babaylan, Filipino priestesses (who were traditionally male, but acted female, it's true, don’t ask) of the forest guardians, took it upon himself to explain.
“The rules say, you’re not supposed to say anything bad! Even when you see them! You’re supposed to prophesy only good things! “ Mang Selyo was turning pink in the heat, both from anger and his makeup. “ The new girl only says bad things! Terrible things! And then she sells amulets and spells to counter them!”
He frowned. “That’s bad?”
Aling Carmela stamped. “We may be fakes and charlatans, but-but-but we have rules! That ‘s why I didn’t tell that boy he was going to d-d-d-die, even if I saw it clear as day! That’s why I just told him he was going to win the lottery, so he’d at least be happy!”
Mang Selyo nodded, then took a deep breath. “ That Isidora. She is doing a bad, bad thing.”
“With double-compensation!” This was from Attorney Cruz, sometime notary public as well as dealer in antiques (if he can't steal you an original, he'll have one made to order, just for you) and fake diplomas from Philippine top universities.
“She isn’t paying you protection money! “
“And she’s ruining our business!”
“You have to do something!”
He nodded, and said he would take care of it. That was his job, after all.
Crispin found Isidora's stall easily, right where they said it would be. The fortune teller was busy with a mark, er, customer: a young girl obviously alarmed at what she was hearing. He watched as she touched the customer’s shoulder in gentle concern, saying something that obviously comforted the poor victim. Er, customer.
They stood up, and the fortune teller went off to the side, putting an assortment of medallions, herbs and candles into a paper bag, which the relieved girl gratefully received, handing Isidora a bunch of purple one-hundred peso bills in exchange and thanking her profusely before leaving.
Isidora saw him and smiled. “ Would you like to know your future? ”
He shrugged. “Sure. How much?”
“Twenty bucks.” At least she didn’t charge more than the going rate.
She waved him closer, and he sat on the stool. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Basilio, “ he answered. “Although I would have thought you’d be able to guess it with your psychic powers.”
She laughed. “Such a kidder. Here. Cut the cards, please. Keep your questions clearly formed in your mind.”
He cut the cards, frowning, then waited while she spread the cards into the standard Celtic cross.
She turned over the first card. It was the Nine of Swords, right-side up. The figure on the card let out a loud yawn, and her eyes bulged in surprise. The figure yawned again. “ Better be careful what you say, you might get in trouble with this one.”
“Did you hear that?” she asked, alarmed.
“Hear what?”
“Never mind, “she said, turning the next card over.
The Hanged Man sang, “Lalalalala! “ She jumped back in surprise, just abit, but it was obvious she was getting spooked. The hanged man continued.” Better wise up, girl. You’re in way over your head. You’ve gone and pissed off all those mystics and witches and spellcasters in the area, and this area is under the protection of a veeerrrrrrry powerful force.”
She turned the third card over. The Page of Swords had a childish voice. “Nyanyanyah! Someone’s gonna get it! Someone’s gonna get it!”
“You’re taking a bit long, aren’t you?” Crispin asked, covering a grin with his hand as he noticed the beads of sweat forming on her three shades now paler face. “Okay. I’ve paid my twenty bucks. What do the cards say?”
“Hold on a minute, “she said stammering a little. “I…I just need to check something.
Crispin waited, watching as she turned over the next card. The Devil. Perfect. “ You’ve messed with my people! “ the Devil boomed. “Now you must pay! Bahahahahaha!”
She backed away in fear, but tripped, hitting the card table with her knee, sending the cards flying all over the place. She watched in horror as she saw the cards. Death. Justice. Judgement. The Magician. She threw her money at Crispin, put fingers in her ears, shouting. "Go! Please! Go away! Go!”
He pocketed the money, and left, whistling.
It was a happy old bunch that crowded in his dressing room the next night, bringing him gifts of flowers, vegetables, scarves and two live chickens. “ They’re a little old and maybe a bit tough, “ Mang Selyo explained, “But they’ll make the tastiest
tinola if you boil them in ginger for half a day, with semi-ripe slices of papaya and pepper leaves. “
He smiled, thanking them, as he put on his cape and fake moustache. “She isn’t bothering you anymore, I take it?”
Aling Carmela beamed. “She’s gone, and business is good, as usual. “ They cleared a path for him when he stood up. “We should go now, so you can prepare for your performance. We don’t know how to thank you…”
Crispin shook his head. “It’s what you pay me for, “ he said, checking his fake moustache one last time as he heard the MC telling the audience to prepare to be astounded by Crispin the Great. Aling Carmela handed him the ventriloquist’s dummy he used for his act. “All in a day’s work, “ he made the dummy say. “Would you like to stay for the show?”
