PANAY LAS CRUCES
Marla was convinced that being so far from home was not all that bad,
really, and after all this was what she had originally sought. Last night in the
Manila hotel suite was filled with gaiety not unlike summery evenings in San
Francisco, and traveling in the company of her own company's two handsome
officers really helped dispel any lingering fear she might have held about
making the trip. Still, it was far away and the seaplane ride they had taken
early that morning was very different from anything she had experience before.
New experiences were the reasons for making her decision. Second-guessing at
this stage was ridiculous.
The 4-wheeler jitney that met them on the island of Panay was almost
ridiculous. A joke, maybe, but the jostling ride soon removed any vestiges of
humor. When Marla had first discussed her plans with Michael and Ed, they had
just finished an especially grueling fourth quarter. Thanks to all of their
efforts, it looked as though the company would be rolling in profits very soon
and Marla knew that if she was to follow through on her fantasy, the time had
arrived. She told both of the young men of her wish that the three of them
journey to the Philippine Islands. Marla had researched through a business
contact who gave her names and places where she would need to go. It took some
convincing, but eventually, Michael and Ed agreed. She was the boss, after all,
and they allowed that a trip for them was due even if it meant fulfilling their
boss's fantasy.
Marla long fantasized about what it would be like to be crucified.
Thatched roofs passed by as their guide and driver, Duarte, fought the wheel
and cursed in Tagalog. Water buffalo grazed among the terraced rice fields but
they too began to disappear, as did the actual road. Much cursing and bumping
later, the party journeyed to the mountain province. Weavers and woodcarvers
gave way to more wild ferns, bamboo, palms and banana leaves. Duarte cursed his
fate. The heat was killing, but the crazy Americans paid well and the tall blond
woman who seemed to lead them was very pretty.
In a great cloud of dust, the truck crunched to a stop. Looking on either
side of them, the Americans saw a small clearing in the jungle. It was a village
and though a few corrugated shacks could be seen, there was not a human in
sight. Duarte wiped the back of his sweating neack and looked back over his
shoulder at his passengers. "O 'immaliayu", he said with teeth rotted from too
much sugar and not enough brushing.
"It means", Marla said to her companions, "You are here. Don'tcha get it? We
are here! Las Cruces. Cummon. Let's get out of this heap."
Michael and Ed grabbed the bags and slowly untwined their legs from the
tight compartment. Marla already was out and stood on the sand. Duarte blared
the horn, looking for any welcome. Soon all four stood outside of the motorized
relic.
"Look! Over there", Ed said and the others followed his point. "Looks like a
church. Let's check it out."
They walked across the hot clearing to the small church and knocked on the
wooden doors. At first there was no answer until at last one of the doors slowly
opened. Inside the dark interior stood an aging prelate.
"Mr. Mahdavi-Kini sent us", Marla said to the old man. His slumped figure
stood wrinkled and scarred by years of toil. She looked back at her companions
as the man inside the church slowly beckoned with his arthritic hand palm down.
"I think he wants for me to enter!"
The faces of her companions nodded in agreement. Taking a big gulp, she
stepped over the musty entrance and let the darkness seep in as the door behind
her swung closed. Appropriate to begin realizing her fantasy in a church of all
places, she thought.
The cleric, if that was what he was, could hardly be seen in the gloom and
Marla searched around for sight of anyone else. There was just the two of them.
The old voice muttered something she thought sounded like please and he handed
her a rough cloth. She understood as he turned away, though her eyes now could
detect that he was watching her in the reflection of a decaying jar. Oh well,
she thought. this was her choice, so she began to unbutton her shirt and unlace
her boots. Once free of the shirt and slacks, she slipped the rough sack over
her head and let it drop over the bra and panties she wore. The man slowly
turned back to face her, but shook his decrepit head. Understanding, Marla
reached under and pulled out the bra and then slipped the band off of her hips
and stepped free of the panties, The combination of cool dirt under her bare
feet and rough rag scratching her tender skin raised goose-flesh.
She thought she heard him mumble gracious thanks and then once more, he
opened the door. The blinding sunlight filled the space. But where her friends
and the driver had stood, there were now over a dozen native men wearing nothing
more than white loincloths over their mahogany bodies. Blinking, she stumbled
out into the heat. Coarse hands took hers and led her around the back of the
church and to the entrance of an alley amidst the other squalor. Frantically
looking for Michael and Edward, she finally found them casually sitting in the
vintage Landover. Its doors open, she clearly saw Michael, Edward and Duarte.
Michael was eating a sandwich and Duarte was cursing while Ed seemed to be
holding a PalmCorder in his hand. She almost started to yell, but fell back in
step with her naked guides as they led her closer to the alleyway.
Marla had to laugh to herself, despite her plight. Here she was, a west
coast entrepreneur, successful, pretty, young, and rich, down on all fours in
some filthy alley with all these strange men around her. As they removed their
white wraps, her long fingers wantonly reached out. She stroked those who were
not entering her. Sucking and stroking and fucking like a street slut, she loved
it! Her dirty blond hair that had been up in a ponytail because of the heat was
loosed and fell around her shoulders and humble garb. The heat blistered down
and all that Marla could think of was to hope that Ed was getting some good
shots on tape. This would make some souvenir once they finally got back home.
She'd have to shampoo the real dirt from her dirty blonde hair
Marla awoke as someone was shaking her shoulder. Looking up from the mud
where she had laid her head, she saw that it was one of the villagers. He was
once more clothed and was motioning for her to rise and follow him back to the
church. Sorely, her legs moved and she got to one knee and then stood. Two of
them stood next to her. She shook her hair free of the filth and allowed them to
tie her arms behind her back.
This must be the start of Round Two, she thought as she secretly smiled.
Once out of the alleyway and back to the church steps, though, smiles were not
in evidence - secret or no. In fact, all of the strange faces looked very
serious.
From what she could gather, the group of native women where the wives and
girlfriends of the men she had been with and they appeared none too happy to
have the tall American visit them, much less, diddle with their men-folk. The
women ranged in ages and all wore shawls over full dresses of simple weave.
Marla started to speak to one, when a woman much shorter than she swung and
slapped her face with a stinging blow across her right cheek. Marla felt her lip
instantly swell as she glared back at her attacker. Another one of them swung,
this time doubling Marla at the waist with a blow to her stomach that knocked
wind from her. A third slammed a punch to her kidney, dropping her to the dust.
The women chattered so fast that she could not understand. It was Tagalog,
but a rural dialect and she could not follow what they where saying. Strong
hands - they had to be a man's - pulled the back of her rough dress up and she
rose with it. They took her over to a tall post. Frantically looking around, she
saw the three men she had journeyed with laughing amongst themselves over by the
truck. Hands pulled Marla's arms high above her head.. They were retied above
her with rough rope. The rope was yanked up higher so that the tips of her toes
could barely scrape the dust. Her panting body lay into the sturdiness of the
post from which she now hung. Opening her eyes, she looked past her right
shoulder. Below, there was a local woman whose eyes blazed. She seemed to be
cursing Marla. The American tried to protest the woman's curses and the ropes
that held her, but she was now helpless. From the corner of her eye, Marla saw
the native brandish a long, thick whip. It was the kind the ranchers used on
water buffalo. Looking skyward, Marla rued the day she had ever thought of
actually living her fantasy.
The first stroke was harsh. Marla felt it tear at the filthy rag she wore
and promised to ignore the pain. The second lash wound around her middle and
curled to her front snapping the coarse material there. The third made Marla
jerk. She looked up at her wrists and sweating forearms. Her wrists were red -
too red! Succeeding blows brought cries, then shrieks, then wails. There was
nothing that Marla could do but try and hang on the best she could.
From the relative shade of the truck, the men watched the courtyard. Hanging
from the post was their own CEO. The assured boss now was screeching in pain and
the rags she wore now were spinning in flying tatters as each lash hit her.
Blood could be seen where the pale flesh was shown. Michael asked Ed if he
wanted another sandwich and his partner simply asked for another videotape.
One of the men, an older one, brought over a large wooden bucket that he had
filled at the village well. He threw its contents onto the torn back of the
American, then told the women to let her down. As her moaning body collapsed in
a heap, other men came over and lifted the blonde back up to her feet. He leaned
the slumped form with her bleeding back against the upright and looked back over
to where the two American men sat. Getting the wave from them, he told the
others that the passion would now continue.
Marla was dazed. Her lips shivered and what remained of her functioning mind
told her that this was certainly not in any travel brochure she had seen. She
tried to pull away from the strong hands that grasped her, but they held fast.
She was forced down, once more, to kneel. Looking up, she saw one of the
villagers approach. He held in his hands what looked to be a crudely fashioned
crown. What Marla did not realize was that the so-called crown was made of
concertina wire and its razor-sharp prongs were made of steel that would bend
under force much stronger than any flesh could bring to bear.
Hands held up her head by its chin as other hands crammed the crown onto her
head. She screamed out again as the barbs cut, but this time her yells were not
as loud as when she had been whipped. Another bucket of water was doused over
her to revive her and this time the once proud mane of blond was darkened.
A roughly carved branch of indigenous wood was brought over. Its bark was
not completely off and it was roughly laid over Marla's shoulders. Her arms were
outstretched and tied to the wood.
"Please...", she said gasping as her body bent and head hung under her wet
hair, "Enough....Enough."
The village elder ignored her and motioned for his people to follow the
trail that would lead to the hill where the American would get her wish.
From elevations up the tropical mountain the procession could now see
glimpses of the shoreline, hundreds of feet below them. Long departed from the
tiny village, progress was achingly slow for a number of reasons determined by
Man, Machine and Nature but through the dense and rotting foliage the winding
trail came to a fork in the road. Natives urged the American woman toward the
right.
Above a cormorant described a lazy circle and though it had strayed from its
usual marine habitat, the raven predator patiently awaited what appeared to soon
be a fresh kill.
Shouts came from the left fork of the jungle trail and there appeared three
other Americans. These were Peace Corp workers on assignment and when they saw
the beleaguered woman, protests arose from all three. The natives, seeing the
interlopers quickly subdued them, tieing the wrists of one young man behind his
back. A brief struggled insued, but quickly quelled.
On the order of one of the male leaders, the rough-hewn wood was lifted free
of the female's shoulders and placed over the back of the other newly arrived
American. The goo-soaked mahogany chilled his neck and he did not have to be
told the dampness was from where it had chafed the white woman's upper shoulders
as she had been made to heft the burden. Small wonder as the potential coffee
table he now hefted felt like it weighed a ton.
Freed of her heavy burden, Marla staggered and dazedly looked around. The
faces were all foreign, though behind them she could barely make out a familiar
site. The light blue, rust-dented shape of the truck's roof was trailing them in
this jungle. Michael and Ed had to be there and surely they would come to her
aid. Looking back, she saw the new arrivals and the villagers ripping the shirt
from the other white woman. Gulping, she allowed her wrists to be bound with
heavy hemp as she watched the native women giggled with their gaped-tooth grins.
Each tried on the girl's white bra over their dark peasant clothes.
Somehow, her fevered brow thought, this was not the scene described to her
when she had signed the check to that greasy travel agent, back in the States.
She recalled something about a quick nailing using only surgical steel "Of
course". Right. Gazing around the fetid foliage, Marla longed for a mere bar of
soap, much less anything sterilized. Shrugging off the pain pounding in her
wounded head, she reminded herself that she had to go through with this fantasy
no matter how brutal and wacky it now seemed.
The short blonde was stripped to her waist. Her hair was cut shorter than
Marla's and her breasts perkily bounced and jostled. A sheen of sweat already
made them glow though her frantically darting blues hardly meant the
perspiration was passion-driven. The young woman's patch pocketed pants didn't
need blousing in this heat and covered the tops of her jungle boots.
One of the native men handed the blonde a long reed made of bamboo and
gestured to where the other American woman stood, now free of the timber she had
had to lug. He effortlessly spun Marla's back to her as the volunteer stood
gripping the reed. His leathery fingers reached up and tore the rag from the
neckline to the small of her back. The younger woman winced at the sight of the
reddened and bruised flesh. For a moment, at least, she forgot her own plight.
The man then gestured for her to use the reed to cane the other woman.
Bemused at first, the short blonde proved a fast study as one of the village
matrons started to cane her back. The party resumed its agonizing progress with
one naked American female striking another naked American female's back. The
natives laughed at the sight, especially when one bamboo reed shattered only to
be replaced by a fresh and stronger one. Both of their pale backs soon glistened
angry crimson.
From above and on high, the procession mildly interested the gliding
seabird. The feathered beast was growing hungry and delays were making it think
twice about passing up the usual diet of marine life. Besides, even those who
could soar had to eat sometime and this day was proving way too hot for bird or
fowl. Pragmatically deciding to opt for the usual course of fresh seafood over
what potentially could represent a new feast, the bird flew back to his usual
hunting grounds over the water.
Her name was Danielle though no human or creature really cared, especially
the large bird soaring overhead. Danielle, the young blonde just newly arrived,
stumbled under the rain of blows. She did her best to keep pace with the others,
even so far as to strike out at the other American before her, yet it became too
much and pretty young Danielle fell to her cargo pants knees.
Damn the rotting jungle foliage. A rustle stirred the mango leaves and
suddenly there appeared dark, shaped figures. Banditos and not just any band.
The black masked gang were members of the notorious Los Muerte Negros. The party
verged on a trail to the left. Staggerdly, the procession trailed until met by
the dark shapes. Cuervo and Ernesto commanded the others to flee. Their commands
where pointedly directed by M-16's and other weaponry.
Quickly, the tribes people and the Anglos and the driver, Duarte, fled, but
not before the rebels first tore apart the roof satchel-carriage of the truck.
Each end was then honed to a razor sharp edge. These the devils in scarves were
to use as their implements of crucifixion, an execution now to be performed the
way only the bandits intended.
Long gone was any hope derived from state of the art known as GPS. Hope of
finding any direction was useless. There was no way that even with a basic
compass Michael or Ed could hope to find them in the dense terrain.
The Anglo male who had been made to heft the heavy timber was also released,
and sent packing. The two American females were directed to carry the wood by
each lifting up one of the ends. In single file they did as ordered.
Away to the arid base of Mount Mbasi, or as the natives called it, Mt.
Mubuai. It was near a rocky promontory that Marla, despite her earlier
preparations, was to be executed and hung in infamy. She and the young blonde
American hardly knew what they were in for, yet at least one of them had
willingly arraigned this operation now gone awry.
Only until the party reached the volcanic base did they stop to wonder. Few
of the rebels held any doubt. The Americans were t o be slaughtered, as they so
wished and that crazy plan, volunteered or not, would prolong their agonies.
Few, if any of the Los Muertoes had ever been so close to white women. The
closeness excited them all.
Simultaneously arriving at an executive decision, Cuervo and Ernesto ordered
a halt to the sad procession. They would let their men satisfy their lust with
these two after they first savored the delights the Americans had to offer.
The stockier, Ernesto, roughly grabbed Marla's torn sleeve and hurled her to
the hard earth while Cuervo ordered Danielle to drop her end of the cross-beam
and turn to face him. He then ordered the young American to remove her stained
trousers.
Both females had no choice but to comply with the two, weakly eyeing the
strange dark faces surrounding them. At the moment, they had never felt more
alone and vulnerable. Each acquiesced to the multiple rapes.
Later that day, Danielle lifted up Marla's head as she lay across the
ground. The crucifixion had been brief, but its memory lasted. Michael and Ed
returned and knelt alongside of Marla. The rebels and villagers had all
disappeared, leaving just the Americans behind.
Wearily, Marla looked at her two employees and murmured their fate. Michael
and Ed needed to contemplate their whereabouts for the next fiscal year. She
knew for certain that her place in 12 months time was another return to Panay
Las Cruces.
