The Trafficked

33

Mann walked behind Becky. He could see that her shoulders were rigid. She kept her eyes straight ahead. They slipped down an alleyway and were immediately plunged into darkness and stench-a stifling world of raw poverty-a living rubbish heap. And yet, children ran past, laughing and playing amidst the putrefaction. A sleeping woman dozed on a platform next to the alleyway. An old man squatted on the ground and washed himself. In the rubbish heap was a normal world.

The slum was a myriad of tunnel roads and windy narrow paths that were built without a plan. They had grown upward and outward organically. Sometimes they opened out to allow the sky in, other times they delved into a dark hole. It had areas where more care had been taken to keep the dwelling smart. It had festering places that housed the near dead, who lay in their doorways and had not the energy to even blink as they watched the strangers walk by. They wandered deeper and deeper as Father Finn wound his way through. Becky followed one step behind him. She was glad she had trainers on; she’d hate to slip and fall on the walkway. There was a hollow sound as they crossed over narrow planks, anchored in the water by bamboo posts. Below them the river appeared, seething with garbage, refuse. Methane bubbled from the untreated sewage that fermented at the water’s edge and settled as black sludge. Two-storied dwellings hemmed them in on either side. Precarious planks were bridges and ramps to the upper storeys. A rope ran beside them to hold on to.

‘Don’t touch the handrail,’ warned the Father, and Becky could see why. It was covered in excrement that had come directly from the windows above.

Becky wanted to cover her mouth to avoid the overpowering smell of sewage, but the look on the children’s faces as they ran past her told her that this was their home; they didn’t notice the smell and neither should she.

They turned left and headed down a narrow path that took them along the water’s edge. Each dwelling was no more than twelve-foot square, rising up in layers of corrugated iron and cardboard. A thin stream of sunlight came through the six-foot-wide lane.

‘Wednesday lives here alone with her daughter. She takes in washing for a living.’

Father Finn stopped outside an entrance crisscrossed with washing lines. They were strung across the alleyway and ingeniously hung from every available point. T-shirts, pants, shorts and sheets hung down and blocked the path in places. He pulled back a yellowing piece of net at the door and called out. There was no sound from inside, and it was dark. He called again. A woman came out from behind the neighbouring curtain. She looked at the three Caucasians with surprise and suspicion, but at the same time she gave the obligatory smile. Father Finn addressed her in Tagalog. She listened, staring curiously at Becky and Mann, and then she turned her head, pointing in the direction of the river and one of the paths that led to it. A young woman was making her way back along the planks carrying bags of washing. Her sinewy arms looked used to carrying heavy loads. She had a thick blunt fringe; the rest of her hair was tied back from her face and caught in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore a red T-shirt and shorts. She was barefoot. She looked up and saw the Father and gave a sad, grateful smile. Her large eyes were set in a triangular face. Becky saw that she was mixed race. When she saw Mann her face looked puzzled for a few seconds, before it lifted into a bigger smile and tears came into her eyes.

‘There she is.’ Father Finn went forward to help her with the washing. He took the heavy baskets from her and set them down near the entrance to her house.

‘Hello, Wednesday. Do you remember this handsome man?’ He nodded in Mann’s direction. Wednesday smiled up at Mann, and then she quickly looked away as her eyes immediately spilt the tears she’d been holding back. ‘And this lady is Becky-a policewoman from the UK.’ Wednesday looked from one to the other, her eyes shining through the tears. She wiped her face and then her hand on her shorts.

‘Thank you,’ she said, clutching Becky’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir, ma’am. You come find my baby?’ Her eyes were black-rimmed, bagged below from sorrow and lack of sleep.

Father Finn spoke to her in Tagalog. She listened and bowed her head respectfully at the Father’s words. He finished in English.

‘Johnny here, and his colleague, Becky, will help us look for her. We will do our best, Wednesday, you know that. You must hold out hope. Be brave, be strong…’

‘Please come in…’ she said as she pulled back the net curtain for them to enter. Inside she switched on a light. One bare bulb hung down. The wire ran along the ceiling and disappeared. The walls were made up of flattened cans and pieces of plywood. A piece of plywood on bricks served both as a sitting platform and a bed.

The Father spoke to her again and she nodded her agreement.

‘She thinks her daughter was being watched by the DDS. She thinks that she was targeted by them. Other children have told Wednesday that they saw the men in black several times before Maya disappeared. She has been to the killing field, where the bodies are usually dumped. Her daughter is not there. She says many young girls have disappeared recently. No one knows where they go, but there is talk of them ending up in one of the sex resorts.’

Wednesday started to cry. Father Finn hugged her again and spoke softly. She took a photo from her pocket and handed it to him. He passed it to the others. The little girl sat, hands in her lap, school uniform on, and smiled at the camera. Her oversized front teeth were slightly crossed, which gave her an elfin look. She looked a lot like her mother-same big eyes, triangular face. She was a pretty child.

‘Can we keep this?’ Becky asked gently.

Wednesday nodded and smiled. A small spark of hope entered her eyes. She looked at each of them, then she took Becky’s hand and held it with both of hers.

‘My little girl-so small.’ She wiped the tears from her eyes.

Becky put her arm around her.

‘We will do our best to find her, Wednesday.’

Father Finn spoke to her again. She listened, but halfway through the conversation she lowered her eyes and looked at the floor as she shook her head.

‘She has heard that her little girl has been taken to Angeles. I told her she must stay where she is. I will go there myself and look for her.’ Wednesday nodded and looked at Becky and Mann-dread in her eyes.

‘The Father is right, Wednesday,’ Mann said. ‘Stay here where she can find you. We will look for her for you.’ He turned the photo over. On the back was written Maya’s name and her age. ‘We will look for Maya for you.’