The Trafficked

56

‘Hurt, ma’am?’

The evening had come in fast. The sunset had arrived in smoky plumes of billowing purple cloud against a backdrop of turquoise. That was just a few minutes ago, now it was as dark as midnight and the first stars were appearing. Becky sat in the middle of a row of five chairs inside the Paradise foot spa. Her feet were in a wooden bowl of warm water, being soaked and washed whilst another woman massaged her shoulders. She was drinking sweet ginger tea. Outside there were a dozen open-air stations for massaging backs and feet.

She was thinking about what had happened with Mann. They had become such good friends in so few days that it felt like forever. They laughed at the same things and they cared about the same things-basically he was a soul mate. Becky shook her head at that revelation-her soul mate! That’s what she had thought Alex was at one time. But, more than that-Mann made her feel like a sexy woman again. Then there was the kiss.

‘A little,’ she replied, thinking to herself that these women had developed incredibly strong fingers as they brought her back to reality and she felt the innermost muscles of her shoulders twang.

Becky had come into the spa, which seemed to be the largest women’s workplace on the beach, thinking that if anyone would know what was new, they would. The women were all wearing black shorts and pink T-shirts with ‘Paradise’ written on them. The masseuse who was washing Becky’s feet was pregnant. She squatted in front of Becky, resting her bottom on a short-legged stool, her round stomach protruding so far that Becky wondered that she could still see her customer’s feet in the bowl. She looked like one of Gauguin’s Tahitian women. She wore a red flower tucked behind her ear and her hair fell over her shoulders in a thick black glossy sheet. Her face was broad and flat, as was her nose. She had a calm, earthy beauty. When her hair fell in front of her busy hands, she flicked it away in a move that was slow, deliberate and elegant. She wore a name badge with ‘Rosario’ on it. Despite her beauty, she looked very sad, thought Becky.

‘Why you no grow you hair, ma’am? Colour like gold.’ Tina, the masseuse kneading Becky’s shoulders, spoke.

Two other masseuses came in to get their feet done whilst they were not busy outside. One sat on the end of the row, whilst the other fetched the bowl. They all nodded their agreement with Tina.

Becky had just come from the Internet café. She’d heard from the team back home. More of the victims’ identities were coming to light. Two of them had been traced to this area. It seemed that they had been brought together and shipped over to Hong Kong, then on to the UK.

The evening was only just beginning to get busy. People were still passing by in purposeful mode, off either to eat or drink. They were not chilled enough to think about a foot massage yet. At midnight the spa would be packed. Then the girls would set up camp beds in the sand opposite and give massages to passers-by. For now, the half a dozen girls whose job it was to tout, took it in turns to come and get their nails done, whilst outside the masseuses with the leaflets joked with people passing, made idle conversation with those they knew along the sandy parade. Becky wondered how so many women managed to eke out any kind of living from the spa.

‘I like it better short,’ she said smiling so as not to sound offended.

The girls’ faces showed that the notion of short hair was way beyond their comprehension.

‘Is Puerto Galera your home?’ she asked Rosario, who was quieter than the rest. Becky felt sorry for her having to squat when she was so pregnant. She had begun rolling a smooth pebble along the underside of Becky’s foot. It was an almost pleasant sensation.

‘No, ma’am. Home far away from here.’

‘Did you come here for work?’ Becky knew she was making Rosario slightly uncomfortable by her questions, but she also knew that she would answer-it would be rude not to, and Filipinas were never rude if they could help it.

‘Yes, ma’am. Not in here, work in club first, then here.’

‘Is club work good here? Is this spa work better than the club?’

Rosario looked at the others who were listening to the conversation. There was a silence in the room.

‘Too old now for club. Have to be young girl, you know?’

Becky looked at her. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

‘When is your baby due?’

‘Two months, ma’am.’

‘Is it your first baby?’

‘No, ma’am. The girl paused as she rubbed Becky’s feet with the hot stone, drawing it between Becky’s toes. She glanced at the masseuses and back at Becky. Have two more children, but…’ Her voice trailed off as the other women stopped their work momentarily and looked at her. Tina resumed massaging Becky’s neck and in a smiling voice that belied the contents of her words she spoke in Tagalog to her companion.

‘Don’t be stupid, Rosario, shut your mouth before it’s too late. They told you not to speak of it.’

Rosario looked up; Becky could see her eyes had filled as she looked fleetingly at Tina and the others, then at Becky. She went back to working on Becky’s feet.

Tina dug her fingers harder into Becky’s shoulders. Becky resisted the temptation to flinch. Rosario gave a massive sigh. It made her bump rise and fall. She stopped her foot-washing and looked up at Becky. Her large brown eyes were wet.

‘My children, ma’am. They…’

Tina interrupted in Tagalog; there was a sharpness in her voice.

‘You were warned; say nothing and they will bereturned.’ Becky watched them as they looked from one to the other.

Rosario looked at her workmates. Her eyes were burning with injustice and misery. ‘You must wait,’ said Tina.

‘Wait? How long? It will be too late for waiting soon.’ Rosario’s voice had risen and she glared at Tina and theothers. She shook her head and with another sigh camemore tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose as she continued rubbing Becky’s feet. ‘They will be dead inside. The way we were. I don’t want it for my children. I did everything to stop it happening to them. My girls are going to be lawyers, not prostitutes!’

Rosario bowed her head again and a large sob heaved itself from her exhausted body. Her baby kicked inside. Becky saw Rosario’s belly grow tight and move and a tiny heel protruded as the baby listened to its mother’s sobbing. Becky looked at it in wonder. Rosario instinctively shifted on the stool to allow the baby to turn. Her voice rose. ‘I cannot bear it. I don’t want to givebirth to this baby to see it taken from me the way they were.’ She looked defiantly around the room. Becky watched the other girls in the shop look anxiously at one another, worried as Rosario cried openly. ‘I cannotbear it.’ Rosario repeated. ‘They will be sick and scaredand they will never be the same if we don’t get them backsoon…’ Rosario held her hand against her heart. ‘Insidethey will be dead…’

‘Don’t endanger all our children for the sake of yours.They will kill us.’ Tina looked around anxiously. She was nervous of onlookers from outside. ‘Keep working…’ she ordered the women in the salon. A false busyness started up.

The woman who was having her feet pumiced by her workmate spoke up.

‘But how do we know that our children won’t be next?’ she asked in a hushed voice. ‘We cannot trust them. Weneed to tell someone else. She looks like she has a goodjob, plenty of money, maybe she could help.’

Becky saw all eyes turn on her. She didn’t know what they were saying but she knew they were weighing up whether to tell her something, something difficult-this might be her chance.

‘Please listen.’ She looked around at them all, then her eyes settled last on Rosario. ‘I am a policewoman. I have come here because a child has been stolen in London. I am here to try to find that child. Maybe I can help you find yours too.’

Everyone turned to look at Tina, who was their spokeswoman. Tina always made the decisions.

Tina shook her head. She stared out of the window, her thoughts captured by the horror of losing her own children.

‘I have to, Tina,’ Rosario pleaded. ‘I cannot bear it.’

Tina ceased her neck massage. Her voice softened.

‘All right, all right, say it.’

‘I will make sure none of the others come in,’ said another girl as she signalled to her workmates outside that they were to keep out.

Becky waited, aware that something was about to happen.

‘My children are gone, ma’am.’ Rosario’s dark eyes blurred with tears and she spoke to Becky in English. ‘They were taken from me-two girls, thirteen and fifteen-good girls, pretty girls.’ At that statement her workmates muttered their agreement and shook their heads sadly. ‘I do not know where they are. Bad men have taken them.’

The women glanced nervously outside to the rest of the team who were staring in, perplexed at the serious nature of the talk inside the shop, but playing their part in pretending that nothing unusual was happening. Tina reassured them with an all-purpose smile. All the girls were jittery. All of them felt the pain and terror that Rosario was being forced to endure, and all of them knew that it could easily be their children next. None of them wanted it to happen to them, but they were powerless.

‘Here in Puerto Galera, many girls go missing now. Not come back.’

‘How long have they been gone?’

‘My girls gone three months now.’

‘Twelve girls gone, not come back,’ added Tina. ‘From here and from town nearby.’

‘Who has taken them? Do you know? Tell me about the girls, maybe I can help,’ said Becky.

The women looked nervously at one another. Tina looked at Rosario and nodded permission for Rosario to speak.

‘Kanos. Bad white men.’ Rosario kept her eyes down, wiped away her tears and continued massaging Becky’s feet. ‘These Kanos know who took them. It is their friends.’

‘Do the Kanos live here in Puerto Galera?’

‘Yes. Very big men here. Very important.’

‘What are their names?’

A man had come to talk to the women outside. It had made them jittery. They turned one by one to discreetly attract their workmates’ attention to the fact. Becky looked at him. He was in his late fifties, with receding white-blonde hair caught in a ponytail that was streaked with grey. He had the deportment of a man unused to exercise and had a cigarette in one hand. The other was thrust deep into the pocket of his shorts. He was a man who had shrivelled inside his clothes. They looked out of place on his frame. He would have suited the dirty old biker look, thought Becky. ‘One name Fat Harry, and the other that man…’ Tina’s head gave a small incline towards the window, where the man with the ponytail had moved on to talk to a man selling pearls opposite the massage parlour. ‘That man-his name English Bob.’