The Improbable Journeys of Billy Battles

Chapter 11-2

“And who is this beautiful lady?” he

asked.

Manfred quickly apologized for not

introducing Katharina first. “I am so sorry. This is my sister, the

baroness Katharina Schreiber.” I pulled my hand back and stepped

slightly away from Katharina.

“Baroness Schreiber?” Rizal asked, taking

Katharina’s hand. “Sind Sie deutsch?”

“Nein, ich bin Amerikanerin… aber mein Mann

war Deutscher,” Katharina replied, explaining in German that her

late husband was German.

“War?” Rizal asked, releasing Katharina’s

hand. Rizal’s German was excellent. He had spent time in the late

1880s in Germany at the University of Heidelberg studying

ophthalmology.

“Er starb vor etwa einem Jahr,” she replied,

clarifying that the baron had died about a year earlier.

At that point, Manfred stepped in before the

conversation moved on to just how Baron Schreiber passed away.

“She and Mr. Battles here have just arrived

from America aboard the SS China.”

Rizal looked at me and extended his hand. “I

see. So you are a journalist?”

“At present, an itinerant journalist, I’m

afraid.”

“I think journalists can be the salvation of

the Philippines… but I fear many will have to sacrifice themselves

in order to tell the truth about our Spanish masters.”

It was a prophetic statement. Two years

after our meeting, he was executed following his conviction by

Spanish authorities for rebellion, sedition, and conspiracy.

Ironically, Rizal was never associated with the Filipino

revolutionaries out to overthrow the Spanish. His execution by a

squad of Filipino soldiers in the Spanish Army was so controversial

that a force of regular Spanish Army soldiers stood ready to shoot

the firing squad should they fail to fire.

Dr. Rizal was the first and only legitimate

polymath and polyglot I ever met. The man had such a range of

intellectual capacity that I felt almost like a child in his

presence. Not only was he a prolific writer, but he also spoke

twenty languages fluently, was an accomplished painter, sculptor,

farmer, educator, playwright, and historian. When I learned of his

death, I remember thinking what a waste it was for the world to

lose such an intellect.

But this evening in Manfred Messner’s home,

the conversation was focused on the broader topic of Philippine

independence.

Manfred and a handful of other foreigners

were supporters but not members of a secret Filipino revolutionary

society called the Katipunan, whose goal was to achieve

independence from Spain through revolution.

At one point, the conversation turned to how

the political void might be filled after the Spanish were expelled.

One of the Spanish guests insisted that Spain had brought

enlightenment and European culture to the Philippines during its

colonial reign—though at the expense of political freedom.

“Sometimes there is a price to pay for

progress,” the Spaniard said.

“It is a high price… because in paying it,

we Filipinos have not been allowed to develop our own political

identity or economic autonomy,” Rizal said. Then, turning to me, he

said, “Think of it, Mr. Battles… what would America be today if the

English were still ruling the colonies of New England?”

Before I could answer, one of the British

guests jumped in haughtily, “Better off and certainly more

civilized,” he said.

His comment lightened the leaden mood around

the table.

Later, after the other guests had left,

Rizal, Manfred, Katharina, and I sat in the library. Katharina left

the room for about five minutes and returned with a leather

briefcase. She handed it to Manfred, who opened it and produced

several documents.

“Dr. Rizal, I know you support Germany as a

transitional option between Spanish rule and Filipino

independence,” Manfred said. “But I think you might change your

mind after you see what Katharina has brought with her—at great

personal peril, I might add.”

Rizal looked at Katharina and nodded his

appreciation.

“And how did you come to have these plans,

Baroness?” Rizal asked.

“After my husband’s death I was going

through his papers and found them. As you can see from the ‘Streng

Geheim’ stamp on them, they were not for public consumption,”

Katharina said, noting the “top secret” seal.

For the next hour, Rizal, Katharina, and

Manfred poured over the documents, all of which were in German.

“I am greatly disappointed by what I have

read here,” Rizal said, looking at Katharina. “Are you confident

that they are accurate?”

“My husband and the other men mentioned in

these papers were obsessed with bringing new colonies under German

control—particularly the Philippines. I heard him talk of it often,

and so did Manfred. So yes, I am confident the details described in

this plan are reliable.”

I never fully understood the intricacies of

the German plan to take over the Philippines from Spain. But as

Manfred explained it, the idea was to support the Katipunan secret

revolutionary society with money, weapons, and German naval power,

if necessary.

That much of the plan would have been

acceptable to Rizal and other Filipino revolutionaries. However,

the follow-up stratagem triggered Rizal’s disappointment. Once the

Spanish were ousted, Germany would tighten its grip on the country

by marginalizing and, if need be, arresting Filipino revolutionary

leaders.

One of those at the top of the list was

Rizal himself. The revelations in those documents were especially

painful for Rizal because he had long supported Germany rather than

the United States as an interim colonizer.

Rizal left Manfred’s house that night a

dispirited and discouraged man. I never saw him again.

For the next two days, Katharina and I spent

our time touring the sites in and around Manila. She tried hard to

convince me to put off my journey to Saigon, but I was not to be

dissuaded. I had come this far, and I wanted to finish my trip. I

wanted to find Signore Difranco and perhaps even Giang Van Ba, the

Vietnamese man our posse met stumbling through the desert while

tracking down the Bledsoe gang from the Coker ranch in New Mexico.

I never forgot Ba and the staggering story of tragedy and survival

he told me as we rode through the desert together.

“You are a willful man, I must say,”

Katharina said on my last evening in Manila. The two of us were

sitting in the garden of Manfred’s house after dinner drinking some

Port wine. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze blowing in from

Manila Bay. The aroma of ylang-ylang and sampaguita

flowers hung heavy in the evening air, as did the sweet fragrance

of the dama de noche, a flower that blooms only at

night.

“It’s just that I want to finish what I

started,” I said. “I don’t want to come all this way, get so close

to my goal, and then stop short.”

Katharina looked stunning that night.

Perhaps it was a mixture of the fragrant flowers, the tropical

yellow moon that peered through the jagged palm trees, and the warm

sea breeze. Or perhaps it was just me thinking about needing to

love someone again. As beautiful and intelligent as Katharina was,

I still wasn’t sure if she was that woman.

Katharina put her hand on mine and moved

closer to me. Her bright green eyes seemed to blaze in the

moonlight.

“Do you think… do you think…?” Her words

trailed off. She removed her hand from mine and looked away.

“Do I think what?”

When she turned back to me, her eyes were

moist.

“Do you think that either of us will ever be

able to love someone again?”

The question caught me off guard. However,

it was one I thought often about during the past several months.

Was I capable of feeling about a woman the way I had felt about

Mallie? What woman could compare to her? Of course, I knew it

wasn’t fair to any woman continually to judge her against Mallie.

Yet I had found myself doing that with Katharina. No doubt, she was

a more finely cultured woman than Mallie was, growing up as she did

in a wealthy Chicago family and then marrying into German nobility.

Moreover, Katharina was a dazzling beauty… perhaps the most

beautiful woman I had ever known. However, as I continued to learn,

there was a razor edge to that beauty… an audaciousness, an

arrogance that could cut the charm from any occasion.

Before answering Katharina’s question, I

took a sip of port. “I haven’t thought about it much,” I lied.

Katharina shot me a sorrowful look. It

wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and she turned away again.

I cleared my throat and added, “I guess if

we are meant to find someone, we will.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stood up,

walked over to me, took my hands in hers, placed them around her

waist, and pressed herself close to me. Then pulling my head close

to hers, she put her lips on mine. It was a long lingering kiss—the

kind I hadn’t had since Mallie and I were in Chicago more than a

year before. And it was intoxicating. I could smell Katharina’s

hair, her warm perfumed skin, and my arms tightened around her

waist, pulling her even closer.

Then it was over.

“There,” Katharina said, pushing herself

away from me. “I want you to remember this night when you are off

in Saigon or wherever else you may be. And I expect you to return

to Manila sooner rather than later.”

With that, she turned and walked into the

house, leaving me standing there in the garden awash in a flood of

sensations, both physical and emotional, that I hadn’t felt in a

long time.

When I came down for breakfast the next

morning, Manfred and Katharina were already sitting at the

table.

“Good morning, William,” Katharina said

smiling. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as could be expected,” I said,

shooting her a slightly impious glance.

“Am I missing something?” Manfred asked,

looking first at me and then at his sister.

Katharina sniggered. “I don’t know… Do you

need butter for your toast?”

Breakfast was a mix of American and

Filipino, with bacon and eggs and a generous display of various

tropical fruits like mangoes, rambutans, lanzones, and

jackfruit.

Conversation at breakfast was about my plans

once I arrived in Saigon. I had none, except for seeking out

Signore Difranco. How long was I going to stay there? Did I speak

any French or Vietnamese? Was I going to find employment or simply

reside as a tourist? When would I return to the Philippines?

Katharina was planning to stay at least a

year, maybe more, depending on how she liked the place.

“I feel I am safer here than in Chicago,”

she said. “Anyway, I don’t expect any Pinkerton men or German

agents will bother me now that the cat is out of the bag about

Germany’s intentions here. They lost their most valuable ally in

Dr. Rizal.”

Later, the three of us rode to the dock in

Manfred’s carriage. My ship, a French vessel named the SS

Trave, was about eight years older and some two thousand

tons smaller than the SS China. As we drove up, she was

still getting up steam, and a pasty swirl of gray smoke coiled out

of its single stack. She was less of a passenger ship than a

freighter, and she had been modified with six first-class and

fifteen second-class cabins amidships. There was accommodation for

perhaps one hundred people in the third-class steerage section.

The Trave was definitely several

rungs below the China on the luxury ladder. But the

1,700-mile voyage from Manila to Saigon would take a little less

than three days, so the spartan accommodations were of no

consequence to me.

What was of consequence, I was beginning to

realize, was my growing affection for Katharina. As we sat in the

carriage on the dock, Katharina took my hand and whispered, “Don’t

forget last night.”

I promised I wouldn’t. It was a promise I

would keep because I never forgot that unexpected kiss in the

moonlit garden of Manfred’s house.

I helped Katharina down from the carriage,

and the three of us stood there a bit awkwardly on the dock.

Finally, I shook Manfred’s hand and thanked him for his

hospitality. The carriage driver removed my two bags from the rear

boot and carried them aboard.

“Well, William, I hope you will be coming

back this way soon,” Katharina said.

“I am sure I will, at some point… You say

you are going to stay about a year in Manila?”

“I think so… I rather like the place and the

people… and of course, I have Manfred here to keep me company.”

I looked at the ground, saying nothing for a

few moments.

“Why don’t you and Manfred consider coming

to Saigon for a visit? I will send you my particulars as soon as I

am settled.”