In Nick Joaquin’s “The Order of Melkizedek,” 1 Quiapo in the 1960s becomes a portal to an underground cult run by a mysterious defrocked priest. As with his earlier works, Joaquin continues his examination of “the world of that proud and dying culture and the present upper-middle-class world it has begotten” (Lacaba 389). In this story, “Joaquin retraces a series of crises that confront a Filipino expatriate returning from his job in New York with the United Nations. His siblings had asked him to help save their youngest sister from the clutches of an insidious cult leader seeking to resurrect an ancient order of pagan worshippers while passing it off as a revolutionary revision of Christianity.” (Rafael xxvii)
In “Telling Times: Nick Joaquin, Storyteller,” an Introduction to The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic by Penguin Classics, 2 Vicente Rafael describes the story as Joaquin’s attempt at “murder mystery” in which “[i]ntragenerational struggles figure prominently." The expat is a character named Isidro “Sid” Estiva who flies home to the Philippines to settle family issues. Sid becomes involved in a case of mistaken identity. He receives a card with a typed message that says “At the Sign of the Milky Seed. Deck Six,” and gets shanghaied in the taxi he rode from the airport. Narrowly escaping a group of ruffians by running naked through shrubbery, he meets Sonya Borja and she aids him in unlocking the mystery of the card with the cryptic message.
THE COVER of Nick Joaquin’s The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic from Penguin Classics. The book was published on 18 April 2017 to coincide with the celebration of the centennial of Joaquin's birth. This is the first-ever U.S. publication of Joaquin’s seminal works. The cover art is by California-based artist Kristina Collantes.
Rafael further provides the historical context for the events in the story:
Precolonial and pre-Christian ideas about power and worship brush up against what Joaquin portrays as the ecumenical pop theology and pseudo-revolutionary politics characteristic of the Filipino reception of the Vatican II reforms in mid-sixties Manila. The Marcoses had just assumed power, the Beatles had just been summarily kicked out by thugs of the First Lady, and the descendants of the newly rich whose wealth came from the corruptions of their fathers mingle in sunken living rooms wearing Western suits and kitsch ethnic-designed dresses. (xxvii)
While attending a gathering of this nouveau riche, Sid gets information regarding his sister’s whereabouts through Mrs. Tuason. She tells him that she had last seen Guia at a fortune-teller’s: “Well, there was this dame who told me about this fortune-teller—for my peace of mind, she said. No, not one of those crummy joints in Quiapo where they spit on your palm. This was high-class; I was told the clientele included eminent society matrons” (Joaquin 209). When asked to describe the place and the person who welcomed her, she said, “Like any reception hall in a plush office. Carpeted, air-conditioned. This was in that big new building in downtown Quiapo. High priest something, he called himself. Mystic Doctor of the East and all that jazz. Some fiesta-fair swami gone up in the world, I suppose.” (210)
Investigating further, Sid discovers that Guia is involved in a cult, and the people who harassed him earlier are part of it. The airport fiasco was a result of a mix-up. He was mistaken for another person who was also in the flight to Manila: a certain Mr. Lao whom they were trying to recruit to their organization.
Sid goes with Sonya to downtown Quiapo, and they deduce the identity of the charlatan as well as the office tucked in the sixth floor of one of the tallest buildings there,
“Listen, Sid, there’s this prophet, and he’s supposed to cater to high society, who calls himself Melkizedek. Melki-zeed-dek.”
“Mrs. Banaag used that word: prophet.”
“And you said that the other lady spoke of a big new building in Quiapo?”
“Deck six would mean a sixth floor. Are there many buildings now in downtown Quiapo six stories and over?”
“Only one that I know of, and right on Miranda.” (218)
The big new building in Quiapo had an express elevator and they discovered that the room they were looking for had been emptied the night before. According to the building superintendent, the suite was leased to a Mrs. Cruz, and he remembers that the nameless door used to have a poster of a sheaf of grain dripping. The hasty evacuation was evident in the crushed newspapers and packing-case straw that littered the floor.
Mrs. Tuason’s tale and the exchange between Sid and Sonya reveals Quiapo as an ideal site for one of the cult’s most important activities: the recruitment of influential members. The amalgamation of religion and commerce, of the arcane, and the fraudulent provides a convenient pretext for the cult’s covert operations.
When Sid, Guia, and their elder sister Adela were reunited, Guia tells them about her adventures. She had come from the barrio and she was eager to reveal the details of her ministry. She describes how her group is stirring up excitement in the communities, which, according to her, is “…following the line of our native sanctuary” (224).
Seeing their mission as a continuation, rather than a transformation, she remarks,
“What I mean is, whatever is Mod is God, or can be, but isn’t only because we won’t use it, thinking it blasphemy. Look, weren’t we dancing something like the twist or the frug when Christ first arrived here? And we didn’t think it blasphemy to dance our twist and frug when we first worshipped Christ. We still do, don’t we, in Cebu, before the Santo Niño? But our processions now–do we have to just file stiffly past carrying candles? Can’t we be more … more … spontaneous?”
“You mean,” said Adela, “like those savages in the Quiapo procession?”
“Well, why not? At least they worship with the whole of their bodies, with their sweat, not, phlegm, and all. Which is more than I can say for those pale polite Christians of yours, Adela, who think God is the Establishment.” (224)
Although Guia insists that they are avoiding organization “like the plague,” preferring instead to remain “informal, freewheeling, experimental, spontaneous,” Sid discovers that the group had already set up a headquarters in Intramuros, referring to it as the “Salem House.” She recognizes that despite their resistance to be labeled as such, they are bound to be recognized as one. For one, they are considering naming themselves as “people of Salem,” which means peace. People in the barrios have begun to call them “salamatistas” or “salmatistas” because they end their every show with a psalm where they say “salamat” (226-227). Sid remarks that “Salem” was the kingdom of the biblical high priest, Melchizedek.2
Mrs. Banaag, an influential woman whom Sid met in a party, echoes Guia’s words when she reveals what she knows of the group: “It’s supposed to be a returning” (240). She also tells them about the charismatic leader Father Melchor. Sid suspects him to be Melkizedek, a “defrocked priest passing himself off as a new prophet.” He has collected devoted followers and “employs thugs and theological mumbo-jumbo to cajole a rich, aimless heiress into his cult.” (Rafael xxvii)
Guia happens to be an heiress and Sid, fearing for his sister’s well-being, searches for a certain Ciriaco Lagman, an old man who has information on Melkizedek. When Lagman was young, he witnessed a peasant religious uprising in 1900. He tells Sid that he remembers the Prophet Melkizedek appearing during the Revolution. He called himself Baltazar then, a charismatic man in his forties. He had urged peasants to follow him in an exodus to a “New Jerusalem,” a form of Christian communism in Pangasinan. In 1901, an infantry battalion sent by General Otis ended the utopian settlement: the people masquerading as Jesus and the Holy Ghost were hanged; the 12 Apostles and Virgin Mary were jailed, but Baltazar had disappeared. Lagman says Father Melchor visited him before and he recognized him to be the Baltazar he knew when he was a young boy.
Sid also went to Fray Calezon, a young Spanish priest from an unnamed religious order. The priest presented evidence that this “Father Melchor” was one of the first indigenes to be admitted into his religious group. This was during the 18th century. Like the man who had been recruiting people in the Milky Seed and the leader who disappeared in New Jerusalem, this figure was a limping, big man with flowing hair, shining eyes, and a red mark on his brow. If the testimonies of Lagman and Calezon were to be believed, then the cult leader has not aged at all!
Now he has returned and amassing people just like before. Those who want to join his cult make an appointment at the Sign of the Milky Seed in Quiapo. Those who are not thought worthy are attended to by an assistant – with palm reading and crystal balls, “the usual hocus-pocus” says Sonya Borja. But there is a select few he personally attends to. With him, there are no gimmicks – people find themselves mesmerized. Soon, they are revealing their secrets. Rich women are targeted, and they soon find themselves drawn to the cult. Guia is now one of them and she wants to give them her inheritance.
Quiapo’s reputation/notoriety for fortune-telling sessions is evident in the story. It is the venue for the initial phase of recruitment and when deemed ready, the recruits move up to the second process of initiation which happens in Intramuros: A bacchanalia of sorts which celebrates "the carnal Christ" and affirms the "felt wisdom in the blood, in the flesh."
When Sid decided to put an end to Guia’s association with the cult, she tells him that their group does not resort to gimmickry but is merely perpetuating the longest tradition in Christianity, which is the presentation of new images of Jesus. She enumerates images of Christ which were found shocking in their time: “The babe in the manger. The suffering servant. The risen victor.” She describes how the “mangled dying body on the cross” was scandalous to the classic world. When Sid interjected with a sarcastic remark on the group’s choice of the phallic image, Guia defends her group by questioning what her brother deems “carnal.” She says that there’s also a physical organ, the image of the “Sacred Heart” which represents God’s love, but is “rather corny now,” because it’s a “later, later age,” and people have “colder, colder heart[s],” and so we need a “new Christ [that] we can relate to.” (252)
The cult’s appeal is explained by Mrs. Banaag. She had made an appointment at the Quiapo office and was able to meet Father Melchor. He said,
“…nationalism was not a political but a spiritual problem. Our people had to be renewed in spirit. They were not really political, they had no political ideas: nationalism as a political movement, like Recto’s, would never reach them. But they were deeply religious in the sense that they believed in magical forces. And the nationalist movement could reach them only if it came in the guise of religion, a magical nature religion, but with the Christian forms familiar to them.” (241)
Thus, the nationalist format appealed to recruits such as Mrs. Banaag. When they have reached the point when they have imbibed the group’s ideologies – marked by a certain “clairvoyance,” they are required to go through an “outraging,” – where “all shame had to be burned out” in order to “recover innocence” (242). Sid deduces that this is dancing in the flesh under the moonlight.
Joaquin draws from Philippine history. There is a recognition of the unifying characteristic of the uprisings during colonial times continuing to contemporary millenarian movements: a strong religious dynamic.
A PORTRAIT of Nick Joaquin, who was born in the old district of Pacò in Manila, Philippines, on September 15, 1917, the feast day of Saint Nicomedes, after whom he took his baptismal name. He was born to a home deeply Catholic, educated, and prosperous. (Mojares) Photo from Philstar.com.
Alejandro R. Roces remarks,
The common denominator in the sporadic Philippine peasant revolts was not alien rule, or the tenancy question, but a religious or magical element. It was the fight for religious rights that opened the people’s eyes to all their rights.
An issue we see with our understanding of history is “parochialism in time,” that is, the tendency to use the present as the absolute standard with which to evaluate the past. We project the present on the past; instead of the reverse. The past becomes something that obstructed the present. We do not see today as a product of culture and history. Fiesta is one of the links between the past and present. In foregoing the myths about Filipinos and shedding the “parochialism in time” prism with which we view our history and culture, we can instead do something remarkable: reclaim what it means to be Filipino, and in the process, reinvigorate a sense of nationalism in the Philippines. ("Myths, Folklore")
Ultimately, the hapless Sid fails to rescue Guia. In the end, he “tacitly accepts the Order of Melkizedek, alias Melchor-Gaspar Baltazar, who tells him, ". . .you are not going away again. You have come home." Joaquin's themes have come home to fulfillment, not repetition, of his thematic pilgrimage. (385)
NOTES
1. Tropical Gothic, a new edition of Joaquin’s fiction, was published by The University of Queensland Press in Australia in 1972. This edition includes “The Order of Melkizedek,” a novella that originally appeared in the Philippine Free Press on December 10, 1965. Mojares states that "Melkizedek," along with “Cándido’s Apocalypse” and “Doña Jerónima,” are “powerful, historically resonant narratives that probably best represent the inventiveness and depth of Joaquín as fictionist. They are among the most outstanding pieces of Philippine fiction that have been written” (“Biography”). The excerpts in this article were taken from the 1972 edition.
2. Melchizedek is the king of Salem and priest of El Elyon ("God most high"), as mentioned in Genesis 14:18–20. In Christianity, according to the Epistle to the Hebrews, Jesus Christ is identified as "a priest forever in the order of Melchizedek." Hebrews 7:17
WORKS CITED
Apostol, Gina. Foreword. The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic, Penguin Classics, 2017, pp. vii–xii.
BenCab. Portrait of Nick Joaquin. Flickr, 16 Jul 2008, www.flickr.com/photos/twinkililing/377221513/sizes/l. Accessed 16 Dec. 2017.
Joaquin, Nick. “The Order of Melkizedek.” Tropical Gothic, University of Queensland Press, 1972, pp. 192–270.
Lacaba, Emmanuel A. F. “Winter After Summer Solstice: The Later Joaquin.” Philippine Studies, vol. 16, no. 2, 1968, pp. 381–390, www.philippinestudies.net/ojs/index.php/ps/article/view/2243/4331. Accessed 4 Nov. 2017.
Mojares, Resil. “The 1996 Ramón Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts, Biography of Nick Joaquin.” Wordpress, 15 Sep 2010, www.filipinoscribbles.wordpress.com/2010/09/15/biography-of-nick-joaquin-1917-2004. Accessed 4 Nov 2017.
Photo of Young Nick Joaquin. Inquirer.net, www.lifestyle.inquirer.net/10429/the-nick-joaquin-he-knew/nick-joaquin2.
Rafael, Vicente L. Introduction. The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic, Penguin Classics, 2017, pp. xiii–xxxvi.
Roces, Alejandro R. “Myths, Folklore and Nationalism.” Philstar.com, 17 Jul 2010, www.philstar.com/opinion/593674/myths-folklore-and-nationalism. Accessed 4 Nov 2017.
The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic. Goodreads, www.goodreads.com/book/show/31624485-the-woman-who-had-two-navels-and-tales-of-the-tropical-gothic. Accessed 16 Dec. 2017.
Untivero, Dorynna. “Small Beer: Remembering Nick Joaquin.” Philippine Tatler, 5 May 2017, www.ph.asiatatler.com/arts-culture/arts/small-beer-remembering-nick-joaquin. Accessed 4 Nov. 2017.
Quiapo and Cult Connections in Nick Joaquin’s “The Order of Melkizedek”
Eric Gerard H. Nebran | November 4, 2017