Our landlady, Mrs. Javier, owned two houses on Taft Avenue in Manila–our house, her  house and an adjacent lot, which was little more than 500 sq. meters of hard packed dirt with one tall cerisa tree. Our house was two stories, so we could peer into her compound and her lot from our bedroom window.

We were on good terms with Mr and Mrs Javier, and with everyone in their compound. She had three servants, one of whom was a brow–beaten little "provinciana" from Bicol province named Maria, who loved to sit in our kitchen and gawk at the strange doings of our Filipino/Spanish/American household. Our home sheltered thirteen people–friends, boarders, babies, relatives and servants, so there was plenty going on. Maria was very young and shy, so no one really noticed her until she caused the Great Commotion.

Maria, in short, began to hallucinate. Starting in late March, every afternoon, Maria prepared spaghetti, placed it in an aluminum pail, and went out to the empty lot to shinny up the cerisa tree with her spaghetti and a couple of Pepsis. Once settled in the crown of the tree, she would proceed to share her"merienda" (tea party) with invisible "duendes." or little people.

Our spooked house girls would gather at our bedroom window, cross themselves, babble in Bicolano and gape at Maria in the cerisa tree as she conversed with her duendes and fed them spaghetti. I wondered what would happen when Mrs. Javier found out. It was some time before she did, because Maria was usually finished with her merienda by 5 o'clock when Mr.and.Mrs Javier returned from work.

However, three weeks later, Mr Javier came home early, and discovered Maria in the cerisa tree with her treetop tea party. He reacted with dispatch. He called the police.

After a half hour, a tired policeman rattled the compound gate and shuffled into the lot. He took one look at the situation and both he and Mr.Javier began shouting threats at Maria. "Bumaba ka na!" (Come down NOW!)  Maria declined and continued to converse with her duendes. 

Mr. Javier and the policeman became more agitated. Maria continued to ignore them. Finally, the policeman pulled out his 45, stepped back from the tree and shot up into the air.

Maria skittered down double-quick. Mr. Javier and the policeman scolded her until the poor child fell into a fit and had to be carried to her miserable room. One of my girls ran to get a crucifix, and while Mr. Javier and the policeman argued about Maria's fate, the girls placed the crucifix on Maria's chest. Maria would raise up, see the crucifix, think she had died, roll her eyes back and pass out again.

Finally, Mr. Javier and the policeman decided that Maria was possessed, and needed to be exorcised by a priest. They loaded her into the car and roared off to Malate Church to have Maria's soul released from the clutches of the devil.

 I don't think it worked, or maybe the priests felt sorry for the girl and took her into their care, since Maria never returned to the compound. Or maybe Mr. Javier decided he didn't want a maid who had devil possession tendencies and packed her off on the first train leaving for Bicol.

Jennifer Carrasco is a longtime West Seattle resident and internationally recognized muralist whose work combines historical depth, mythic storytelling, and botanical elegance. With decades of experience painting large-scale trompe l’oeil and chinoiserie murals for clients ranging from Tommy Bahama to private collectors, she brings a distinctive Northwest voice to decorative arts. Her artistic journey has taken her from Peace Corps service and teaching in the Philippines to NEA residencies across the globe, and long ago she chose to make West Seattle her home.