When the Elephants Dance (20 page)

T
HE WRISTWATCH
I took from the dead man reads nine in the morning. Papa and Isabelle have not returned. I try to imagine the height of the sun upstairs. I imagine it slants, trying to break through our blackout curtain. My head aches from hunger.

“So late, so late now …” Mama sighs as she prepares the last can of beans.
“We fought, that was the last time I saw her. Always fighting, your
ate
Isabelle and me. She claims that I am too bossy, always interfering, that I am jealous of her … how does she say? Her ‘opportunities.’ How can I be jealous of my own daughter? Even a mama dog will protect her young to the death. What more of a mother? Would I not give both my arms for her if I had to, Jando?”

“She did not mean it, Ma,” I tell her.

My mother smiles a half smile. Only one side of her lip goes up; the other side is not convinced it is happy. “She meant what she said. She is not stupid. She knows exactly what she says at all times. This is not the first time she has said such things to me.” Mama rubs her arms. I see where the skin sags below her underarms, how her cheeks pull and droop past her jaw. I wonder when Mama grew old. She turns her face away from us. I watch her throat move as she swallows her fears.

“Ma?” I call to her.

“I am the grown-up, I should not have said such things to your sister. Now—” Mama’s voice cracks, and she holds her palms open. “She did not come home right away because she was punishing me. The things I said to her. They were for her own good. She wants to study medicine, good for her. But why cause so much trouble for herself, trying to be a doctor? Be a nurse instead. This is more acceptable. For a woman to become a doctor is like climbing a ladder full of people on top, fighting to kick you back down. If she becomes a teacher, or even a nun, the door is open, wide open. They will take her with big arms and happy faces.” Mama shakes her head.

“But so silly, stupid, the things we fight about. She makes me so mad. She thinks only of herself, of the things she does not have. She is always watching what the other girls have. I never complained to your
lolo
or
lola
when I was her age. I knew my parents were not rich. Anything we had I was thankful for.

“But Isabelle has hungry eyes. She is never happy with her situation. I tell her, ‘Think about others worse off than you. At least you have a family, at least there is a roof over your head.’ And do you know what she said to me? ‘Why should I be content with what I have? What is wrong with reaching higher, wanting more?’ ”

“Ah, but that is the way of the young nowadays. Especially with the younger girls.” Aling Anna pulls her blanket closer around her. “Before this war, they had every possible opportunity. The young women were seduced by all the roads they could travel. They could become lawyers, doctors, whatever they wanted. They could live abroad, start a business. It was too much for them to eat at one sitting.”

My mother sighs. “If only that were the only problem with Isabelle. But between the two of us, there is more. Her father spoils her with ideas. He encourages her to climb high, reach for the heavens. But who is there to catch her when she falls? Me. Who has to explain to her that not as many doors are open as she would like to think? Me. So what do I get in repayment? I am the bad person. The one standing in her way. Have you ever seen a daughter who hated her mother so, Aling Anna? Curse this morning chill.”

“Louisa, you are too hard on yourself,” Aling Anna chides. “These things occur between mothers and daughters. Their relationships are more fragile than fathers and sons. They compete with one another, grow jealous. They compete for the father, the husband’s attention. Such is the way with all women.”

Mama smoothes her hair into place, curving it behind her ears. She frowns a little at Aling Anna’s last words, but Mama does not like to make too many waves in the ocean. She told us it is important to be good to one another, especially now. She said the time has come when we must each lean on the other, so it is important to have patience. Although I think she feels differently with Mang Selso. “Yes, perhaps you are right, Aling Anna. I am frustrated with my thoughts of Isabelle. I love her too much. If only I could make her understand that.” She stops rubbing her arms and paces the floor. “This infernal heat.”

“Ma …” Roderick looks at her. “Ma,” he says again.

“What is it, Roddie?”

“You just said it was cold.”

Mama looks at Roderick as if he is the one who is delirious.

“She will be all right, Ma.” I stand and take her hand.

“Ay, anák,”
she says. Oh, son. “If it weren’t for my stupid words, your sister would be home. I should have ground my teeth together to keep from fighting with her. I forget she is just a child, only seventeen.”

“Isabelle knows you love her, Ma,” I tell her, but she doesn’t hear me. I am worried about Mama. She acts as if she has a fever that has gone to her brain. Papa said that this sometimes happens when people are in closed areas for too long. Like in a ship full of people who have been in the water for many months.

“Ay—” Mama yanks at her hair. I try to pull her hand back, but she moves away from me. “It is my fault, my fault. Maybe she lost her way.” She is starting to shout. “The soldiers, maybe she came across some soldiers. She is so pretty, like a flower. How would she go unnoticed? If anything should happen to her … And now your papa. Where can he be? What if they have accused him of something?”

“Louisa, stop this talk,” Mrs. Yoshi says.

Roman stands and goes to my mother. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Aling Louisa, perhaps it is best if I go in search of Isabelle and Mang Carlito now.”

The lines on my mother’s face straighten. “You would do that, Roman?”

“Yes.”

“I can go with him, Ma.” I stand. “I know all the places Isabelle can be.”

Mama twists a small handkerchief in her hand. “No, Jando. I have already let your sister go, and then your father. I could not bear it if you did not return.”

“But Ma, how will Roman know where to look?”

“It is not safe,” Mang Selso says. “It is only a job for a grown person.”

“A grown man.” Mama looks at Mang Selso accusingly.

Mang Selso has had enough. He stands. “Why are you blaming me? Carlito volunteered to go. Why should I be responsible? What of the other men? They are here safe with us. Why do you choose to pick on me?”

“They have done their part!” Mama shouts, her eyes narrowing. “And you call yourself Carlito’s best friend.”

“I am,” Mang Selso says defensively. He makes a fist. “Carlito and I have shared many things together.”

“You refuse to share in the danger,” Mama says with disgust. “But you are more than willing to share in the food he brings home.”

My brother pulls at my mother’s skirts. She looks down at him, not seeing anything but her anger. “Mama, I can show him,” Roderick offers. “I can show Roman where to go. Alejandro is injured. His hands. I can go.”

“I’m older than you. I should go,” I say.

“No!” Mama shouts so loudly, all talk ceases. She covers her mouth and runs up the ladder, slamming the hatch.

I move to follow her, but Roman puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let her go, Alejandro. She cannot keep up with everything that is happening. None of us can.”

I go to sit by Roderick. He looks up at me and shrugs. We sit with our backs against the wall. After a few minutes have passed, Mama comes down. Her face is dry, her eyes swollen. We look at her expectantly. She tries to speak; it takes her a moment. “Jando, you will escort Roman. Keep your eyes open. Show him the places that Isabelle likes to visit. The Cabrera dress shop, the Bonifacio farm, the little bookstore on Escota if you get that far.”

“The Bulosans,” Mica offers timidly.

“Yes, the Bulosan hacienda, where the horses are,” Mama agrees. “Roman, keep him safe. Hide when you see soldiers. If it is too dangerous, if there is
shelling, come home immediately. As soon as it gets dark, return home. Do you two understand?”

“O pò,”
Roman answers. Yes, ma’am.

I watch Mama’s face. I am very worried about her. I should not leave her. Papa would not leave until she felt better. But Papa is not here. As soon as we find him and Isabelle, Mama will be better.

Mang Selso watches as we gather our things. He is seated next to his father, Tay Fredrico. He avoids our eyes and tries to tuck the blankets closer to his father.

But Tay Fredrico shoves them away. “Too hot,” the old man grunts.

I turn to say good-bye to Roderick, but he is asleep. I decide to tell Ate Lorna about Domingo, in case anything should happen to me. She sees something in my face and shudders.

“Ate Lorna, there is something I must tell you.”

She picks up the sleeping baby, busying herself with baby Alma’s clothing. “Go ahead, Alejandro, go with Roman. You can tell me tonight.”

“But Ate Lorna,” I insist.

“Alejandro, it will be dark soon. You had best be on your way.” She turns and picks up the sleeping baby.

I stand before her and try one more time. Roman shakes his head. “Come, Alejandro, she is right.”

W
E CLIMB THE
ladder into the kitchen. It seems strange that we no longer occupy it. We move quietly through the house, like visitors in a funeral parlor. When we open the door, we pinch our eyes shut from the glare of the sun.

“This way.” Roman grabs my shoulder. “We will avoid the soldiers better this way. Let us look where I last saw your father.”

“I should have told her,” I say out loud, thinking about Ate Lorna.

“She already knows, Jando.”

“The smell of gunfire, but no soldiers.” I search our surroundings. I do not focus long on the corpses. It is no use burying them. We do not want to waste our strength, and if we bury them too shallow, the rats unearth them the next day.

“The wind carries the battle from the city,” Roman tells me. “Look—” He points excitedly in the distance. Japanese planes fly, red circles blazing on their wings.

I shade my eyes with my hand and nod.

“I wonder how we are ever going to find Father,” I tell Roman.

He is listening to something. He puts his finger to his mouth. There are footsteps trailing us. Roman signals for us to take cover behind a group of banyan trees.

“Soldiers?” I whisper as we crouch low.

“Perhaps. Maybe just deer, but better to stay hidden.”

I nod. I try to convince myself he is right. But I know there are no more deer to be found. Deer will usually stand still or leap the other way. This one is following us. My heart is in my throat, and I can feel my skin tingle all over, especially on my arms. The sounds become louder and we lean back, away from sight. I pull out my father’s hunting knife. Roman has a big stick in his hand, the kind they use to play baseball in the United States. The sound comes closer until it is right in front of us, and I choke when I see who it is. It is Aling Anna’s nephew, Feliciano. He is a Makapili, a Japanese sympathizer. I feel my heart hit my chest.

“He won’t hurt us. He knows my sister,” I whisper.

Roman shakes his head and points. Behind Feliciano are a dozen Japanese soldiers. They walk with bayonets, prodding three captives with their blades. The men groan in pain at the jabs and try to keep balance with their hands tied behind them. A fall could mean a vicious beating. We wait an hour to let his group pass. We are about to leave when another group comes our way.

I stretch my neck to see if Papa is one of them and breathe a sigh of relief. He is not there. We hear more footsteps and gasp. Ate Lorna’s son, Taba, has been following us. He walks noisily without a care. When he comes within passing distance, Roman reaches out and grabs Taba, but not quickly enough. Taba shouts out.

“Mama, ay, they are killing me! Mama, help!”

My stomach sinks at the sound of many footsteps. When we look up there are bayonets glinting down at us. We get up slowly. Roman puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on Taba’s.

“Up, up!” the soldier shouts. “Guerrillas.” He alerts the others.

“No, only looking for food.” Roman brings his hand to his mouth back and forth. The soldier shakes his head and points his gun, then turns and hits Roman in the mouth with the wooden stock. Roman falls to the ground, his lip cut open. Taba begins to sob loudly, and I put my arms around him. The soldiers pull Roman up. “I’ll come. Let them go,” Roman pleads.

The soldier laughs. “Why let go? So can contact other guerrillas? You, and you and you. Get in line.”

A soldier pulls Taba away from me. Taba’s screams pierce our ears. I have
to tell him in a big voice not to cry or they will kill us. Taba’s eyes grow big. They push Taba in front of me and I say, “See, I am right behind you.”

“I want to go home. Home now,” Taba cries. He doesn’t care who these men are. When the men ask him to stop crying, he only cries louder.

“Stop it, Taba. Remember what I told you.” I push him a little with my hand.

“Don’t push me. I’m not going!” Taba screams. It pierces my ears.

“No!” The soldier slaps Taba, and Taba sucks in air, immediately quiet.

Roman walks in the front of the line. There is no hope now of finding Papa or Isabelle. We will die, be butchered like Domingo Matapang. I wish now that I had told his wife, Ate Lorna, that the husband she kneels in prayer for is already dead.

~
T
HEY HAVE GORED
D
OMINGO
M
ATAPANG
like a cornered bull. I could see from the light of the moon when the bayonets made contact with his body. I have watched from this hiding place, a thin tree with branches that are as starved as I am. The soldiers tried to pierce him in the chest, but he wrestled them to the ground. I had to put my fist in my mouth so I would not scream; that was when I saw the blood come pouring out. They struggled until they stabbed him in the thigh, and still he fought. Somehow he managed to run away from them. They shot at him and he went down. When they got to where he had fallen, he was already gone. The soldiers were in a panic to find him. They whispered back and forth, then went quickly back to their commander.