When the Elephants Dance (27 page)

My knees bend in horror, and my fingers touch the ground softly.
“O Dios ko,”
I breathe. Oh God.
Think, think, calm down
. I turn slowly, the way a snail would, afraid even to swallow. I squint at the faint traces of my footsteps on the ground. Already the rain is eating at them, blurring them back into the mud. I put my foot out slowly and trace my last step. Painstakingly I do this, shaking as I place my weight. I am almost near the beginning when I see a horrible thing. A beautiful white doe, just a baby. Its ears are alert. It stops just at the edge of the forest, and our eyes meet. Its small tail whips nervously. She raises her nose and it trembles, sorting the different smells in the air. Does she smell it, too? The thick burning, the powdered dirt, the indelible smell of our people dying.

Her stub tail switches quicker, back and forth, like the pendulum on a broken clock. My eyes are fixed on her legs, set firmly but lightly on the ground.
Stay there, please
, I beg silently. Our eyes are locked; I feel the sensation of a thousand beads of sweat break my brow. I am too afraid even to swallow. The deer looks back over her shoulder.
Yes, go back
, I plead in my mind. She is so beautiful, so perfect. I want to reach out and wrap her in my arms. I pray that she dies on the spot so that she does not move.

My horror is complete when her gaze starts to wander from mine. I feel my scream lost somewhere above us, lost in the lightning and thunder. It mingles with the screams of a thousand women, a thousand mothers, and children, and husbands and fathers, and brothers. In a heartbeat the little doe goes bounding to the center of the mines. I turn and leap in the opposite direction, picking my scream from the air and giving it voice. There are a series of explosions, and I am thrown against the base of a tree. I hit the trunk full in the chest. I choke until my breath surges back. The dirt falls around us, black and charred. There are a hundred cuts on my arms, and my face is stinging as though it is being attacked by bees. I stagger up on legs that feel broken in two.

I walk for at least a kilometer when I realize that I have gone the wrong way. There are no buildings to mark which way I am going. The church of Santa Teresa is no longer standing so that I can say,
“Yes, the back of the tower faces north, and the front, with the Latin words inscribed, is south
.” There is no church standing at all, so I do not realize until I have passed the old cemetery that I am heading in the opposite direction from which I desire. A Japanese patrol approaches, six of them. I throw myself into a pile of corpses. Their poor frames are stiff and cold. I shut my eyes tight and breathe through my mouth. When the soldiers are gone, I slide down slowly from their bodies. I gasp as a hardened hand scrapes against my lips.

I keep my eyes upward to the trees, for any sign of fruit. But it appears the soldiers have already gotten to the fruit. I find a bayabas on the ground, its sweet yellow fruit bruised and mushy from a fat little worm living inside. I try to pick out the worm, but it swims back into the meat of the fruit. I eat it with the worm intact. My stomach rumbles from the hunger pains.

Thoughts without purpose creep in and out of my head. I do not know why, but I think of my mother’s hands. The soft skin, callused on the inside, the veins soft and protruding on the outer side. I remember how cool they are on my brow when I am sick. How they feel when they braid my hair or rub my back. I long for her familiar caress on my shoulder when I pass her in the hallway. She was right. All along she was right. When she told me not to stay out late, that bad things would happen to me, I laughed in her face. I called her old-fashioned. I taunted that I was not like her, that I was not afraid of anything.

When she told me evil comes out after twilight time, and that people should be indoors, I called her superstitious. I had no right thinking I could be any different, any stronger. I am a fool, and I deserve what has happened to me.

I have wronged her. I have been her greatest foe, and she my biggest protector. Her heart is so pure, like a child’s. She gives without thinking. She longs to have beautiful things, I see it in her eyes, but she always thinks of us first. Before the war she spent each day sewing or peddling our plantains, so that the fried sweet banana smell was stuck indelibly to her hair. Each night she prepared tusino, the red marinated pork, adding a touch of rice wine vinegar to sweeten the flavor. She brought them to the houses that had special ordered them, and the remainder she peddled in the streets. She did this until her fingernails were pink and brittle from the preparations. And all of her proceeds she used to purchase my school supplies, Alejandro’s shoes, a toy for Roderick.

My mind is not working. I do not recognize any part of the woods. I thought this way was north. I tell myself to forget about north, what about west, pay attention to where the sun has set. Pay attention to where the ocean is. But in this forest the trees hide the moon, and the rain and dark clouds fool me. I see no ocean, only branches extending like arms as far as I can see. I spin myself in a circle, my eyes remembering nothing and my legs shaking from hunger.
Domingo is probably dead. Save yourself. Save myself for what? Save yourself and drink from the small flask you took. You may be saving it for someone who no longer needs it. Perhaps I no longer need it. Perhaps I do not want to live. You cannot leave Domingo
. I collapse on the ground from all the thoughts fighting in my head.

“Isabelle?” I hear a whisper.

I stop my crying and look around. I see no one. I feel the hairs on my neck stand.
There are no ghosts in the forests
, I repeat to myself.

“Isabelle,” the voice whispers once again. I am so frightened that I run forward, heedless of the Japanese patrols. I am falling through branches and tripping over rocks. A hand is placed over my mouth and I am dragged farther into the bushes. I fight with all my might. Hands reach out to grab me. I am flipped over and someone sits on my belly. It is Feliciano; he bends his face to me, and I raise my hands to claw at him. “Stop it. Patrols,” he whispers. I am paralyzed by his words. Japanese soldiers pass not more than ten meters from us. We lie for a long time this way. I am conscious of his heartbeat against my chest. His face is close to mine and he stares at the ground, listening. When it is safe he pulls away from me; he seems embarrassed.

“The moment I left you I knew that I should not have. I fought myself until
I could stand it no longer and hurried back. You were running straight to one of their camps. There will be more. We must find somewhere to hide.” “I do not know where to go. Home is the only place I know.”

W
E WALK FOR
an eternity in the rain. We are like two drowned caribous. My knees are bleeding from constantly falling forward. We are nearing Bulacan, my hometown, when I smell food. The scent makes me crazy, like a wild animal. I hurry forward with renewed strength.

We look with silence at the plundered houses, the broken windows, the doors thrown wide open, as if the enemy were standing mockingly before us. The trees, every one of them, their fruits picked, regardless if they were ripe or not. There are no stray chickens walking the road, no caribous lumbering about, no pigs squealing and jostling one another. Our countryside is like a dying dog. Helpless and flat on its side, cloaked in death, with no strength left to lick its injuries.

Once I see our house I become happy and sad at the same time. Gone only three days, yet I am changed. My heart longs to go back to feeling pure. I can still smell the soldiers’ sweat on my skin. I evade the dark thoughts that threaten to consume me. They hover just beyond my reach. I know that if I start to think of what has happened, I will die.

The shower has ceased, but the temperature has turned hotter, and the ceiling of clouds overhead presses low. Rain again soon. A thick breeze scatters dust upon us. I think of the passage from the Bible that says wipe even the dust from your feet to show you have turned your back on this place. That is what has happened. Hope has turned its back on us. My nose begins to run.

We step inside and the house looks the same. My heart pounds in my throat.
Pull open the floor latch. What if everyone is dead?

Feliciano hesitates. “I shall go now, Isabelle. I only wanted to see you home safely. I am not welcome here.”

“Your aunt, Aling Anna, is here. She will want to see you.” I feel a tinge of confusion at my own words. Do I feel concern for him? Have I now become his defender? No, I tell myself. I am only repaying him for seeing me home safely.

“She does not care about me. You forget what I am.”

He is right, I have forgotten. “I will tell them how you helped me.”

He considers my words, unable to hide the exhaustion in his eyes. The wonderful smell of lapsang souchong tea flows up to us. Aling Anna’s favorite flavor. Feliciano nods to say he will stay. My heart soars. There is the sound of arguing below; we stop to listen.

I hear Domingo’s voice, angry and righteous: “Be careful what you say, old man.” Domingo has made it home safely! I thank God.

“See?” Mang Selso shouts out. “You see how he threatens me? I am telling the truth, Domingo, you bring danger upon this house. We cannot harbor a guerrilla, much less a commander. Let us take a vote, if we shall allow you to stay or not. You must not be selfish. Think of others for once.”

“Do not lecture me about selfishness, you coward.” Domingo is in a rage. “You hide behind your father’s illness, an easy excuse to keep from the fighting. My guerrillas fight your battles while you sit in the safety of this cellar with the women.”

“I am too weak to stand. How do you expect me to fight?” Mang Selso sputters.

“I fight. I can poke my skin and feel my bones. There is no meat left on this body. Yet I fight. You want to win this war? All of you. You want our country back? Then you must stand up and do the same. This war will not pass you by. You cannot wait it out in this basement. Everyone must fight, man, woman, child, everyone.”

“But the danger is great,” Aling Anna says.

“Yes, you will risk your lives, but what kind of life is it to cower at the enemy’s every word? There will be no more discussion of a vote. I shall stay here, to rest, then go in search of the children. Try to move me and see what happens,” Domingo says.

The children? Who else is missing? My heart twists, and I turn to Feliciano. He bows his head sadly.

Mang Selso directs his argument elsewhere. “Do not listen to him. He does not care about the danger he puts us in.”

Domingo does not let him escape. “I am in danger night and day. Yet I still live. If we were all to rise and fight together, we could overtake them.”

“Many would die,” Mang Selso challenges. “Easy for you to fight and hide. We are the ones they torture when you ambush their patrols. Who is the real coward?”

“I have to hide. We do not have the strength to fight them at once. You love to look down your noses, but who do you call when they harass your family?”

“You don’t fool me.” Mang Selso’s voice rises foolishly. “You were nothing but a small thief before this war. An embarrassment to your father, the great Senator Matapang, the Japanese sympathizer. You are two of a kind.”

There is much shouting, and we hurry down the ladder. Everyone rushes to one end of the small room. Domingo has Mang Selso against the wall, his hand on his throat. He is heedless of Mang Selso’s father, Tay Fredrico, who
leans out of the way. It is wrong of Domingo. The elders must be respected. The others have their hands on both men, trying to pry them apart.

Domingo can barely speak; his voice is deep with anger. “Do not ever compare me to Senator Matapang. Or I will slit your throat.”

“Let him go!” Mang Selso’s wife shouts. She pulls weakly at Domingo’s arms. One move from him and she would topple like a house of sticks. “Did you hear what he said?” she asks the others. Domingo whips his head to the side and scowls at her. She drops her grip on him. He releases Mang Selso and the older man falls to the floor, coughing.

“Enough,” Mama declares. “Those who will not share this house with Domingo must leave. He is my guest.” Mama loves Domingo; she protects him like a son. He respects her like a mother. She surprises me, the fierceness that comes out of her chest and rises to her face, to her thin arms.

I wait for them to notice me. I am scared, terrified that Mother will see the difference in me. Slowly they disperse, and there is a gasp as Mrs. Yoshi and Ate Lorna see me. Mica runs and embraces me. I pull away from her embrace, and there is confusion in her eyes. I feel dirty. She looks hurt at first and then, like the stubborn girl I have always known her to be, she throws her arms around me and hugs me harder.

“Isabelle,” she sobs. The pain wells in my throat until I no longer care. I hug my best friend with all my might.

“I’m so sorry—”

“No, I am the one,” I say. “It was my idea that we split apart.”

“It does not matter now. You are safe, sister.” Mica has no siblings and has always insisted on referring to me as such.

Mama turns to see the faces all staring at me. She follows their gaze and sucks in her breath sharply. Her hand flies to her mouth as the tears flow immediately.

For just a moment, I feel a panic rise within me. Mica lets go slowly, with one arm still on the small of my back. I look behind me, wondering where else I could go. Is it my imagination or does Feliciano stand closer to me? It feels protective.

“Isabelle,
o anák!”
my mother cries—child!—but I am numb. She looks at my clothes and my face. I do not need to explain. Her eyes search my shifting ones. I cannot look at her directly. I see the hurt in her eyes, hurt for me. I wonder why I was so afraid that she would judge me. She hugs me to her. I can smell her skin, like faded flowers, and a distant smell of the green plantains she used to cook.

“Thank God,” I hear echoed through the room. I study the faces around me, Aling Anna, Mang Selso and his father, and Mang Pedro.

I move from Mama’s embrace and wait for Feliciano to move out of my shadows. The group gasps when they see who it is.