When the Elephants Dance (38 page)

I laugh quietly. “Do you think I was born yesterday? I am no fool.”

“We have only one gun. You must trust me.”

“As Isabelle trusted you? A boy whose loyalties change with the wind?”

He keeps his eyes on me and slowly pulls the black Makapili mask over his face.

The sight of the mask unsettles me. It brings a riot of emotions to the surface. I feel my breathing come sharp and quick. I see his eyes through the slits still focused on me. Next he pulls out a white band and ties it around his arm, and still he watches me.

“You must trust me,” he insists.

There is truth to his words. We are outnumbered, outgunned. I hold out my hands.

“No, they must be tied behind your back. I will tie them loosely.”

“You think me crazy?”

“There is little time.”

I take a deep breath and put my hands behind my back, and he begins to tie.

“Loosely,” I grunt. When he is done, I look over my shoulder at him. “Let us not regret this. If this is a trick, I will not rest until you are found.” I pause for a moment and swallow my pride. “If nothing else, Feliciano, save these three, they are innocent. My son is just a boy. Their lives are in your hands.”

He nods, his attention already fixed on the soldiers. The soldiers listen at our approach. The officers stand and grab quickly for their guns. Feliciano bows and presses his gun into my back to urge me forward.

“Commanders, I bring you the guerrilla leader Domingo Matapang.”

I jump at the sound of his voice beside me. My skin crawls at his words. I am a lamb to the slaughter. The commanders squint at Feliciano while the guards look anxiously at the surrounding jungle. Feliciano pulls off his mask, and the majors’ faces relax in relief. The response alone turns my stomach. Their casual trust in him means many things. He has done much to win their loyalty, but at what cost?

I glance toward the prisoners. Roman Flores makes eye contact with me, and I raise my brows slightly. Alejandro cranes his neck to see. Taba watches with large eyes.

“Feliciano, excellent!” the one named Koiso exclaims. He studies me from head to foot. He calls the other commander, and the man takes a drawing from
his pocket. Koiso slaps the paper with the back of his hand. “It is him. But how did you capture him? The general will be pleased.”

“I was on my way back from the Villamar Hotel. He was injured. You see?” Feliciano lifts my shirt and points to the bandages along my side.

“But who has bandaged him?” Koiso asks suspiciously. He has a long straight nose. His eyes are small and close together.

“He was with his wife, but I killed her.”

At his words, my son begins to cry. “I want my mama.”

“Quiet!” Matsura shouts. He walks over to Taba and kicks him in the side. Taba loses consciousness. I grit my teeth so hard, I feel as if my jaw will break.

“You see?” the long-faced Koiso asks Matsura. “What did I tell you about Feliciano? He is loyal to our side. He has proven this many times.” He turns to Feliciano. “You will be rewarded by the emperor.”

Feliciano bows obediently. “I am honored.”

“Place him with the other captives,” Koiso orders.

We begin to walk toward Roman and the others. It is perfect.

“Wait,” Matsura orders.

My blood pumps fast through my body. We stop.

“Yes, Commander?” Feliciano asks.

Matsura comes toward us. He walks pigeon-toed, his wide hips giving his thin frame a pear shape. His cigarette is stuffed in the corner of his mouth. He takes the lighted end and presses it to my neck. I grunt loudly in pain; the fury in me is almost uncontrollable, but I quench it. He takes a step back and kicks me in the stomach. I drop to my knees.

Matsura smiles proudly. “We have defeated you. With your father’s help, we will defeat the Americans as well.”

I force myself to bow my head. The burn to my neck is a hot dagger. The Japanese laugh among themselves in approval. Feliciano smiles and nods with them. I glare at him, but he refuses to look my way. He grabs my arm and leads me toward the others. He pushes me to the ground. My shoulder bears the brunt of the fall. Feliciano follows the commanders into the tent without a backward glance.

“Domingo,” Roman whispers.

“If I cut you free, can you fight?” I ask Roman.

“I will fight,” he answers.

“And the other prisoners?”

“They are near death. The children have not yet been harmed. Alejandro has been very quiet.”

“As long as he still breathes.”

“But how will you free yourself?”

Three guards approach and we bow our heads. The guards talk quietly among themselves and glance my way. They come for a closer inspection, and I avoid their eyes. They make a show of being unimpressed. With mouths turned down they walk to the middle of the encampment and ready their mats for sleep. I breathe a sigh. There are now only two active guards. One walks a smaller circle around our perimeter, seventy feet from us. The other walks counterclockwise in a larger circle. I wait. The larger circle takes the guard fifteen minutes to walk. The smaller circle takes the other guard ten minutes.

When they have passed, Roman asks his question again. “How will you untie yourself?”

“Feliciano is with us. He led me to this camp.”

Roman frowns. “You trust him?”

“We shall see. I mean to take this guard. When he returns from his walk.” We wait until the guards intersect again, and I begin to strain against my ties.

I turn toward the tent, and the sound of laughter rings out. The commanders laugh and joke easily with Feliciano. Their voices carry, pricking at my skin. Roman raises his head and looks toward the tent and shakes his head.

Koiso’s voice is loud and jovial. His shadow moves, giant and godlike, before a lantern. “You have served us well, Feliciano. You are very brave to take this guerrilla commander on your own. He is said to be very deadly with the knife.”

Feliciano’s voice is thick with pride. “It was not difficult. The stories of him have grown as they have been passed on. He is just a man. Older than me, starved, with nothing but pride left. We fought, but it did not take much to subdue him. I convinced him that if I took him in as a prisoner, we could raid your camp.”

Roman looks at me sharply.

Laughter bursts forward from the tent. “And he believed this? The fool.” Koiso crows like a bird.

Matsura’s shadow stands; it reaches for something, and he pours. “Drink, Feliciano. In honor of your prize. For days we have tried to track this guerrilla and you fool him with a few kind words.”

I am struggling with my ties. They will not loosen. My breath comes quickly. I strain and twist, but the rope will not unravel. I try to quiet my anger.

“I will kill him,” I curse. “Roman, there is a knife in my right boot.”

Roman nods. He can barely move. He is lying on his back, on a slab of
metal. The metal appears to be large pieces of a truck or airplane. His wrists are tied tightly and the ropes are staked to the ground. I put my foot near his hands, and he strains with his fingers.

“Tell me, how can we reward you?” Matsura voice booms. “Anything.”

“I am humbled by your words, Commander,” Feliciano answers. “But it is I who must serve you. As I have told you, I just returned from the Villamor Hotel, where I have selected ten beautiful Filipinas. They are on their way as we speak. That was how I ran into that fool Domingo.”

Roman is unable to reach my knife, yet he continues to try. My ties are unbreakable. I wrestle with them furiously. One of the guards has returned. He notices our movement and walks toward us. He approaches and we stop moving.

“Water, please,” Roman moans to him.

“Silence,” the guard spits. He stands and watches us for some time, his hand on his rifle. I do not move. He walks around us and checks our ties. He is satisfied and resumes his patrol around the encampment.

Again the voices come from the tent. “I want only
dalagas
. The young girls are the best,” Koiso tells Feliciano.

“The younger the better,” Feliciano agrees, and they laugh loudly.

I think of Isabelle, and my body hurts with anger. “I will tear out his eyes,” I tell Roman. We work furiously at our bindings. Their rejoicing urges me on. I am like a madman; my wrists burn as I saw my hands against the rope.

Two shots pierce the sound of their laughter, and immediately I scramble to sit up. I look at the other two captives lying beside us. The children are unharmed.

The three guards in the center wake and look around the area in confusion. Feliciano emerges from the tent behind them and fires six shots into the body of soldiers. Two guards fall, one fires back and races quickly into the darkness of trees. The guards walking the perimeter rush through the brushes, calling out to their comrades. Feliciano runs to us and slices my ties and Roman’s. He hands me a Japanese Arisaka .25-caliber bolt-action rifle, with bayonet attached, and Roman a pistol reminiscent of a German Luger. The rifle weighs about ten pounds with the bayonet, but there is no time to detach the blade.

“Untie the others,” Feliciano orders. “I will protect you.”

As he says this, shots come flying past us in the dark. We duck and I crouch low and fire back as Roman unties the others. He unties the boys first. Alejandro looks around weakly. He can barely stand. My heart leaps as I approach my son. I hug him to me, and my soul feels healed. Taba is delirious
with fear. He trembles visibly. But that is not what bothers me; what troubles me is that when I pick him up, he shoves my face away. “No, Papa. You are a killer. Grandfather said you murder people. I am frightened of you.”

His words wound me more than any bullet. Lorna’s parents have turned him against me. In my absence they have filled his head with terrible images. He fights feebly, his small hands pushing against my arms.

“Stop it.” I shake him. “It is me, Papa.”

“No!” Taba cries, in hysterics now.

Roman guides Alejandro by the arm. “Can you walk?”

“Jando …” I call him by his nickname and push the hair from his eyes. They seem to fade before me. He does not respond. “Give him water.”

Roman hurries to one of the bodies and returns with a cantina. “It is sake, drink.”

Alejandro takes the container with shaking hands and swallows slowly.

“You must go. Now,” Feliciano orders. “Take the children. I will follow.”

I reach out a hand to thank him.

“Go!” he shouts.

I try again to pick up my son, even though he protests. We struggle until Roman reaches out and stops me. He pleads with his eyes for me to understand, then bends down to gather my son. “Take Alejandro instead.”

I nod and crouch down to place Alejandro on my back.

“The others?” I ask Roman.

He shakes his head. “They are too weak.”

I glance back at Feliciano, crouching silently with his rifle aimed toward the darkness. The three remaining guards have positioned themselves behind a tree.

We move at a steady pace. Roman is beaten badly, yet we push ourselves, resting against rocks and trees. My head spins from hunger, and my chest tightens with pain. I feel my bones brittle and raw against my skin. We hike for hours in silence. I stop once to tend to Alejandro when his hands fall away from my neck. His eyes are flat and lifeless, frightening me. He responds slowly to my questions with a limp nod.

“Be strong, Alejandro,” I say. “We are almost home.”

W
E REACH
B
ULACAN
at dawn, and the sounds of battle greets us in the distance with a series of mortar explosions that rumble the earth like thunder. When we enter the house, Alejandro is in bad shape. Aling Louisa and Isabelle run to meet us as we descend into the cellar. They take his listless form from
my arms as they ask frantically for water. Louisa orders Roderick to give his brother the rest of his bowl of soup. Roderick does so immediately.

Isabelle reaches out a hand to help steady me as I descend. I nod to tell her that I am all right. She looks up expectantly and tries to hide the disappointment in her eyes when Roman steps down with Taba. She waits still.

“What of Feliciano?” she finally asks.

“He is coming,” I tell her over my shoulder. “He was held back by soldiers.”

“You left him?”

I have not the strength to fight with her. “Yes.”

She bows her head and helps her mother, Aling Louisa, care for Alejandro.

“Help Roman,” I instruct. “He was badly beaten.” She hurries to Roman with apology in her eyes.

Lorna is speaking to me, but I do not hear a word. My body aches with exhaustion. I reach out for my son, but he sobs into his mother’s chest.

“Shh, Taba. It is me, Daddy. I am here to protect you. I would never harm you.”

“No,” Taba says, and pushes me away with a feeble hand.

I look away to hide my embarrassment. Lorna sees this and touches my arm gently. She rushes to make things right.

“He has not seen you for some time, Domingo. It will take a while for him to become comfortable again. You are gone so often.
Na ninibago,”
my wife says. He is getting reacquainted.

I nod and hug her to me. My poor Lorna. So easy for us to ignore our dwindling marriage. There has been no passion for so long now. Instead we have had a desperate agreement not to speak of it. We look down at our baby, and I brush the hair away from her face. Alma, created during a night of loneliness. Such a sad baby, she never speaks. How will Lorna feel when I tell her what she must already know? That I cannot stay. Will she feel relief? The urge to tell her now, to end the play we enact every time for each other’s benefit, rises to my throat, but my body warns me that I have not the energy to do that now. I want to be present when we speak of it. I owe her that much.

I hate the thought of the smug expressions her family will have when she runs back to them. I wish to protect her always. I know they will be happy to have their daughter back, to marry her off to a more appropriate candidate. And I know, no matter how painful, that she will be better loved, happier. My children will be better cared for. This marriage has taken a toll on her. She has been ostracized from friends and family. I am not the person she had hoped I would be. And at times I see that her mind has been slowly poisoned by her
parents. At times I see judgment in her eyes. During arguments their words have flown through her lips.