When the Elephants Dance (46 page)

Yes, what else? I think of Nina Vargas. Nina with her pistol hanging from her hip. Nina with more worth than ten good men.

“Yes, Mang Ped. I value my family. I have heard your words. They are thoughts that I have inspected daily. I would lay down my life for them.”

“Well then?” Mang Ped asks.

“But mine is not the only family to consider. There are many others that may die if none of us were to fight. You see how many volunteer to go up against the enemy now? Me alone in this room of hundreds. If no one fights, then I will have the satisfaction of saving only my family above the thousands more. I could not live with that. If I lead my men, if we assist the Amerikanos in our own way, then many more may be saved. You yourself saw how being selfish served you. Only your family became rich, the others in your village lost everything.”

Mang Pedro is silent at my words. Perhaps it is I who have taught him something. I am torn between leaving and staying. Mang Pedro’s story reminds me of all that I have to lose. I wonder what Mang Carlito would do if he were here, since he values his family so much. I pray that he is still alive. He is a very resourceful man. If anyone could find a way to survive, it would be he. I pray that he is safe, and if he is not, that he is dead. I could not stand the thought of his torture. I have never forgotten how he welcomed me into his home. He is the closest thing to a father I have known. Even with his polio leg, he carries much dignity in his walk. I think about how he shared his home and his food
with me even when it was sparse. I am in awe of his love for his family. He would work himself to death just to feed them.

I am still thinking of him when I see a figure limping our way. It takes a moment before I get to my feet and realize that he is one of the new prisoners being led into the building. Aling Louisa and the others watch me as I stand. They follow my eyes, and then I hear their gasps and exclamations.

“Tay!”
Isabelle sobs, and runs forward.

“Ay, salamat,”
Aling Louisa cries. Oh, thank you. She puts a hand to her chest and rushes forward. The two of them are ushered back against the wall to the women’s side by the soldiers. Alejandro and Roderick run to embrace their father’s legs and help him to walk to our side. He places his hands lovingly on their dark heads.

“Mang Carlito …” The words escape my lips, and I rush to help him the rest of the way.

“Where were you?” Aling Louisa cries, pacing with her back to the wall. “I saw your face in every body that lay by the roadside. Carlito,” she sobs into her hands.
“Salamat sa Dios
.” Thank God.

His eyes search the figures of the women until they come to rest with loving surprise on his daughter.

“Isabelle, you are safe.
Salamat sa Dios,”
he whispers over and over again. Thank God. Isabelle beams at her father. She brushes the hair from her brow, and we wait for him to tell us where he has been.

“You have been returned to us.” Mang Pedro nods. “My eyes rejoice.”

“Mang Carlito, what happened to you that day?” Roman asks.

Mang Carlito shakes his head and looks at the ground. It takes a moment before he finds his voice. “I did not know if I would ever see all of you again. At times it looked very bad for me. Roman, Ped, I am glad the two of you returned home safely. As for me, I shall tell you how I almost died.”

W
HEN WE LEFT
the cellar that last morning, Roman, Pedro, and myself, I was certain it would be the last time that I saw all of you alive. We tried to keep up appearances, but the moment we opened the door to the outside and let in the glare, our faces dropped. I held on to the door and nodded for them to go first.
My heart was heavy. I felt this knowing deep in my arms and chest as I shut the door behind me. I let my eyes look back at our house, and I thought of all of you inside. I longed to rush back and embrace you. I wanted to inhale the familiar scent of my wife’s hair one more time; the area below her ears and that certain place near her lips. It made me want to weep. I let my fingers linger on the doorknob before letting go. Looking at our house from the outside was like looking at a great coffin that would soon be lowered to the ground.

I
TOLD MYSELF
,
Shake this feeling. You should be ashamed. Was it not you who told Alejandro not to worry about his hands? And now look. Shall you be a liar to your eldest son? Move ahead. Walk, feet; look forward, eyes. Your only thought must be to find food
.

We walked in silence, the three of us. I think we were afraid to look up and see the hopelessness reflected in one another’s eyes. We walked past the rotting corpses like bewildered souls let into hell. I could hear the devil laughing in the hot wind that howled in our faces. There on the corner near the old swing that I built for Alejandro and Roderick lay our neighbor Aling Panchang, with Jopie and baby Imelda cradled in her stiff arms. Their flesh was decomposing, melding with one another’s. I could still hear her hoarse voice, the way she used to call hello to our house and enter without knocking. I pictured little Jopie with his favorite blanket trailing on the ground and the way he used to shadow Alejandro and Rod.
What will keep that from happening to my family? Why do I fool myself into thinking we will be lucky? These people prayed the same prayers. Why should we be any different? Stop this thinking
.

“Which way, Mang Carlito?” Roman asked. I could see the dread in his eyes.

“South, Roman, to the warehouse I spoke of and to Manila, where the battle is being fought.”

As we approached Manila, we stopped and faced one another. The ground was shaking. In the distance were smoke, flashes of light, and the exploding thunder of the big guns. We braced ourselves, each waiting for the other to speak.

Roman was first. “I know a man who works for the Japanese. He is an old friend of my grandfather’s. They have taken his shop, but he tries to give whatever food he believes they will not miss.”

“I shall try the Red Cross,” Pedro said. “Perhaps they can spare something. If they still stand.”

“I will try the warehouse,” I told them. I pulled a small advertisement from my pocket. The Japanese had distributed it weeks ago. I was not even sure if the
warehouse was still standing. It said, “Workers needed. Men and boys to carry supplies. Sack of rice in exchange for a day’s work.”

We looked at one another. Roman attempted to hold out a hand to shake.

“I shall see you tonight,” I told him. He pressed his lips together and tried to smile. I stood and watched him walk southeast. Pedro was already walking away.

I went directly for the city. I soon found that the majority of the bridges over the Pasig River had already been destroyed. I braced myself again.
Stay strong
. I walked toward the sounds of machine-gun fire and antitank machines. People were passing by me, escaping north, their clothing wet from makeshift rafts they had used to cross the river. They carried their children on their backs and in their arms. The babies all looked frail and were barely breathing.

“Friend,” a man called out to me, “where are you going? Can you not hear the fighting?” He was an old man, though possibly he could have been my age. You know what the hunger has done to our appearance. His clothing was soaked from his crossing. I wondered if he had swum across. In his hand he carried a cane. His right leg had recently been amputated, and his trouser leg was folded over and pinned behind him.

“I am in search of food,” I explained.

He frowned at me. “What will you feed when your stomach has been blown away? Can you not see my leg?”

“Good luck, friend,” I told him.

“Stupido!”
he cried out. “Come back.”

People bumped shoulders with me. No one else spoke. Some glanced my way, but if they had any more warnings for me, they did not voice them. I thought how different from the festive attitudes we kept three years ago. I would not have been able to move five steps without a fond greeting from a stranger, but now … I shook my head and kept walking. I found an old raft someone had discarded. I found a tree branch and a broken oar beside it. That was all the encouragement I needed. I entered hell on the waters of the Pasig River.

Three hundred yards away, the west end of the river was engulfed with smoke and the sounds of machine guns and the automatic cannons. The Japanese were busy fending off the Amerikano assault boats. Explosions ripped through their formations, and the boats scattered. I focused my eyes and began to paddle. The waters were choppy from the explosions, and my wooden plank bobbed up and down. I lay on my belly and clung to the edges, rowing with one arm.

As I was crossing, I looked a hundred yards east of the river and there were
Japanese engineers waving to me. They carried rifles, so I did not protest. As I paddled closer to them, I saw there were Filipinos in the water, chest deep. They were lifting heavy pieces of equipment as the Japanese yelled out instructions. It was then I saw that one of the bridges was ripped apart and in the middle of the teetering bridge was scattered supplies and equipment that was falling into the river.

“Work for food!” a Japanese soldier shouted to me.

I looked back toward the west end of the river, where the fighting was occurring.

“Work for food!” the soldier shouted again. Four mean-looking soldiers glared down at me from the shore.

I nodded and lowered myself into the river. I was surprised to find the water was very low at that point, where farther up it was deep. The sun was blazing and reflecting off the water so that it was difficult to see. The soldier pointed me to a spot, and I fell into place. The equipment was very heavy, and a few times the weight caused my elbows to bow out and the metal containers to hit me in the face. We worked furiously for almost an hour. At first it was hard to concentrate. I was dizzy from hunger. Shells were flying, and I feared that the battle on the other end would soon come our way. But by some miracle the Japanese kept the Amerikanos at bay.

When we were done we were ushered ashore, and some of the men collapsed onto the land and did not get back up.

“Hurry. We go. Food in building,” a soldier instructed.

He was pointing to an old warehouse. The building was made of sheet iron with a red cross painted on the roof. It had once been a Red Cross office. I wondered where the volunteers had gone. We walked as fast as we could. I could feel the soldiers staring at my polio leg. They whispered among themselves. It made me pick up my pace. There was a long line to enter. They were only letting groups of twenty in at one time. Finally they counted twenty of us, and the soldier knocked on the door. When the door opened the twenty of us were let in and then the door was shut again. Inside we stood in another line. The door was shut and locked behind me. I looked at the soldier for an explanation, but he held his rifle and looked straight ahead. The building was hot, but at least it took the sun out of my eyes and I was thankful. While we waited in line a soldier came by and gave each of us a small cup of rice and a package of salt. I swallowed mine whole. I craned to see if they were distributing water, but they were not. Suddenly from the front of the line one of the Filipinos broke away and ran toward the door, but a soldier wrestled him to the ground and dragged him back.

Our line became worried. We looked at one another and craned our necks to see what was happening. Four soldiers walked to either side of us and escorted us forward. Up ahead I saw that two soldiers stood at the center. With bland faces, they watched us approach. I squinted my eyes to see what was happening. When I neared the center, a strong odor caused me to stumble. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. I soon realized that the two soldiers stood guard over a large circle, and then I saw to my horror that it was a pit, the kind one would roast a pig over. It was twelve meters long and four meters wide. As I moved closer, a violent shaking took hold of me. I saw that it was deep with heads and decapitated corpses. I held my stomach to keep from vomiting. A few of the men tried to run to the door, but they were bayoneted immediately.

So this is your time
, I said to myself.
You knew you could not be this lucky for this long
. And for some reason I thought, Better I die than any in my family.
Die like a man. Do not let them see your fear
. I repeated this to myself even though my legs were trembling. We were ushered forward one by one. I watched as a man was led forward, and when he refused to kneel, a soldier took his sword still in its scabbard and hit the man in the head so that he knelt and almost fell into the pit. Another soldier held on to the swaying man’s hands and leaned away as the soldier spat on the blade of his sword and raised it in a great arc. He brought the sword down with such force that the man’s head rolled across the room and blood spurted from the body. The Filipino had not cried out, nor had he tried to run in fear. I felt my chest swell and my eyes water. He had refused to cry out.
If nothing else, we will die with our courage
.

I looked at the other Filipinos beside me. They were quiet, their faces ash colored. My chest constricted at the thought of such an undignified ending.
We are to be slaughtered like pigs
. I wanted to weep.

As the next man was brought forward, I told myself again,
Be strong
. I stood with my legs quaking when I felt someone staring at me intently. I looked to my side, and an older soldier was staring from my polio leg to my face. He repeated this a few times, and I became uneasy.

The soldier called out to me, “You, come forward.”

I took a shaky breath and walked to him. I tried my best not to let my foot drag.
Perhaps he will let me go because of my leg. Maybe he has decided I will not be a threat to them. How can I help the Amerikanos with this leg?
I changed my stride and walked as I normally do. He put his hand on the back of my neck and led me away from the line. I felt a relief wash over me, but at the same time my heart was pounding, screaming to be let out of my chest. He led me out a back door and into an enclosed yard. The fence was woven at the top with
barbed wire, and I watched him, waiting for him to pull his gun. He shut the door behind him and kept looking over his shoulder.