When the Elephants Dance (57 page)

I stare at him. “There will be no escape for you.”

“I am prepared.”

“They will fight to the death,” I tell him.

“I will be here.” He echoes my own sentiments. I feel a kinship of understanding.
He does not care for the sadness he sees in my face. “There is another matter I wish to discuss with you.” He hesitates. I watch the deep rise and fall of his chest.

“Speak,” I encourage him.

“There is a sympathizer within your group.” His eyes lock with mine.

“I have already taken care of the matter.”

He looks surprised for a moment, and then he responds, “No, I am not talking about the one called Miguel. Though you did well to terminate him.”

Now it is my turn to be surprised.

“You only killed the symptom. Listen to what I’m telling you.” He coughs and his eyes water.

I brace myself and swallow. “Say it quickly.”

“The man you call Palaka, he’s the cancer.”

“He is no sympathizer,” I argue. But already I feel the ground unstable beneath my legs. Palaka, my most trusted friend. I try to hide my pain.

“Think what you want, the Japs have bought him off.”

“What proof do you have?” I ask, but already I know. It is what my instincts have told me but my mind has always rejected.

“I don’t expect you to take my word for it. My men have seen him walking freely in Fort Santiago, and as you know, that place is crawling with Kempeitai. But you have been warned. I only stopped my men from executing him until I spoke with you. I did not want to start a war between us. If we see him again, he’s a dead man.”

He lets the information soak into my head. “I understand,” I tell him.

“Do you want us to handle him?”

“No, I will take care of it.”

“You are certain you will not join?”

“I am certain.”

He nods and holds out his hand. His guards become immediately alert. But the lieutenant has already made up his mind. He extends his hand with honor and no uncertainties. I grasp it, and for a moment the taste, the opportunities, of joining their group is sweet to my mind. In my hand is a paper, one that I was to bargain him with for ammunition. On the paper is information from my own intelligence teams regarding further Japanese hideouts and plans we have intercepted. I give it to him.

He looks surprised but places the paper slowly in his pocket. “Mercado,” he calls out.

Mercado comes and salutes with his left hand. “Sir.”

“It is as I suspected. Lieutenant Domingo Matapang wishes to concentrate on his own operations,” Holden tells him. Then to me he nods. “Lieutenant, good luck.”

“Mabuhay, Lieutenant,”
I tell him. Long life. I watch as he disappears into the recesses of the cave. His guards immediately block the entrance.

I am escorted outside, and then I am told that the lieutenant wishes several men, six in all, to accompany me to the bottom of the hill. I nod in agreement. They carry with them a large crate. I know better than to ask its destination. I cannot help but wonder. At the bottom of the hill, Nina and Bartoy wait with their guns cocked. When they see the soldiers they take aim, and I shout out for them to cease.

The Amerikanos study the boy, Nina, and then me dubiously. Four of the soldiers place the crate on the ground. One of the Amerikanos comes to salute me. “A present, sir, from the lieutenant to your group. We cannot carry it further. I suggest you send some of your men to retrieve it. I would not leave it unguarded, however.”

I nod. “Please send the lieutenant my gratitude.” We wait until they are gone.

Nina and I stare at the crate in fascination. “Perhaps it is ammunition, do you think, Domingo?”

“Say nothing of this to the group, do you two understand?” I order them.

“Yes, of course,” Nina answers with a frown.

“Bartoy,” I say. Even though I know that he would rather die than give away any information, I feel the need to be reassured.

“Sir, I will say we found it.”

“That is exactly what we will say.”

“Shall we guard it while Bartoy calls the others?” Nina asks.

“We shall carry it,” I tell her.

“But it took four of them.”

“We cannot leave this,” I tell her.

Without a word Nina and Bartoy take the one end and I take the other.

B
Y THE THIRD
circle of guards, the rumor has already reached our inner circle that I come bearing a gift. The others rush to take the weight from us.

“What is it, sir?” Innocencio asks anxiously. He circles the crate like a child at a birthday party. Palaka gets up slowly.

“The Amerikanos were unloading boxes,” I tell them. “We borrowed one.”

At the same time, Bartoy announces, “We found it,” with a wide grin, then looks to me with consternation. He can see in Palaka’s eyes that it would have been better had he not spoken.

“You found it, did you?” Palaka asks. He watches Bartoy until the boy turns red and mumbles something, before finding a corner to sit by himself.

“Have you checked it, sir? Shall we open it, sir?” Innocencio voices what is on everyone’s lips.

“I did not carry it this far just to stare at it,” I tell him. It is hard not to smile at their excitement.

A metal bar is produced and many hands go to work in the opening. More heads peer into the cave. “Palaka,” I say.

Palaka gets up immediately. “Who is watching the second circle?” he barks.

The men disperse quickly. The crate is labeled “U.S. Army.” When the crate is opened, the straw stuffing is pulled from it and it is even more than I expected. A chorus of awe fills the cave.

“What is it?” Innocencio breathes. “What type of gun, sir?”

“A bazooka,” I tell them.

“A bazooka.” Innocencio repeats the word several times.

Nina is glowing at the sight of the massive piece of metal.

“Can we try it, sir?” Innocencio asks.

Palaka slaps his thigh in excitement. “See what the Amerikanos have? I tell you we must join them. We could each have one of these to our names,” he insists. “We must try this, Domingo. We must find out where this Lieutenant Holden hides.”

I watch him with new eyes. I entertain him while my family suffers, waiting. I study the gift from Holden. I could liberate my entire family and the other prisoners from that warehouse in Manila with this weapon.
Shake this thought. Stay focused
.

“Yes, when do we join with the Amerikanos?” someone asks.

“Were we not to meet with them soon?” asks another.

“The Amerikanos would outfit us with their new uniforms.” The talk continues. “And boots,” another adds. “Even a tank, perhaps.”

“No one would give you a tank,” Palaka jeers. “You cannot even drive a carabao.”

There is excited laughter at Palaka’s joke, and at the sight of the weapon.

“Will we meet with the Amerikanos’ boss?” Innocencio asks.

“When the time is right,” I tell him. I think of my family and repeat the same thing to myself.
When the time is right. Remember what the old Spaniard
said. Do not divide yourself. And do not look back. But what of Mang Pedro’s warning? About family? My family is here now. Yes, but they are also in Manila. Both men were right. Both ideals important, but the crux is to choose one over the other with a cold heart. You have chosen. Do not look back
.

“The time is right, today,” Palaka urges. “The Amerikanos need us.”

“Not today.” I stare at the eager faces. The ringed eyes reflect the exhaustion and the crippling boredom of days spent waiting and hiding. This game of being a ghost begins to wear on one’s soul.

“Can we try it, sir?” Bartoy asks, and everyone waits for my response. The entire cave has stopped breathing.

“We shall see,” I tell them. “Let us take care of business first.” The others sigh in disappointment; they walk away, their eyes filled with the sight of the machine.

“Palaka, what is first?” I ask.

He searches my face, detecting a difference in my tone. “Is everything all right, Dom?” he asks.

“Yes,” I tell him.

He nods. “The others refuse to sleep with Bartolomew. I myself have trouble with it. The boy is crazed. He is a liability.”

“Bartoy? What nonsense is this?”

He shrugs. “The boy has taken to the killing. They think he is possessed. He smiles in his sleep. It is a strange sight.”

“He can sleep in my quarters. Tell me something of importance.”

“Senator Bulosan is here from the Philippine constabulary. He has some information that may interest you. The Japanese have been shipping out more of their officers.”

I nod at the name of our agent who works beneath the noses of the Japanese.

“Also, one of our own, Tomas Fulgencio, wishes to speak to you. They have taken his family hostage.”

“He knows the rules, remind him. No personal vendettas. They are in God’s hands now. How did it happen?”

“The Japanese sent a Filipino to each house, asking for donations for the guerrilla forces. When his parents donated, they took them.”

“He knows the rules,” I repeat.

“Still, he wishes to speak with you, sir. To plead his case.”

“Send him in. Is that all?”

Palaka sighs. “The meeting with the Paghamons.”

The Paghamons are a dangerous group of Filipino guerrillas, anti-Amerikano, Communist in their beliefs, extreme and deadly in their practices. We have fought with them many times. They are great enemies with the Amerikano guerrillas. Some of the guerrilla groups do not want the Amerikano support. They fear that the Amerikanos will only use us to defeat the Japanese and then turn and want to take control of our islands again.

The reasons for the various Filipino groups fighting among themselves have become petty and disruptive to the true problem at hand. Some fight for personal vanity, to be known only as the strongest guerrilla force. Others fight for political positioning once the war is over. They envision themselves as heroes and therefore candidates for government positions. In the meantime they wish to have no rivals for those positions. The Paghamons are known troublemakers. Yet I will listen to anyone who offers peace among our guerrilla groups. There has been enough killing already. I try at every opportunity to convince them of the simplest matter: that we can be stronger together.

“What else?” I ask.

“There is another paper guerrilla.”

I roll my eyes. Paper guerrillas are nothing better than bandits using the guerrilla name to oppress and rob our own people. They are tiresome and a great liability. We deal with them quickly.

“Have him taken care of.” Even after all this time, it is difficult for me to give the word
kill
when I order an execution. The physical act is so much easier. Palaka barks an order and a runner is sent out to order the murder.

“Send in Tomas.”

Tomas is in tears the moment he begins. This is the boy who refused a bottle of whiskey before we pulled out a bullet from his neck. He did not scream when the hot knife cut into his flesh or when the needle pierced his skin again and again. When half his foot was blown off by a mortar, he wrapped the stump in cloth and never said a word. He walked this way, carrying an injured comrade, until we were well into the Zambales Mountains.

“Tomas, I grieve at the news of your family, but you know the rules. No personal interests or vendettas. Our mission is to gather intelligence, to harass the enemy, support MacArthur’s forces in our own way, by incapacitating the Imperial Army whenever possible. We cannot make exceptions.”

“I understand, sir. That is why I am asking that you let me go. I shall rescue my parents. They were taken to Manila.”

“I cannot let you go, with all that you know. This is what they wish. We would be in grave danger if you were caught.”

“I would never speak a word.”

“It is different when the knife is put to your loved ones. The tongue cannot be controlled.”

“They will kill my family,” he sobs.

For a moment the thought of my family in Manila flashes before me. I see the exhaustion in Alejandro’s eyes, the panic and desperation of my wife, Lorna, but I shove it back down my throat and focus on the man before me.

“Yes, they would kill you, too, but first they would torture you for information leading to our group. Many more families would be at risk.” Tomas is one of my most able men. He cannot swallow the information. “Do you hear what I am saying?” I ask.

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” His voice cracks. He salutes and turns to leave.

I call to one of the guards.

“Sir?” A guard peers in.

“See that he does not leave your sight or the camp.”

The rest of the night follows in the same way. The agents come in and put their findings on the table. We discuss the Amerikanos, who are already infiltrating the jungles and being led closer to the city to join their units. There is talk of a delivery truck that could prove to be a good source of food and sake, of all things. I listen with half an ear. The image of Alejandro in the warehouse appears. I remember his face as he watched us leave, the desire to come, and the understanding when he could not. I hallucinate.
Concentrate. Your duty is here with your troops
.

“The truck makes the same route each evening. It will be a good source of morale for the men to attack the supplies,” Palaka urges me.

“I will think on the matter.”

Night envelops us, breathtakingly beautiful. My heart constricts. I remember many such nights when we could roam freely on our own island. Those days seem so long ago. My thoughts stray to my children. Will they even know that Manila?

“The men are dispirited. They need a distraction,” Palaka tells me.

I look at him, one brow raised. He can sense a difference in the air between us, but he has not yet guessed its origin. “There will be enough to do with this meeting of the Paghamons. We must not spread ourselves too thinly.” This ceases his talk.

“Nina, bring me some wine,” I order.

“For me also,” Palaka adds.

“You have hands,” she scoffs at him.

Palaka stands beside Nina. He says softly, “I have grown used to you serving me when Domingo was away.”