When the Elephants Dance (59 page)

I brush the worry from her face with the backs of my knuckles. I graze them against her cheek. “I have not decided to go back, Nina,” I lie.
Go to Lorna
or stay with Nina? To rescue your family or lead your troops? Ay, now, now it has begun. What the old men told you. They have not lived this many years without learning. But one thing is certain, I have already chosen Nina. Long ago I chose her. When this is over, we will live like a family. Bartoy, Nina, even Innocencio, for he is like a child, and me. We will find a simple farm. There, you have admitted your dreams. It is not such a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. But you cannot leave the others to die. Can you live with their deaths?

She watches the thoughts fly across my face. “Domingo?” she whispers.

“Whatever I decide, you will be there with me.”

A smile of relief crosses her face. “Then I wait only for your directions. My heart is at peace.”

I pull her close to me and kiss her brow. “I do not deserve you. But I shall never let you go.”

“Promise me? I want to always be by your side. Even if it means to be in the shadows,” she says. Her hands grip mine almost painfully.

“We will be together until we die,” I promise. She kisses my palm and then steps away and sighs. A smile spreads over her lovely face.

When we return to the group, Palaka continues to move ahead. He does not look at us. “I have forgotten to ask about Lorna. How are your wife and son?”

So now the fangs begin to show. “Let us focus on our meeting with the Paghamons,” I say. “If we can form a peace, this meeting will be worth the trip.”

The name
Paghamon
means “challenger.” The Pags occupy these Zambales Mountains with us. Their group is also strong in the Sierra Madres. Their goals are to use others, lie to all other guerrillas, Amerikanos and Filipinos. They defend no one and no thing but their personal interests of empire building. They have political aspirations for after the war.

The Pags live southeast of our present encampment, and after tonight we will be southeast of them, in a different location. It is necessary to change every few days.

The stars in the heavens are brilliant, with opal-colored clouds as big as lakes covering portions of the night sky. Innocencio is humming a melody. It reminds me of women and balconies and the moon and music. I forget the name. Palaka will not stop his glances at Nina; they begin to claw at my neck.

“Nina, stay here with the others. I do not want you close to Kulaw. He has an eye for you. If something were to happen to us, they would take you.”

“Let me come with you,” she protests. “I will stay out of his sight.”

“No, you are to remain here. If something happens, we will meet back at the base.” She pouts, but I shake my head and move on. My conscience pricks at me. I did not have time to consider the base camp. We should have moved
on. It is not safe now that Tomas’s family has been captured. I have grown lax from my confusion. I would never have left out such an important detail. I will move the camp as soon as we return.

Macario keeps checking his gun, as if the bullets will somehow disappear.

“Maco, do you wish to lose the contents?” I scowl at him.

“Sorry, boss,” he answers, and then promptly begins to replace and draw his pistol. Replace and draw quickly, as in the movies. I shake my head and walk ahead of him. I feel bad. Macario is a good and loyal soldier. He has a good head for strategy, and often I have consulted him secretly over Palaka. He loves our men as much as I. I will smooth things with him later. Bartoy is unusually quiet. He turns to me instinctively.

I look to the wound he earned a few weeks ago. “The wound on your brow begins to heal,” I tell him. “It will leave a nice scar. You will be able to tell good stories to the ladies.”

He shrugs in embarrassment. Within minutes I know we are in Pag territory. The hooting of owls begins, their signal. Bartoy looks to me.

“It means nothing. Only that we approach.”

When the Pags come out to meet us, Bartoy blinks at the sight of them. They are fierce looking with their tribal paint and their teeth red from chewing betel nuts. I have brought fifteen of my best men into the inner circle. The others are farther out to guard the circumference. Macario shakes his head as we follow the Paghamon soldiers through the maze of ferns and trees. “This is bad, boss. Why did we not meet in a neutral place?”

“You represent us well with your questions, Maco. Why not just shout out your fears for the entire forest?”

Macario shuts his mouth and skulks back to his position. He would not have liked my answer. His question is a valid one. But I grow weary of hiding and of running. Still, I have taken precautions; I have placed two rings of our finest men at intervals surrounding the forest. If we are hurt, not one Paghamon will leave alive. As we walk deeper into the thickness of trees, groups of Negritos join us. They are our smaller counterparts, shorter and strong fighters.

The wind has started to blow high in the trees, and the sound is deafening. Yet it is a warm wind, and here, closer to the earth, it is not so bad.

We come to a set of bamboo houses with thatched roofs. We are ushered to the longest one. Three windows are propped open by sticks. Cigar smoke filters through, and I smell the fine quality. I motion for our men to remain at various posts as the rest of us enter. The house is twenty feet by fifteen, and there is a long table running the length of the room: a block of wood, set atop three wooden sawhorses. Even with the windows thrown open, the room is filled
with smoke. Some of the Pags are seated, but most are standing, lining the walls. I do not like this. At the head of the table is Orlando Kulaw, the leader of the Paghamons. He has dubbed himself Napoleon, in regards to the Frenchman. He does not stand when we enter. “Matapang, you have resurrected?” His group laughs at the question.

“It would take more than a stray Japanese bullet to kill me,” I answer.

“So, you have come to break bread?” Orlando continues with his biblical references.

“Is this to be our last supper, then?” I ask.

“Yes. Who is to play your Judas, Palaka?” He laughs, looking to Palaka. “Then you must be seated on this side of Domingo, and remember to dip your bread after he does. That will complete the prophecy.”

“Puta ang iná mo,”
Palaka growls. Your mother is a whore.

“Hoy, hoy
, I was only joking,” Orlando Kulaw says, grinning. He watches Palaka, pleased that he has struck a nerve. “Innocencio, have you decided yet to leave this unworthy group and join us?” he asks.

Innocencio says nothing, but he smiles good-naturedly.

Everyone is armed to the teeth. Those seated have guns on the table. This was to be a good-faith meeting. It is a testament to how bad Kulaw is with his promises. In the corner of the room is an open pack of dynamite.

A soldier steps forward with a tray of glasses and whiskey, a very short cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. Kulaw slides a glass to the empty seat beside him. “Matapang, sit so that your men follow suit,” he orders.

I look at Inno and then to Palaka, who both remain standing at opposite corners of the room. I pull the chair and serve myself a cup, then my eyes and Kulaw’s lock. I wait for him to drink first.

“They will not drink?” he asks, glancing at Palaka and Innocencio.

“There is still much work this evening,” I answer. “What is the first order of discussion?”

Kulaw studies my men standing. He fingers the top of his glass, tracing the rim with his finger. “Inno, how are you with your gun stripping? Can you beat me yet?”

Innocencio looks questioningly at me. I remain silent.

“I can beat you now, sir,” he answers.

A great whooping shout goes through the room, and more Paghamons crowd the doorway. Palaka looks at me.

“There is much to discuss,” I remind Kulaw.

He nods and again begins to slowly trace the rim of his glass. “Okay, later, Inno, ha? After this you must show me.”

“Yes, sir,” Inno answers.

“What is it again you wish to discuss?” Kulaw asks me.

“You were the one who invited me,” I answer.

He chuckles to himself. “Oh yes, those subjects. Tell me again.”

I take a cigarette from behind my ear and light it. “We are to discuss a peace between our groups. I believe we are in agreement. This fighting between our guerrillas must stop. We must band together against the enemy. And then there is the issue of your desire to absorb my group. As I have told you before, that is not possible. I lead my own. Then there is the talk of kidnapping the senators who sympathize with the enemy. All my efforts go to keeping the Japanese from backing into our mountains, now that the Amerikanos have begun the invasion. If you wish to leave now and play war with the politicians, that is up to you. They will get their rewards soon enough. My group will remain.”

“I command more than four thousand men, we could swallow your one hundred,” Kulaw responds.

I see now there will be no discussion of peace. I lean back and scoff at him. “If you count your villagers. I count only my soldiers, who are armed. You could not absorb us, it would be impossible.”

The corner of Kulaw’s mouth twitches. His men look around unsurely. One beside me swallows. The lump of his throat moves up and down continuously, and his hand strays from the table. “You wish to die?” I turn and ask him.

Kulaw laughs. “Relax, you frighten our guests.” He motions to another soldier, and the soldier rushes forward with a rifle. Kulaw holds the rifle pointed upward, and he gestures to Inno. “Inno, before you go, ha? We will have a little competition.”

Kulaw sets the rifle on its butt against his thigh and chair, between the two of us. “For later,” he tells me. “I heard of your debacle with the Japanese convoy the other week. How could you not know there would be more troops to protect a munitions drop-off? What did you expect they were transporting, food?”

I smile. “You were there, and you did nothing to aid us?”

“I would not commit my men to such a mistake.” He waves his hand. The ashes of his cigarette float in the air between us.

“No, of course not, especially after the incident with the Philippine constabulary. You lost many men then,” I tell him. “I had almost forgotten that. I told you there was only so much you could ask the police to do under the noses of their Japanese masters.” I laugh. “They have families. They need to live with these bastards. That was a bad one,” I say, still chuckling. “How many men did you lose? You would have been able to boast four thousand and five before that day, eh? Now only four thousand. It is a pity.”

Kulaw’s eyes are on fire. The room grows instantly hot. I feel my body protest at how far I push this man in his own territory, but I cannot stop my tongue.

Macario peeks in. “Sir?” he asks. We planned this earlier, in case things were growing hostile. If I answer, “I did not call you,” he is to signal the others to be prepared.

“I did not call you,” I tell him. Palaka frowns at the impropriety of Macario’s actions.

Kulaw looks at me. “I have seen that one in the towns. You grow lax in your selection.”

“Is there anything else?” I ask.

“Yes, why have you not told the others of your meeting with the Amerikano Holden?”

There it is. Thrown on the table like a glove in challenge.

Palaka’s expression gives away any lies I would make. Innocencio’s face is riddled with confusion.

I look at Kulaw. “That is none of your affair.”

He looks at Palaka. “You did not know of this?”

Palaka swallows hard. “Of course I knew.”

“Ah, so you knew. And that he refused the invitation to join without consulting you, his right hand? You knew this as well?”

“Yes, it was at my urging that we not join,” Palaka answers.

“All right, then, all right,” Kulaw announces, bored with the response. “Then there will be no joining of forces with us or with the Amerikanos. As it should be. It is as it should be.” He looks to Innocencio one more time. “Inno, are you ready for the challenge?”

I will Inno to look at me, but he is already grinning at Kulaw. “Yes.”

“Come, then, let us lay our guns on the table.”

The others begin to stand, and I motion to Palaka.

Inno faces Kulaw, and someone shouts, “Begin!”

In a flash they are stripping their rifles, and I grip my pistol at my hip. I see instantly that we are in trouble, for not only is Innocencio incredibly fast in stripping his, but Kulaw is purposely slower. There are flashes of hands clicking and snapping metal back, and for a moment I get lost in the competition. There is horrendous shouting in the room. Then Innocencio raises both his hands, and his deadly weapon is now only a mass of pieces. He is smiling brightly.

“Ah, you have won now?” Kulaw asks Inno. “But who is without a gun?”

The laughter subsides in the room; it grows smaller until it is hovering just among the three of us.

“This is a bad game you play,” I tell Kulaw.

He shrugs. “If you will not join us, then you will die.”

Innocencio’s face falls. “Boss,” he says to me. “Boss, I thought … When you said nothing, I did not realize.”

I look at Kulaw. “You would do this now, in the hour before the fighting? When our people need us most? You would risk our victory for a simple rivalry? They will be short this many guides—” I motion my hand between my chest and his.

“Victory? What victory? To have another country rule us yet again?”

Before I can answer him, Macario looks in.

“Get out!” Palaka shouts.

“Boss, Japanese patrols on all sides of the mountain.”

One of Kulaw’s men runs in, breathless. “It is true, they are only a kilometer away.”

I look at Palaka.

“Tomas,” he answers. “They have made him talk.”

I shove Innocencio aside; he is not half as fast in putting his rifle back together. I slam the parts together.

“This is not over,” Kulaw tells me.

“Get out of my way.” I finish the rifle and push him away.

Outside, Bartoy and the others look toward me anxiously. “There is only one way, a single track, very narrow.” I point. “We must beat them to it.”