When the Elephants Dance (60 page)

Some of Kulaw’s men follow. They have left Kulaw behind in his madness, shouting orders for his men to stay and face the enemy. Kulaw’s rifle goes off on his own men as they try to desert him.

We sprint through the mountains, up, then farther up, with our chests near bursting from the run. At a break in the top, we can see the Japanese swarm into Kulaw’s camp, and a battle ensues. We do not stop to watch. The rain has continued nonstop and the mud slides beneath our feet, and with it, my men. We cross a running creek with large boulders that part the water. The men slip and lose their footing on the moss; their weapons plunge into tight crevices. Kulaw’s men slide on their behinds and come to a stop several feet below. They sit from exhaustion.

“Get up!” I shout down to them. “Get up, it is not over. If they beat us to that trail, then it will be over.” Palaka watches me with unhidden anger. I give him the same. “Say it,” I tell him.

“What is this about the warehouse in Manila?”

“I go to help my family. I will take no one but myself. It is not your concern.”

“You, who has told us time and again not to let personal interests affect our promise to fight.”

“It has not affected the fighting. I have come to the meeting, but now the meeting is finished. There is nothing more to do but stay in the hills and wait for the enemy. I will return as soon as I can. The others know what to do.”

“You are divided now.” He echoes the warnings of the old Spaniard. It sends a chill through my body. “You have betrayed us. The choice with the Amerikanos was not yours to make. It was ours. You met without our knowledge.” He glances at Bartoy; the boy looks away and continues to climb up the steep of squat coffee bushes, grabbing on to the exposed knees of mangrove trees. “And you, you knew of this?” Bartoy does not answer him. “You, Domingo’s pet.” He grabs for Bartoy, and the boy glares back.

“Let him alone,” I say.

The others stop to stare at me with many questions in their eyes.

“Keep moving,” I tell them. To Palaka I say, “Yes, I met with the Amerikanos. They only wished to take a select few. So I told them all or none. You were one of the ones they would not take.”

“You lie!” he shouts.

I wipe the rain from my face. “Do not talk to me of lies,” I spit. “Where did you get that pistol, that German Mauser? I know you brownnose with the Japanese. For your own profit.”

Palaka looks down at his belt in surprise. He has no words of denial, and my heart closes with finality.

“It does not matter,” I tell him. “You must leave our group come morning. You know what I do to traitors, but I will give you a chance. Do not go to the Amerikano Holden, he knows about you. They will shoot you on sight. You have been warned,” I tell him.

“You—” Palaka throws down his rifle and shoves me against a clump of large rocks. The men shout for us to stop.

I grab for his throat and throw him sideways, away from me. We are heaving now, still walking upward. I brace myself, waiting for his next attack, glancing down to the Japanese still climbing the mountains. Palaka’s eyes begin to well.

“So I met with the Japanese. So I told them lies, maybe I told them where to find the Amerikanos. So what? They gave me this. They gave me food, cigars. They look after my family. It is more than I get here.”

“And who here gets anything? Are we not under the same circumstances?”

“Yes, we are.” He gestures in a circle to include all but me. “But you, you have everything. You are a legend in the villages,” he spits. “I am sick of hearing
of your noble name. Are any of us mentioned? We, who have made the plans with you, died beside you, who have killed at your orders. Do we not count? What makes you so special?”

“I have never asked for recognition.”

“You have a wife and children, a second family with the Karangalans. Yet you must have Nina, too. And this boy—” He points accusingly at Bartoy’s retreating back. “I was the one who brought him into the fold. He looked up to me, but you stole him.”

Palaka begins to cry. At first I think it is the rain. The group has come to a full stop now. He is crying so hard, he holds his belly and leans against the sides of the cliff. He lifts his head and, in the same motion, his pistol toward me. Before I can respond, Palaka crumples against the rocks and grass. It is a clean stab through the throat, and instantly he begins to gasp for breath, and then the blade appears again, near his heart.

I look, and there is Bartoy, with a foot against Palaka as he pulls the knife from Palaka’s back. Blood spurts from his wounds. I back away, confused at the sight of my old friend, my new enemy. Bartoy’s mouth turns up in pride, and I see a little of the madness. The others step away from the boy with superstition in their eyes.

“Hurry,” I tell the others. “Throw him over, or they will know we are ahead of them.” I grab Palaka’s legs, and he tries to grab at my hands. I bite down hard and force myself not to look at him. He falls silently over the cliff.

We reach the top of the rise just as the Japanese arrive where Palaka fell. We crouch down as an officer orders his troops to set up a post. They mean to block any entrance to the trail, but we have already passed.

W
HEN WE REACH
our base camp, I inform the men of my decision to help my family. They look at me with confusion and disappointment.

“You will kill us with this decision,” Macario says.

“Why, boss? Have we angered you?” Innocencio shifts uneasily.

Several of the men are angry. “We should kill you for deserting us.”

“There will be no such talk,” Macario orders. The veins on his neck protrude from his anger. “Domingo has risked his lives many times for us.”

“My conscience will not let me rest. I must return.”

I turn the command over to Macario. No one balks at my selection.

“Macario, this camp is no longer safe because of Tomas. You must move—”

“I am in command now,” he says, looking off into the distance. I stifle the urge to insist they move this minute, but I have given over my right. I turn to
bid the men farewell, but they will not look at me. They place their hands on their hips and look off to the distance. They speak quietly to one another, and I study their faces. I feel ashamed, but it is like trying to stop a waterfall with your outstretched hand. There is nothing to be done. I tell myself they are better without me, for I am divided.

Nina waits with her rifle slung across her back.

“I am sorry, Nina. I cannot live with the thought of leaving them to die in that warehouse. I must try to save them. They are innocents. They are what we fight for. You must stay. It is safer here for you. I have compromised the group. My thinking is unclear. But I promise, whether it is God’s will or not, I will come back to you. I have chosen you, and we will raise Bartoy as our son.”

“I am coming.” Bartoy steps forward. He holds a pack of dynamite, the very one I saw at Kulaw’s hideout.

“Me too, boss.” Innocencio steps out of the trees.

“I have already told you I will come regardless,” Nina tells me. “I sent a runner to tell the Amerikano Holden that if he can spare any help in our direction in our rescue of this warehouse and its civilians, he must do so.”

I nod and look away quickly. I have divided the group. “Then let us go to finish this one last thing.”

A
FTER ONE HOUR
the sound of rifle fire opens up above us at our base camp. I stop and look stunned toward our camp. Two large explosions rock the ground even at our distance. We do not have that type of artillery. Innocencio and Bartoy gasp in alarm. Nina looks at me and takes a deep breath. Tears fill my eyes. I think of Macario and my men. I see their faces, and I picture them fighting with no hope of living through it.

“Our camp has been raided! The Japanese have found us. What has Tomas done?” Nina asks.

I stop to stare at the dark plumes of smoke. “The same thing I have done. We have let our concern for our families rule our thinking. I have led them all to the slaughter.”

She reaches out a hand and places it on my shoulder. “Then we must go to Manila to save those who still live,” she says.

W
E RUSH ALL
night without break and reach Manila at dawn. There is chaos, fighting everywhere. The four of us take cover on a hillside overlooking the warehouse. The ground shakes at various intervals, and bombers fly overhead,
wave after wave. The sound of battle is deafening. I stay low, and soon our runner, Gregorio, comes out. The warehouse is not heavily fortified on the outside, but I see that there are many jeeps. Their commander has arrived. I send a prayer that all are still safe.

“What is the situation?”

Gregorio shakes his head sadly. “Sir, they have taken the men out in groups and shot them in the fields, there—” He points. “I could not tell at this distance if they were any of your people.”

“We will set free those who are left. Their general has arrived?”

“Yes, did you see the jeeps?”

I nod. “Are there many of them?”

“No, I have counted ten. There were more, but they have driven away to battle the Amerikanos.”

“Only ten? We can take care of ten.”

“They have machine guns, sir.”

“We have dynamite,” Innocencio tells him.

“Wonderful, but how to use it without hurting the others?” Gregorio asks.

“We set off two here, and here—” I point to one end of the warehouse. “I have been inside, as have Nina and Bartoy. That is nothing more than a courtyard. It will kill but a few. Then all should come out there—” I point to the east end.

“There are Japanese snipers everywhere. They are like flies. I cannot keep track of them. There was one there on that rooftop earlier, and one below, there, do you see him now? But the one on top, I have not heard from him for the rest of the afternoon. I do not know if he is dead, or if he only waits. How will we lay the dynamite?”

“I will lay it myself,” I tell him.

“I can help,” Bartoy volunteers.

I look at him for a long moment. I cannot let my worry get in the way. Once you begin to worry, you are finished. “Good,” I tell him.

“We will lay it, then hurry back here. Simple enough?” I ask Bartoy.

“Very simple,” he answers as if he thought up the plan himself.

“Innocencio, watch that sniper. He may give us trouble.”

“He will be a dead man, sir,” Inno says.

“Is everyone ready? They may come out shooting.”

“We will be ready.” Nina nods, checking her sights and setting her chin. I feel a pain and pride in my heart just to look at her. We are the same, she and I. And when this is over, the four of us, me, the boy, Nina, and Innocencio, we will find a farm or a business together. We will remember the danger over a
glass of beer and talk of it for many years after. When all this is over, Lorna can take our children and return to her family, and they will take her in and raise our son and daughter in wealth, and it will be as if I never existed. All will be taken care of.

Bartoy and I descend carefully, and I check the rooftops for Japanese snipers. We run unharmed to the building. We get as close as we can, when suddenly three dogs begin to bark and a Japanese soldier walks out from the west end of the building. He takes aim and I shoot him. From the other end, the doors open and soldiers rush out. “Light it now,” I tell Bartoy.

The boy lights the dynamite and throws it in the direction of the soldiers. I take the other and do the same. It is the wrong end, but there is no time to think. We rush to the hillside for cover, and Innocencio, Nina, and Gregorio fire down at them to cover us. There is a great explosion, and I stumble as I run. We make it to the middle of the hill when Bartoy begins to slow. I see that his ankle is injured. I grab his arm and we hurry up the hillside.

We hide for cover, and Nina lets out a cry. “It is not his ankle that bleeds, the wound is in his hip.” The boy pales, and I see that he is in a bad way. The ground soaks immediately.

“It is bad. The bleeding will not stop.” Nina curses and turns to fire on the Japanese soldiers as they hide behind their jeeps.

I grasp Bartoy’s hand and tell him that I am here. He tries to smile; his breathing is labored. “It is not bad. Just press here,” I tell him. His eyes fade quickly and I am thankful. “Papa,” he whispers, “is it bad?”

I cannot answer. The blood on his teeth puts me in a daze. My throat will not swallow at the sight of him. I do not see the young executioner that the others fear. I see only a boy without a father. I tell him, “I am here. Papa is here, son. Go to sleep.”

“Papa, can I join you now? Why did you leave me?”

I feel it hard in my chest, yet there is no time to feel. I had pictured him on the farm, back in school, as a grown man, later with a young wife.
Stop this, think only of the battle now
. I try, but my hand will not let go of his smaller one.

“Bartoy, think of the farm. What was it you wanted? Coconut trees?”

“Yes.” He tries valiantly to smile. “I will plant the first one.” He lets out a ragged breath, and then his eyes stare blankly.

My mouth falls open. “Bartoy, tell me again what kind of trees. Bartolomew,” I say sternly. He usually snaps to attention when I use that tone. I grab him by the shirt. “I have not spent enough time with you. I should have found the time to talk. Even if it meant just walking beside you. You must have been so lonely all those times.” I sob. “He is just a boy!” I shout.

“Domingo,” Nina calls out.

I look at her without seeing.

“Help me!” she shouts, and I turn to join in the shooting.

I stumble up to help her. There is still Nina; with Nina there is still much to live for. We shall name our firstborn Bartolomew. And it will be just as though he never left. Too bad about the boy, he was a good boy. I would have liked to see him leading a carabao on the farm. I would have liked to take him fishing. He will join his family now.
Do not be stupid. You felt strongly for this boy. Allow yourself to feel a little of the sadness, you can only bury so much
. Now is not the time, I think, shaking myself.

We have killed six Japanese that I have counted. But there are more than the number Gregorio gave.