Never an Empire

by James Green

  He sat half dozing in the heat which the shade of the tree did very little to diminish, he let his thoughts wander on. Yes, Maria had the Philippines to live for, to fight for, he wasn’t so sure about himself. He wanted to be a good priest, but could he be strong enough? Could he find the same belief and dedication that she had found? His dozing mind went round and round the same questions, answered with the same doubts, caught out at the same hopes, then began again.

  The day was no hotter than usual but sitting in idleness with nothing but his revolving thoughts seemed to increase the heat. He felt thirsty and his thirst turned his mind to the bottle of bourbon. He could do with a drink now. In fact he wished he had put the second bottle of bourbon the American had left in his saddle bag as well as the breviary.

  His thoughts veered sideways.

  Why had he brought his breviary? Over the past few weeks he had hardly used it. But he was glad that he had, it had been a great comfort to him since he arrived, his only source of comfort, even though bringing it had been from no more than habit. Or perhaps it was something more, a small sign from God to show him that he still might …

  His thoughts were interrupted by someone coming and standing in front of him. He looked up. It was Carmen’s mother. He scrambled to his feet.

  ‘Has he come?’

  ‘There is someone in my hut who wants to see you.’

  It seemed an odd answer.

  ‘The lieutenant?’

  ‘I was sent to bring you.’

  Father Enrique remembered the young woman who had come to him, who had defied the head man by coming. Perhaps it was some other villager who didn’t want to be seen approaching him.

  ‘Is it someone from the village?’

  ‘No.’

  Father Enrique decided he didn’t care why she was being so evasive. Either it was the lieutenant or it wasn’t and he was doing nothing else. If someone needed him as a priest it would at least help to pass the time.

  ‘Very well, I’ll come.’

  Carmen’s mother led the way and Father Enrique followed. At the doorway to the hut she stood to one side. Father Enrique went in and stood for a second to allow his eyes to adjust. Someone was standing over by the far wall but even before he got use to the dark interior he could see it wasn’t the lieutenant. It was a woman. She came forward.

  ‘Have you spoken with him yet?’

  ‘Maria. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Have you spoken to the bitch’s husband yet?’

  ‘No. I was hoping it was him I had been brought to meet.’

  Carmen’s mother came in.

  ‘Well, I brought him. Now will you tell me?’

  Father Enrique turned.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘She says she has important news for me and for my son but she wouldn’t say what it was until she had spoken to you. She knew you were here and she sent me to get you.’ She turned back to Maria. ‘Well, you’ve spoken to him, now speak to me.’

  ‘Your daughter-in-law is dead.’

  ‘Dead, how?’

  ‘I killed her.’

  The woman looked at Maria for a moment.

  ‘I don’t believe you. Why would you kill her?’

  ‘Because she and her husband are trying to betray the general.’

  ‘That’s a lie. My son is loyal to the general. He does special work for him, he is trusted. It was my son who got the general’s men back from the San Juan gaol, who saved them from hanging.’

  ‘Think what you like. I know your son is a traitor.’

  ‘Liar. How, how do you know?’

  ‘Because his wife told me. That’s why I killed her.’

  The woman was shaken by the answer and when she spoke there was clear doubt in her voice.

  ‘If she said that then she’s a liar just like you.’

  ‘They are going to give the general to the Americans and then go away to America with the money from their treachery.’ A nasty smile crept over Maria’s face. ‘They were going to leave you here to rot in this filthy village.’

  The woman gave a small cry.

  ‘Ah. It can’t be true. My son would never leave me here alone.’

  The women’s voices had been rising and their words must have clearly carried well outside the hut. Now another sound joined their shouting. A child had begun to cry in the bedroom but only Father Enrique seemed to notice it.

  ‘The slut had him wound round her little finger. Do you think she would let him drag you along to their fine new life?’

  The woman clamped her hands over her ears.

  ‘I won’t listen, all you say is lies.’ The words were almost a scream but it was clear the anger that filled them was because she couldn’t prevent herself from believing what Maria had said. When she carried on it was with closed eyes and her words were for herself, not for anyone else. ‘My son loves me; I am his mother, he wouldn’t do as you say, never.’

  Maria laughed and Father Enrique winced at the sound. This was not the woman he knew, the woman so like his mother.

  ‘He would and he thinks he will. But I think differently.’ She pointed at Father Enrique. ‘The slut is dead and this traitor priest has come here to take her place as messenger.’ Father Enrique looked at the doorway. Somebody had come to see what was happening. What all the shouting and screaming were about. Maria was too busy to notice any newcomer. ‘But there will be no message sent to San Juan because there will be no messenger and when I’ve done that I will go to the general.’

  Suddenly she stopped as the figure in the doorway stepped out of the daylight into the room. Maria’s pause was no more than an instant, then she turned and moved quickly towards Father Enrique who saw that there was a knife in her hand. He stood, rooted to the spot, paralysed with fear. Maria was going to kill him as she had killed Carmen. His power to act or speak was suspended in him. Maria was going to kill him and he couldn’t stop her. He wanted to do something, strike out, defend himself, but this was Maria.

  The noise of the explosion filled the small room as Maria threw herself forward onto Father Enrique with such force that she almost knocked him down. He caught her in his arms and tried to hold her up but she was heavy and wouldn’t help so he lowered her to the ground and when he took his arms from round her he felt a warm wetness on his hands. It was blood.

  A voice came from the doorway.

  ‘Is she dead?’

  He looked up. Standing there in his uniform with a pistol in his hand was the lieutenant. Father Enrique looked down into Maria’s sightless eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  The lieutenant pushed his pistol back into its holster.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘My housekeeper. She must have followed me here.’

  ‘Is it true what she said?’

  ‘That I am a traitor?’

  ‘That my wife is dead, that she killed her?’

  ‘Yes. I wasn’t there but …’

  The lieutenant cut across his words.

  ‘Later. I heard the shouting when I arrived: people were coming, listening. I waved them away but they must have heard what was said. Now there’s been a shot they will come back. The head man will come; we have to be ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘To say what happened.’

  Carmen’s mother came and took her son’s arm.

  ‘She was mad, my son, told wicked lies about you, that you would leave me. You wouldn’t leave me, my son, tell me you would never go away and leave me alone.’

  The lieutenant brushed his mother’s hand from his arm.

  ‘That’s what we’ll say. She was mad, she followed you here and started screaming and waving a knife. I arrived, heard the noise, and came in to see what was happening. When she saw me she attacked you and I shot her. It’s almost the truth.’

  Before Father Enrique could answer the lieutenant turned, left the hut, and stood outside. Beyond him Father Enrique could see the villagers gathered. As he looked they p
arted and through them came the head man. He walked up to the lieutenant. They spoke for a moment then both came to the hut.

  The head man looked at Maria’s body then at Father Enrique.

  ‘She is your housekeeper. She came with you the first time you came. What happened?’

  Father Enrique didn’t answer, he couldn’t, no words would come. He looked from face to face at the two men who were waiting and then down at Maria. Her dead eyes looked up at him.

  Suddenly he knew what to say and do. He knelt down.

  ‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.’

  Only the mother answered.

  ‘Amen.’

  Father Enrique raised his hand in blessing and began the words.

  ‘Ego te absolve … I absolve you …’

  He carried on with the words of absolution by which the soul was freed from the penalties of its sins. She was dead but the soul could linger and as long as the soul was present mercy and forgiveness were possible. Maria had said she would willingly die for the general, now she had. So had others if not so willingly: Carmen, the paho seller, the young man. Death waited for everyone, your whole life was no more than a preparation for when it came. How soon, he wondered, would it come for him?

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Father Enrique sat with the lieutenant and the head man. Maria’s body had been taken into the bedroom. The lieutenant’s mother had taken his daughter with her to a neighbour and the people had been told to go back to their huts. From somewhere a bottle of the rough, locally brewed spirit, arrack, had been brought and all three men had a cup before them. The lieutenant explained to the head man what had happened.

  ‘It was a tragedy, a terrible tragedy.’ He turned to Father Enrique. ‘She was your housekeeper, Father?’ Father Enrique nodded. ‘And she followed you here?’ Another silent nod. ‘Why, Father, why did she follow you?’ The lieutenant waited but Father Enrique sat, silent. The lieutenant tried again. ‘Was there anything wrong with her? Had she been behaving strangely?’ He waited. What the hell was the matter with the priest? He knew what to say, why didn’t he say it? ‘She had a knife.’

  That at least got a response.

  ‘Yes, she had a knife. She killed someone with it.’

  Thank God he’s come alive, thought the lieutenant, but now he’s got to say the right thing.

  ‘No, Father, she didn’t kill anyone, she tried, she would have killed you but I stopped her.’ He paused again but Father Enrique gazed at the cup before him with eyes that seemed far away so the lieutenant pressed on. ‘It was as if she was mad, Father, insane. Had she behaved like that before? Had you seen any signs of madness? Had you been worried about her, Father?’ There, that was as far as he could go without putting the words into his mouth. Father Enrique picked up his cup and took a drink. Neither of the other two men had drunk anything, yet he was on his second cup. He put the cup down and looked at the bottle. The lieutenant tried again. ‘I said, had you been worried about her?’

  Father Enrique raised his eyes from the bottle.

  ‘Yes, I worried about her. I never thought she would kill anyone. She was a good woman, a strong woman, and loyal, loyal to the general and to her country.’

  Then he reached forward and poured some more arrack into his cup.

  What the priest had finally managed to say wasn’t what he wanted but the lieutenant decided it was the best he was going to get.

  ‘Yes, Father, but her mind must have become confused. Such things can happen. I arrived and heard the shouting. I heard what she said. That you were a traitor, that I was going to betray the general.’

  ‘Yes, she said that.’

  And he took another drink.

  The lieutenant turned to the head man.

  ‘You can see, Father Enrique is distressed, who wouldn’t be?’

  ‘Yes, it seems to have affected him badly.’

  ‘He needs rest. He will stay here and my mother will look after him. Tomorrow you will send someone with him and he must go back to San Juan. He needs to see a doctor. Do you not agree?’

  ‘If you say so, Lieutenant.’

  ‘A terrible thing has happened, a tragedy, but we can do nothing about it. The woman was mad and now she is dead. It must end there. Father Enrique brought me a message for the general. We must talk and then I must return to the army.’

  The head man picked up his cup and took a thoughtful drink.

  ‘It is, as you say, Lieutenant, a terrible tragedy but what am I to tell the village? There has been a killing. The whole village knows it and knows what the woman said.’ The head man was afraid of the lieutenant but he was no fool. The show he had just witnessed was put on for his benefit, to give him a something to tell the people. But the priest was unwilling or unable to play his part properly: only an idiot would have been taken in. Of course there was nothing he could say outright, but there was also no reason to simply agree to whatever the lieutenant said. ‘She said the priest was a traitor.’

  ‘She was mad, it doesn’t matter what she said.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but why is the priest here at all? Who would use a priest as a messenger? It is almost as if someone wanted the police to see what is going on. Why is your wife not here as before? Strange things are happening, Lieutenant, things I don’t understand. They worry me.’ He took another sip. ‘Perhaps if I came with you and saw the general.’

  And there he let it lie. He had said enough. Now it was up to the lieutenant.

  Now it was the lieutenant who took a slow sip. The head man could see he was thinking it over.

  ‘Very well. Once Father Enrique has given me my message, had some rest, and goes on his way you can come with me and see the general in person. You can tell him everything, everything you’ve seen and heard, not only today but ever since the priest first came. It is only a day’s journey if we travel fast, but you will need a horse. Do you have a horse?’

  ‘No.’

  The head man was worried, the Lieutenant could see it.

  ‘Well, no matter. I will ride and you can run at my side. I will take it as easy as I can but I hope you are stronger than you look. Such a journey for a man like you could be too much. Who knows, it might even prove fatal. But if you want to speak to the general, if you are worried about what has been going on, if you have the slightest doubt that what the woman said were no more than the ravings of a lunatic then of course your duty is clear.’ He raised his cup. ‘I salute you for your dedication.’

  ‘Oh no, Lieutenant, I have no doubts, none at all.’ He had made his bid and lost and was in no doubt that if he was mad enough to make the journey to the general he would not survive it. He stood up. ‘It was a tragedy, a terrible tragedy, as you said. The woman was mad, what she said was all in her mind. We will bury her this afternoon. Father will say a prayer. It is all very sad, very sad, two deaths on the same day.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Last night, an old woman. She was sick. Father was at her bedside.’

  The lieutenant poured himself another arrack.

  ‘I see, but life goes on. I will do my duty and you will do yours.’ He turned to Father Enrique. ‘You will say prayers at your housekeeper’s graveside, Father, as the head man wishes?’ He saw that there were tears on Father Enrique’s cheeks. He was quietly crying. He turned back to the head man. ‘You see how it is? How distressed Father Enrique is? He will come if he can but you see how it is.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Then leave us. If he is well he will say the prayers. If not,’ he shrugged, ‘then you can say them. I doubt it will make much difference to the housekeeper or the old woman.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The head man left and the lieutenant turned back to Father Enrique. He took up the arrack bottle, leaned over, and poured some into Father Enrique’s cup.

  ‘Go on, Father, it will help. Drink some more then you can sleep.’

  ‘Yes, I would like to sleep.’

  Father Enrique picke
d up the cup and took a sip. He had been afraid, very afraid. ‘Fear not those who can kill the body but are not able to kill the soul.’ The words from Matthew’s Gospel had come back to him as he knelt over Maria’s body with the lieutenant looking on. Before all this terror started he had said them often and believed them, felt sure that he had valued his soul infinitely more than his body. But that was before he had seen Carmen lying in her own blood in his kitchen, before Maria had been shot down, before he had seen the knife in her hands as she came to kill him. Now he feared very much those who could kill the body; as for the soul, well, that was God’s business. He took another drink. It was rough, fiery, but it helped, it took away the worst of the pain of fear. He felt dazed, adrift, but not quite so afraid now and he was grateful. The lieutenant watched him.

  ‘Do you think you can tell me now what happened to my wife, Father?’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Carmen. You said she was dead, that your housekeeper killed her?’

  ‘Yes, Maria killed her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she was going to betray the general, that both of you were betraying him to the Americans and then going to America.’

  The lieutenant glanced round nervously at the doorway. He saw no one.

  ‘Speak quietly, Father, this is private business, not for the ears of curious villagers.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, not for villagers.’

  He lifted his cup but the lieutenant quickly reached across and put his hand on his arm.