When the Elephants Dance

by Tess Uriza Holthe

  “Shut your mouth!” Oscar shouted. “The curse shall not find him. I will not allow it. I will take his place. I swear it.”

  My hideout was atop a great cliff overlooking a narrow entryway for any army. We were heavily fortressed, and though we were cornered, the chances were still great that we would escape.

  As my group prepared to fight, the exchange of rifle fire could be heard. My brother and uncles had joined our fight. They fought like Jacinto-Basas, with the honor of generals and doctors, and artists and saints, flowing through their purple veins.

  I lost them all. My brother, Oscar, my uncles and cousins, and my beautiful Divina. How my heart still aches for her. I can still hear her call my name, pick up the scent of her fragrance, smile at the thought of her laughter, even after all these years. I can still feel the gentle kicking of our child from those times I placed my hand on her belly. She was the only woman for me.

  And Oscar. It was easy for me to turn my back on him, be angry with him, knowing he would always be around. I never expected he would be the one to die. I thought certainly it would be me. I will feel that loss eternally. I wish that I could have told him many things. Sometimes I feel as if he is still in a room with me. Particularly when there is laughter.

  The curse took them, but it gave me something as well. My eyes were opened for good. I saw so clearly how no people should rule over another. This is something worth fighting for. Divina and her brother believed the same. And with such beliefs there can be no compromise. My deepest regret is that I could not protect them from danger. I would have given my life for either one of them. If I could have hidden Divina away, even if it meant not seeing her for many months. But these are scenes I have enacted again and again in my head. And they are gone. I will see them again someday. I believe this. God will see to it. My soul will find theirs.

  ~ WHEN TAY FREDRICO FINISHES HIS STORY, it is daylight. We have stayed awake through the night. I see the old Spaniard in a different light. His love for this woman was thick in his voice. His affection for her brought her to life. I could feel her spirit nearby. He conjured her presence just at the mention of her name, Divina. At times I was almost ashamed to gaze at his face. It seemed too private a matter to be told.

  His passion for our people matches my own. My respect for him has grown twofold. He is the only one who truly understands my plight. He alone knows the conflict and the pain of being unselfish. To have a conscience can be a horrible thing. God blessed him with the gift of leading his people. To have to choose to use that gift or care only for yourself, your family, is a terrible choice. My biggest fear has been the thought of regret. I am encouraged by his unwavering belief that he did the right thing. There is no regret that he made the wrong choice, only regret for those he has lost. He has brought a new resolve to me. I see clearly now what I must do. The men now behold him with gentle faces. The women dab at their eyes.

  Mang Selso is the only one unmoved by his father’s story. He seems hurt by it.

  “So you are proud that you left your family behind? That you deserted the very brother who would have died for you? This is what you teach this man?” Mang Selso asks.

  Tay Fredrico is incredulous. “My son, have you heard nothing that I have said? Each of us has a responsibility to the whole, the greater good. In order for all to continue. Danger or not, curse or not. That is what this man fights for. You are instructing him to stay, and be selfish, to think only of his family, of himself. I say bravo to you, Domingo. Continue to fight for all of us, you must.

  “Take my example. What was the use in trying to fit myself into an old life? I would have been miserable. Had I married Zoila, she would have been miserable. We would have lived a lie. Do not try to force yourself back into this old life. It is like trying to fit into a pair of old trousers once you have grown taller. It no longer suits you. It never will again. It is best to admit this, lest you force the fit and look ridiculous. Better for the pants, better for you, better for all who would see you wear them.

  “But I warn you …” Tay Fredrico holds up his finger. His hair is thin and very white against the dark skin. “This you must remember. Choose quickly, and do not look back. If you decide to stay, then leave the jungle life behind you. If you decide to go, do not return to this place. Remember this, stick to your decision. It will be very bad for all concerned if you try to keep both lives. Do not be greedy. I was greedy. I chose a life with Divina and left my brother. But after Divina died I was lonely and I let the old life back in. I agreed to a visit from Oscar. If I had kept my back turned to him, if I had stayed firm that we were no longer connected, perhaps my brother would still be alive today. Remember the woman at Sodom and Gomorrah whose husband told her not to look back, as the angel of God had instructed? And what did she do? She looked back one last time, and turned to a pillar of salt.

  “When you start to say to yourself, Just one look back, just one glance, the danger will have begun for you. When you begin to think of returning to your old life, flee, flee to the opposite direction. Or it will be very bad for all concerned. For then you will be divided, and then you will be of no use to anyone.”

  “Yes, yes.” Mang Pedro points his crooked finger at me. The joints are swollen from arthritis. “On this we are in agreement. You must choose one or the other and not look back. Decide, and do not waver in your decision. Choose to stay with your family or to lead your troops.” He studies me for a moment with sadness. “But it cannot work. Not that life that you choose. Yes, I know which one you choose. I see it in your hands, the way they tap restlessly as we wait. They long to reach the door and turn the handle to the outside, and in your eyes, ever shifting, searching, longing for danger. Much murder and darkness in that life. Better to stay on the side of God, to live with the family He married you to.”

  Tay Fredrico dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Pah,” he says. “God sanctions any life that is true in nature, in here.” The old Spaniard beats his chest twice with the palm of his hand, as if swearing allegiance. “God would not have a man live a lie.” He shakes his head and smiles wistfully. “Ah, to accompany you. Pero estoy cansado. I am tired. And as for my son, Selso …” He holds out a hand to Mang Selso. “I must stay with him. I have not been a good father. I learn still, even at this age. I must value what I have. He is a good man.”

  Mang Selso is stunned by his father’s words. He expected anger, I think, not understanding.

  A Japanese soldier approaches, the one who helped Yukino and her daughter. He motions for me to stand.

  “Sir …” Mang Carlito stands on shaking legs to address the soldier. “Is there nothing that can be done? Perhaps we could pay you. At home, I have some money. Not much, but we could repay you. Please, he has fought like you, like a soldier.”

  “Mang Carlito, do not bring trouble upon yourself. You have been through enough,” I say. Then in Tagalog I say to him, “Have faith in me.”

  He nods with concern at my words and sits down. “I shall watch over the others,” he says. “Do not worry for us. Domingo, do what you must do.”

  “Thank you, Mang Carlito. I feel better knowing you are here with them.

  “Mang Ped, I will keep my family close to my heart. I shall not forget the lesson you must live with every day. But there are many more to think of.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Tay Fredrico tells me. Go with God. “It is not an easy decision.”

  “Thank you, Tay Fredrico. I value your words. It is not an easy thing to do, risking your family for a cause.” I clasp his hand. “I am inspired by your story. Do not give up hope. I may find a way out for us yet.”

  He frowns. “No. Stay to one course, my son. Do not let yourself be divided.” He holds my hand strongly, then lets go.

  “I will return,” I assure him. He shakes his head with concern, but I am urged ahead by the Japanese soldier before he can speak further.

  “Domingo,” Lorna moans from across the room. I must not bring further attention to them.
The others watch silently, in terror. Lorna will not stop calling my name.

  “Think of your children,” Aling Louisa chides her.

  Lorna is beyond reason. She is screaming for me, and her crying causes the children to cry. I look straight ahead. The room is mesmerized by her outburst.

  “Domingo!” She falls on the ground, shouting my name. “No!” She struggles as the women try to keep her still. “Let me go. No!”

  The Japanese turns his head to study her. My heart thunders in my chest. “Your family?” he asks.

  “A whore that will not let me be.” I study my wife and children one last time, then force my eyes away from them and look into the crowd. Yet their images are imprinted in my mind. My son with his head against Lorna’s lap, our baby in her arms. She has been nothing but the truest wife. I feel as if I have grown a forked soul. It hurts me deeply to make her look the fool, even though I know it will save her life. She has been good to me, and I disappoint her again and again. I keep my eyes averted, and when I see a familiar face in the crowd, I look away quickly.

  “It is the same in every country.” The soldier studies Lorna, then chuckles and leads me out of the room. Our footsteps volley down a darkly lit hallway. The rancid smells stir as we walk. We go through a door and into another corridor, and then into a room. We are in the latrine. The walls are covered in feces. He lights a cigarette, and I wish for him to keep the match lit to burn the smell. He lights another and offers one to me. His bayonet is fixed and he holds it firmly.

  I take the cigarette. “Is this to be my last, then?”

  He nods. “The general shall wish to question you, and then afterward it will be time.”

  I inhale the smoke and study him. “Your English is very good.”

  “Yes, very good,” he agrees. He studies me. “You do not wish to give the location of your group to save your life? I would set ten people of your choosing free.”

  My breath catches, but I shake my head.

  He nods. “They will torture you.”

  “I am prepared,” I say.

  “That is good.”

  “The Amerikanos have come as we foretold.” I watch his countenance.

  “Yes, it was only a matter of time.”

  “Who do you suppose will win?”

  “Who do you suppose?” He cants his head.

  “The Amerikanos.”

  “Of course.” He chuckles, takes a smoke, and studies me again. He says without arrogance, “They are no match for us. You do not know the training we have had since we were children. Bushido. You know this?”

  I shrug and shake my head. “A little.”

  “The way of the warrior. Our code. To die for our emperor is the greatest of honors. It is our will, and no other nation possesses such a will, it is indomitable. The Americans do not have such a code.”

  “I have seen your will. A hundred men walking into a hailstorm of bullets.”

  “One life is not worth but a feather in the wind to the glory of the emperor. It is for him we fight. He is descended from above.” The soldier points upward. “You are surprised at our beliefs? I thought you believed the same. To die with honor. Are you not the fearless leader whose name I have heard carried throughout the barrios and towns? The very same who risks death day and night?”

  I shake my head. “I am not one to run when there is a fight, but neither will I sacrifice my life if I can live another day. I am not this legend they speak of.”

  “Yes, stories grow big, when there is a need. And your people are in great need.”

  We smoke in silence. The planes fly low overhead, rattling the windows. We wait, our eyes to the ceiling. A bomb explodes nearby, but the soldier does not flinch.

  “You have a request before your execution?”

  “You would grant this?”

  “No, but I would be interested in what a worthy opponent would ask.”

  “I wish to know what will happen to the others.”

  He studies the end of his cigarette. I watch the burning end flare and fade, like the fate of my people.

  “We have orders from our superior, General Sato, the leader of this post, to use as little ammunition as necessary. In two days, before he returns to this warehouse.”

  “In two days and not sooner?”

  “Not sooner. We keep them as a safety, to bargain with if needed. If the Americans cannot be bargained with, then your brothers and sisters shall join you in heaven.”

  “You believe this?” I ask.

  “No, but I understand it brings comfort to say this.”

  Another soldier peers into the room; he glances from me to his comrade smoking beside me. He says something curtly in Japanese, then disappears. My escort nods, drops his cigarette, and crushes it beneath his boot. He motions for me to get rid of my cigarette. “It is time,” he tells me.

  I inhale deeply and then throw the cigarette into a clogged urinal. The door opens again and the soldier turns casually. He is surprised to see the face of a young boy, too astonished to react as Bartoy shoves a knife into his arm and causes him to drop the bayonet.

  I grab the rifle instantly and look at the Japanese as he holds his arm, bewildered.

  “Finish me,” he says. “Or let me do it myself. I am a disgrace to my family.”

  “I will do it,” Bartoy offers. He walks behind the man and jabs the knife in his throat. He pulls it out again and plunges it behind the collarbone and into the heart. The Japanese falls to the ground, clutching his throat. His stare searches the ceiling, then grows still.

  I look at Bartoy sharply. He enjoys the killing. It is plain in his eyes, the anticipation. He was never like this. When we found him, after his parents had been executed, he was still tender. The business with his parents, being forced to watch, it has done something to his soul.

  Bartoy does not flinch. He takes the knife from the Hapon, cleans it, and then pockets it. “This way—” He motions to me.

  We leave the room. There are no guards in the hallway.

  “The other guard?”

  Bartoy jerks his chin ahead. Nina is standing at the end of the hall. “She has taken care of the guard. We walked right in. They guard this place thinly,” he says with disgust. I hear his voice but cannot shake my gaze from Nina. The sight of her holds me transfixed as always.

  Nina frowns. “The soldiers are too busy with the Amerikanos. If the others would rise up to fight, we could take them together.”

  “They will not rise up.” I spit to the side.

  She looks at me with surprise. “We will leave them, then?” she asks.

  At the end of the hall I see a figure, a second Bartoy, but the eyes different. I squint and realize it is Alejandro. He has come in search of me. He looks at me without accusation, waiting for me to call him. I want to grab his arm and tell him to come with us. That he must help me convince the others or they will die. Bartoy stops, too, and stares at Alejandro with fascination, as if catching his own reflection in a store window. I break my gaze from Alejandro and look to Bartoy and Nina.

  “Let us go,” I order. Three simple words; why, then, do I feel as if I have just signed their deaths? I stare one last time at the hallway leading back to my family. I burn their images into my mind. I will find a way to return, I promise.

  We stoop low and run through the streets and alleys we know so well, avoiding the rubble and sniper fire. We stop behind an abandoned building.

  “There is much grumbling about your absence. There is talk that you put your family before the group,” Nina tells me. “Have you changed your mind?” she asks, and I see the fear in her eyes.

  “I leave my family here, for them.” For you. My heart sings to be next to Nina again. I cannot stop watching her. I reach my hand out for trivial things, to support the small of her back, to tell her to walk before me. Small pleasures that feed my soul.

  WE HEAD NORTHWEST at a furious pace. At noon we cross the Pasig by a raft covered in palm leaves, by nightfall we arrive at
our new encampment, in the lowlands of the Zambales Mountains, in the foothills of Florida Blanca.

  “Why do we stop?” Nina asks.

  “Meet me here in two hours,” I tell them. She checks her watch and nods. Bartoy takes a step as if to follow me.

  “Go with Nina,” I order.

  They turn to go, and I reach for Nina’s wrist and let my index and thumb feel the texture of her skin beneath. I raise her hand and bring my lips to the underside, where her pulse beats strong and steady. “I forget myself. Thank you, for coming to my aid.”

  Bartoy grins at our display. My heart tugs at how he always rallies to smile. Nina stares into my eyes with such intensity, I shudder. She is never satisfied with the surface, she always reaches deeper, wanting to touch my soul.

  “Go now,” I say.

  I am alone again. They have armed me with an old Browning and a .45-caliber pistol. I take a drink from my cantina and proceed straight up the mountainside, using the thick vines for climbing. The tall sawgrass claws at my clothes and lashes my arms. The grass hides deep gullies that cause me to stumble and curse myself. I am an infant learning to walk.

  After an hour I can go no farther. The wounds have stolen my energy. I see eyes staring at me from the thick groupings of trees. There are clouds of malarious mosquitoes everywhere, from the recent rains.

  “Who the hell are you?” An Amerikano steps forward.

  “Domingo Matapang to see Lieutenant Holden.”

  He laughs. “Just like that? Just let you in to see the lieutenant? Stupid sonofabitch, check him.”

  Another Amerikano steps forward with his rifle poised and aimed at my head. Five soldiers close in. Three Filipinos and two Amerikanos. I raise the rifle over my head and place it on the ground.

  “You can do better than that, sweetheart,” the Amerikano voice says.

  I raise my arms and turn fully around.

  “What’s this?” The American comes closer and takes the pistol from my waist and hits me with the butt of the gun. I shove him, ready to fight.

  A Filipino steps forward. “Sarge, I know this man. The lieutenant is expecting him.”