“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.”
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.
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br /> “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.
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