Never an Empire (12 page)

‘No, I suppose not.'

The chief stood up.

‘Well, I suppose you want to get back now and do whatever it is you do.' He came round the desk and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, Father, you've made the right choice.'

Father Enrique stood up. Another choice made, apparently. He shook the chief's hand, then turned and walked to the door where he stopped.

‘You think I have?'

‘Of course, sooner or later everyone has to choose which side they're on, now you've made yours and you can take my word, Father, it's the right one.'

Father Enrique nodded, but whether that signified he agreed or simply accepted he was in a situation over which he had no control the chief couldn't tell nor, in truth, could Father Enrique.

Chapter Thirteen

‘It's madness, you know that. You can't trust the police. You can't trust anyone in a thing like this.'

His housekeeper's last words to him as he was about to leave the house rang through Father Enrique's head as he and his companion neared the village. For the whole of the journey the man sent by the chief of police had rode in front of him. He wore ordinary clothes but no one would be fooled by this because he carried a large service pistol in a holster at his side. He had arrived at the house with a saddled horse as the first light of dawn was breaking and he and Father Enrique had set off soon after. Throughout the journey neither had exchanged a word but now, about fifteen minutes ride from the village, he dropped back alongside Father Enrique and reined his horse to a stop. From the start of the journey he had set a brisk pace that Father Enrique, no horseman, had found difficult to sustain. On his previous journey to the village the party had never progressed at more than a gentle walk. He was glad that his companion finally felt it necessary to stop.

‘You know what to do, Father?'

‘Yes.'

‘You know who you will speak to?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then you go on alone. I will wait for you here.'

‘Why?'

‘They have two of our men. I don't want to make it three.'

‘Very well.'

Father Enrique reluctantly kicked his horse into motion.

On entering the village the people, who seemed to somehow know of his coming, gathered round him and walked silently alongside the horse as he made his way to the centre of the village. Once there the head man, who was already waiting, signalled a woman to come to him. She stepped forward reached up, took the reins and held the horse as, slowly and inelegantly, Father Enrique managed to slide from the saddle. The head man stepped forward, obviously nervous and worried.

Why had the priest returned so soon? It could only be bad news, terrible news.

‘Welcome, Father.'

Father Enrique stood silent for a moment. For most of the journey he had been planning how to deliver his message, preparing the words he would use, deciding who would be the best person to speak to, the manner of his delivery. Should he give the message to the head man or should he give it to Carmen? The message had to be delivered and passed on. Carmen was the one most likely to see that her husband got the message but if he spoke to the head man his involvement in the whole wretched business was the less, it kept the whole thing more formal. But now, dismounted, all he wanted was to stand for a while and rest, preferably in the shade. He wanted to let the ache in his back subside and he desperately wanted a drink of something cold. The head man stood waiting patiently.

‘Have you something cold to drink?'

‘Yes, Father, of course. Would you like to come to my hut and sit down?'

‘No.'

The reply was emphatic. He definitely didn't want to sit down.

‘Is it bad news, Father? Has something happened? It is wonderful that you have come to us once more but, forgive me asking, why have you come? Is it to do with the lieutenant and the policemen he took? Is there going to be trouble, Father?'

‘I will take a drink then I want to speak to the wife of the lieutenant.' Father Enrique had decided. This man was asking too many questions and he wasn't sure he had the right answers. ‘It is a private matter. A message for the lieutenant, not for anyone else. I will wait here.'

The crowd surrounding the two men stood in absolute silence. They kept a distance but were close enough to hear clearly what was being said, especially as neither the priest nor the head man tried to lower their voices. The head man nodded to someone at the front of the crowd who turned and passed out of sight through the villagers. A rustle of murmuring began as the people discussed among themselves what had been said and what it might mean.

A woman came through the crowd with a bowl of cold water and handed it to Father Enrique who took it, drank deeply, and handed it back. The crowd parted and Carmen came towards him. She was by herself; there was no sign of her child.

‘You sent for me, Father.'

‘Yes. I have a message for your husband.'

Carmen looked at the head man for guidance but he stood there immobile.

‘I cannot send any message, Father. I have no way of contacting my husband. I do not even know where he is.'

Father Enrique hadn't expected this sort of response. In his mind on the journey he had envisioned giving the message and then leaving, no more. It should all have been simple, straightforward, and brief. He looked at the head man.

‘It is the truth, Father. None of us have any contact with the rebels. We know nothing. We are poor people who work hard and obey the laws. The rebels are in the mountains,' he gestured vaguely towards some distant peaks, ‘far away. We have nothing to do with them.'

‘But they were here. They took two policemen captive. I spoke with a lieutenant, this woman's husband.'

The head man shrugged.

‘If you say so, Father, but I remember nothing.'

‘You said your young men were with the rebels, that they come back to see their women. You told me that yourself.'

‘Did I, Father? I don't remember.'

‘You know you did.'

‘If you say so, Father. But what I think I said was that the land is poor round here and produces very little. Most of our young men have gone away to find work in more prosperous places or to Manila. Sometimes they come back to bring money for their families. That is what I think I said, Father.' He looked at the silent faces surrounding them. ‘Ask them, ask anyone. They were there listening just like they are now. They will tell you what I said.'

Father Enrique looked around at the blank, staring faces. They held no welcome now as they had when he had first come. Now he was a stranger, an unwelcome stranger who would bring trouble to them. He thought about it. Last time he had come as a priest and behaved like a priest. Now he was someone else, someone who had come to talk about rebels and messages and kidnapped policemen. Of course they couldn't simply say to him, yes, your message will be sent. To do so was to admit that they were in contact with the rebels, even a tacit admission that they gave them support. They couldn't admit a message could be sent, not by Carmen, not by anyone. If they did then under the American law it made them bandits themselves. He felt helpless and confused.

Carmen spoke.

‘If you have a message for my husband you can give it to me if you wish, Father. He came when you were here but no one knew he was coming. I hadn't seen him since he left but he must have heard a priest was to be in the village so he took a chance. Who knows, one day he might come again, I doubt it, but he might. If he does I will give him your message.'

The head man seemed angry.

‘He will not come. It is no good leaving a message for him. He is far away in the mountains.'

Father Enrique turned to him and spoke slowly.

‘You seem very sure. In fact you sound as if you know exactly where he is. Do you?'

The head man immediately saw his mistake and tried desperately to recover lost ground.

‘It is what people tell us. The rebels are in the mountains. I don't know where or even which mountains. I am only repeating what people tell us.'

‘What people? Maybe they could take my message? Maybe you could ask them?'

‘No, no, they were strangers, passing through.'

‘Where did they come from? Where were they going? How long ago was it?'

The head man was crumbling under the questioning and Father Enrique decided he had done enough. ‘Or perhaps I should do as this young woman has suggested: leave my message with her and be on my way.'

‘Yes, Father, perhaps that would be best after all. I was foolish to disagree. Forgive me.'

Father Enrique raised his hand and made the sign of the cross. The head man hurriedly blessed himself.

‘There, my son, you are forgiven.' He turned to Carmen. ‘Now young woman, I will go to your hut and give you my message.'

Carmen turned and Father Enrique followed her through the people who stood well back to let them through. The priest had shown his authority. He had humbled their head man. It was always foolish, even dangerous, to oppose a priest. The head man watched as Carmen led Father Enrique away. This was the second time he had lost face and been humiliated in front of his people. Last time it was the rebel Lieutenant bringing General Sakay's money and making it look as if he was too mean or too poor to pay for the services of the priest. Now it was the priest himself. Without meaning to and without knowing it Father Enrique had achieved something for himself on this visit.

He had made an enemy.

Chapter Fourteen

The hut Carmen led him to on the edge of the village looked in a state of poor repair. The interior, however, seemed clean and well cared for. The hut consisted of two rooms: the larger one for the daily business of life and a smaller one for sleeping. There was little in the way of furniture but sitting at a table was an older woman with a baby on her lap. When Father Enrique entered the woman stood up and the baby, seeing them, put out its arms and Carmen took it. The older woman, now free of the child, took charge.

‘We are honoured, Father, that you come into my humble home.'

‘Yes. Of course. And you are?'

Carmen answered his question.

‘This is my husband's mother. This is her house.'

Father Enrique was unsure what to do. He wanted to talk to Carmen by herself but he could hardly begin by dismissing this woman from what appeared to be her own home.

‘I see.'

The older woman gestured to the chair she had just vacated.

‘Please, Father, will you sit down? Perhaps a drink of water?'

He stood, not sure how to proceed. He needed to be alone with Carmen to deliver his message, he wanted no other witnesses as to what passed between them. He didn't count the child of course, but the woman would have to go and at the moment she seemed to want to play the host. Why not? It was her house.

‘No, nothing.'

The woman came a little closer and her manner changed.

‘It has never been blessed, Father. No priest has ever set foot in it. You are the first.'

It took a moment for Father Enrique to realise that the woman was getting ready to ask for something, that much he could tell by the way she spoke.

‘Never been blessed?'

‘Never, Father, none of the homes in the village have ever had a priest near them except the home of the head man where you slept when you came. He is fortunate to have had a priest under his roof. It was a great honour. But you didn't bless his house did you, Father?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘I thought so. He would have told us all if you had. It would be a great thing to have your house blessed, properly blessed. It would bring the people who lived in it closer to God, wouldn't you say, Father?'

‘You want me to bless your house? Is that what you're asking?'

The old woman tried to pretend surprise but the obvious satisfaction in her voice gave the lie to her words.

‘Father, I would never presume to ask such a thing. I am a poor widow who lives on the charity of others. I am lucky to even have a roof over my head. How could a woman such as I am ask a holy priest to do me such an honour?'

Father Enrique now understood the woman. He'd met her type many times before and they hadn't all been poor widows who lived in remote villages. Not a few had been well off, even wealthy, and with husbands very much alive. She wanted her house blessed but she didn't want to pay. She wanted something for nothing.

But he wasn't here to bless houses or perform and other priestly functions. He was here to leave a message and get on his way.

‘I am not here to bless houses. I have a message to deliver to your daughter and that is all.'

She woman shot a look at Carmen. Not a nice look.

‘She is my daughter-in-law, Father, no blood of mine. She is the wife of my son.'

‘I still have a message for her and for her alone.'

‘To give to my son?' Father Enrique nodded. ‘Then give it to me, Father; I am his mother, he is blood of my blood. If there is a message for him I should be the one to have it.'

Father Enrique decided to treat her in the same manner as the head man.

‘So you know where your son is?'

‘No, but he knows where I am.'

‘And you can find a way of bringing him to you?'

‘A good son will always find a way of visiting his mother.'

Unlike the head man she seemed not in the least discomforted by his line of questioning but he pressed on.

‘To aid the rebels is a serious crime. If you know where your son is or can contact him you must inform the authorities.'

‘I know exactly where he is.'

‘You do?'

The woman put her hand on her chest.

‘He is here, in my heart as I am in his.'

Father Enrique gave up. This woman would not be intimidated, but she could be bought.

‘I will bless this house, but when it is done I must be left alone with your daughter-in-law to give her the message.'