When the Elephants Dance (13 page)

I remember my response. “But the others are much stronger without being hand-fed.”

So you see, perhaps I was not to blame after all. A mere child. Who is to say it would not have turned out the same had I not interfered? But one thing is true. My infatuation with Esmeralda started small ripples in the quiet ocean of her life that soon turned into a tidal wave of misfortune.

The church of Santa Esmeralda is buried there still. I bring the white
sampaguita
flowers to place on the cross whenever I visit.

~
A
FTER
F
ATHER FINISHES HIS STORY
of Esmeralda, our cellar is quiet. My worries about my hands have lessened. The gnawing pain in our empty stomachs is forgotten for the moment. The sounds of the shelling in the distance have stopped.

Aling Anna nods her head. “Yes, that is what I would do. I would leave. I would not stand for the shame.”

“Who is saying she could not stand it? It is quite possible she died,” Mang Selso says, shrugging.

“Yes, but then who let out the birds?” Mang Pedro asks, rubbing his chin with his hand. He breathes deeply and closes his eyes. I wonder if he is having another one of his visions. “I see her living long after the church expired,” he says.

“Well, anyone could have let out the birds,” Mang Selso muses.

“Not in that town.” Aling Anna shakes her head. “Unless it was Carlito himself. Ah, but to love like that.” A memory seems to trail across her face, leaving a glow.

“Yes,” Mrs. Yoshi adds. “She must have loved him greatly. To endure and witness the marriage of the man of her heart to another. To want to see him happy still. I bet she lived quietly in a different town and fell asleep each night dreaming of him. She would always have that to comfort her.”

“Yes, that is how I always imagined it,” Father says with a quiet smile.

“What a weight you carried on your shoulders,” says Roman, the journalist. “The obligation of caring for your father, too much for one person, one boy.” Roman smiles at me. He nods to my father. “I agree, Mang Carlito, all must share in the obligation of feeding this family. For that is what we are now. A family.”

“Yes, even if we do not always get along,” Mang Pedro says. “Tomorrow I shall accompany you to search, Carlito. Tomorrow we will bring back food. I can see it.”

“Thank you, Ped,” Papa says.

“What else do you see, Mang Ped?” my brother asks, fascinated. Mang Ped’s visions always hold him enthralled.

“What do you wish me to see, Roderick?” Mang Ped asks with twinkling eyes.

“What time is it, Carlos?” Mama asks with a tightness in her voice. We all know the meaning of this. My older sister, Isabelle, has not yet returned.

Father’s smile fades. “Late. It is late.” He pats Roderick on the head absently.

“Pedro, have you had any more of your visions regarding Isabelle?” Mama asks anxiously.

Mang Ped shakes his head with sad eyes. “Not yet, Louisa. But let us hope. Perhaps something will come in the form of a dream.”

Roman studies Mama as she makes the sign of the cross and repeats the Lord’s Prayer.

“What I would not do for chicken adobo.” Mang Selso’s wife sighs, fanning herself with a newspaper.

Mama is offended at the change of topic. Her brow wrinkles. My sister is more important than chicken adobo, yet it feels better to talk of something else.

“Mmm, yes. Cooked slow so that the sauce has dried and the garlic sticks to the chicken like a crust,” Mang Selso agrees.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and pull at the back of my damp shirt.

Aling Anna closes her eyes and breathes in her memories. “First you chop the garlic, sauté it, then you add the cup of vinegar, half a cup of soy sauce, and the chopped chicken. A little bay leaves, salt and pepper.” She throws one hand in the air. “That is all. It does not take much. My favorite dish.”

“Mine too,” Mama admits, placing a hand to her belly.

The room quiets as everyone soaks in the image with reverence. It is silent except for the sound of the fanning. Then like a thundercloud the earth shakes, explosion after explosion, throwing us forward. Pieces of the floor above crumble. We crouch together, unable to move.

“The house will collapse!” Ate Lorna cries. I count ten in all, before the explosions begin to move westward. The women are sobbing. My nose runs. I turn my face to the wall. It is a few minutes before anyone speaks again.

“If only we had the power to create a potion. One that could send a plague to all Japanese,” Aling Anna says. Mrs. Yoshi keeps quiet as the others agree.

I have trouble falling asleep because Mama will not stop worrying about Isabelle. I see my sister in my dreams, lost in a fog.

I
N THE MORNING
I hear Father’s angry voice.
“Gago,” he
exclaims. Stupid. “He never listens. That boy will get himself killed!”

“Shh, Carlito,
baká matakót ang mga batà,”
my mother whispers. You might scare the children.

My cousin Esteban snuck out in the middle of the night. They thought he was going to use the bathroom, because of his dysentery and because that was what he told them; but now he is gone. Papa is certain he has gone back to my uncle’s house in Ermita, Manila, because he could not stop talking about this last night.

Father is even more upset because my sister, Isabelle, has still not returned. She is not at any of the neighbors or with any of our relatives. He asks Mica Yoshi one more time, though he has already asked. “And she told you to go ahead of her and she would meet you here, at home?”

Mica pulls her long black hair into a bun. Her pretty eyes slant down at the outer ends. She frowns and crosses her arms over her belly. She speaks softly, like the movement of a butterfly’s wings.

“Yes, Mang Carlito. I know now that I should never have left Isabelle. But she said she wanted to stop by the Bonifacios’ and see if she could ask for food.” Mica looks miserable, and Mrs. Yoshi holds her close.

“You should have waited. I wish you had waited,” Father murmurs.

“Carlito, do not blame Mica. You know that daughter of yours. When she
has her mind set on something, nothing will sway her. Isabelle is exactly like you,” Mama says. Even though Mama is worried for Isabelle, she is angry with her as well.

Father does not respond to this talk. It is a sore subject between Mama and him. He is dressed to go out, in search of food. He wears a straw hat, sandals, and a short-sleeved shirt that the moths have eaten through. He looks fragile beneath his clothes. Roman and Mang Pedro are ready to accompany him. Ate Lorna has stopped asking me about her husband, Domingo. She watches me with scared eyes. I think she is afraid of what I will say. I am thankful, because I am not yet ready to tell her.

Mama’s eyes fill with tears when Father is ready to leave. She hugs him and he whispers something. She smiles and hits him playfully, but I can see she is frightened.

“We shall look out for Isabelle as we search for food.” Father kisses her one last time. He nods to my brother and me. “Watch over your mother,” he tells us.

“Yes, Papa.” We nod.

Mama wipes her face quickly and says loudly, “Okay, we shall be here waiting.”

After they leave, the room is so quiet that it hurts my head. Mama sneaks upstairs to fill water and gather tea leaves. Ate Lorna goes along with her. Baby Alma is asleep on a blanket while her brother, Taba, has laid all Ate Lorna’s trinkets on the ground. He is pretending to be a vendor and that the glass beads and wooden jewelry are worth something. Roderick watches curiously, looking from the dull baubles, two bottlecaps, and scratched colored glass to Taba’s face.

They are not gone long when a loud
boom!
sounds outside and the ground rolls. Roderick puts both hands to his ears. I shout for Mama and race toward the ladder. I can hear her and Ate Lorna. They hurry back down with the tea leaves, the clay kettle clinking. The explosions come closer and closer. We cover our heads.
Boom, boom!

“Dios ko,”
Mama calls out to God.
“Dios ko!”

Mrs. Yoshi stumbles over to comfort Mama, stopping Aling Anna, who was about to embrace her. Mama is hysterical. I watch as she kicks out and pulls her hair.

“Tamà na!”
Mama pleads. Enough! “Carlito, Carlito,” she calls out for Father. “Isabelle is dead, Yukino,” she sobs to Mrs. Yoshi. “I know she is. She would never stay out this long!”

“Louisa, the children,” Mrs. Yoshi reminds Mama.

Another loud explosion, much closer this time. I feel our house shake
above us. I can hear the wood and the bamboo splintering. Everyone screams. We crouch again into a corner. Another explosion, and then another. We do not know what to do. There is nowhere to run.

“We will be buried alive!” Mang Selso exclaims.

Another explosion, but a little farther away, then another, farther. The danger has moved on for now. No one speaks. Mama cannot stand; she sits against the wall with her legs thrown before her like a rag doll. She covers her face with her hands, and I rush to her. Roderick and I hold her hands.

Mrs. Yoshi lights a small fire in the corner of the room and places the clay pot over tiny bamboo sticks. She uses a wooden broom to open the ceiling hatch.

“Ma?” Roderick asks.

“Be quiet now, Roderick,” Mama tells him.

Baby Alma is awake and crying. I cover my ears at the sound.

Ate Lorna picks up the baby and speaks soothing words. She avoids looking at me. Last night, she could not stop asking me about Domingo. Today, she wants to pretend I know nothing. When the tea is ready, Mrs. Yoshi passes the cups to everyone. We wait.

I
N THE AFTERNOON
Roman and Mang Pedro return. Roman was able to purchase two cans of red beans in exchange for one of his tools. Mang Pedro was not so lucky.

“Last night when I had a vision of us returning with food, I did not realize my own hands would be almost empty,” Mang Pedro jokes, handing Mama a few sad-looking bananas.

“Thank God, thank God.” Mama makes the sign of the cross and looks over their shoulders at the door, waiting for Papa.

Roman looks around. “He has not yet returned? We each went a different way. Perhaps there is a line at the warehouse he spoke of.”

Mang Pedro looks very concerned but keeps quiet.

“Yes, that is possible.” Mama’s hand shakes as she brushes a strand of hair. She busies herself opening one can of beans and slicing the green bananas Mang Pedro found. My stomach rumbles at the sight. I feel the urge to shove everyone aside so that I can have it all. When she hands me my plate, my face reddens in shame.

~

I
N THE EVENING
cousin Esteban returns. He comes stumbling down the stairs. This time he is crying. His tears stream down the sides of his runny nose. His lips are swollen and wet. His face has become a sad waterfall.

“Steban, what is it?” Mama asks, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“They took my papa away,” he says between hiccups.

“Who took your papa?” she demands.

“The Japanese soldiers. The Makapili pointed their fingers at him, and they took all the men on our street. I hid behind the houses and ran here. They have accused him of aiding a guerrilla.”

My mother puts her hand to her chest. She picks up her coat and heads for the door.

“No, Aling Louisa, you cannot go outside. It is too dangerous.” Roman blocks her way.

“But I must find Carlito, and Isabelle. It is much too late. I know something has happened to Isabelle. I must find her.”

“I can go. I am smaller. They will not notice me,” I tell them. My words fall like dust that no one hears.

Mang Selso busies himself with taking care of his father. He brings a warm cloth to the old Spaniard’s head, but the old man pushes his hands away. “Ay,
basta,”
the old Spaniard snaps. Enough.

Roman places his hands on Mama’s shoulders. “We must wait until evening. What if he returns soon? Then we will have yet another person wandering the roads. If they are not back by morning, I promise, I shall go in search of them myself.”

“And I will come,” I answer.

Roman smiles. “If your mama says that it is all right, we shall go together.”

This quiets my mother for the time being. She glances at Mang Selso. I know that she wishes for him to volunteer. But I am the better choice. Mang Selso would only stumble around in confusion. And he is more terrified than the women by the sounds of battle. He refuses to look at my mother. He stares at his hands instead. He no longer tries to cut the anger with one of his jokes. I can tell Mang Pedro, on the other hand, wants to protest but again remains silent, as do Aling Anna and Mrs. Yoshi.

Roman studies Roderick. “How about we play match the sets?”

Roderick’s lip is shaking, but he nods his head and shuffles the cards and lays them on the table for Roman to cut. Roderick relaxes and begins to ask him questions about being a newsman. They are still playing when my eyes grow heavy with sleep.

~

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
Ate Lorna stands up in alarm. She slaps her son, Taba, on the back. “What is that? Spit it out, Taba. What is it?”

Taba’s eyes water. He coughs out something grotesque, covered in spit. It is half a fishbone.

Roderick’s eyes widen and he sits up.

“What were you thinking, hah? Do you want to die?” Ate Lorna shakes him. Taba opens his mouth in a silent cry.

Roman has his hands in his pockets. He steps forward with a sheepish look on his face.

“It is my fault. I told him that story of Mang Minno, the old fisherman. Do you know of him? The old man from Bohol, who lived near the forest, right at the junction where it drops to meet with the Bohol-Mindanao Sea?” he asks the room.

We shake our heads.

To Aling Anna he says, “Yesterday you spoke of power as if it were a good thing. You said you wished we had some kind of magic that could rid us of the Japanese soldiers. I have never seen it used for good. Think of the Japanese soldiers with all their power. It has eroded their hearts and their souls.” He turns to Mama. “Mang Carlito spoke of when he was younger and his father depended only on him. He wanted to be free of his father’s obligations. I was just the opposite. I would have given my right arm if it meant I could have just a moment of my father’s attention. I needed his guidance so much. This want, this overpowering need for his approval, it tripped me, it spun my thoughts. I was willing to do anything, and that was how I met Mang Minno.”