Rebels of Mindanao (40 page)

“Hello Thornton, Elaiza.” The general stood up and crossed the room to them. ‘Job well done. Congratulations.”

“What's new, Luke?” Thornton returned the handshake. “We've been out of contact for a while.”

“They're still counting, but it was a big battle. At least a thousand NPA killed at last report. The Filipinos lost only fifty-three. There will be more on both sides. The Philippine Army is exploiting their victory by moving into the villages of the NPA, and they're not in the mood to take prisoners.” Hargens always made his reports military.

Liu knocked lightly on the door and entered. “Guten Tag, Herr Professor,” he said jokingly to Thornton. “Fraulein Otakan.”

“Oh, Herr General.” Thornton was surprised. Martin Galan had pinned a shiny new star on Liu's collar at a quickly arranged ceremony in the Officer's Club at Fort Bonifacio. “You got here quick.”

The new general had overheard Hargens. “Many more of our citizens would have died in the next years. Not only people killed in combat, but think how many millions still waste away their lives, no work, no hope, living with disease or dying at the subsistence level without the most basic medical treatment. Thank God we took out so many of the NPA right at the start with our artillery. That broke their back.”

“Yeah, you almost took us out too, with your lousy aim! Reggie, I mean, Brigadier General Liu,” Thornton admonished his friend, the newest one-star general in the world, “your country will have to wrestle with who is God, or whatever you call whoever it is that you worship, for a long time, and you're not going to achieve enlightenment overnight. You just won a civil war. Now see if you can do your jobs and manage the peace.”

“By the way, sirs, it wasn't that easy.” Elaiza recalled vividly how Mahir Hakki looked as he died. How Major Hayes looked just before he died. Juanito lying in the hut. Images she would never forget.

“We know it wasn't easy, Miss Otakan. But you've done well and been noticed. I understand there is an embassy staff promotion in line for you.” Hargens surprised her with the secret.

“That's news to me. What would I be doing?”

“Taking over tech ops, what Hayes did before,” Hargens confirmed. You'd be assigned back here.” It would be a big promotion for her.

General Hargens let Elaiza consider and looked at Thornton, “Tom, stay on with us. I'll write up a long-term consultancy agreement. After all this, there will be some tidying up to do. I know you can write great reports that will keep Charlie Downs and DOS satisfied. And both of you would be assigned right here, working in Manila.”

It took only a second and brief eye contact between Elaiza and Thornton, who answered. “No, thanks, Luke. We're going to L.A. We've done our time in Mindanao.”

On their way to the airport, Thornton and Elaiza stopped for an early dinner at La Tasca and were seated in a booth on the second floor. The classic old restaurant was almost empty as it was early for dinner in Manila, especially in a Spanish-style restaurant. The three-guitar band gave the two guests all their attention with
Granada
and other tourist standards until Thornton requested
Sombras, Nada Mÿs
, which the lead sang beautifully, then moved away after a good tip to continue with romantic songs in Spanish from across the room. Shadows, only shadows, nothing more,
Sombras, Nada Mÿs
, the words hurt and reminded him of other places. Thornton held Elaiza's hand in his against her bare leg under the table. In the Spanish ambiance, they ordered paella for two with a bottle of reasonably good Rioja and listened quietly to a few more songs before they spoke.

“So, what do you think the final head count will be, Kapitan Tomas? Happy with the results of your little war?” Elaiza did not like to witness the death of any living thing. It was OK to kill in combat when the alternative is to be killed and the cause is just, but she was saddened by the deaths of so many of her countrymen, of whatever religious or political persuasion. She did not blame Thornton, but was glad it was over.

“This little war would have happened whatever I did. But I can do the right things, and we came out financially well off.” Sometimes she was hard to talk to.

“No more reports from us to the embassy?”

“It's over.”

Elaiza frowned and looked around the room, “And you will stop such nonsense forever?” she asked.

“What's next for us? What happens here? What happens next in the Philippines, after we leave?” Elaiza was thinking about the family she would be leaving behind, the aunts and uncles, cousins, and her old father living alone.

“Nothing has changed here, nothing ever will. A new generation of guerrillas will rise up to avenge their fathers. The Philippines will retire ten more old generals and promote a dozen new ones to take their places. Another generation of peasants will mature into poverty.” Thornton felt the inertia of the system, keeping everything in place.

“Why, why does it have to be that way?” Elaiza really wanted to know.

“I've been thinking, maybe it doesn't. How about we make some good use out of the money. We're already OK. Do you remember the mango tree and the old farmer, his handicapped wife?”

“Sure. It haunts me.” Elaiza was surprised he would bring up that particular image. “Why did you think of it now?”

“I have an idea,” he answered. “Let's get the check.”

On the way to the airport, the idea in Thornton's head kept him ruminating and the words that a West Point general, former President of the Philippines Fidel V. Ramos once told him, reverberated-”Caring, sharing, daring. Many have to work together to make a difference.” That vision would change everything for him and Elaiza—and for some others who would never expect it.

“Elaiza, let's scratch the flight to Los Angeles. What do you say we fly to Cebu?”

“I'm always ready for the next place, whatever you have in mind. We can fly to L.A. anytime, and I've never been to Cebu. I hear it's a beautiful island. Let's go!”

“We won't be there long,” he told her.

He was right. Once in Cebu, Elaiza bought two ferry tickets to the city of Butuan. Now back in Mindanao, she negotiated with a taxi driver to take them into the Agusan Valley and to the place they had left only two days before.

Tomorrow she would tell him.

D
uring the long taxi ride to Prosperidad, Thornton closed his eyes and dozed in and out of daydreams. He had visions of the old farmer back in Toril cutting down the tree. The taxi hit a bump, and Thornton woke to look out the window and saw only green jungle and the bumpy brown road; the mango tree was gone. That's when it all came together. “Elaiza,” he looked for the right words, “let's plant some trees.”

He thought she might still be sleeping, but she asked, “What are you talking about? Are you dreaming?”

“Maybe. I saw that old man cutting down his mango tree. It made me think, and yes, maybe dream. What if we used the cash we have to buy as much land as we can, and taught farmers how to use it best?”

“But what will we do?”

“We can live OK. What would you think about living right here?”

“I'd live with you anywhere, you know that, but now I think you're nuts.” She continued. “How about getting an apartment in Singapore, or
going back to Toril where we have a house already and all our stuff, maybe Southern California; I don't care, heck, even Kestely, Hungary, would be fine. Anyplace, but why choose here? Here is easy for me, difficult for you.”

“Well, let's just stay right here, in Agusan, and let's buy that land along the Simulao River and plant mango trees. I might like a new challenge.”

“Aren't you getting risky with our child's future?”

Thornton was dumbfounded, and his jaw dropped.

Elaiza liked her surprise and smiled, but with an embryo starting to twitch inside her, she had to think about security, for her and for her child into a long future.

Thornton finally caught his breath. “We can do it, for him or for her. We care about others. We can dare and we can share. Remember what we've seen. Think about the people we've seen in these villages. The shoe shine man with his box, a simple woman dressed in jeans, white tee shirt and floppies, the girl walking to nursing school in her white dress, and countless other images, even your own uncles and aunts. What future will any of them have?

“We can still do anything we want,” he continued, “but so could a lot of others. The government tries to do projects, but bureaucracy or even corruption messes it up. What if we gave the land to the farmers?”

“You sound like a communist NPA. I thought we just beat them?”

“And we can beat them again, at their own game.”

“So how do you do all these wonderful things?”

“One seed at a time.”

“Then let's find that farmer and start a mango plantation with him.” Elaiza's eyes sparkled. “I can help. I like the feel of the earth in my hands, and you will be teaching our child. You've already planted that seed.”

T
he sun rose quickly and an already warm mist shrouded the workers in the field. It was best to get the heavy work done early. Pushing nicely rooted mango seedlings into loamy soil, Elaiza Thornton was getting dirt under her nails, and it felt good, and pure. She was warm inside, feeling the child growing strong in her womb, and smiled to herself. She looked up at her Kapitan Tomas, a few meters ahead of her, hoeing the warm earth to prepare it for the seedlings. He stood up from his work and shaded his eyes with one hand, squinted into the sun and looked upwards into the distance. She followed his gaze to where a large bird struggled to rise against the wind. Reaching altitude, Kabayan floated gracefully in mid-air for a moment, but this time, he did not fly alone. No longer the last Philippine eagle, Kabayan had found his mate. The two swooped downward together to gain speed, then rose and disappeared behind the far tree line.