Fiction: War Zone (Part 3 of 10)

(Published in the January 28, 2012, issue of Philippines Free Press)

Badong and Titing were sitting behind a tree. Badong was playing with the knife he had taken from the wounded boy, jabbing into an invisible enemy.

“You should have told them the truth,” Titing whispered.

“What for?” Badong said. “Ikang said she can take care of the kid. What are we doing here, anyway?”

“Lower your voice!” Titing said. “We’re waiting for Kumander Gaston to go back inside the dugout.”

“Then?”

“Then—”

The knife fell from Badong’s hand. It would have struck Titing’s foot if he had not been quick to move aside.

“Oops. Sorry, man,” Badong said, pulling the knife off the soil.

“Fuck,” Titing said. “You’re going to kill me with that knife. Put that away.”

“Okay, okay,” Badong said, putting the weapon back in his pants. “You were saying . . .”

Titing continued, “Once Kumander Gaston is back in the dugout, we’ll crawl toward that mound”—he points at the embankment surrounding the dugout—“and peep inside.”

“Peep?”

“Peep, eavesdrop, watch the whole action.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re so slow,” Titing said, slapping his forehead in affected frustration. “Take it this way: Kumander Horny is sad and lonely, what with his sister being killed and all, so he will turn to voluptuous babaylan for comfort.”

“You mean they’re going to do it?”

“Now that’s more like it, my boy. You’re thinking fast. Yes, Kumander Gaston’s going to rip Ikang’s clothes off, push her to the hard, cold earth, and get her so good she’d scream so loud.”

Badong felt a stirring in his pants, but he said, “That’s bull.”

“Listen, Badong. You may be able to resurrect the dead—I know it, you have supernatural powers. It’s useless denying it to me—anyway, you may be able to resurrect the dead, but when it comes to matters like this, trust me. I know the ways of the world. I’m older than you.”

“But not by much,” Badong said.

“All right,” Titing said. “I’m no old sage. I don’t know the ways of the world. I know what Kumander Gaston and Ikang will do because . . . I’ve seen them do it before.”

“In the dugout?”

“In the dugout,” Titing answered. “Several times.” He leaned and took a look behind the tree, checking for Kumander Gaston.

“You pervert,” Badong said. “No wonder you know a lot about Kumander Gaston and Ikang. But why are we peeping on them now? It’s noontime.”

“You uncircumcised idiot. Noontime, nighttime, all the time. Kumander Gaston fucks Ikang every chance he gets.”

Badong had never thought before that people did it during daytime. “Why does she allow him to use her?” he asked.

“Well, first, she likes it,” Titing said. “Second, she’s up to something. It’s not just Kumander Gaston that’s using Ikang; she’s also using him. She wants to get back at Kumander Higante.”

“Wait, you lost me there. What’s Kumander Higante got to do with Ikang?”

“It’s a long story, really. It took me a while—about three peeping sessions—to put the pieces together. Anyway, from the conversations of Kumander Gaston and Ikang, this much I gathered: Ikang’s husband was killed because of Kumander Higante. Some Muslim men hacked the poor guy one day while he was working in the field. It turned out that the murderers were really looking for Kumander Higante, because a few days earlier, the bastard and his men had ransacked the house of a Muslim family in the outskirts of the barrio. They raped the mother and young girl and left no one alive.”

“The Muslim men mistook Ikang’s husband for Kumander Higante?”

“Probably no. They were out to kill the first Christian they’d come across.”

“I see,” Badong said. “Now how does Ikang expect Kumander Gaston to help her?”

“About that I have no idea. Truth is, Kumander Gaston does not seem to be so keen on helping Ikang. He just keeps her hanging on so he can have a free pussy. Kumander Gaston is also afraid of Kumander Higante, I bet. Kumander Higante is himself a babaylan. They say he’s got an amulet so powerful he can fly. Wait, is it true? You must know. Kumander Higante got his amulet from Nong Seño.”

Badong shrugged. “Father creates an amulet for selected people only, and each amulet is unlike the others. I don’t know if the one he made for Kumander Higante enables him to fly. But I’m sure what he made for him is something special. I remember, it took Father forty days to create the amulet, and Kumander Higante waited patiently for it. He stayed with us.”

“That means he would recognize you when he sees you again,” Titing said, talking fast in excitement. “When he arrives later, he’ll let your secret out.”

“I don’t think so,” Badong said. “I was only eight or nine then, and I look different now. Besides, Kumander Higante did not actually live in our home. He stayed in a hut in the middle of our cornfield, meditating and performing tasks I wasn’t allowed to know.”

Titting’s face slackened, but brightened again when he peeked behind the tree. “Kumander Gaston,” he whispered at Badong, “he’s going back to the dugout.”

They remained still behind the tree for some time; then they crept toward the dugout.

The chief and Ikang were right at it, a few feet beside the unconscious boy. Kumander Gaston was on top of Ikang, his pants pulled down, his buttocks glistening in the semidarkness of the dugout. Ikang was thrashing wildly under him.

It took a while for Badong to figure out that Ikang wasn’t in the throes of passion. She was preventing Kumander Gaston from entering her. “No, no!” she grunted, pushing the chief away. “It’s Friday, Gaston. We can’t.”

The chief did not seem to hear anything.

“Your amulet,” Ikang said, “it will lose its power.”

Kumander Gaston paused. “I don’t care,” he said, his breath raspy. “I’m not afraid to die.” His hand, squeezed between him and Ikang, resumed moving, spreading her legs apart and arranging things.

Ikang stopped resisting, and closed her eyes as Kumander Gaston thrusted.

Titing started rubbing himself.

Badong could not take his eyes off Ikang’s face. She was biting her lips.

Ikang’s eyes opened, and they met Badong’s. She screamed.

(To be continued)