Never an Empire (20 page)

Fortunately her father was of a more tolerant and forgiving disposition. Like his wife he was Spanish but unlike her had no trace of nobility in his bloodline, neither major nor minor, urban or rural and he had no pretensions to superiority above and beyond those necessary to carry out his role as a senior official of the colonial Spanish government. He had seen to it, through discreet intermediaries, that his daughter and her new husband were suitably accommodated and quietly visited them in their new home. The young man, he found, proved to be intelligent, willing, and honest and was therefore found a very minor government position and fully justified his father-in-law's judgement and assistance by doing well. Promotion came to the young man as children came and, as the family grew, it thrived. After her mother's death the family, two sisters and a younger brother, happily re-united and a small golden age ensued.

Even when the revolution came and the Filipinos tried to throw off Spanish rule there were no serious problems for her husband as he managed brilliantly to steer the difficult course of supporting both sides. He carried this talent over into the Spanish American war and when the Americans became rulers of the Philippines he effortlessly moved alongside them, applied for and was granted the post of chief of police of San Juan Bautista. He had done his homework and felt that the post would suit him, his wife, and their children. It gave him all the status he required, was well away from the politics and in-fighting of Manila and seemed to be remote from any actual fighting or serious disruption and he had been perfectly happy in his post. Life was quiet. The trouble in the mountains never touched the placid life of the town. Not until now with the arrival of the American.

He picked up his glass and drained it. His wife reached across and laid a concerned hand on his arm.

‘What is the matter, dear? You have been worried lately. Won't you tell me what it is?'

Her husband shook his head sadly. They had never had secrets from each other and he detested having to keep things from her now. But he had no choice.

‘Nothing. It is nothing. Soon it will be finished.'

The paradox that it was nothing but would soon be finished was left in the air and further explanation fortunately prohibited by the ringing of the front doorbell.

‘Who on earth can it be, dear, calling at this hour?'

The solution was brought to them by a maid.

‘An American gentleman, sir. He came into the hall.'

The chief answered.

‘Bring him in.' He didn't need to be told who the American was. ‘Leave us, dear, this is business, private business.'

His wife rose and was by the door and the visitor came in. He stepped to one side, smiled, and gave a small bow.

‘Sorry to intrude at such a late hour but I'm afraid it's business and won't wait.'

‘Not at all. You are most welcome.'

At that moment she could have been her mother and her look would have frozen most people. The American, however, maintained his smile as she left then sat down at the table, and filled a glass from the chief's wine bottle.

‘Thanks.'

The chief ignored this gross departure from good manners and waited. He didn't want to hear the reason for this visit: it could only be bad news, but neither did he want this man in his house any longer than could be helped and the sooner he knew what it was about the sooner the man would leave. A moment passed and the American sat staring down at the empty glass in front of him, saying nothing. The chief became unsettled. This was odd behaviour even for an American. ‘What it is that you want?'

The American lifted his head. There was an odd vagueness about him.

‘To chew the fat.' The chief looked at him puzzled and the American grinned. ‘An American expression.' He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. ‘To indulge in friendly conversation.'

He stayed in that position for a moment then sat back, silent once again.

‘I see. To talk about what exactly?'

The American reached forward, took the wine bottle, and re-filled the glass.

‘I talked to the priest today. Told him his little whore was a spy for General Sakay, that the general was up to something here and she was his agent.'

The words weren't in the least slurred and the hand holding the glass was steady. The chief was impressed. He had already come to the conclusion that his visitor was drunk, very drunk, yet he could walk, talk, and to all intents and purposes function. However, it didn't help the delicate balance of the situation that his visitor could hold his liquor so well. At any moment, especially if he drank much more wine, something truly unpleasant might happen. Even more than before he wanted the man out of his house.

‘You told him you knew he was sleeping with her? You called her his whore?'

‘Hell, no. I told him the opposite. That no one would dream of thinking such a thing. He's not bright so he believed me.'

‘And why did you say she was a spy for the general?'

‘So we would have a reason to watch the house, to get reports on who does what and when.'

‘Why do we want to watch the house? All that business is over isn't it?'

‘The swap? Building up the lieutenant? Yes that's done. But we do have an agent for Sakay here in the town.'

‘Who?'

‘The priest's housekeeper.'

‘Maria?'

‘Yes.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Carmen told me.'

‘How did she know?'

The American frowned and his voice became truculent.

‘Look, I'm the one in charge so I ask the questions and I give the orders, understand?'

The chief immediately became pacific.

‘Of course, of course, you're the one in charge. No one questions that.'

‘Good, and they better not.' He took a sip. ‘She told me something.'

‘The housekeeper?'

‘No, not the housekeeper, Carmen. A meeting in the church, a young man, throwing fresh fruit away, her basket almost empty. It wasn't much but it was enough. I couldn't take the chance.'

The American stopped, looked down at his glass and remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke he was still looking at the glass and it seemed to the chief that his remarks seemed more addressed to himself than anyone else so he kept silent. ‘Too much at stake to miss anything. No real proof but who the hell can afford proof? Do what has to be done to get the desired outcome. Desired outcome is all that matters. Always the desired outcome.' He suddenly looked at the chief. ‘You understand that, don't you?'

‘Yes. Too much at stake.'

His answer brought a derisive laugh. The chief didn't like the laugh or the look that accompanied it. Maybe the man wasn't holding his liquor so well after all. Drunks at some point usually became maudlin then aggressive. Maybe that latter stage had arrived.

‘And you would know, would you?'

The chief proceeded cautiously.

‘When you tell me I will.'

That seemed to satisfy the American. He finished his wine, pushed the glass away, took out a handkerchief, and wiped his mouth.

‘Sakay is going to surrender and bring his men in. We know that because we've put our man alongside him, a man he trusts and will listen to. When we're ready Dominador Gomez will go back to him and promise him whatever he asks. When he comes in and his men have laid down their weapons we're free to do what we like with them. Nobody will care because everybody will be busy with the new Assembly and as far as the rest of the world is concerned we will have begun the process of handing out independence to the Philippines. Sakay is nothing more than a sideshow. Not part of the desired outcome. He needs to go so we'll get rid of him.'

‘Of course.'

‘But we can't hurry him.'

‘No, I can see that.'

‘Oh yeah? Well, we can't leave it too long either.'

‘No, not too long either.'

‘It's all a matter of nice judgement. What we don't want is Sakay smelling a rat here in San Juan. Maria tried to get a message to him and it had to be stopped so I did what I did.'

‘What was the message?'

‘I don't know; there wasn't time to find out.'

‘Couldn't you have questioned the woman and the man?'

‘No. Robbed and murdered. People would accept. They wouldn't like it but they'd settle for it. If we'd taken them into custody people would have asked questions. The housekeeper would have asked herself why we had picked them up so soon after she had passed on her message. She wouldn't have to be too smart to work out someone tipped us off and that someone had to be Carmen. I don't know how much she knows about Carmen working for us but if we'd arrested them or even held them any doubts she had would have gone out the window, she'd know for sure. And let's say we questioned them and found out what the message was, what could we do with them? Let them go? Keep them in prison? Hang them? Whatever we did would show our hand. No, it had to be bandits.'

The American seemed to have settled down again but the chief remained cautious and silently prayed he wouldn't ask for another drink.

‘I think you acted wisely.'

‘I did what I had to do. That's my job, to do what has to be done. Now we have to make sure the housekeeper doesn't try again. I want you to pick up someone for the killings; we'll give them a trial and hang them. That will finish it for most people but I doubt Maria will believe it. Still, even if she doesn't there's not much she can do. I can get a report on everything that goes on in the house from the priest and I want you to make sure the woman is watched closely wherever she goes. We sit on her good and tight until this thing with Sakay and Gomez is finished, understood?'

‘Yes. But why not just arrest her?'

The chief was relieved to see the American reach for his hat.

‘Because, my friend, Sakay would be told and he'd ask himself why we'd arrested her and the whole damn thing would start to come apart. God knows it's not much better that a house of cards as it stands but so far it's working and I have to see that it stays that way.' He stood up. There was no great sign of unsteadiness. ‘Don't think, don't ask questions, just do as you're told.' He put his hat on. ‘Oh, and make sure that nephew of yours keeps his trap shut. I meant what I said: I do what has to be done. If I find he's been shooting his mouth off, well, you've seen my methods.'

The chief stood up. He'd seen them.

‘I'll see to it myself.'

‘Good.' The American looked vaguely round the room. ‘I won't have another drink. Say thanks and goodbye to your wife for me, will you?'

The chief went to the door and opened it. The American looked at him blankly for a second as if unsure what to do. The chief tried to ease things along.

‘I will, I will say goodbye to her for you.'

The American revived.

‘Good.' He walked past the chief into the hallway. ‘I'll let myself out.'

The chief stood and watched as his visitor opened the front door and went out into the night, then he walked to the door and closed it quietly. When he turned round his wife was in the hallway looking at him.

‘Is everything all right?'

‘No, everything is not all right, but there's nothing I can do about it, not a damn thing.'

Chapter Twenty-four

Evening. Dinner was finished and the house quiet, the time Father Enrique tried to keep for himself which was why Maria was surprised when he came into the kitchen.

‘You are alone, Maria?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where's Carmen?'

Maria was annoyed. So far things had managed to keep more or less to a pattern. During the day he was a priest, polite, correct. At night Carmen went to him, and he could be a man and have his woman. Maria wanted it to stay that way so long as the whore was in the house. She didn't want him coming looking for her. Soon enough she could be in his bed. When she answered she made no effort to disguise her feelings.

‘Out. Gone for a walk in that new dress of hers.'

‘I see. May I sit down?'

Maria's tone changed at once. Something was the matter and her voice filled with concern.

‘Of course, Father.' He sat down and Maria waited, but he just sat and said nothing. ‘Do you want anything?'

He seemed to come out of a daydream.

‘Want? No, nothing.'

‘I see.' She waited. Her concern began to build. She'd known him long enough to understand his moods but this was something she had never seen before and that worried her. These were uncertain times. Things she didn't understand had happened so she had tried to contact the general, then there had been the murders. With the death of her contacts she knew that the situation had become dangerous for her. That she could deal with. She served the cause and if danger came, well, in war there were casualties. If she had to be one so be it. But for Father Enrique things had become difficult as well and it was beginning to tell. ‘Perhaps a brandy, Father?'

He ignored the question and looked up at her with eyes that had the beginnings of tears in them. He was indeed troubled and her heart went out to him.

‘Tell me, Maria, tell me honestly, am I a good priest?'

Maria almost let a sigh of relief escape her. It was nothing, nothing that mattered that is, only his conscience. He was like a little boy, an innocent little boy who took it all too seriously as children will. All he needed was a little guidance, a little assurance, a little affection: mothering.

‘Yes, you are a good priest.'

And at once she could see from the look on his face it was not the answer he wanted. He was a holy little boy who had been proud of his lovely, clean, white soul, but he had been playing in the mud with a dirty little girl and his soul had become stained. He was ashamed and wanted to be punished, punished then forgiven. Now she knew what he wanted. He wanted her to wash his dirty soul clean again for him. To make it once more white and shining as it had been. He was too ashamed to take it to another priest to be cleaned. He wanted the nasty stain taken away, but he wanted it done in private. It was as she had said to Carmen: he had been thinking and found that he was tired of her, wanted her gone. He wanted things to be as they were. Thank God for that.