Never an Empire (32 page)

‘Can you talk now, are you ready to talk?'

‘Talk about what?'

‘Different things, but first about my wife. Do you hate me, Father?'

‘Yes, I think so, but I am also afraid of you and I have found that fear is stronger than hate.'

The lieutenant nodded.

‘Yes, you have every right to hate me and you are right to be afraid. I would not harm you, you are a priest, but the American is a different matter. He would kill you without a second thought if he felt it was necessary.'

‘Yes, I know he would.'

‘What we did to you was wrong, I know that. Sending my wife to you was a terrible thing. But the American said there was no other way. The general is a clever man, well used to conspiracies; he sees them even when they're not there. We had to find a way that gave no one any suspicion, that couldn't possibly be traced back to the American. Believe me, Father, I know. There was no other way.'

‘No other way to betray the general?'

The lieutenant seemed surprised at the question.

‘What do you mean, betray the general?'

‘That's what you're planning to do isn't it? Get the general to hand himself and his men over to the Americans, to surrender.'

‘Yes, but how is that a betrayal?'

‘How can it be anything else?'

‘Father, your housekeeper was an uneducated woman, wasn't she?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘She would have no idea how politics work, how governments manage things. To her it seemed simple. She wanted the Philippines free. The Americans took them from the Spanish so the Americans had to be driven out. To her General Sakay and his army were the hope of the nation. Is that about right?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you, Father, is that how it seems to you? You are an educated man, a European, you know your history. Do you think General Sakay is the hope of the Philippine nation, that with his army he can make us free?'

‘I don't know. I keep out of such things. As you say, I'm a priest; it is not for the Church to choose this side or that in politics.'

‘Yes, for those who belong to the Catholic Church their country is heaven and they leave hell for those who don't belong. Which is fine, Father, and as a Catholic, although not a very good one, I accept that. But heaven is for after we die and while we live those of us who are not priests must make choices. I have been with General Sakay and I know what I'm talking about. We lack men, we lack weapons, we lack food, we lack almost everything we need to carry out any sort of war with the Americans. The only thing we don't lack is courage and I have seen men use their courage against rifles and artillery and watch them be cut down. Now we live like bandits in the mountains and strike where we can, when we can. Will we ever even scratch the grip America has on the Philippines by our fighting? No, never. So there has to be another way, a better way.'

‘By handing the general over to his enemies.'

‘But what if they weren't his enemies? What if they would agree to let him surrender with honour, let him lead his men out of the mountains carrying their weapons? He can't win the war he's fighting and he knows it so why go on?'

‘And will the Americans let him surrender with honour?'

‘That is what the American said, that all they wants is an end to the fighting so that the Assembly can begin and all parties negotiate.'

‘Can you trust him?'

‘No, not him, but he is just an agent of the American government, not someone who makes the decisions. He has been sent to bring the fighting to an end as soon as possible in any way he can. While General Sakay is in the mountains with an army the Assembly can't begin. It must represent all the people or it represents no one. You say that as a priest you don't get involved in politics but even you must see that the only way the Americans will let us achieve our independence is if we negotiate it with them. Believe me, Father, I'm not trying to betray the general; I'm trying to save him.'

‘By sending your wife to me?'

The lieutenant's head went down.

‘I've said that it was a wicked thing to do,' he looked up again, ‘but I have seen men killed, too many men, and more will die unless we find some other way.'

‘You speak very fine words, Lieutenant, but they would sound more convincing if I didn't know that you were to be well paid for what you're doing, well paid and sent to a new life in America.'

‘Yes, I will be paid and we were to go to America, but that changes nothing. I am trying to save the general and save lives. Is it so wrong that I tried to make sure that afterwards I had a better life for my wife and child?'

‘I don't know, but I do know that this business has already killed too many people for me to believe in any talk about saving lives. Four people have died so far including your wife; that seems a high price even for a ticket to America.'

‘It is as you say, Father, a high price. But I am the one who has paid it, not you. I have lost a wife. What have you lost?'

Father Enrique thought about the question. What
had
he lost? A certain amount of arrogance, pride, and self regard, certainly. What had he gained? Not a ticket to America, but in some way a new life. All he wanted was to come out of this mess alive then perhaps he might find from somewhere the strength to serve his Church in humility.

‘I have lost nothing and I want nothing except to go on living. If you have a message for the American and I take it to him will he let me live do you think?'

‘Do you trust me, Father?'

‘No.'

‘Then why ask me?'

‘Because there is no one else to ask.'

The lieutenant shrugged.

‘He might.'

‘But you don't think he will.'

‘He is an agent of the American government. He will do what he thinks necessary.'

‘Yes, I see. Thank you for being honest in your answer.'

‘How do you know it was an honest answer?'

‘Because a lie would have been easier.'

‘Yes, it would. Now, Father, if you are still willing to take it I will give you the message. It is getting late and I must leave at dawn.'

‘First, can you get me some more of that drink?'

‘The arrack?'

‘Yes.'

‘I can get you a bottle if you wish but remember, too much to anyone not used to it can be as fatal as a bullet. Do you need it to help you sleep?'

‘No.'

‘What then?'

‘To stop me thinking.'

‘I see. Very well. I will get you the arrack and then give you the message.' The lieutenant stood up. ‘You're a strange man, even for a priest.'

‘If you say so.'

‘Yes, Father, I say so.'

Chapter Forty-one

The Bishop's Palace, Manila

June 1906

‘When I sent you to San Juan Bautista I had great hopes for you, Father. You had done well in Pasig and I think I made it clear to you that if your ministry in San Juan as a parish priest was successful you would be recalled to Manila and given a more senior position. That, I think, was our understanding?'

Father Enrique sat with his eyes lowered. He had been summoned by the bishop. Everything was known. What else could it be? He sat and awaited his fate and responded quietly to the question.

‘That was my understanding, my Lord.'

‘The position I had in mind was that of my secretary.'

Father Enrique nodded.

‘That also was my understanding.'

‘And at first the reports I received were most encouraging, very encouraging indeed.'

Father Enrique looked up a little surprised.

‘I know, they were my reports.'

The bishop gave a small laugh.

‘I am not referring to your reports but the others I received.'

‘There were others?'

‘Of course.'

‘You had an agent reporting on me?'

The business of the lieutenant and the American was over, thank God, and seemed to be finished. To his surprise and relief, he had survived. He had carried the message and passed it on. The American had thanked him and left San Juan. He had told the sacristan that Maria had gone, rather suddenly in his opinion, with her cousin's daughter back to the village from which the young woman had come. The cousin it seemed had sent a message. She was sick and needed nursing. Of course he had said she must go. He had no idea how long she would be away, perhaps a long time. The sacristan had spread the news as Father Enrique knew he would and he had waited. Surely it could not all end so simply? Yet things had settled down and slowly, with difficulty, he managed to resume the old routine, with one exception. He had no housekeeper.

He was offered replacements. It was a coveted position: more than a few women would have liked to occupy it. But he told people he couldn't fill what wasn't a vacancy. Maria might return. Of course if she let him know she wasn't coming back, then of course, but until he knew one way or the other he preferred to live alone. His meals suffered but at least in the evenings he was free to sit with a bottle of brandy in the kitchen and try to come to terms with what had happened and what he had done. The bottle helped. At least he managed to sleep. But, although a month had passed since the American left he found that in the evenings, alone in his house, his mind replayed what had happened over and over and when the bishop summoned him he assumed all was known.

Now, sitting in the bishop's private office, at the mention of reports he jumped to what was, to him, the obvious conclusion. He was being spied on.

The bishop, surprised, laughed again, a little more loudly this time, the response had genuinely amused him.

‘Good heavens, no, I have no need of agents to get reports on my priests. In every parish there are those self-appointed zealots who feel it their duty to let the bishop know what is happening. Usually only a few bother to tell me when the news is good, but many more do so when the news is bad. At first the reports were few, but glowing I'm pleased to say. Lately the number of reports has been growing and what they contain is uniformly critical. I presume you know what they said.'

‘That I had a young woman living in my house.'

‘Yes, and that you had started to become very lax in your duties, even to the point of leaving San Juan without giving any good reason. All true, I suppose?' Father Enrique, whose eyes had lowered again, nodded. This was what he had expected. All that remained was to receive and accept humbly whatever punishment the bishop chose to impose on him. ‘Is the young woman still there?'

‘No.'

‘You sent her away?'

‘She left.'

‘Was she expecting your child?'

Father Enrique looked up, shocked. He was about to deny such an allegation when it suddenly dawned on him that he didn't know. They had slept together, more than once. Perhaps she had conceived. How could he know?

‘I don't know.'

‘I see. If she is carrying your child will she return with it?'

That question he could answer and answer truthfully.

‘She will not return.'

‘You seem very sure.'

‘I am sure.'

‘Very well, you know the circumstances better than anyone I suppose. Now, as for your laxity. Was the young woman responsible for that?'

‘In a way.'

‘I see. So, Father, now that she is gone do you think everything might return to normal and the reports diminish?'

Return to normal? What was normal now?

‘Yes, my Lord, I will do my best to see that things go back to normal.'

‘Good. Is there anything else I should know?' The bishop waited but Father Enrique remained silent. ‘If there is I should prefer to hear it from you than in some letter.'

‘I drink.'

‘We all drink, Father, if we didn't we would die. But I assume you mean that you drink alcohol.' Father Enrique nodded. ‘To what extent?'

‘Half a bottle of brandy each night. Sometimes more.'

‘Every night?'

‘Yes.'

‘And how long has this been going on?'

‘About a month.'

‘And is it getting worse?'

‘No, it's about the same each night.'

‘And does anyone see you drink; your housekeeper?'

‘No. My housekeeper has left.'

‘Like the young woman, gone for good?'

‘I don't know. She has gone to look after a sick relative. She may not come back. I don't think she will come back.'

There, that was as near the truth as he was prepared to go.

‘I see. Well, perhaps that is no bad thing at the moment. If your drinking gets worse you must contact me and I will try to arrange something.'

‘How much worse?'

‘Over a bottle, or if you start drinking during the day. If that happens people will know. If you see it going that way get in contact with my secretary. If it stays at one bottle or less, in the evening when you are by yourself, there is no real problem. I assume that you can fulfil all your necessary duties when you rise?'

‘Yes.'

The bishop stood up so Father Enrique rose as well.

‘I still look on you as a promising young priest, perhaps even more so now than before. If you will permit me to say so, before you went to San Juan you were a little too holy, too saint-like. I have seen it before. As long as it lasts it is impressive, but in my experience the longer it lasts the crisis, when it comes, is all the more spectacular,' the bishop paused, ‘unless the priest is indeed a saint of course. But that is something beyond even my long experience.' He held out the back of his hand. ‘Good day, Father Enrique, and thank you for coming.'

Father Enrique bent down and kissed the bishop's Episcopal ring.

‘Thank you, my Lord.'

‘Remember, Father, more than one bottle, or if it starts to happen during the day.'

‘I will contact your secretary.'