The unmistakable roar of engines perked her awareness, her breasts rising slightly as she fought a heady feeling, anxiety written all over her lovely face. The futility of flight riveted her to the rattan chair, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of her chair. She was blaming herself for not joining the people who fled to the hills, angry at her smug presumption that the enemy must be kind and humane enough not to hurt civilians, especially a pregnant woman. She wished she were in the forest watching the enemy from a distance, sparing her from a moment of confrontation which now filled her with anxious thoughts. She picked a spot on the road and stared fitfully.
Two six wheeled trucks stopped simultaneously amidst a swirling cloud of dust near the town plaza. She reverted her attention and watched the troops debark from the trucks, fell in rank and momentarily proceeded in two's towards the deserted houses. She saw two soldiers headed in her direction, rifles at port arms with attached bayonets. Her heart thumped,the pounding in her ears drowning the yapping of her pet puppy. The bayonet caught the rays of the sun and glinted with malice. The two bounded up the stairs and accosted her. "Kura!" Before she could muster a reply, the soldiers shifted their attention to her husband who came from inside the house, clad in a carzoncillo and a white camisa chino. He had just taken a bath and beads of perspiration formed on the pores of his body. A soldier lunged at him with the bayonet, the blade stopping within an inch of his stomach. "Chino?" She was both amused and surprised by the query. "No, no, Filipino, school teacher.” Bernabe was shocked by the realization of how close he was to death. The suddenness of the thrust actually made his stomach quiver, anticipating the blade's entry. Frightened and knocked out of his senses, he froze.
Mistaken for Chinese because of his features, he just looked through the eyes of the Japanese, uncomprehending, benumbed. He barely heard his wife speak with a remarkable presence of mind. His life hanged by a thread, dependent on the whim of a man he never met before or thought existed. He did not want to die, not yet. He had intimations on his mortality, he might not survive the war. He could die by chance anytime ... without warning, without design, without purpose. Is life but a dream? Here now, gone forever? He waited for the blade to make contact.
The Japanese lowered his rifle, spoke to his companion who nodded and shifted his eyes on Flora's belly. She could feel goose bumps on her skin. After what seemed like an eternity, the soldiers hurried down the stairs and boarded their truck. With a shrill whistle the trucks departed.
She hugged her husband and breathed a sigh of relief. She was suddenly fatigued, a penetrating tiredness which seemed to drain all her strength. She unrolled a buri mat on the sala and clasping her husband's hand, pulled him down. She immediately fell asleep, never letting go of his hand.
She was awakened by a cool breeze which wafted through the window, made her shiver. A half moon shining in a cloudless sky greeted her as she awoke, her husband snoring gently. She looked at his handsome face and felt an overflowing love for him. She kissed his lips gently lest he wakes up. He stirred and opened his eyes and smiled - the same mischievous one she loved so dearly. "I love you ...", she whispered.
