Las Dos Marias

Chapter 19: The Cuartel

Isabela couldn't tell how many hours she'd been in this cuartel. But judging by the light from a lone small window, she could see dusk beginning to cover San Felipe.

How the hell did she end up here? One minute she was painting; the next, two grim-faced Guardia Civil were dragging her away.

Her gaze once again darted to the other prisoners in this cuartel. There was a man with wild, unkempt hair hunched over in the corner. Another one, positioned at the far end, was a woman who seemed to have lost her wits in the world. Isabela could hear her humming a familiar kundiman. The tone, haunting and pure, evoked some of her childhood memory. The woman actually had a nice voice, though it didn't match her sunken cheeks and frizzy hair.

Another man, paced by the small window, had been cursing the Guardia Civil under his breath. He would look at her every once in a while, with that same intense gaze, while muttering in his dialect—"Tang inang mga gwardiya. Mamatay sana 'yang mga putang-ina..." His voice was low, but his presence unnerved her. Not that this cell was anything like a luxury hotel—she hated the stench of decay and piss here. Everything was barred, filthy, stifling, and maddening.

Just then, the cursing man leaned forward against the rusty bars separating them. Isabela turned, watching him carefully, unsure what he'd do. Though he couldn't reach her, his stare made her uneasy enough to want to gouge his eyes and shove them down his foul, cursing mouth.

"Psst..."

Isabela didn't move.

"You're the daughter of Jose Ramos, aren't you?"

The mention of her father's name finally caught her attention. She stared, wide-eyed, at the strange man. "Yes," she said cautiously.

"Puta," he cursed again, as if the word was already part of his every sentence. "I knew him well... 'Tang-inang tao na 'yan! He just let himself die—"

Isabela felt a tug of pain at his insensitive words. "He was murdered... he didn't just die!"

The man seemed taken aback by her response, and so was she. She hadn't realized how loud her voice had gotten as she said that.

"Sorry, young lady. I only meant I knew him. He was my friend." This time, a hint of nostalgia started to surface on the man's face.

Isabela's heart raced. "H-how did you know him? And why are you here?"

With a sigh, the man slumped onto the dirty, cold floor before answering. "He was a good man—fought hard for what we believed in. And I'm here for the same reason most of us are, I suspect..."

"Are you talking about the rising rebellion?"

"I'm Julio... Julio Dimaguiba. Your father and I were some of the first members of the Katipunan in San Felipe."

Isabela couldn't believe her ears. "N-no," she whimpered. "M-my father wasn't one of you." She met the man's hollow gaze, her eyes filled with resentment.

"Not one of us?" The man's words rolled out with a low, grating purr. "Yet here you are, behind these fucking bars. Just like the rest of us..."

Isabela clenched her fists, trying to process the revelation. "Father wouldn't do that to us. H-he wouldn't put us in danger."

"Of course, a father does everything for his family. Why do you think he died? He did what he had to do to protect you—and this country."

"Stop it!" Isabela exclaimed, her heart pounding as her voice trembled. "You don't know anything about my father."

"Oh? And you think you knew him so well?" the man replied, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. "Could you explain his mysterious trips when he was alive? He led our men, child. Those documents he kept—they're the reason why he's dead."

Isabela's breath hitched as she hung on to his words. Suddenly, vivid memories of her father started to surface in the back of her mind. She recalled those times when her parents received visitors, and they would talk in whispers. Sometimes, her mother would give her an errand to town so that by the time she came home, the unfamiliar people had already gone.

"Your father made alliances—and enemies," Julio continued. "People don't just vanish and end up dead."

Her mind reeled, going back to the haunting morning they'd found her father's lifeless body among the cornfields. Justice had never come, and his death was a foggy mystery she couldn't clear.

"I kept asking myself," she murmured, tears slipping down her cheeks, "who would do such a thing to my kind father?"

Julio looked at her with sympathy. His eerie demeanor had dissipated as he leaned forward. "In this world, child, many would—especially those who want to silence the truth. They'd rather snuff out a small flame before it ignites into a fire they cannot control."

Just then, the cell's metal door rattled, interrupting their conversation.

"Isabela Ramos!" a Guardia Civil called out. "Come with me."

Isabela could hear the harshness of his voice. Its heaviness rang across the silent prisoners, making Isabela's heart jump. The Guardia Civil, now flanked by two others, looked at her menacingly. But she only froze. She wondered what these people would do to her, knowing full well that this whole predicament stemmed from her father's deep involvement with the rising Katipunan.

"Ramos!" the guard shouted again. "Dije, ven!" (I said, come!)

With a shaky breath, Isabela brought her trembling feet toward them. The other prisoners watched, curious about what the Guardia Civil had planned for the newcomer.

"Stay strong," Julio whispered, his voice barely audible over the clanking metal behind her.

The Guardia Civil led her along the dim corridor of the cuartel. Tension hung in the air, with only the heavy sound of boots echoing against the cement floor. Isabela's mind swirled with questions as they marched deeper into the unknown. Why had they taken her? Would they kill her if they got nothing from her?

They finally reached a small room located at the farthest part of the cuartel. Even the door that stood in front of them now looked unwelcoming. The Guardia Civil knocked sharply, then a commanding voice from the inside called, "Entra" (Enter).

Upon entering, Isabela immediately caught sight of the man behind that commanding voice. She recognized him as the Teniente Mayor—a burly man with his normal Hispanic features. She had never seen him up close, but now that she did, she realized he was as scary as what the other manangs in San Felipe told each other. He simply made her uncomfortable, as did the scent of damp wood in this office that she had noticed since stepping inside.

"Isabela Ramos," the man said, saying her name as if poison was laced in every syllable. Nevertheless, he gestured for her to sit in the chair reserved for her. She hesitated for a moment, but one of the guards forced her to slide into the chair.

"Let's begin," the burly officer sneered, twirling a pen in his hand. His disdainful gaze locked onto her. "You're here because we have some questions about your father's activities. Your answers are very important, young lady, but be warned—I will not tolerate evasion."