They sailed on the first week of April, 1943. Weather was fine and there were no indications of any disturbances. Cirrus clouds assured them that the summer of '43 promised to be endlessly warm and sunny. From their small hoard of silver coins, they booked fare on a weather beaten boat with a cranky diesel engine used for hauling copra and other cargo which also took in passengers for additional revenue. The pilot, a swarthy man who had watery eyes from a lifetime of smoking cheap cigars assured them that passage through San Bernardino Strait at that time was ... " a piece of cake ...”
The boat hugged the coast as it sailed westward through the strait, a natural barrier between Luzon and the Visayan islands. The small boat bounced like a piece of cork as it rode against the swift current, the bow bobbing up and down amidst strong waves poised to swamp it any moment and drag it down to the bottom of the mindless sea. The engine cranked and groaned under the strain but made little progress. She closed her eyes and prayed ...
" Our father who art in heaven ...
Hail Mary full of grace ...
Glory be to the father ...
Lord, thy will be done ..."
A pod of dolphins, numbering six, suddenly appeared from nowhere and swam and bobbed at the prow of the boat and kept them company until they turned to starboard and exited San Bernardino Strait. A good omen. God must have answered her prayers because the waves abated shortly. Her stomach settled after continually threatening to vomit. The little boy seemed to enjoy the prancing dolphins and the roller coaster ride. When the sea calmed, he fell asleep, lulled by the monotonous drone of the boat's engine.
They sailed northward, past the small hills and low mountains of Sorsogon above which peeked Mt. Bulusan, an active volcano bathed in golden sunshine. They kept near the coast until they saw an island to port side, they have entered Ragay Gulf. They would reach their destination before nightfall.
They found an empty seat on the train to Manila and, after stowing their luggage on the overhead metal rack, slumped in the seat in relative comfort. Huddled with her family on the boat fraught with danger and uncertainty, she had prayed for survival. She whispered a prayer of thanks and closed her eyes cuddling the boy as the train lurched forward. She jerked when she opened her eyes to inspect the interior of the train.
A Japanese officer, clean shaven and looking resplendent in his neatly pressed khaki uniform, sat on the opposite bench. He found the seat after the couple had settled down and congratulated themselves for finding a good seat. He wore a black holster attached to a black leather belt around his waist. Beside him was a leather briefcase on top of a blue-gray valise. He wore black highly polished boots. Slimly built, he sat erect and looked dignified, his eyes on the baby.
Suddenly uncomfortable, she glanced around searching for an empty seat they could transfer to. Finding none and despite her discomfort, she gritted her teeth and let her eyes gaze at the lush vegetation rolling with the countryside as the train rumbled clickety clack on the railroad tracks. She was conscious of but averted the eyes of the Japanese who was obviously trying to catch her attention and engage her in a conversation.
"Your baby?"
"Yes."
"How orrd?"
"One year, three months."
"In Japan have baby like him," he smiled and fumbled in his breast pocket for a photograph which he handed to her. A smiling woman in a kimono, with a powdered face and styled hair neatly held in place by a comb and two protruding bamboo sticks greeted her. She was holding a baby with alert eyes. She handed him back the photograph.
" Mind I borrow baby?"
Nagging thoughts wracked her mind but trusting her instincts handed him the baby, her heart skipping a bit. Bernabe smiled at the Japanese officer who began to bounce the baby on his knee. He has encountered a different view of the enemy, a gentle and civilized human being so different from the clods who threatened him.
The Japanese was all smiles as he played with the baby, gurgling cooing sounds and tracing tickling circles with his fingers under the baby's chin. The baby was giggling with obvious glee, a poignant scene transcending time, transcending race - evoking love, affection and humanity.
"Aregato gosai masu. Thank you very much." She took the baby and hugged him. The Japanese sank in his seat and looked out the window, unmindful of the sea of coconut palms which filled the undulating hills as the train swayed on the winding railroad tracks.
"Was that a tear in his eyes?” she mused.
Why are we at war?
It was a question she could not comprehend. To her, there is no justification for war. She had no knowledge of fire eaters, manipulators, instigators, power brokers, big business interests who profit when there is war. She could only see the killings, the suffering, the dying. Men are only too willing to lay down their lives for country, honor, duty - no matter the motivation of political leaders who continually muddle the affairs of state and men. Lives given up in pursuit of power and ambitions of convoluted minds.
