Persona Non Grata

Scene 2 - Return to the Philippines

The cold night wind gently caressed my cheeks as I stood upon the smooth wooden floor of the upper deck of the Victoria - a large merchant steamer ship of red and white owned by one of my rich colleagues from Madrid. The tides were amazingly calm as the vessel treaded smoothly across the vast ocean, cutting through the waves like a fair maiden in her scarlet dress, gliding across the meadows like a ghost. The gloomy evening is illuminated by the faint silver light coming from the full moon, which, aside from the yellowish radiance of the gas lamps hanging near the captain's cabin, created a strange but amazing ambiance of liveliness and energy that somehow kept me awake throughout the rest of the night.

It has been nearly ten years since I fled from the Philippines after that eventful night at the Delos Santos residence. The spark that was supposed to ignite the flame of the coming revolution was abruptly extinguished, and that same evening bore witness to Señor Ibarra's downfall as his entire life's work was crushed in the blink of an eye all because the very man whom he entrusted his life upon betrayed him and his plans to save one innocent life from the claws of death.

Guilt began to surge through me as the past began to flash back before my eyes. The night before the wedding...every detail of that moment is still so vivid up to this day that I can still feel the pang of regret every time the memory resurfaces. Until now, I constantly ask myself - did I make the right decision when I warned Isagani about the bomb? Was his life, along with the other people present at the fiesta, worth more than the end Señor Ibarra sought? I have allowed a golden opportunity slip our grasp, for almost every person who was in that house were people from the central government. If only everything went according to plan, the chain of command of the entire archipelago would have been in shambles, and no one would be able to consolidate the government troops into a single, comprehensive strategy, making it easy for us to conquer the majority of Luzon once the attacks commence. For what use are good soldiers if there is no one to direct and unify them? What is the sharp sword and the fine shield if the hands that use them do not agree whether to attack or to defend? If only we had succeeded that night...if only I did not allow my feelings to get in the way...the root of all the sufferings in this nation would have been vanquished, and justice would finally be served. If only everything went according to plan, by now half of the peninsula should have been freed - freed from injustice, from persecution, from deception, from slavery.

Unfortunately, it was not so...as it will not be for the years to come, I assume.

Simoun understood what had to be done to turn the country around. For a nation of slaves to prosper, their shackles must first be destroyed - even if it meant paying for it with blood. For the shackles restricts the movement, does not grant comfort to those who wear it and certainly does not give an opportunity to grow.

And yet, the Philippines, being such a nation of slaves, despite experiencing all the torments of wearing these shackles, do not wish to be free of their restraints. In fact, they embrace it! Cling to it as if their very lives depended on it. How I hate my countrymen, not for being inherently stupid, but for choosing to be such! How they embrace their slavery to foreign masters, selling themselves for a bit of coin as if their life and their pride don't amount to much! We have bountiful resources to provide for ourselves, and yet we decided that it was a good idea to work for another nation for our daily bread instead of making use of the gifts of the land to make a living. We know these things, and yet we choose to accept them as they are anyway - happily, if I may say so, and go on with our lives and act as if nothing is wrong.

Simoun was right, and yet Señor Ibarra didn't listen to him. Simoun, had he not freed my body and my mind from the prison I got myself into, I would not have been able to grasp my true purpose and live long enough to fulfill it.

I can still remember that day he entrusted me to play a vital part in his grand scheme - all in detail.

Armed with only a six-shot revolver and a small amount of courage to fire it, I was making my way out of Calle Anloague as instructed by him. Eighteen minutes have already passed since the nitroglycerin bomb was lighted inside the house and yet I was still halfway out of the accursed street, for a throng of guests, guards and spectators blocked my path. My heart pounded heavily as I moved away from the vicinity of the lively fiesta, anticipating the coming of a terrible carnage. The explosion from the house will serve as the attack signal for the army of tulisanes assembled by Simoun himself - men who volunteered to help him orchestrate his little symphony of death for a taste of revenge. The rebels are sure to be many and their attack will be relentless, and I know that many will not make it out alive of the slaughter, should they be lucky enough to survive from the blast.