[Capítulo Quince: Ang Kaguluhan sa Plaza (The Riot in the Plaza)]

THE once bustling square transformed into a chaotic scene. People scattered in disarray, like a mischief of rats disrupted in their dens. Panic swept through the air, palpable and suffocating, as an unknown terror loomed over the plaza, casting shadows of fear on every face.

"Something's might be definitely going on," I panted, my breath catching in the cold early morning air. Marianne's worried gaze lingered behind me as I sprinted, urgency pushing me forward like a force of nature. Clara stood motionless, her eyes wide with the unspoken terror that engulfed us, the chilling uncertainty palpable in the silent exchange of glances.

"Uy, Jong! Baka naman mga NPA iyan! Pag-initan ka niyan, bahala ka (Hey, Jong! Those might be NPA 「New People's Army」! They might target you; it's on you)!" Marianne's voice sliced through the tense air, her fear-laden words hanging like a heavy shroud.

Before my outstretched hand could graze Clara, she bolted towards the right, a glimmer reflecting on her cheeks in the dim light, carrying an unspoken secret.

As I closed the distance, a scene unfolded: two figures confronted a friar, encircled by a group of soldiers. Tension hung in the air, the tableau revealing a complex narrative of conflict and uncertainty.

Clara was immediately grabbed by someone from the people standing beside the streets.

Clara's escape was abruptly halted as strong hands seized her from the crowd lining the streets.

Amidst the chaotic tableau, a man lay sprawled on the ground, blood oozing from a wound on his chest. The grim scene spoke of a confrontation, the visceral evidence etching the severity of the situation into my consciousness.

"Susmaryosep!「A Filipino exclamation: Jesus, Mary, Joseph」" Marianne's exclamation reached me, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "Bakit may pari (Why is there a priest)? Bakit may mga sundalo (Why are those soldiers there)?"

"Marianne, stay behind me!" I gestured urgently, attempting to shield her from the unfolding uncertainty. Despite my plea, she stood defiantly in the middle of the road, a silent witness to the escalating drama.

"Itay (Father)!" the man in front of us cried, his anguished voice slicing through the turmoil. His knees collided with the ground, a desperate entreaty unfolding as he confronted the fallen men sprawled on the ground.

"Bagay iyan sa mga Indio na kagaya ninyo (That suits the bastards like you)!" the priest's words thundered, his face contorted with anger, eyebrows furrowed in disdain.

"Padre, ¿ese hombre pertenece al Katipunan (Father, does that man belong to the Katipunan)?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Uy (Hey)! Ano ang sabi nila (What did they say)?" Marianne asked.

"What?"

"Ay, oo nga pala ang hina mo sa Tagalog (Oh, right! You can't understand Tagalog)," she groaned. "I was asking you if you understand what they are saying there."

I nodded. "They were asking if that man over there is also a member of the Katipunan," I replied.

"Su padre era el único en la lista (His father was the only one on the list)," the priest replied. "Pero upang hindi na siya makasapi pa, mátalo también (kill him, too)," he continued.

"O! Isn't the group of those mountain dwellers are named Katipunan, too?" she asked. "We're members! They forced..."

Before she could utter more, I positioned myself in front of her, my hand swiftly covering her mouth. "Ano ba (What are you doing)?" she mumbled, struggling against my restraint, her eyes reflecting the urgency of the concealed revelation.

"Do you want them to kill us as well?" I asked in a hushed whisper, the gravity of the situation weighing down on the words as they hung in the tense air between us.

Rifles raised, the soldiers targeted the sobbing man. "Padre, ano po ang ibig sabihin nito (Father, what's the meaning of this)?" Beads of sweat materialized on the man's face, and his eyes welled with tears, the silent supplication echoing in the tense tableau.

"Huwag ka nang umiyak, Hijo (Don't cry, child)," the priest spoke, a grin stretching across his face.

"Padre, maawa po kayo," the young man trembled, his voice a chilling echo of desperation. "Maawa po kayo, wala po akong ginagawang masama." Fear painted shadows on his face, mirroring the terror that gripped him, as he faced the ominous priest in a desperate entreaty for mercy.

"Preparen, Apulten (Prepare, aim)," the priest uttered in subdued tones, their voices laden with the anticipation of imminent action. The foreign Spanish words lingered, heightening the atmosphere as the soldiers braced themselves for what lay ahead.

"Naku (Oh, no)! Pinapatay ba nila yung mga taga-bundok (Are they killing those mountain dwellers)?" Marianne gasped, lowering my hand with a forceful jolt.

"Huwag po. Maawa po kayo (No, please! Have mercy)," the young man persisted, his words pleading for mercy with an undertone of desperation.

"Fuego (Fire)!" one of the soldiers declared, the Spanish word echoing like a harbinger of doom. The ominous command, prompted by a subtle gesture from the priest, reverberated through the tense atmosphere, setting the stage for a moment of impending tragedy. The soldiers, armed and resolute, poised to execute the order, cast long shadows in the dim light, intensifying the gripping fear that permeated the scene. The young man's desperate plea lingered, drowned in the foreboding silence that preceded the impending turmoil.

"Why would they do that?" My whispered question hung in the air, the tendrils of anger slowly entwining through my veins, a silent storm brewing within.

The man crumpled to the ground, collapsing beside the lifeless body of his companion. Both bore wounds to their chests, casualties of the bullets unleashed from the priest's guns. The grim aftermath painted a tableau of tragedy on the cold pavement.

"Maging silbi sana ito sa inyong babala (May this be a warning)! Habang maaga pa ay sumuko na sa inyo ang mga miyembro ng Katipunan (It's not too late for the members of the Katipunan out there to surrender)!" the priest bellowed, then retreated.

His proclamation echoed through the air, leaving a chilling ultimatum hanging in the wake of the recent violence.

"Cuida sus cuerpos (Take care of their bodies)," he ordered.

The soldiers dragged their bodies to the edges of the road. Moans and murmurs filled the air, a haunting symphony of pain and despair surrounding me.

Once again, the people dispersed, seamlessly returning to their activities as if the harrowing events had been a fleeting disturbance in the fabric of their daily lives.

"Nasaan yung mga babaeng 'yon (Where's that woman)? Grabe sila, ah (They were so mean)," Marianne spoke, forcibly distancing her body from mine.

I took a step closer, gripping her arms to guide her back to where she should have stood.

"Ano ba, Jong (What are you doing, Jong)?" she protested, her furrowed eyebrows adding a visual layer to the confusion in her voice.

"Where are you going? Didn't you just see what happened?" I asked, my voice softening but carrying the undertone of an annoyed brother concerned for his little sister's safety.

"I'll just talk with your jowa (slang: girlfriend). You know what? She turned us to NPAs!" Marianne replied.

"What are you saying? NPAs? What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Uhhh..."

"New People's Army? Is that what you mean?" I interjected, disrupting her contemplation.

"Nasa dila ko na pero (It's right on the tip of my tongue)... yes! Yes, it is," she snapped. "How did you know?"

"I think the best question for now is what they really do?" I intervened.

"Well, they fight against the government and for the lands," she replied, a spark of recollection lighting up her eyes. "I can now remember that! That was what our professor taught us before." Marianne's words carried the resonance of remembered knowledge, linking the unfolding events to a lesson from the past... or perhaps... the future.

In that moment, the realization dawned upon me that I wasn't the sole individual who had closely studied a subject related to these unfolding events.

"Anyways, why are we still talking here? I want to find that Clara or whoever those actors are!" she snapped once more, her impatience slicing through the air. Without waiting, she walked past me, and I trailed behind, the urgency in her steps setting the pace for our quest.

"Ang galing umarte ng mga ito (They're good actors). Parang totoo na ang mga ginamit na dugo (The blood they used seems so true)," she remarked with a hint of awe as we passed by the two slain men. Marianne's observation conveyed a mix of admiration and disbelief at the convincing portrayal, the sight of faux blood adding a surreal layer to the grim scene before us.

She continued to walk as I remained for a while, observing the approaching men. They solemnly approached the two fallen figures, gently placing them on a massive cloth secured at both ends of two bamboo poles.

Beside them were mourning women, their voices filled with sorrow, lamenting the lives that had just slipped away.

"Jong!" Her voice sliced through the air, pulling my attention back. A familiar tension crept over me, the anticipation of Marianne's potential for something ridiculous tightening in the atmosphere.

I sighed and once again trailed behind her.

After a while, we finally spotted them making their way back to the mountains discreetly, careful not to draw attention. Señor Andres, carrying a basket, led the procession, followed by a gradually increasing number of men, each figure adding a layer of intrigue to the evolving tableau.

"Bumalik ka na rin sa kampo (Return to the camp as well)," a man's voice urged beside me, his words a subtle directive echoing in my ears. Turning around, I encountered a familiar face, his gaze acknowledging recognition. "Ikaw yung kasa-kasama ni Goyo, hindi ba (You're with Goyo, right)? Yung hindi nakakapagsalita (The one who doesn't speak)?"

Once again, I was rendered speechless. All I could do was offer him a smile, a silent acknowledgment in the absence of words.

"Ikaw nga iyon (That's you alright)," he added. "Bumalik na kayo roon at huwag na huwag kayong magpapakita sa kahit sino (Go back there and don't draw anyone's attention)."

He pointed towards the mountain, then swiftly lowered his hands, a non-verbal cue directing my attention to the looming peaks.

I went to Marianne and grabbed her arm. A sudden intuition compelled me to believe that we needed to go back now, for reasons yet unclear.

"Ano ba? Where are you taking me?" she asked in a loud voice, her tone marked by a mix of confusion and defiance.

Without hesitation, my hand covered her mouth once more, muffling any protests. "Shut up if you don't want to die," I whispered urgently. The urgency in my eyes conveyed the gravity of the situation as I motioned for us to return. "We need to go back now. Follow me."

I took her hand, and together we ascended, our figures blending with the shadows as we embarked on the upward journey.

"Oh! Right!" I exclaimed as we reached a spot a little distance from the village. "I don't know the directions back to the camp. Do you?"