Diwata

Soiled
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2003-02-14 05:51:53 (UTC)

who are they

I COULD not sleep very well that night. The weight of what
Paolo told us consumed me. Enrique's words came to mind:
that night when he told me that priests were not poor and
they were definitely not chaste. And yes, Noel's words were
also in my mind. THey weighed heavily in my heart. I had
not talked to Enrique about them.

Finally I sank into sleep. A shallow, fitful sleep that was
filled with dreams, or perhaps, nightmares.

A shout woke the house the next morning. I bolted upright
on my cot and rushed out to see what was going on. My heart
was pounding when I opened the door.

Father, Mother, and Paolo were already awake and they too
were shouting.

"He has not done anything wrong!" Paolo yelled. "Let him
go!"

I came out and saw men with guns on their hands. Some of
them were smiling. Some of them looked grim. One man was
holding Enrique down on the floor while another was tying
his hands behind his back.

I was filled with dread. "Where are you taking him?" I
cried, my voice shrill even to my own ears.

Most of the men looked at me and seemed to strip me of my
clothing, my dignity, and everything else that covered me.
I was afraid.

"Your loverboy here is going on a vacation," one of the men
sneered.

"I shook. "No. No...No!" I lunged forward to where my
beloved lay.

But before I could reach him, one of the men grabbed me and
pushed me against the wall. "There is no point, hija," he
rasped, his breath foul against my face. His body pressed
closely to mine. "If you want some loving, I'm here." He
kissed me hard on the mouth.

Enrique roared. "Don't touch her!"

A man hit his head with the butt of his gun. Enrique's head
thudded back on the floor. He grimaced, pain and fear on
his face.

The man who held me let me go. I was intears. "Please!" I
begged. "Don't take him! Don't take him!"

One of the men pulled Enrique to his feet. My love, my
husband, his eyes locked with mine. "I love you," he
mouthed. He was trembling.

I started to cry, really cry. "I love you," I sobbed. "I
love you!"

They pulled him out of our home and forcefully placed him
inside a van with dark windows. Some of the armed men rode
in the same van. Others rode in different vehicles. There
were so many of them.

They drove away. I was left standing at the door with my
family. My knees felt weak and I could not stop my wails
from coming out.

"Ate," Paolo said tentatively, placing a hand on my
shoulder.

"What are they going to do to him?" I sobbed, my breath
coming in short, shallow takes. "Who are they Paolo? Who
are they?!"

"Oh Ate." Paolo's voice broke. His eyes filled with tears.

He hugged me and I continued to cry, my heart thrashing in
my chest. I did not see Father who began to smoke, his
eyes, open with worry and fear, staring off into space.


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