Bryan Corpuz walks along the road barely aware of the passing vehicles. Two things bother him. The first is his lack of money. The second is the death of Brigadier General Delos Reyes.
The young man is on his way to a drugstore, in the public market of Tacurong, where he is supposed to buy a week’s worth of medicine for his diabetic father. The money in his pocket, however, is not even half of the amount he needs. When he comes back home later, he might have to explain why. He might have to tell his parents that he is not just on a month-end break; he has gone AWOL from service. He is a soldier no more.
The other thing bothering Bryan is the same news that has shocked the nation. General Delos Reyes, the highest-ranking finance officer in the army, was found dead in a hotel in Makati this morning. The official had been involved in a massive corruption scandal, and he was scheduled to appear in the Senate hearing today. With his death, he took with him the dark secrets of the armed forces, and Bryan’s last hope of being called back for duty.
Bryan is so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice a white van pull up right in front of him. He’s surprised when the door opens and two armed men step out of the vehicle.
“Get in,” one of the men tells him.
The strangers need not use threatening words. They need not brandish or point their guns at him. Having been a soldier, Bryan knows what weapons can do. As though the men are just his pals giving him a ride, he steps inside the vehicle without a word.
If you must know, The Feud began because of the mango tree, the mango tree that stood between our house and the Lopezes’ house. Well, not quite in between. You see, if old lady Mameris — from whom we had bought the houses — had only planted the tree right smack along the property line, then there might not have been any trouble to begin with. I think that might have been her plan. As things turned out, the tree took root a few feet inside the Lopezes’ garden.
The sea of ashes has pervaded my dreams for the the third time this week. The dream always took place near dawn. I was on a floating platform, standing on a pile of ashes. When I tried to scoop water from the the scarlet sea, a pair of badly burned hands dragged me down. I always woke up with that feeling that I was already consumed by fire. I thought that this was my subconscious telling me to get home quickly, especially now that my Mother had just died.
August 18, 1992. Saturday. 12 noon. Matt was still in his office preparing papers for an upcoming conference. Despite the lunch hour, Matt was still hard at work… as always.
“Wait!”