When the Elephants Dance Read Free Page A

my fingers to my lips and hold my hand there.
    “Puta ang iná mo!”
Roderick yells—Your mother is a whore!—and shoves at the man’s stomach with all his might.
    “Rod!” I shout.
    It is silent. The Makapili tries to smooth his face. In his eyes is a look of furious disbelief. The Japanese study my brother. I stare at the sharp bayonets, unable to breathe. My chest folds inward and I glance quickly at all the faces. A soldier begins to laugh, and the others join him. They throw their heads back and laugh from the belly.
    The Makapili moves toward Roderick, who has his fists up. I step forward, but the Japanese soldier puts out a hand and waves us on. “Go.”
    Roderick’s tears are streaming. He reaches for the cigarettes, but the Makapili blocks him with a rifle. “I will keep these.”
    “Our father is sick. I need the cigarillos to trade for quinine,” I tell him. I memorize the Makapili’s face.
    “What? What?” The Japanese slants his head.
    “Quinine. I need these to trade. My father is sick,” I repeat, trying to keep the anger from my voice.
    “Leave here,” the Japanese tells me. He turns and barks something to one of the soldiers. The soldier returns with a glass container the size of my little finger. “Take medicine. Go. You take.”
    I look at them suspiciously. They nudge one another. I give the basket of cigarettes one last look, then urge Roderick away.
    They watch as we go. When we are down the road, Rod raises his arm and wipes his eyes. “They do not even know what Domingo looks like.”
    “Shh. Do not speak his name, even at this distance.”
    “Is that any good, you think?” He nods toward my fist.
    “I don’t know,” I answer. I throw the container far into a ditch. It makes no sound as it lands. A hundred flies lift in the shape of a fishing net and settle again.
    We hurry back, cutting closer into the heart of the city, ducking from building to building. The sounds of gunfire rattle like a drumbeat. We keep our eyes up for snipers. We are almost at the end of the street when we hear running footsteps, and suddenly my chest is hit by a force. A body has collided with us, and we tumble. My head hits the stone floor, and I feel it swell immediately. Roderick moans nearby, and I call out his name.
    “Kuya?”
he says groggily. Big brother?
    I look around in confusion. There is a boy crumpled next to us. His face isdripping with sweat. There is blood on his cheeks, and his neck is covered in red. His shirt is soaked and sticks to his body. I recognize his eyes, and then the face becomes familiar. It is Necessito Aguinaldo, an older classmate.
    “Nesto, you have been hit.” I point to where the blood is darkest, near his belly.
    He looks down at his shirt in surprise, then shakes violently. “No. Give me your shirt.”
    “What?” I ask.
    “You have two,” he says, breathing hard.
    “He hit his head too hard.” Roderick watches Necessito.
    Nesto shakes his head. “Alejandro, give me your shirt. They are coming for me. I am not bleeding. It is not my blood. He has hurt my family for the last time.”
    “Who has hurt you?” I ask.
    “Give me your shirt.” He tugs at my sleeve.
    I am wearing two shirts, one short-sleeved over one with longer sleeves. “Hurry, Alejandro.” He stomps his foot and pulls off his bloody shirt. There are tears in his voice.
    I give him a shirt, and he pulls it quickly over his head. He looks around fearfully. His eyes fill with tears.
    “Here they come. Here they come. Oh, my God! Run!” Nesto shouts. The sound of many feet pound the cobblestone. Nesto turns and runs in the opposite direction.
    We watch him flee. My body shakes for him. He does not get far. There is another barricade at the end of the street. The Japanese soldiers hold up their hands, gesturing for him to halt.
    I urge my brother away. “There is nothing more we can do.” I watch as Nesto walks toward them. He drags his feet.
Run. Run
, my mind calls out to him. Nesto