CHAPTER 12 - BROWN SHIRT UNLEASHED

Chapter 12

Brown Shirt Unleashed

(Statistics is just like a bathing suit. It hides the essentials.

(That's the official number of casualties from Amnesty International -AI-. Retrieved 07012-2022)

Jojo, his sacristan, has not been back in the convent giving Fr. Driarco insecurity. Leaving Abel, Jojo's sacristan in the convent, the young priest explored whatever happened.

"Where has he been?" All he could remember was permission granted for swimming in a river nearby with Roger, another sacristan. Surprisingly, he too did not return home. Nang Sisa and Nong Celso, Roger's parents came over and narrated the predicament to the priest but to no avail. They could not trace their whereabouts. They probably went together hunting after swimming and might have lost their way back home. But how could it be given their familiarity with the forest? They would soon be back, a concerned parishioner said to appease their travails and woes of the priest and immediate family. One, two, three, and four days passed and there were no indications either of the two let alone their shadows coming back escalating Fr. Driarco's suspicion of evil might have renewed its round of extinction killing innocent people at will without a trace.

. . . . . . . . . .

Checking for himself the bottom line, he took the challenge of following Jojo's route at San Isidro mighty river.

"If after swimming they proceeded hunting then at least a word was left to him to that effect. But none learning too Jojo's character."

Suddenly, the thought that Jojo's declaration to act as a vital witness of Mang Clineo's brutal murder should the case would be revived crossed his mind.

"That could be it," he said scampering for needed direction towards where the innocent ill-fated sacristans might have been washed away or drowned.

"Possible, remembering how Mayor Torres and his men were throwing those sinister looks last Sunday's first mass in the chapel. Was his gaze portent of doom that same day suggesting harassment hatched against innocent church workers in the parish? Not far-fetched idea considering the unpredictability of the Mayor."

"I erred in my suspicion of them. It's Jojo they were after not me," the thought lingering in his mind sent a shiver down his spine.

With Jojo out, at least the probability of murdering him comes in handy from the equation securing his pedestal in the prohibitive political arena comes election.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The wind was furious creating a murmuring sound at the San Isidro river. This as onrushing water upstream crashes against rocks filed downstream creating hard impact water spilling out splashing into the air. Fr. Driarco alighted from an assembled renegade jeep by his lonesome self to check whatever mystery there is surrounding the latest incident in his parish.

"If he was drowned to death he should just be somewhere, his body tossed back and forth by big waves floating in the sea as the river passes by through tributary before emptying its way to the sea. But so far, no single fisherman informed him of such incident in the convent," he pondered but apprehensive.

"He must be somewhere," he uttered surveying the panoramic view of the river, wading through a dry rocky road by the river. Dubbed as one of the cleanest in the Region revealed lately from a result of the Provincial Evaluation Team, the flood spilled on its mighty current might have sullied such honor and reputation.

From afar where he stood in the middle of the river was a solid bamboo post protruding inviting his curiosity. It's no ordinary post. Tied to its tip was a white handkerchief as if beckoning him to come and see what is printed indelibly on it. Swimming across the channel midway through the river he struggled to fight his way against the strong current towards the post.

"Jojo must just be somewhere within the perimeter or periphery of the river," he said breathing his green Taxco sandals seen lying on the ground. Getting hold of the post, he reached for the white handkerchief. And lo and alas the cryptic words 'You're next!' sending goosebumps met his eyes. Taking the cue, he swam deeper below the base of the post. Lo, the dead body of Jojo dangling from a wire his neck tied to the post, and two huge rocks tied to his two feet his chest bearing two gunshots wounding essential organs fatally ending his dear life.

"Another heinous crime committed against an ordinary church worker in Esperanza," Fr. Driarco whined.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Run!" Roger recanted later how Jojo advised him to leave him from their abductors to save himself.

"They wore bonnets, medium built armed with two pistols with a silencer." That's the way how they killed innocent Jojo crying for help, Fr. Driarco learned later. What a metaphor and an application to his homily last Sunday.

"It's all that he could manage during that incident," Roger revealed leaving Jojo unperturbed alone with their abductors he could not entirely identify as darkness engulfed them that night.

Mayor Torres' men hit Roger on the arm but it did not dampen his resolve to seek cover saving his life even though blood was profusely gushing out freely from his arm.

"He collapsed into my arms arriving here," the parents Lando and Sisa told the young priest.

Asked whether he would go down back to serve him in the convent, Roger was speechless. Fr. Driarco didn't mind not forcing the issue but he is welcome all the time. Maybe not for now given the tension the incident created. But Roger revealed his take.

"The Mayor and his men are still there. They are after my neck too having failed once. I know they would be coming back. That's for sure."

"Some other time maybe. I'll just let you know when I'm ready."

"You'd be the first person to know anyway because if you don't mind, I'd like you to take over Jojo's place in the convent as Sacristan Mayor. Besides I know I would be relatively safer there," Roger declared bothering Fr. Driarco.

"Welcome and be my guest," he answered wryly nonetheless.

"How could it be safer when Jojo was dead in the weirdest manner yet," the young priest thought bothered more than ever.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Days, weeks, and months passed nothing happened in the case of Jojo. The longer the days passed, the longer and deafening the silence. But not to Driarco in the convent. The longer the days passed the harder his suffering. Each night was sleepless and the longest night for the young Catholic priest. It's been many years since his father's unsolved murder happened. Now Jojo was added to the list. Roger was almost. The list goes on ad infinitum. Their sordid fate keeps playing on his mind requesting a familiar plea seeking justice.

Meanwhile, unsolved cold-blooded murder has saturated practically all over Marble county. Most of those liquidated were leaders of the community's association. This was not surprising as non-government organizations have been established everywhere to protect the environment incidentally blessed with natural resources – eco-tourism industry notably in Nyusbia, Molborn, one of its kind in Asia given the pristine waters springing from the bosom of mother earth; there's also Mt. Guitinguiting, the favorite trek of mountain climbers; cleanest, orderly and safest Catingas river. Of course, there is a marble industry, a feast for every visitor coming to the province.

It's weird but dead bodies were dumped just everywhere from the cliff, along the road, and anywhere else each one bearing a hole on their heads!

To aggravate the situation, Danny who had been very critical in the municipal council forum did not complete his second term in office. The death threat he received from his implacable crusade for transparency assailing the Mayor was served albeit not completed. Good, he survived an assassination attempt so he could still tell the world how ruthless their town Mayor is. The second attempt however was fatal ending finally his impossible dream of serving his constituents in Esperanza. The incident was unsolicited and happened in a cockfight arena.

"If by giving my life for the people is the demand of those who were around him, so be it," Fr. Driarco now remembered Danny revealing his bravery and courage.

True enough, Danny got what he wanted. The issue revolved around the brutal killing of Nong Cervantes felled inside a cockpit arena by one of Mayor Torres' policemen. The incident was very fast that before he could demand the payment from the policeman having won the cockfight, his body was felled down from a gunshot right on his forehead. People around were running berserk for cover during the incident. Danny at that time was there. Nobody dared to act as a witness. He did only get hit too from the same assailant which caused later his untimely death.

"I was there and saw the ruthless policeman pumping the bullet on the old man's forehead dropping to the ground dead," he remembered a bystander retelling the gory murder of his younger brother.

And indeed, it proved his last straw witnessing the incident in court. Since then, no one challenged the Mayor and or his men in court for fear that their bodies could only become additional fertilizers of the mother earth.

"If they could do it to a public servant how much more to a lowly blameless mere common tao," Fr. Driarco heard people griping. Unknown though to all people in the municipality. The cold-blooded murder of Danny in a cockpit arena was a valid excuse for the Mayor through his police gun man wiping out any possible pretender to the throne given the popularity of the opposition.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Victoria's death was another sorry incident giving a bigger blow to Fr. Driarco and his family. This time the suspects were the most unlikely – the New Peoples' Army or the NPA belonging to another side of the political spectrum.

She was a resident nurse at Roxas, Oriental Mindoro and all the while was planning to stay for good. Hers was a work of love having decided to just serve instead the local settlers abandoning her original desire of going abroad. In truth though, the lovestruck she got from an engineer changed everything on her mind. Twist of the event however unable to see her only daughter growing up when she was killed in an ambush wrongly staged by the NPAs. It was indeed a very costly mistake committed by the rebels.

The story has it that Victoria was in Calapan, Oriental Mindoro that time getting the December bonus and buying Christmas items for her officemates and family at Roxas City. While in the terminal, their ambulance took her for a ride she readily consented to be with other employees going home. That day the provincial commanders had their important conference there. Monitored by the reds and mistakenly thought to have ridden that ambulance back to their base in Roxas, Oriental Mindoro, they staged an ambush along the way somewhere. Unfortunately, the second group of rebels on alert did not receive the radio message of the first group giving clearance for the ill-fated ambulance to pass through There at a junction many kilometers before the destination, the hail of bullets rained the vehicle killing first the driver and the rest. Among those killed instantly was Victoria.

"Sorry po mam'" the rebels even asked for an apology realizing their mistake later to one survivor.

"You, assholes! Why do you have to implicate us, ordinary tax-paying civilians, in your war against the military," said Victoria's co-passenger writhing in pain blood dropping to the ground from her shoulder.

"The rebels did acknowledge their mistakes and even offered financial help to me. But I was not still disposed to talking the deal that time. It was Christmas," Rigor, Victoria's husband said bitterly.

Victoria was gone leaving Donna under his care behind, a double whammy indeed to the young widowed husband.

. . . . . . . . . .

Looking at his wall clock, it was now daybreak exactly one o'clock in the morning. Surprisingly, Abel, one of his trusted sacristans called his name downstairs saying that two visitors were on emergency wanting very badly his services officiating holy unction of a dying patient, an invitation any priest would always offer. Soon Baldo and Bobo opened fire against what seemed to be the figure of the young Catholic priest as he went out from his study room to the balcony. The bullets were swift felling down the priest's body. Alas to their surprise however it was Driarco's dummy all they got.

"Good grief boys. You're finally hooked," uttered Fr. Driarco hitting both once on their chest. 'Golden rule' was the last words the two assassins heard from the priest before they passed out.

Save for the muted sounds emitted by his .38 Magnum pistol with silencer nothing was ever heard inside the convent.

Restiveness was in high gear at Esperanza after the incident. This story revealed two people damped dead at the edge of the river. It was hard solving the case because there were no willing witnesses to give material evidence. How could a case stand in Court anyway given the mystery surrounding the incident? That unless Abel would stand as witness having been there seeing the incident happen right inside the convent that ungodly hour yet.

"Who could have done this must be geniuses!" Mayor Torres fumed learning about the incident their dead bodies retrieved from that river yet playing in his mind.

The score is even but the momentum shifted to the Catholic priest. The Mayor is now reeling about how to handle the pressure.

. . . . . . . . . .

Saying the Mass, the following morning, Fr. Driarco noticed the absence of the Mayor. Roger, a replacement of Abel who was not heard of since last night, served as head sacristan.

"Something wrong must have happened to the special parishioner," he thought.

At San Isidro river, a fisherman inadvertently fished out one more body frozen his eyes almost gorged out dangling from their sockets. Must have been feasted by catfish as the body was almost beyond recognition as if left over by crocodiles. It was the remains of Abel! Fr. Driarco bit his lips hearing the news.

"Why and who was responsible for his erstwhile Sacristan Mayor's death?"

And the most sensitive question: "What's his role in the other night's incident."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hearing the bad news that morning, made the Honorable Mayor sick and disoriented realizing that his men were dead one after the other.

"Who could have done this? The priest? No. He was right in the convent all night long and was still in the church saying the mass the following morning," he learned. The war of nerve was on. Romero, the fisherman who fished out Abel's dead body from his fishing net, was the early visitor of the Mayor that morning handing over a small cartoon wrapped in a plastic bag. Opening it revealed a dead-skinned American frog with a jumbo bold Pentel pen message written 'Mayor T, you're next!"

. . . . . . . . . . .

Driarco making use of time tried squeezing his creative juice while writing a poem.

Esperanza

O how fast the days were

seems like a vanishing comet

flying in the thin air

Where have all the birds gone?

Why did all their nests fall to the ground?

When all restlessness cease?

among my people, He said 'little ones'

Look what happened to this once sleepy town

You shattered it into bits and pieces

causing severe pain people one after another drowned.

Where have all our people's money gone

Must our people bear the brunt

When do we allow lasting peace to reign?

While there's still time or we have gone.

Dry your teary eyes Esperanza

The Sun on the horizon will still shine

Momentarily take care of abandoned children

Use school if need be as a temporary dwelling.

How many more lives should we offer?

To this senseless war of one nation, color and race

How many more fathers and mothers would be in pain and anguished?

Friends answered them. Isn't it you too my brother's keeper?

It was a good break hoping it would exorcise the bad spirit from the harrowing experience the town suffered. The poem was couched in simple language. He thought at least "Peace" should always be instilled among different stakeholders to secure liberation and fulfillment.

"I'm sure even layman would understand it," he repeated reviewing the cadence and music of his Obra.

"Never mind the lines, the message you're driving across is important and what counts."

. . . . . . . . . .

Meanwhile, three separate knocks on his door caught him by surprise.

"Good day father. Sorry disturbing you," a policeman said.

"We bring Warrant of Arrest issued by Judge Silva of RTC...."

"What for?"

"Death of ...,"

"Killing whom?" Fr. Driarco explored and insisted.

"Abel! As already reported, his dead body was found by a fisherman the other day with a single shot inflicted on his head ...."

"Must have been murdered the night before." The Chief of Police said.

"Your prime suspect?"

"You .... "

The benefits of doubt swayed back this time to Fr. Driarco. The poor priest was speechless!

. . . . . . . . . . .