Libing
Five men were climbing a mountain, Mount Makaturing. The reason was not important.
These five were soldiers, but only one of them had actually fought in a war.
And he thought that the other four were idiots, young and naive idiots.
There were many men back then, who thought of Mother Nature as something to be conquered, a phenomenon to be observed, or a mountain to be climbed. The old man thought of those people as either hopeless or far too young to comment on reality.
The sun beat down on the backs of these five soldiers. She was ruthless, but served as a reminder to the old man that this was the best of times.
"At least, it's not a storm." he thought.
...
Cutting through the fauna, he used his bolo, a solid iron knife similar to a machete. It was his grandfather's originally, used before to harvest rice. Passed down from farmer to soldier however, it had taken on a new role of cleaving its way through both stem, and sword.
Up ahead, the old man could hear gushing water. "Must be a river."
As the thicket and thorn of the mountain gave way to the trodden dirt road heading to the bottom of the mountain, an old man looked upwards pausing.
The sky was brown. The clouds hung low, and the birds' song had lulled into silence.
He turned around.
His glance passed over the faces of what remained of his section. Four men following him, all young fresh recruits; on their first trip;they weren't his only men, but his original squad of eight had split up to cover more ground.
"The search will have to wait."
The eldest of the four spoke up first. "Now wait a second, we can't just wait."
The old man turned to face him.
Over the past three days, the five had searched the mountain, but despite their best efforts they no one on it.
"If let up now, we might lose the him in the forest," he reasoned, "This guy is used to escaping using whatever means necessary, he'll take any advantage we give him."
The boy was brash, and ambitious--always looking for trouble. He was quick to anger--not well suited to being the eldest. The old man thought he was probably used to being the precocious brat of the group.
Still, he was gutsy, and the old man thought had a point--as painfully naive it was. Their biggest enemy wasn't going to be any person with a gun, but nature. There was no chance they could continue on in the coming weather. He hadn't realized it yet so the old man would have to explain--
"The crickets have quieted, and air has gone cold," piped the youngest. "There's going to be a thunderstorm, with lots of wind."
"Even if we camp out, he won't be able to run away if he's trapped in a mudslide."
The eldest retorted, "But, we're supposed to bring him back alive."
The clever boy turned towards the brash one.
He shot back, "Better to come back with a corpse than to become one."
This boy was clever. He always had some sort of smart remark to say about everyone, and everything. However, while his mind did work fast, the old man got the feeling that his mouth worked faster.
"I think we should just take a break," yawned the 2nd youngest. "I'd like a nice bed right now, maybe a young mestiza to go with it."
The other two glared at him.
"After all," He continued, "If we work ourselves to the bone and don't have enough energy to take this guy, then we've already lost the fight. We 'ought to head down the mountain first."
Now, this boy didn't fit with the rest of his crew. He was lazy, and complained often. Even on that day, they were delayed because he had overslept; thus, they got caught in this incoming storm.
Still he had the best sense of preservation--perhaps, he was the one most likely to stay in the army for a long time.
They all had their points. Delaying the search any further would be risky; but, they also couldn't afford to get caught in the coming storm.
They could go down the mountain and possibly even regroup with the rest of his section, but that would take time and would risk letting their target escape under their noses.
...
"It's your call, Sergeant." added the 2nd eldest.
This was a fellow that the old man had no grievances against--no complaints, no problems. The old man never seemed to disagree with him. That's what made him uneasy around him.
He couldn't fault him of course, but it always seemed like the boy never had anything to add. Whether he spoke or not, it didn't matter. He just felt quiet. He might as well have been silent.
These five were soldiers, but only one of them had actually fought in a war.
And he thought that the other four were idiots, young and naive idiots.
There were many men back then, who thought of Mother Nature as something to be conquered, a phenomenon to be observed, or a mountain to be climbed. The old man thought of those people as either hopeless or far too young to comment on reality.
The sun beat down on the backs of these five soldiers. She was ruthless, but served as a reminder to the old man that this was the best of times.
"At least, it's not a storm." he thought.
...
Cutting through the fauna, he used his bolo, a solid iron knife similar to a machete. It was his grandfather's originally, used before to harvest rice. Passed down from farmer to soldier however, it had taken on a new role of cleaving its way through both stem, and sword.
Up ahead, the old man could hear gushing water. "Must be a river."
As the thicket and thorn of the mountain gave way to the trodden dirt road heading to the bottom of the mountain, an old man looked upwards pausing.
The sky was brown. The clouds hung low, and the birds' song had lulled into silence.
He turned around.
His glance passed over the faces of what remained of his section. Four men following him, all young fresh recruits; on their first trip;they weren't his only men, but his original squad of eight had split up to cover more ground.
"The search will have to wait."
The eldest of the four spoke up first. "Now wait a second, we can't just wait."
The old man turned to face him.
Over the past three days, the five had searched the mountain, but despite their best efforts they no one on it.
"If let up now, we might lose the him in the forest," he reasoned, "This guy is used to escaping using whatever means necessary, he'll take any advantage we give him."
The boy was brash, and ambitious--always looking for trouble. He was quick to anger--not well suited to being the eldest. The old man thought he was probably used to being the precocious brat of the group.
Still, he was gutsy, and the old man thought had a point--as painfully naive it was. Their biggest enemy wasn't going to be any person with a gun, but nature. There was no chance they could continue on in the coming weather. He hadn't realized it yet so the old man would have to explain--
"The crickets have quieted, and air has gone cold," piped the youngest. "There's going to be a thunderstorm, with lots of wind."
"Even if we camp out, he won't be able to run away if he's trapped in a mudslide."
The eldest retorted, "But, we're supposed to bring him back alive."
The clever boy turned towards the brash one.
He shot back, "Better to come back with a corpse than to become one."
This boy was clever. He always had some sort of smart remark to say about everyone, and everything. However, while his mind did work fast, the old man got the feeling that his mouth worked faster.
"I think we should just take a break," yawned the 2nd youngest. "I'd like a nice bed right now, maybe a young mestiza to go with it."
The other two glared at him.
"After all," He continued, "If we work ourselves to the bone and don't have enough energy to take this guy, then we've already lost the fight. We 'ought to head down the mountain first."
Now, this boy didn't fit with the rest of his crew. He was lazy, and complained often. Even on that day, they were delayed because he had overslept; thus, they got caught in this incoming storm.
Still he had the best sense of preservation--perhaps, he was the one most likely to stay in the army for a long time.
They all had their points. Delaying the search any further would be risky; but, they also couldn't afford to get caught in the coming storm.
They could go down the mountain and possibly even regroup with the rest of his section, but that would take time and would risk letting their target escape under their noses.
...
"It's your call, Sergeant." added the 2nd eldest.
This was a fellow that the old man had no grievances against--no complaints, no problems. The old man never seemed to disagree with him. That's what made him uneasy around him.
He couldn't fault him of course, but it always seemed like the boy never had anything to add. Whether he spoke or not, it didn't matter. He just felt quiet. He might as well have been silent.