The Desolation

Fiction by Marianne Villanueva. "A long train of people, laden with all their earthly belongings, began to seep out of the city. The few who remained had chosen to fight."

April 1942

The day after Wainwright surrendered, Honorato was sent to the mountains. He had just turned eighteen. His father, Don Geronimo, worried that Honorato would attract attention—not simply because he was tall or good-looking, but because he was the eldest son, and bore the hopes of his parents on his slender shoulders.

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They had planned the route together, Don Geronimo and the enkargado. They had kept their plans a secret, even from Honorato’s mother, Doña Aurora. Even from Honorato.

Years and years afterward, Honorato would try to imagine the scene when his father summoned Moses. Moses, bare headed, would be standing in front of the amo’s mahogany desk, his salakot dangling from one hand. He would have come straight from the farms. He would not have had time to change into what he usually wore when visiting the amo: his one white shirt, his good shoes, shoes that had once belonged to Honorato until a day when he’d left them out in the rain.