Love Beyond: Walang Hanggang Pagmamahal

by Grant Leishman

  Now that he had come to terms with his situation, his thoughts drifted to Minda, the young, vulnerable, almost woman, who also was faced with being hunted for the rest of her life. How on earth did she get tied up with the rebels? he thought. She should be just starting to enjoy the fruits of her womanhood, not chasing around the countryside trying to kill Spanish soldiers and blow up their encampments. Yes, indeed, he thought, looking over at her sleeping form, we have an awful lot to talk about when you wake up, my little one.

  With the merest hint of a dawn creeping over the eastern horizon, and a fractional lightening of the sky, Hernando decided he definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep at all, so he might as well get up and prepare for when Minda awakened. He still had some food in his saddlebags from his previous visit here, so they would be okay for nourishment, at least for a while. In the half-light of the moon and the slowly brightening sky, he looked down at himself and realised, for the first time, he was covered in blood. It was all over his hands, his clothes and he surmised, probably his face. Not wanting her to awaken and see him in such a state, he jumped up and ran down to the river, where he dived headlong into the rushing current. Once he had stabilised himself, with his feet firmly set, on the rocky, river-bed, he set about trying to clean himself up. The freezing cold water blew any last vestiges of tiredness away and he revelled in the cleanliness the rushing water brought to him. He couldn’t help but think; it was like washing away his sins, expunging his past, in the crisp, mountain waters of a land thousands of miles from his homeland, his heritage. This truly was a cathartic experience for him. By the time he emerged from the water, clean, refreshed and renewed, he was no longer, Captain Hernando Abreu, Spanish aristocrat and nobleman. He was now just plain Hernando, lover and future husband to his Filipina fiancée and… rebel? He chuckled to himself at this last thought. What would my dear, old father say, if he could see me now?

  Minda was still sound asleep when he arrived back at the tree, so he set about building a small fire to heat up the stew he had brought with him. As he stacked the grass and small twigs within the stone circle that he had made the last time he was here, he heard a rustle and stirring from the direction of Minda’s sleeping position. “Good morning, my darling,” her beautiful voice echoed across the plains. He grinned at how much her soft, melodious tones made his heart race.

  Turning his head he replied, “morning, Sleeping Beauty, time to get your butt up and help me cook breakfast, eh?”

  She tossed her head imperiously, “cook breakfast, Hernando? Cook breakfast? Spanish ladies do not cook breakfast… do they?” she added uncertainly.

  He threw his head back in the air and laughed uproariously. Minda liked the sound of that laugh. It was so carefree, so full of life and joy. “Hahaha!” he guffawed. “My lady, if you want to survive, you are going to have to go native and do what the local Filipina ladies have to do. No Spanish high-falutin’ ways for you, my little minx.”

  Minda laughed aloud with him. “As you wish, my Lord,” she replied, before adding, “I am at your command.” She jumped to her feet and ran over to the fire, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Good morning my Lord, this is the first day of the rest of our lives, no?”

  Hernando grabbed both her cheeks with his hands and gazed into her deep, brown eyes, his heart overflowing with love for this beautiful woman. He sighed contentedly when he saw his love reflected back in her eyes. He knew in his heart of hearts that their time together might be limited. They were now both wanted people and he had no doubt Commandante de la Plage would leave no stone unturned in his hunt for the fugitives. He determined, right at that moment, to make the most of every precious moment they had together. There would be no looking back and no planning for the future. They would live every day as if it were their last – for indeed, it may well be. “I love you, Minda,” he sighed, before kissing her passionately. As she responded to his caresses, the breakfast stew boiled away, unnoticed, the couple having no compunction or inhibitions about making love right there, out in the open. For a brief time, they truly were the only people alive on this earth and nothing mattered but their frenzied coupling.

  Afterward, they lay side-by-side, basking in the fire’s comforting warmth in the early morning crispness. Hernando propped himself up on his elbow, one hand cupping his chin. “Minda, how did you come to be involved with the rebels?”

  She scrunched her nose up at his question and looked at him quizzically. “Can I really tell you about them, honey? Aren’t you technically still the enemy?” She chuckled softly just to assure him she was joking. A serious frown replaced her happy look as she sat upright and tried to explain to her Spanish lover why she hated the Spaniards so much. Overcome with passion, for her subject, she rushed onward telling Hernando about the Rizal poem and how it had changed everything in her mind. She also reminded him of the evil friars and their hypocritical ways. She finished by telling him the story of Arturo and how she was accepted into the KKK despite the fact she was a woman. At the mention of Arturo’s role in the escapade, Hernando’s face clouded over.

  He interrupted her speech. “So, what you are saying is you are engaged to this Arturo fellow? Is that what you’re telling me?” he snapped, just a little too harshly.

  “Oh, Hernando, my darling, it was just a ruse, so I could be accepted into the revolutionaries.” Angry at his presumption, she snapped back at him, “Of course, I don’t love Artie, I love you. What sort of girl do you think I am? Would I sleep with you if I didn’t love you? I’m not a whore, you know?” She slapped him across the face and jumping to her feet ran down to the river where she plonked herself on the pebbly edge, dangling her feet into the water, tears streaming down her face. She felt, rather than heard, him come up behind her and was relieved when he placed his arms around her neck and pulled her gently back, kissing the tears away from her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, my love. I’m so, so, sorry. Of course, I know you only love me…” he grinned. “But, you know, this Spanish macho thing sometimes takes control of me and I lose my mind.” Serious now, he looked deep into her eyes. “Trust me when I say, you are my one and only and forever will be. We are together now… till death do us part.”

  Minda shivered at the last sentence. “Till, death do us part,” she said softly, “till death do us part. That may be very soon, mightn’t it, darling?”

  Although he nodded gently to her he added, “maybe honey, maybe, but I’ll tell you something, for nothing. We are going to go down fighting if we are going to go down.” Suddenly he made a snap decision and surprised even himself when he declared; “Honey! I want to join the KKK. I want to fight alongside you and your comrades for a free Philippines – free from those accursed Spaniards,” the last sentence, accompanied by a chuckle.

  She looked at him, as if with fresh eyes. A Spaniard fighting for the KKK? Hmmmm, and a Spanish Captain and aristocrat, to boot. Well, wouldn’t that be one in the eye for the Spanish; very embarrassing, to say the least. “Oh, Hernando, I think that is an incredible idea. What a brave and clever man you really are. Wow, we will be together for all time. We will fight side by side and when the Philippines is finally free of the yoke, you, my darling Hernando, my wonderful hero, you will be a legend of the revolution. One day they will erect statues to your name. ‘The Rebel Captain’ they will call you. Oh my God, darling, I can see it all now.”

  Hernando roared with throaty laughter. “Now, don’t get too carried away my love. I haven’t done anything heroic yet.”

  “Ah, but you will my darling, but you will. We will go down in history as the legendary husband and wife revolutionaries. Hernando and Minda de Abreu, fighting for freedom…” Her voice trailed off as she realised what she had said and prayed Hernando had not picked up on her words.

  “Mmmm, husband and wife team? Now, I do like the sound of that.” He rubbed his chin and tugged absentmindedly on his beard. “How can we manage to do that? Who could possibly marry us? Certainly
not any priests that I’ve come across since I’ve been here.”

  She clapped her hands together and jumped up, spinning around in a circle. “Captain Hernando de Abreu, did you just propose to me?”

  Grinning, he continued to rub his chin, “well, yes, I did actually, yes.” He pushed himself off the ground and knelt, on one knee, in front of the still prancing and twirling young woman. “Luzviminda Torres, will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife and making me the happiest man in all of The Philippines. No damn it! Scratch that. The happiest man in all of the world.”

  Without ceasing her twirling and jumping, Luzviminda replied with a single word, repeated over and over again. “YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!” Perhaps a little dizzy, or maybe just overcome with the emotion of the occasion, she slumped to the ground where Hernando caught her, kissed her and caressed her to the point where neither could hold back anymore and they made love yet again.

  Following a quick naked swim in the river, the pair dressed and sat together by the now dying fire to discuss what to do next. They both understood that they had to be at great pains not to be spotted by anyone. Hernando was well aware that there were informants in the town who would quite readily give up their own people, to the Spanish military, for favourable treatment. He related to Minda several occasions where he, himself, had been fed intelligence by townsfolk. He remembered being shocked by the willingness of people to collaborate, but of course, the Spanish were always grateful for any information they could receive about the rebels’ movements. Minda was horrified to learn of these collaborators and demanded Hernando give her their names. He assured her he would be more than happy to explain to the rebel leaders who the traitors in their midst were. They did disagree as to their next course of action, though.

  Minda was adamant she alone, should make contact with the rebel leaders and explain to them that Hernando was prepared to switch sides and fight for the rebels. “Honey, let’s face it, they’re going to be incredibly suspicious of you, to begin with. God, if we turned up together, who knows what might happen? They might even shoot you on sight… and me too, for that matter. No, it makes sense for me to go on my own. I know I can convince them of your loyalty and your desire to help.”

  Hernando still wanted them to go together, though, despite the logic of what she was saying. Secretly he was worried that the rebel leaders might be doubtful of Minda’s own loyalty. After all, she had been captured and interrogated by the Spanish. They may wonder if she had been turned by them and was now a double-agent. Even she had to concede that was a possibility. “Honey, if we go together and it all turns nasty, I need to be there to help you and save you from your own people,” he argued. Deep down inside, Hernando wondered if there was a tiny, little bit of him that simply didn’t want Minda to be alone with this Arturo character. Engaged were they? Damn him! I’m not leaving my woman alone with a man who thinks he’s engaged to her. No how, no way. They discussed the options back and forth for most of the morning and it was lunchtime before they finally reached a compromise.

  They would go to the rebel farmhouse together and Hernando would stay just at the edge of the rice fields under the trees and wait for her to return, after visiting with the rebels. If she didn’t arrive back at his hiding place within one hour, he would ride in, all guns blazing, to rescue her. It seemed the perfect compromise and after a quick lunch of cold stew, they packed their bags, jumped on the horse and headed for the remote farmhouse.

  Once Hernando had found a perfect spot to wait, under a shading tree, with a large thicket of brambles, in front, to protect him from being seen, Minda was ready to enter the ‘lion’s den’. The couple embraced as if it would be their last time and he whispered to her, “remember my love; I will be with you always, no matter what.” He kissed her furiously one last time before sending her on her way with a gentle rejoinder. “One hour and then I’m coming for you. Don’t forget – just one hour. Okay?”

  Minda nodded her head, gave him one last, quick peck on the cheek and strode purposefully out along the pilapil (the raised embankment between the rice fields), towards the farmhouse. Hernando watched her all the way until she disappeared inside the farmhouse door. With a feeling of intense anguish and worry he sat down under the tree to try and fill in the time before the hour elapsed, or Minda returned.

  ***

  HERNANDO:

  Despite the shade offered by the trees, it was an incredibly hot afternoon and combined with the nervous tension and the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours, Hernando found himself, unintentionally, beginning to drift off, as he waited for word from Minda.

  He thought he had only slept for a few minutes, but still chided himself for his inattentiveness. I need to stay alert and awake, he reminded himself, in case she needs me. He glanced up at the distant farmhouse. He could see movement around the property but was relaxed when he noted nobody seemed particularly agitated or rushing around, as if there was a problem. Besides, he thought, I have immense faith in Minda’s ability to convince anyone of anything. Not for the first time, he marvelled at the fact he’d found such a wonderful woman to be with and eventually to call his wife. I’m a lucky man, he reminded himself.

  As he watched, his thoughts drifted back to his father and home. He knew they wouldn’t receive any news of Hernando’s desertion for several weeks, but he couldn’t help but wonder what his father would make of it all. Shame would be the predominant emotion he was sure. I have brought immense shame on the Alvarez de Abreu name. He chuckled softly. And you know something; I really don’t give a shit about it. He smiled as he pictured his father standing up in Parliament and trying to explain how his second son was not only a traitor to Spain and the Empire but worse than that, was actually fighting for the rebels against the brave Spanish soldiers. Yes, it would undoubtedly be the end of his long and till now, distinguished political career. Hernando guessed he would have to retire gracefully to his country seat. Then it struck him. Bloody hell, he thought, Queen Maria Christina might even strip father of his land and his titles over Hernando’s treachery. Giving it some thought, he considered that to be very unlikely, given his father’s sterling service for the government over the years.

  Personally, Hernando couldn’t give a stuff about what happened to his father – as far as he was concerned, the cold, calculating, old bastard deserved everything he got. But, what about his older, twin brother, Juan Carlos? Juan and he had not been as close, growing up, as twins often are. The knowledge that Juan was the favoured one and would receive all, upon their father’s death, was instilled into the young boys at a very early age. Juan received everything – the best nannies, the best tutors, the finest clothes and the best friends. Hernando had quickly become used to picking up the leftovers or the second-best. To be fair, though, he never blamed Juan for that situation – it was not his doing. He, therefore, still felt a filial responsibility to his twin brother, for his actions.

  If the Queen strips the family of its birth-right and its heritage, whatever will Juan do? He’s not really trained for anything other than being landed aristocracy. He knows how to hunt, to drink, to gamble, and to lay gorgeous women, but I’m pretty sure there’s little call for those skills in today’s Spanish job market. He consoled himself with the thought that perhaps Papa’s friends would help out. After all, over a lifetime of Government service, he must certainly have made some contacts that will stick by the family and assist them. They surely can’t have all been fair-weather friends? Ah well, he decided, what will be, will be. The die has been cast and there’s certainly no going back now. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of guilt nagging at the back of his mind.

  Glancing up at the farmhouse, all still seemed quiet and peaceful, which boded well. When they had arrived at the edge of the rice fields, Hernando had drawn a crude sundial, in the mud, at the edge of the rice field. It was, by no means perfect or totally accurate, but he figured it would be close enough to tell him when an hour had
elapsed. He peered through the brambles at his rustic creation and noted the shadow was just beginning to touch the point where he had deduced one hour should be. Standing up and stretching, he looked, in vain, for Minda’s return, but there was no sign of her. He knew he needed to act quickly and fulfil his promise to her, so mounting his horse, he checked his pistol was safely tucked into the back of his breeches waistband and then drew his wickedly curved sabre. Let’s see how they react to a full-blooded cavalry charge, even if there is only one member in this particular cavalry unit.

  With one final check for any sign of his beloved’s appearance, he dug his heels sharply into his mount’s flanks and shouted. “Go, boy – let’s go rescue Minda!” As he sped out of the trees and along the pilapil his sure-footed steed showed no fear of the water on both sides and charged headlong towards the farmhouse. Deciding he better make Minda aware he was coming for her, he screamed at the top of his voice, “Ataque! Voy por ti Minda!” (Attack! I’m coming for you, Minda!)