Chapter 132: Promiscous
The girl froze when she saw us.
We had stood perfectly still under the scant cover, but the little camouflage offered by the rayadillo worked only in open sunlight. Here, under the partial shade and deep green of the sugarcane fields, the striped fabric of our sky-blue uniforms stuck out like a sore thumb. They blended with neither leaf nor shadow.
For a moment, I thought she’d drop the clay pot balanced on her head and let out a piercing scream—just like what had happened in Buenavista. Once again, a single wrong turn and a woman might ruin our element of surprise.
But perhaps Teniente Medina’s handsome foreign face was comforting enough to soothe her nerves. The Spaniard, who was leading the advance, raised a hand and gently placed a finger on his lips, offering a calming smile. The girl blinked, swallowed hard, and slowly lowered the pot to the ground with care.
He motioned her over with a subtle wave of the hand. She cast one last glance back at the footpath before carefully stepping off it, sliding down the slight incline of the bank and into the sugarcane rows.
I was behind Medina and gave her a warm smile. "Hija... Magandang hapon."
The girl, who couldn’t be older than sixteen, gave a nervous nod and swallowed hard. She looked at Medina again, as if hoping his smile still meant safety.
"That hut right there... who lives in it?" I asked, pointing toward a small nipa hut no more than fifty meters away. Between the swaying stalks, we caught fleeting glimpses of it.
"The babaylan and her husband," she answered softly. Her eyes widened as she noticed our rifles—bayonets glinting under the midday sun—and the line of soldiers trailing behind us like a train. The way she hunched her shoulders told me she already knew something bad was coming.
"Are you... are you sent by the gobernador?" she asked.
I nodded, unsure how else to answer. There were no other armed forces on the island. "You’re talking to him, in fact."