Comfort

.... based on historically true accounts.... (image from pinterest.com), the word 'Ate' (ah-teh) is how older sisters are called in Filipino.

All she had to do was close her eyes, and she would be back at her father’s farm, its green bamboo fence surrounding their house and her mother's precious vegetable garden.  It would be the morning of Christmas Eve, and they would all be up before three in the morning, getting ready to attend the last of the misas de gallo, a string of nine dawn masses which ran from the sixteenth of December up to the twenty fourth, a novena of masses which the old parish priest said would ensure a joyful Christmas.  Salud and her younger sister believed him, there was no reason not to.  Their family had always enjoyed the holidays; in fact, their town of Mapanique was quite famous for having one of the grandest Christmas fiestas in the province. 

Salud remembered the meticulous preparations her mother and grandmother made when the month of November drew to a close.   The most elaborate table linen and curtains came out of the closets and chests where they had lain, wrapped in layers of sinamay cloth, for a whole year.  Grandmother’s antique silver, which had been part of her dowry, was taken out of the mahogany case and given a high polish.  She could still see Landro, their mayor-domo, wiping the spoons, forks and knives with a thick cotton rag, until they gleamed.  And then there were the endless revisions to the menu for noche buena, the midnight repast on Christmas Eve, which was the pride and joy of every household in the town.  Would they serve jamon de pina again this year or would galantina be a more appropriate main course?  And what about the accompanying soups and sauces?  Salud’s mouth began to water as she recalled that yearly feast.

“I’m hungry, Salud,” her sister, Nining, said, as she lay with her head on Salud’s lap.

Salud gently drew Nining’s hair away from her forehead. 

“Don’t think of it, Nining, and the hunger will go away,” Salud answered softly.

“Will that work for the pain too, Ate?” the young girl asked.

Salud had no answer, and even if she did, she wouldn't have been able to give it.  The door to the tiny room where they slept was suddenly thrust open and five uniformed men came in.  Salud knew right away that they were officers in the Imperial Army, for they all had long swords dangling from their waist-bands.  One of them grabbed Nining’s hair and yanked her out of Salud’s arms.

“Please, please, no more,” Salud pleaded in a whisper; she had no strength left to raise her voice.  The men did not answer.  The officer who had grabbed Nining dragged the young girl out of the room.  The four remaining men closed the door after him.  The tallest of them shoved Salud onto the mattress lying on the floor.

As their hands tore into her flesh and soul, Salud closed her eyes.  Her father's farm suddenly seemed so far away and she could no longer remember the color of its fence.

 

Reviews

[MetalLadybird]

Without resorting to describing the harrowing details one can all too well imagine, you've given this piece of writing tremendous power. The way you have focused on describing the main character's good memories is an effective way to diminish the rapists' importance and reduced them to the vile parasites that they were. Not an easy subject to tackle, but you have done it with your usual sensitivity and skill.

[Roland Petrov]

I believe I read and commented on this one on Jottify, but it was good to read it again. War does nasty things, and the comfort women for the Japanese army was a dark chapter in a dismal war that I'm glad I missed by being born too late. I especially like the way you opened and closed with the fence, and how quickly the color faded in the trauma.