Valediction.
“… I’m afraid our time together has exhausted.”
Prompt: If first President Emilio Aguinaldo truly did order the assassination of General Antonio Luna, and the hindrances of the futile military advances have caused an internal conflict for Mabini, resulting in his separation from Aguinaldo’s side.
He stood staring out the window, at the charcoal blanket where the astral bodies shone oblivious to the agony ongoing under its watch. “We have lost countless battles already. Our armies are wounded and are retreating one after the other. What do we do now?”
“It is your call now. I am afraid my expertise does not deal with military strategies.”
“Pole, I need your guidance now that it is most crucial.”
The prime minister’s lips pursed slightly. “The last time a conversation like this arose between us, I found myself attending an untimely funeral.”
“Shall we leave the past behind? That is not what I am inquiring you about.”
“Do not get me wrong, Emilio. I have expressed my desire to see General Luna’s wrath die with him, but at what cost?”
Although said gently, Miong was able to feel the hostility behind Pole’s words, the concealed disapproval of an act that went unblamed; however, the two were mutual in understanding the truth behind the intentions. There was a long pause as Miong contemplated on Pole’s simple question.
“… If our country was to fall, would you blame me?” Miong turned so that he was now facing the adviser’s back, taking note how he bowed his head. “You do know why I had ordered his assassination, do you not?”
Pole slowly raised his head once Miong had stopped speaking, turning it slightly just enough to get a glimpse of the president’s stoic mien. He could sense the guilt and fright buried within Miong.
“You were scared.” The paralytic finally muttered, and it seemed Miong had not expected such a response by the way he clenched his jaw.
“Are you calling me a coward?”
“By definition, yes.”
Miong’s cranium shook slowly in disagreement. “How can you justify it?”
“You chose not to take a risk—Luna’s risk.” As placid as possible, Pole expounded. “Furthermore, you were afraid of his plans… Or should I say, you were afraid of the lies that were told to you.”
“This is a country, not a game we can gamble on.” Miong responded in utter defensiveness, stepping into full vision and leaning on the presidential desk in front of Pole. His heart and mind heavy with the burdens of a nation thats liberty was slowly deliquescing. “… Paterno and Buencamino had only relayed what they heard to me.”
“Allow yourself to dwell in their fallacies. Has it not crossed your mind their selfish intentions? … This is a game, you fail to realize. This war is a gamble based on our choices. The only difference is the consequences of said choices. Not only is it money or dignity that is at stake, but territories, resources, lives, and our newly proclaimed independence as well. Think through your next move, Emilio. Think well and play your pawns right.”
Miong swallowed, more deep in thought than he already was. American forces were clearly not at truce any longer. He knew they were at loss. His conscience weighed out the options then ultimately, to General Del Pilar. Truth that the latter was indeed skilled for a boy that age, but compared to General Luna…
Once again, he had become questioning. Why had he allow himself to fall under such malicious grips when the adviser he trusted the most had been there? Even if Pole himself could not handle the persona of Luna, he knew the corollary of his death.
To the president, Pole was indeed right. He was scared to put trust in someone that held so much uncertainty.
“Please, Pole. It is no longer fit for you to be neutral. You must pick a side.” Desperate pleads from a desperate man.
“Neutrality is not something you can describe me, for I have always been by our country’s side. I have been by your side ever since.” An unsettling pause came about. “But… I’m afraid our time together has exhausted.”
Miong had not expected to hear that all so suddenly. His countenance displayed disbelief—questioning if he had even listened properly. He stepped forward, no longer leaning on the desk but instead found contentment in standing in front of Pole. As if a confrontation.
“No. Do not do this now, Pole.”
Pole’s impassiveness never faltered, as did his decisions. He raised his fragile hand and delicately held onto Miong’s wrist. “Perhaps I’ve grown rather selfish. The days have given me time to settle my thoughts.”
The presidents clenched his hand and moved it back, causing Pole’s to retreat as well, his jaw hardening visibly. The act did not go unnoticed by the other. Miong loathed how sometimes, Pole can be so incredibly vague at expressing his true sentiments, and especially at the current time. However, he found himself not having anything to say, but just wanting to say something—anything—to make Pole stay. He cursed under his breath, shook his head, stepped back, and returning to his original seat. Miong knew well that if the intellect had something settled, it would be irrefutable.
“Our mistakes have lead us to a compromise.” Miong knew that much. “I cannot blame your desire to leave.”
He tried to meet Pole’s gaze, but once the two had eye contact, Pole flinched and looked elsewhere as his own confusion began to build up. What was his reason to leave, anyways? Was it the pressure of being responsible for the casualties of the foreseen war? Was it because he believed that the president was going astray? Or maybe because he genuinely thought he was no longer needed; that he was being replaced?
If Pole left, where else could he be kept safe besides Emilio Aguinaldo’s side?
“I am requesting you to relieve me from my post.” He said before anything else could change his mind.
The formality was somehow unfamiliar for Miong, having been in a casual relationship with Pole for some time, and he returned a response in the same tone. “I cannot grant you that now. I fear the outcome of this war—as you have said—and I know allowing you to leave would be one more mistake.”
“You have people to replace me.”
“Pole—”
“Do not make it harder for me than it already is.”
“I cannot let you go.” Aguinaldo exclaimed, his hand slamming against the table.
“Miong, pakawalan mo na ako! Just… Let me leave.”
Pole snapped somehow and it was enough to make even Miong himself freeze in his seat. He had sounded so firm and definite.
The two shared a long, hard gaze. It had been a while since they have spoken without words, the death of the general breaking affinity between them. In that moment, Miong had realized that the eyes staring back at him needed to see something that was not as disgraceful as he. And so with a hard sigh, he said:
“Fine. I will sign your letter of resignation. When are you planning to leave?”
Pole broke eye contact once more, looking down. “At daybreak tomorrow.”
The words stung. Miong had to force himself to comply.
“…You may leave at five in the morning.”
The ticking of the clock was the only sound left, resonating with it the tension between the two. Miong stood and walked to the window frame and gazed out. It was time for the carriers to arrive. And, just in time, there came a knock on the door. Pole permitted them in.
“Shall we take you to your own quarters now, señor Mabini?”
“Please.” Pole nodded once.
The men shuffled in, greeting the president with due respect. He simply gave a curt nod. Then, the carriers proceeded to assist the paralytic.
“Do you remember, bayan o sarili?”
“Of course.”
“Well?” Pole asked. He wanted to hear the resolute commitment.
‘Sarili.’ He thought, ‘Magiging makasarili ako para lang hindi ako mawalan.’
By not allowing the latter to leave would make only him happy, and knew that doing so would only mean being selfish. He couldn’t do that.
Pole’s happiness was his happiness.
“The motherland is all of ours to protect, and I will serve it until the end without anything else to divert my loyalty.” Miong stated, concealing his legitimate response.
Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies. Stay, Pole. Please.
Pole seemed content, though his visage remained vague. “Right.. And so you know, if our country falls, we all had our fair share in causing it.”
The president pivoted to get a last look at his soon-to-be former minister. He smiled bitterly and sadly, and regretfully.
“Goodbye, Pole. I thank you for your time and service. I bid you all the best.”
“It was an honor, Señor Presidente. Though I highly doubt this will be the last time we will see each other. May your choices be prudent.”
And just like that, their close camaraderie seemed to reduce to acquaintanceship.
