In the Twilight (Condensed)

The sign said, "Marylou European Patries," and as we took a table and ordered coffee and croissants it was clear we were eight thousand miles and thirty years away from Panay. All the same, it was twilight once more in the barrio by the river, the quiet only occasionally broken by the shriek of a kingfisher and the splashing of tarpons feeding in the stream.

It was there we took refuge during the last days of the war, as I'd let on when asked, adding of course a detail or two, depending on my mood.

When the guerillas brought in the prisoner, it was already late in the afternoon. They took over the barrio schoolhouse, as they always did. What would be the fellow's date? From where we were, on our side of the river, we could hear the guerillas laughing and singing. Off and on like that; it was weird. Major Godo's men they were, all right. Soon they'd even send for all the barrio girls - frightening the mothers, to be sure. What? A baile? Even at this time? Yes, why not? What was wrong with a bit of merry making? And they'd send for of, too.

They'd call from across the river: "Music! Hey, you there! Mr. Music! How about some music, Mr. Music?"

For in those days, I could do things with the violin. And you just couldn't say my strings snapped or my any's broken - no one would believe that, knowing how you wouldn't let things like that happen.

So we had early supper. It'd be best to get ready.

I thought I heard them calling; but no, something had gone wrong. Dark began to set in, and we went to the river bank and sat there, wondering. What could Major Godo's men be up to now?

It was then that we heard the shot.

And this is what I told those who asked. That shot, I said, came from somewhere back of the schoolhouse, on the other side of the river.