Shoot into the Crowds

by Grace Talusan

When Pepito heard his chief's command, he looked away from the bleachers. The leader of the Philippine National Police jumped up and down on the pitcher's mound, waving his hat in the air while the star pitcher for the Little League team, an eleven year old from Cebu, sprawled on the ground, biting his mitt. In his haste, the commander had pushed the boy down.

The last pitch, a foul, had been lost to the bleachers. One man caught the ball, but it slipped from his fingers and another man now held the ball. One man pushed the other. This ignited more pushing and soon, the crowd churned. The pitcher had been ready to throw the next pitch, but his batter turned around to track the shouting from the bleachers. It was as if a giant hand hovered over the crowd and smashed.

Several people fell from a row to one below.

The new police recruits, who came from many different Philippine islands, shared English as their common language. That morning, before the game, the commander's spit had landed on Pepito's nose and cheeks, "Above all, keep the peace. The eyes of the world watch us today." The commander talked for at least twenty minutes, long enough for sparks of his spit to dry from Pepito's face.

TV cameras from national and foreign news gave live broadcasts. Earlier that day, Pepito had phoned the local bar in his baranguay, promising the bar owner a large tip to bring Pepito's parents to the bar, so they could see their son on TV. Pepito would make his parents proud for once. If the camera panned his way, his parents would catch a glimpse of Pepito in his uniform and know what a success he was now. His parents did not see him off on the bus that took him from his little village to the capital city.

Ever since Pepito was ten years old, he knew he would not live out his life in the barrio. He felt it in his aching, growing bones and in his twitching muscles. He was destined for greatness. As soon as he was old enough, Pepito told his parents he was leaving home. His father warned, "We don't know anyone in the city to help you."

His mother said, "You're too ambitious. You can make a beautiful life here. Even if you're poor, you will never starve."

"Your reward is not in this life," his father said.

His mother said, "Be a good boy and you will go to heaven."

"You don't understand," Pepito started. He wanted to tell his parents that he could do both: Be good in this life and earn a spot in heaven.

"You don't understand," his father mimicked. "This is not the American movies. Shut your mouth."

Pepito knew his family did not live like the American movies. There were no hugs or birthday parties or the expectation that dreams would come true. On this day, Pepito didn't react the way he used to: by staring at a spot on the ground so he wouldn't cry; by turning his lips under his teeth and biting down. He stared at his father and wouldn't look away. They just glared at each other as if meeting a stranger.

"Come," his mother said gently. She waved Pepito over. "Rest your head in my lap one more time. I bet your ears are full of wax." His mother slipped the thin metal hook from the pocket in her housedress and waved it in the air.

Pepito's life with his parents didn't include long embraces or kisses on the forehead. After he had been weaned, his mother only touched him if she had a chore to conduct. He loved coming home from school after another lice infestation, scratching spots on his head raw, knowing his mother would spend the rest of the afternoon picking nits from his hair. He was happy when he got a splinter because then his father would hold his hand, squeezing Pepito's skin until the sliver of wood oozed out.

The last time the Philippines had been this close to Little League glory, there were accusations of age violations. Investigations revealed a couple of players in their twenties, even a home run hitter from Mindanao in his mid-thirties. When this scandal broke, like all the other hoaxes, The First Pregnant Man is a Filipino Fraud; Love Bug Mastermind Found in the Philippines; First Lady Imelda Buys Thousands of Designer Shoes While her People Starve; Filipinos of the world, from the busboys cruising the high seas to the nurses in Canada, felt the need to apologize for their countrymen.

The chaos in the bleachers was spreading now.

"What are you waiting for?" Pepito expected lava to burst from the top of the commander's bald head. "Shoot into the crowds!"

Pepito's commander yelled in a high register that startled Pepito. He jumped. This was his same reaction whenever his father would smack him to emphasize a point--the same smack his father gave to Pepito's mother, his brothers and sisters, the carabao, and the mule. Pepito could have sworn he felt his father strike his skull as he tumbled forward, the first one to shoot. Not to be outdone by Pepito, the other men pointed into the rioting crowd, pulling triggers.

After the crowd felt the drops of blood on their skin, they were silent only a moment before they started running and pushing to escape. The bullets flew until the stands looked like the grill of a jeepney after a long drive through the province.

When there were no bullets left to shoot, the silence opened a space for Pepito to hear his commander's voice. "The clouds," he said. "The clouds."

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Grace Talusan has published essays and short stories in Creative Nonfiction, Brevity, Colorlines, Tufts Magazine and others. She teaches writing at Grub Street and Tufts University. She blogs at gracetalusan.blogspot.com.