He was given a cell in Camp Crame Stockade 4, in Quezon City, not far from our university office, but not without the military first torturing him. His guards ate, postponed more torture until the following day, torture which became routine until they were sure that he had no more information to give. (Thus revealed a detention-mate who luckily survived.) After three months of the same routine, Jose didn’t respond when the guards came for him at 4:04 A. M. He was lying facedown stripped down to his boxers; he had died during the night. An hour or so later, Captain Juan Aguirre was sitting in the same cell calmly discussing the problem of how they were going to explain Jose’s death.
“We all know that he was a weakling,” Captain Aguirre was saying, as he went through Jose’s belongings. “We all know that the less we say the better. We don’t have to admit that he was ever here. But if there is ever an inquiry, he officially killed himself. How does that sound to you?”
“Feasible. He was a weakling,” Francisco answered. “You know that we don’t have the least obligation to provide an explanation. Or admit that he was here. But the hypothesis that he was a weakling might not hold water. Here we have a dead professor; I would prefer a better explanation, not one that people who knew him could easily refute. They would know that he certainly wasn’t a weakling.”
Captain Aguirre countered rather harshly:
“I’m not interested in the truth. I am interested in protecting ourselves.”
“Then it’s better that we don’t say anything,” said Francisco. “Here’s what he’s been writing.” He handed Captain Aguirre a notebook. “There’s enough here to executed him. The same ol’ blah, blah, blah.”
“”My detention is a farce and totally unfair. I love my country. Mr. Marcos can never evade the responsibility or wash his hands of my blood.’ It sounds like a suicide note to me. Doesn’t it to you? And here’s an admission of guilt, another treasonable admission of guilt. ‘As we stand firmly against the dictatorship, we are not backing down.”
The captain regarded these statements with disdain and utter repulsion. Then he laughed.
“More pakshet, fucking shit!” he said. “He deserved what he got! We don’t have any time to waste reading this shit. Our president did what he had to do.”
“Maybe the crime does rest with professors like Mr. Mariano…filling the heads of our children with ideas,” murmured Francisco.
“Like communism,” the Captain ventured to add. He was set in his ways, a soldier, and very patriotic.
No one contradicted him. One of the other soldiers found Jose’s diary and gave it to the Captain.
“More pakshet!”
“Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag” Director Lino Brocka Based on novel by Edgardo M. Reyes Screen play by Clodualdo del Mundo, Jr.
Julio isn’t smiling. Suddenly finding himself in Manila, he has come to the city to find his girl Ligaya, and while he’s hassled by his surroundings, he doesn’t give up hope. From time to time during his search he passes the corner of Ongpin and Misericordia and stares at a particular building, where he eventually catches the silhouette of a young woman by a lit window. He can’t believe it and immediately calls out to the figure, addressing her as Ligaya. Remembering the virtues of the girl he loved back home and faced with the terror of what she might’ve become since she was brought to the city, he doesn’t get a response and realizes that the window is already dark. By then Ligaya has become a prostitute and a symbol, that is to say that she is worth searching for in a civilized hell. To find her Julio has to be patient, while fat Mrs. Cruz (the madam of the brothel where Ligaya works) becomes his cross and greedy Ah-Tek, atik, the corrupt Chinese businessman who runs the prostitution ring, has obviously become Julio’s foe.
Randy Ford
