A Circle Below the Sun by four.oclock (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📕

I

sat on the chair beside Hanna, catching brief glimpses of the ashen skies and the murky water hammering on the sides of the ferry boat. The ship President Manuel Quezon* boarded went ahead and Colonel Marco Deo Cariño, Hanna’s father, together with other military aids, was sent to follow. Hanna and her mother, Karen, shouldn’t be here; but the Colonel didn’t have a choice. Hanna was only seven and Karen had a weak heart. Furthermore, the Japanese started to cordon Manila, forcibly collecting food and money from civilians and private establishments. Col. Deo couldn’t leave his family alone.

Hanna leaned closer, and her dark hair strands tingled my cheeks. She was looking at the window on the other end where children of the other officials quietly sat. She was probably staring at the far land to the north east – Bataan, the island where her older brother was, together with other soldiers who had taken arms and abandoned their families at a young age.

“Hanna,” Karen hissed from behind, and Hanna settled back on her seat. I could hear her silent sobs and I wanted so badly to reach for her hand. I wanted to wipe her tears away and tell her it was going to be okay. If only I could … But even if I could, was there any healing within words?


A good twenty minutes more and a husky voice upfront called, “We are already in Corregidor. Get ready to disembark. Men, remember to check the skies for any signs of the enemy. Move fast. Guard the children and women.”

The swift and hushed movements of the people echoed anxiety, reluctance and most of all fear. Even Hanna’s usually warm hands were cold as she picked me and pulled me to a hug. I could feel the fast beating of her chest. She was nervous like everyone else. But if there was one thing I truly loved about this girl, it was that thing beating that I heard. It was her heart; I had always admired Hanna’s heart.

Up to this day, as we walked out of the boat with Karen leading us, I could still remember when Hanna chose the worn-out me amidst all the lovely dolls in that store. I was her birthday gift from Col. Deo. Imagine all those dolls with exquisite dresses and then me, with the ragged apron attire. She chose me. And from that day on, I swore I’d be with her through everything, to anywhere … Even under the dark trail of jets’ smokes.

*It was December 24, 1941 when the President of the Philippines escaped from Manila and built a temporary Headquarters in Corregidor.


At the shore, we were met by more officials, both Americans and Filipinos who shook hands with Hanna’s father. We were ushered to a bus – the families separated from the officials – with open sides, that as the vehicle sped on, we could clearly see the collapsed buildings and the huge cannons prepared for firing. With every ruins we saw, Hanna’s hug drew tighter. Karen didn’t say a thing. She merely placed her hand on top of Hanna’s as we went past men in green fatigues surveying the roads.

We stopped in front of a tunnel – Malinta Tunnel, the driver said. As Karen and Hanna hopped of the bus, another official met us at the tunnel’s entrance. He scanned all the passengers, before nodding toward the driver. I heard the sound of screeching wheels behind and we remained there, until the sound of the vehicle’s engine was out of earshot.

“Follow me,” the official said, and Karen held Hanna’s hand as they walked into the huge tunnel.

Circular lamps hang on the curved ceiling. I was amazed, realizing that the tunnel had many smaller tunnels within on both sides. I counted about five entrances. No there were six, seven, and a lot more beyond.

We were led to the second wing on the right. It was a silent stride; slow, but the steps resounding on the cemented walls displayed distraught, like the people had been running for hours. It was a just a mere five meter walk, but if felt like eternity before we reached the infirmary.

Again, I felt awe at the sight of one thousand beds aligned on the wide room. But that awe, was easily vanquished by the quivering of Hanna’s hands. Some men and women with white bandages wrapped on either their arms or legs lay on the beds on the west most portion of the room. Women in white dresses were attending to them. One of the nurses – a lady with blond, curly hair – approached us. She nodded curtly to the man that led us. The man left as the blond nurse ushered everyone to the bunks on the right corner.

“Please bear with this for now,” she said, rushing back to the opposite corner as soon as a patient groaned.

With her still shivering hands, Hanna sat me on the bed, folding my legs so that my back rested on the headboard. Karen then carried her up and settled her beside me.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Hanna asked Karen. I could imagine the young girl’s hopeful, brown eyes.

“Just for a while, Honey,” Karen said softly. “Just for a while.”

There was another loud scream from a patient and Karen, who used to be a nurse, immediately darted to help, leaving Hanna with a peck on the girl’s cheek.

Hanna sank on the mattress. She grabbed the pillow just inches from me and buried her face and her tears in the cottony object.

Again, I wanted to reach out, to hug her. But as shrieks of pain filled the room, I realized that even if I could hug her, squeeze her as tight as possible, nothing would change. The sorrow and the hurt would still remain. Nothing would change …


Christmas, hours after, was the most agonizing moment. Exploding bombs and gun shots were our fireworks as Hanna and I sat on the open main tunnel, watching soldiers ran from one corner to another, checking if there were holes made by the bombs or if enemies had found entrance to our secret hiding place.

We remained there as the President’s prayer echoed through the cold walls. ‘This is one of the darkest moments of our lives,” he said. “How pitiful it is to celebrate the birth of our Lord amidst this battle. But with this loaf of bread, we should still be thankful. Let us keep our faith and pray for the end of this worthless bloodshed.”*


*Not the exact prayer, but a little like this. Any succeeding statements you find are also not the exact words.


Days, weeks, months were torn away from the calendar, but our condition remained bleak. Col. Deo hadn’t visited even once while Karen was busy treating the wounded. Although Hanna wouldn’t speak, I could tell she was disappointed, sad; abandoned.

Slowly, the bunks in the infirmary were being filled, that Hanna had to go around the main tunnel more often to avoid the helpless screams and the sight of dripping blood. I watched her slept on the cold floor, singing to her, hoping one day she’d hear … Hoping one day she’d realize, that though I wouldn’t be able to make any difference, I still wanted to hug her tight and tell her it would be okay.


One night as Hanna was searching the small tunnels, with me in her arms, we ended in the first family’s barracks. We could hear the sound of a quill scribbling swiftly on paper. Hanna quietly turned the knob, but it was locked. She shrugged and turned away from the door.

However, before we could leave, there came a string of loud, difficult coughs. Hanna pinned her ear on the door and listened as the coughing continued.

Wind whipped my cheeks as Hanna dashed for the infirmary. She tossed me on the bed and I watched blankly as she took a glass on the table and filled it with water. In a minute, she was out of view.

She returned about fifteen minutes later, jumping on the bed and seizing me to comb my fine, blond hair with her fingers. She then cradled me into her arms, humming the lullaby her mother usually sang to put her to sleep.

Ever since that night, she’d sneak out a glass of water from the infirmary. That kept me wondering for months and even years.


On the eve of March 9, 1942, I finally saw Hanna's smile after a long time, as Col. Deo finally visited. He sat on our bed, cross-legged and whistling nonchalantly like nothing was happening. I could make out the cut on his left hand, peeking through the sleeve of his uniform. He didn’t say anything, nor did Hanna. The girl was smart enough to understand. They simply sat beside each other, watching Karen wrap bandages on a man’s foot to cover the poor man's scraped flesh.

After a moment of silence, Col. Deo gently placed his hand on Hanna’s shoulder, pulling her closer. “I love you,” he said, planting a kiss on Hanna’s head.

And with that, he walked away. I caught sight of Karen glancing. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but she seemed to be crying.

I just watch the tears stream down Hanna's cheeks. “It’s okay,” she mumbled, staring at me, as if reading my worried thoughts. “I’ve grown without a father. It’s okay.”

The words seemed to pierce through me, making me reminisce the many times Hanna cried, searching for his father and brother who were both at the war. If I neglected to mention, I was Col. Deo’s one and only birthday gift for Hanna. It was her fifth birthday and the only one where the Colonel happened to be home. He didn’t even stay for the night. After buying me, he immediately left.

Hanna developed a tinge of hatred for his father. I was saddened by that fact. The war didn’t only take lives and territories; it took something else from this poor, little girl.


The next day, news of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, the commander of Allied forces in the Philippines’ future departure for Australia spread in the tunnel. Was the Philippines being abandoned? It didn’t seem so. Lieutenant Gen. Jonathan Wainwright had temporarily assumed MacArthur’s post as the latter left the shores of Corregidor on March 11.

Hanna and I, together with all the people in the infirmary, watched intently in the blurry television as MacArthur imparted these words, “I shall return!” referring to the Philippines in his first press conference in Australia.

Many felt glad in the affirmation of support from the American government, even Hanna was. She knew what those words truly meant. However, that statement hindered everyone from preparing for graver news.

The Japanese forces had heightened their bombing assaults through all parts of the Philippines. And on April 9, I saw Hanna cry the hardest for the two years we’d been together. We all huddled in the infirmary, even some soldiers rushing in as the biggest news of the war had come. The voice of the announcer on the radio was muffled, but three words were very clear, “Bataan has fallen.” *


*On April 9, 1942, Bataan, one of the strongholds of