Poloy

In either of his hands was a missing finger which his enemies said was the result of an accident during World War II.  He had nine instead of ten.  His detractors said that a Garand rifle he was carrying went off because he was carrying it as if it were a walking cane.  It blew one of his fingers off.  But it gained him an entitlement to a veteran’s pension for the rest of his life.

Sometime in the 1970’s at around 8:00 in the evening, he came knocking at a relative’s house in Santa Barbara.  He had bruises on his face and other parts of his body.  He had walked cross country all the way from Alimodian because he was so afraid that the Mayor will again maul or even kill him.  He was trembling in fear.

Upon opening the gate, his relative was so surprised by what he saw.  About 25 years ago, this guy was a feared man.  He was a gun-carrying member of an armed group that presented themselves as gerilyeros in the war against the Japanese.  Instead of fighting the enemy, this group went around commandeering properties, animals, bull carts, and valuables from kababayans for their own personal benefit.  Not contented with that—it was said that they took women too.  That is what many people said about Poloy.

On Sundays, Poloy would go to the cockfights.  Yes, there were cockfights even when there was war!  He would bet on his favored cock signaling with his two hands.  If he won, it is expected that the losing bettor would pay him ten pesos.  But if he lost, expect him to only pay nine pesos.  Why?  Because he will insist that the other bettor look closely at his hand and count carefully his fingers—for he will immediately learn that he has just nine of it.  Waay pagturuka kon pira tudlo ko hay.  (You don’t look to see how many fingers I have.)

If Poloy wins, he makes sure that he gets the ten pesos.  He says: Intiendido du da nga pulo pusta ko hay tanan nga tudlo ubos ko bayaw! (That is supposed to be understood as ten pesos because I had all my fingers raised!)  If the losing bettor fails to pay him his ten pesos, he gets threatened with the ever available Garand rifle that Poloy always carried. 

Now, here is this character—so afraid, trembling, and smelling like a prisoner.  He had been beaten black and blue.  Seeking refuge for the night, he was let in and he was served supper.  His relative’s house was near the main road so that the noise of passing vehicles could be heard.  This made Poloy very uneasy and he would tiptoe to the nearest window and steal a look at the gate whenever he heard a stopping vehicle.  He needed to see if there is somebody entering to get him.

Life had come full circle for Poloy that night.  No, I wouldn’t dare to mention his full name, where he now lives, or the name of his relative where he took refuge.  I am just sharing this story for the reader to have a glimpse of what the pre-martial law elections were.  The bruises that he had were not for what he did during the last war.  It was the result of his supporting the candidate the Mayor was running against.  Go ask your fathers or grandfathers about the 1969 elections.  If they say its bloodier then than now, believe them.