Photo of Agana River featured in University of Guam Press’s publication, Mariquita –Revisited by Chris Perez Howard

An excerpt from Neena Carolino’s, The River.

All was silent but the wind that rustled through the tall blades of grass. A woman knelt at the grave topped with a large wooden cross that stood on a limestone carved block. She clutched the long chain of beads around her neck as she murmured prayers to the Saints. The wind gently blew against the cloth she wore over her head and shoulders — white and red plaid that shaded her from the sun. Rita was there, her baby Antonio on her hip. He wiggled and pulled at her shirt, wanting the milk from her breast. She shifted him and resisted his struggles. Finally, she pinched his bare thigh and he began to cry, burying his face in her shoulder.

Juliana stood behind her kneeling Nana with a lit cigarrillo placed between her tightly pursed lips and her arms crossed. Her dark hair was pulled back like the other two women and they all wore long flowing skirts and cotton blouses. They pulled at their rosary beads as Nana prayed.

When Nana finished her prayers, Juliana blew out a light stream of smoke and quickly flicked her cigarrillo to the ground. She stepped on it with her bare foot, putting it out as she pressed it into the soil. She spat on it once to be sure it was out before Nana could stand up.

She took her Nana’s arm as she walked from the grave. The three women and the baby boy Antonio left the cemetery and walked barefoot down the unpaved road home.

As they walked past the Palacio in Agaña, Juliana was instructed to stare straight ahead when a man suddenly approached them. He was a Spanish official and he walked to stand right in front of Juliana’s cousin Rita. Even with the baby in her arms, he eyed her. “Hola, Rita. Do you have a song to sing for me?” he chuckled. “No, Señor. I have no song for today,” Rita said coldly. She shifted Antonio on her hip. “Hmm. When you come back to work at the Palacio, niña, be sure to visit my office.” Rita stared straight ahead until the man bowed his head, tipping his hat, and left them. Nana looked at her, then stared on the way again.

When they reached their barrio, women who hung laundry from their porches and dried fruit and fish from their windows glared at them. Some men whistled and some children pointed. Nana had only a few friends who still smiled at them kindly as they made their way home. Rita clung to her baby and kept her eyes straight on the path. Nana returned both glares and smiles. Juliana paid no attention. She had, as always, one thing on her mind.

Although Nana told her that she was too old to be doing so, Juliana snuck out to the river almost everyday. Nana scolded her saying that the river was for washing and bathing only. She thought that Juliana wasted too much time there. Juliana would sit at the bank, dipping her feet in the water. Sometimes, after knowing that she was truly alone, she would strip naked and swim. Other days, like this one, Tomás would come to meet her. They would be married soon, so she would let him kiss her. She never told him to come on the days that he did. When he found out that she liked to go to the river, he would show up and they would talk and kiss.

Tomás lit a cigarrillo that he had been rolling and let it hang loosely from his lips as he sat by Juliana on the bank. He wore a white cotton shirt that buttoned up to the middle of his chest and his pants were cut short below his knee. His hat was as wide as his shoulders. He took it off and placed it on her head. She laughed and took his loosely held cigarrillo and put it between her own lips.

Tomás was strong. He worked in the rice fields. They grew up near each other and now their mothers were making arrangements for their wedding. He was 24, but looked much younger as most of the men looked younger than their age.Their families began their plans last year as soon as Juliana matured and began her monthly bleeding. His Nana brought Pugua that they all shared and chewed together in celebration. Unlike the others in the barrio, Tomás’ family were always kind to Juliana’s. It was a long standing promise that when Juliana became of age, she would marry him. It was the opportunity that the Aguon women had been longing for. And Juliana liked Tomás. He was handsome and kind and a hard worker. She did not know how to be a wife, but if she must marry, she was glad it was to a man like Tomás.

He took the cigarrillo from her mouth and flicked it into the water. Holding her face in his hands, he began to kiss her as the river flowed past them. Whenever Tomás kissed her all the sounds seemed to grow louder. The river rushed as if it were flowing through her ears and the wind seemed to pick up and shake the leaves above them until it sounded like showers of rain were falling and birds were screeching. The sounds whirled around them until they were interrupted by a loud crunch. Tomás stopped kissing her and cupped his hand over her mouth to cover her loud breathing. He whispered for her to go back up the bank into the treeline in the direction toward her house and he would split up in the other direction. He took his hat off of her head as she scurried into the tree line. She hid behind a tree and peaking around it saw a man emerge from the opposite treeline. He crossed the cobbled stone bridge and made his way toward her. He was too close and would hear her if she ran. She pressed her back against the tree and closed her eyes hoping he would pass by without seeing her. But the click of a revolver told her otherwise. She opened her eyes and could now see that the man was a Spanish soldier from the Cuartel nearby and that he had his gun aimed directly at her head. He was young, with barely a mustache to cover his lip. It trembled slightly as he smiled. “What are you doing here?” He asked as he positioned himself in front of her and shifted his aim from her temple to her forehead. She could feel her jaw clenching. “You know that children are not allowed by this river.” She puffed out her chest, “I am not a child, I am a woman.”

He smiled as he lowered his gun. “Are you a woman?” He began to inch toward her and as he got closer she moved back, pressing into the tree behind her. “Show me, then.”

He pressed himself against her, pinning her to the tree. With one hand he pulled her head back by her hair, burying his face into her neck and with the other hand he pulled her skirt up.

She clenched her jaw again to keep from screaming. His hand had just begun to run up her leg when she heard a sharp thwack. The Spanish soldier’s hand froze. Juliana felt warm liquid dribble down her cheek. His grip on her hair loosened and his body grew heavier on hers. His mouth fell from her neck to her shoulder. Soon he dropped all the way to the ground. Juliana touched her cheek and saw that the liquid was red. Blood.

She looked down at the soldier and saw that a machete was lodged quite nicely into the back of his skull. After a moment, she looked up and saw Tomás standing where the machete was thrown from. He was heaving with bloodshot eyes. He began to walk toward her when two more soldiers appeared from the treeline shouting. They grabbed him and without him resisting, dragged him to the river. Juliana stood frozen.

They forced him to kneel. As he did, he looked at her. He opened his mouth to say something but a shot rang out before he could. His body landed in the river with a loud splash and his blood began to run downstream with its flow.

Manila 1826

It was only moments after the lightning flashed and briefly washed the sky white that the clamouring thunder brought it back to its purple and gray hue. A large droplet fell from the heavens, sending ripples into the small stream that Captain Manuel Sanz peered into. He stood on the old stone bridge that bore no railing. Children ran past him shrieking as they sought shelter from the impending rain. They held their books above their heads, one of them almost crashing into Captain Sanz. For fear of plunging head first into the murky waters, he continued on his way. He tread through the courtyard, fresh mud sticking to his boots, thanking God that the Manila monsoon season was coming to an end. Reaching the grand Palacio, he entered the stone walls and brushed the rain droplets off of his coat. His decorated uniform boasted the blood red and royal blue of the Spanish Navy.

There was a young, yet frail Filipino woman who led him down the corridor and into the office of Governor Mariano Ricafort. She smiled unabashedly, revealing that she had a few front teeth missing, and took his coat. As Captain Sanz was seated, she began to light the lanterns in the room. The slate sky outside only allowed for the fiery sunset to bleed dapples of light into the damp office. Across Captain Sanz sat the Captain General and Governor of the Philippines, Don Mariano Ricafort. He thanked the woman when she was done lighting the room and dismissed her. Then, he stood to greet his old friend and the two men embraced each other.

Governor Ricafort was a tall man, boisterous and full of energy. The top of his head was balding, but the sides of his scalp were lush with wiry locks. He had a thick mustache cut straight across the top of his lip. He donned a similar uniform to Captain Sanz, except that it was much more decorated.

“I was so pleased to hear that you decided to accept my summoning,” Governor Ricafort said as he returned to his desk. “There was a rumor that you had gone into retirement.” He held his tobacco pipe between his teeth and offered a match to Captain Sanz.

“I am afraid that the rumors are true,” Sanz said, striking the match and lighting his cigarillo. Ricafort raised his eyebrow and leaned back into his chair. “I find it interesting that you have chosen to retire here in Manila.”

“Well,” Sanz paused to blow out a stream of smoke, “I have not been to the mother country for many years. I spent most of my service in the Americas and you know better than I that in our current political situation, they would be an unfortunate location for retirement.”

“Tell me, how do you spend your time, Don Manuel?” Ricafort asked.

“I have been traveling throughout the provinces– sailing, mostly fishing,” Sanz answered, tapping off the ashes of his cigarillo onto the floor.

Ricafort smiled. “ A fisherman?” he chortled, “El Guerrero del Mar, now an old fisherman.” Sanz winced, then smiled weakly.

Ricafort’s smile faded. “What is the appeal to that?”

“I must admit, I have had a difficult time finding things to do that keep myself useful,” said Sanz.

Ricafort retorted, “Retirement in a time as this one seems such a vain thing for a servant of the crown to do. It would not be my recommendation if one desired to remain useful.”

“What would your recommendation be, your excellency?” Sanz laughed.

Ricafort waved his hand as if dismissing the tension between them. “I guess now would be an opportune time to explain the reason why I have asked to meet with you tonight.”

Captain Sanz nodded. “The past five years have been difficult. And I have been pressured to ensure that we continue to fight the liberal ideals that threaten to infiltrate our colonies. I have established a new ordinance that would ensure strict compliance with the laws and so will negate the efforts of the liberals. I believe that it will be beneficial, though there is still a colony that I am afraid we need to pay more attention to. I have become aware of some inconsistencies in the leadership, especially in regards to spending. And, as you know, government finance is not something we can treat loosely in these times,” Ricafort said.

“I have a proposition for you, a favor really. I assume you are aware of the colony in the Marianas?”

“Yes,” Captain Sanz answered.

“I am in need of someone to serve as Juez de Residencia for Don Diego Herrero, the current governor of the Mariana Islands. I have received a report against him and will need to have the complaints investigated. When the proceedings have been completed, Don Diego will need to be accompanied back to Manila to report to the Audencia.” Ricafort placed his folded hands on the table. “Well, what do you think?”

Captain Sanz scratched his head, tapped more ashes to the floor, and took a deep breath. Exhaling he said, “What an honor, your excellency. I am sure you know that I have no other engagements as significant as this appointment would be.”

“So,” Ricafort stood opening his arms wide, as if to welcome Sanz’s response into his arms, “will you accept my offer?”

Sanz stood, mirroring Ricafort. “It would be my great pleasure to serve the crown of Spain once again,” he said. “Excellent!” Ricafort said, clapping his hands. “One more thing, you will be accompanied by Don Josè Medinilla. He will be Don Diego’s replacement.” He sat back into his chair and Sanz did likewise.

“Don Josè will be the new Governor of the Mariana Islands?” Sanz asked. Ricafort took another puff from his tobacco pipe. “Yes, he was governor some years ago. In my opinion, he is most qualified for the position. Have you met him?”

“No, your excellency,” answered Sanz.

“ I am sure you will be properly acquainted on your travels to the capital of the islands, ” Ricafort laughed and Sanz smiled in response.

“Where is the capital located?” Captain Sanz asked.

Governor Ricafort pulled a rolled up parchment from one of the drawers in his desk and splayed it out before them. The writings were faded and the parchment itself discolored. He tapped his finger lightly on a spot on the map. “On the largest island, Guajan.”

This piece was produced as part of UOG Press's Mañe'lon i Mantitige' Writers Fellowship that was made possible with support from a grant from the Guam Economic Development Authority. The goal of the fellowship was to foster a community of local writers interested in publishing.

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Neena Carolino is an aspiring novelist. She is currently working on her first novel, a historical fiction story set around the time of the Spanish Colonial era on Guam.