Just Cause Wrong Target Read online

JUST CAUSE-WRONG TARGET

  John Muir

  Copyright John Robert Muir 2007: John Robert Muir asserts the legal and moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent and permission of the publisher.

  DISCLAIMER:

  These stories are works of fiction. The names and characters are from the imagination of the author and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. If you think the author has written about you, your ego is greater than your imagination or common sense.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite retailer where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  Acknowledgements:

  The author and publisher wish to thank the many individuals for ideas, editing, encouragement and support. Thanks to Gary Weston for the cover.

  Published in EBooks 2014

  Ebooks ISBN

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  JUST CAUSE - WRONG TARGET

  CHAPTER 1

  THE SPIRIT OF THE BALITÈ TREE

  Near Linamon, Lanao Del Norte Province, North West Mindanao, Philippines.

  There was no wind. The branches of the tree were still. Several barefoot village children were gathered, staring upward. Salim Hassan looked at the large balitè tree on the vacant section next to his house. The young boy who had fetched him from the market pointed higher up the tree. Like a misshapen and broken branch, his wife's body hung motionless at the end of a fisherman's bright blue nylon mooring rope.

  Salim felt the cold sensation start at his back between his shoulder blades and quickly spread all over his body. He began to shiver.

  The child, who had pointed, looked at the man and noticed the man was shaking. He tried to think of a reason why. The day was very hot; it was nearly midday, the time when the spirits of the balitè tree chose to have their rest. He watched the man close his eyes and put his head back as if he was looking at the sky. The man opened his mouth wide and took a deep breath as if he was going to speak.

  When the scream started, the children ran as fast as they could to the safety of their homes to hide. They did not want to get into trouble with 'Engkanto', the spirit of the tree.

  Salim was vaguely aware other people began to arrive and stand near him. He did not hear what they were saying to him. His eyes were fixed on the sight above him.

  Her scarf had fallen from her head. Her hair, face and neck were exposed. Her neck seemed much longer than the way he remembered it. Her feet were bare. Even in death she was as pretty as she was when he had married her.

  Salim moved under the balitè tree and picked up the black scarf which had fallen to the ground. He tucked it into his shorts. Both her slippers had fallen from her feet, though he could only see one blue slipper on the ground. The other might have fallen between the large rocks and the tree's base. He picked up the one he could see and held it in his left hand.

  Why had he forced her to this point? Why had she gone to this excess? Why had she chosen such a high branch to hang herself? She was at least three body lengths up the tree. How had she managed to climb that high wearing her malong, the Philippine version of the long Muslim chador? Why had she picked the balitè tree? Had she done so to join the legend of the tree spirit? There were so many questions.

  He knew, if she had been alive, he would chastise her for exposing her hair and neck in public. No good Muslim woman, wife and mother would do that. To make things worse, parts of her legs were also visible beneath her ankle length malong. Was she trying to disgrace him again, even in death?

  As he looked up from directly underneath her body; her still open but lifeless eyes looked directly at him. In her death her eyes seemed briefly to be accusing him for his lack of understanding. Then those same dead eyes appeared to change and beg for his support and understanding, just as she had done after her time of need. Or was 'Engkanto', the spirit of the tree, cursing him? He shuddered again.

  He could not forgive her for what happened when she was alive. He now wished he had. How could he ever say sorry and forgive her now in her death?

  All the adults gathering were either neighbours or relations. This was a small close knit barrio. They knew why his wife had taken her own life. Despite that, they would still give him support.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was his cousin Omar Asani. He would know what to do. Salim felt his own brain was not functioning. He knew he should be doing something; it was just that he could not think of what it was.

  Omar spoke to three of the many teenage boys in the group that had gathered under the tree. Though Salim could hear talking, he could not make out what it was. His physical awareness was numbed; his mental senses bewildered. The three youths looked nervously at each other before climbing the tree. They all learnt from a very young age about the spirit that lived in all large balite trees, and taught never to throw stones at or ever damage the tree. This tree was the only one of its kind in their barrio.

  None of the youths wanted to offend the spirit. Maybe there were many spirits. Nobody really knew for sure. All three youths gently touched the tree trunk with open palms. They stroked the bark that was wrinkled like the skin of an old woman, before beginning their climb. They hoped it might be a way to ask 'Engkanto's' permission, or to forgive them for disturbing the spirit's sleep. All knew that midday was the time of rest for the spirit; and the spirit could take revenge if it was disturbed, especially by screaming, during its period of rest.

  After scaling to the branch where the bright blue nylon rope was tied, one of the youths produced a knife to cut it. He would take special care not to cut into the branch. Then he thought that cutting such a strong rope was a waste as it could be used to tie up one of the many barrio fishermen's sea-going bancas.

  The efforts of the three teenagers soon yielded results. The youths, on the branch below the body, struggled to maintain their balance and hold the body still, while the youth above was cutting. Their efforts to gently lower the body failed. The rope parted before the two youths below were ready. The sudden unexpected extra weight unbalanced them. They had to release the body, and grab at parallel branches, to stop themselves’ falling.

  Salim saw the body begin its fall. He knew he should try to catch it. Something within him would not respond. He could not even move aside.

  The body tumbled in free-fall, and barely missing one of the large rocks at the base, thudded face down into the ground at his feet. An arm hit his leg with considerable force. He still could not move.

  Several neighbours ran forward and lifted the body gently, as if to reduce it feeling further hurt, and began to carry it to Salim's home only metres away. Salim followed mutely while he wondered what he would say to his daughters Siti and Zahra when they returned home from school. Perhaps Omar might tell them. Salim knew he could not.

  His daughters, Siti 16, and Zahra nearly 14, had spoken very little to him since 'the incident'. That had happened nearly three months ago. They, being female, had sided with their Mother. He, being a man, had pride and could not live with what had happened.

  He felt like a spectator watching and allowing others to take control. He was not capable of reacting. He did not know what to do. He wanted to stay protected within his daze and let others do whatever it was they were doing.
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  Though Salim's wife's body had been laid out in what had been their bedroom, he still could not bring himself to go into that room. Since that worst day in his life, he had never been into that room. He had slept in the lounge and had not slept with or had sex with his wife since that day.

  As a Muslim he did not drink alcohol. He fought with his beliefs. He had seen drunken Christians, oblivious to their surroundings, having escaped into an alcohol induced stupor. He too wanted to escape, even like they did, but he could not cross the line that his beliefs forbade him to do. He wanted relief in sleep, but the sleep was just as cruel. He would dream bad dreams, and sometimes wake screaming. The nightmare of what he imagined had happened would repeat. His wife, on hearing his screams, would rush from the bedroom and try to comfort him.

  As soon as he felt her touch him, he would feel revulsion again, and would run from the house. Often pushing her away with such force she would crash against a wall or furniture.

  Friends and relations had given his wife emotional support. His friends had given him camaraderie and money. The men pledged to support him in his quest for revenge against those that had done this thing.

  But for now, he could not get away from thoughts of her. He could not get away from thoughts of them, and what they had done to her. He knew, for the moment, that his feeling of loss was strong. He knew too that the call for revenge would soon become stronger.

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  It seemed, to Salim, his family had always been matriarchal dominated. Early deaths were common among the males in his family over several generations, though not from natural causes. Whereas the women seemed to live long lives, and tell all the children the same stories time after time about what had happened to their husband, father or grandfather. Salim had long tired of their stories and had stopped absorbing the information of the repetitive tales.

  He was 15 when his Father died. His family was landless and poor. Because of his family poverty he had to leave school. His Mother could not earn enough to support the whole family and he was neither skilled nor qualified for any employment outside the barrio.

  For two years, until he was 17, he helped local fisherman ply their trade, often being paid in fish. Some of which he sold, most of which they ate. By helping fishermen he was learning the mechanics of the motors which powered the fishermen's bancas. It interested him. Though his reading skills were limited he always sought out magazines, or technical books, about motors of all types to learn more.

  Despite his family's shortage of money, his Mother organised a celebration for his 17th birthday. More household rubbish than usual needed to be burned the following day. After his Mother had set a fire around midday, a fresh breeze sprung up and lifted some of the embers over the rocks at the base of the balitè tree, where they lodged, scorching its broad trunk.

  Within days, his Mother began to suffer a sudden weight loss. Her frail body was wasting away and death seemed to be beckoning too quickly.

  The medical diagnosis was cancer of the stomach, its cause being a mystery. The locals knew better, they knew the real cause behind his Mother's cancer was 'Engkanto'. The tree spirit was getting revenge for the burning embers.

  Even though his Mother was dying, and in pain, she kept reminding him of the history of his family; insisting that even after her death, he must always listen and remember what his Grandmother would tell him.

  He listened only out of respect. At 17, he still took little notice of these old women's tales.

  With his Mother unable to work, he had to find real money, not just a few surplus fish. That chance came through the Japanese owned pineapple cannery company, where his Father had worked. Salim had too quickly become the main breadwinner for his younger siblings.

  Another interest that had been sparked was girls. Many years before, his Father had unofficially arranged for a marriage partner for him. In his early years he thought little about it. He just knew the one he was supposed to marry was ugly, skinny, had big horrible eyes and was a girl. While he was in his pre-teens and early teens, any girls were the enemy. They were simply creatures to be tolerated and there to help clean house, and fetch and carry food.

  Now that he was older, girls somehow seemed different. His chosen partner had also changed in appearance, though he seldom saw her. Even if he did, most of her face was covered with a scarf and her body with a malong. But her big dark eyes looked at him with a promise that his body wanted to take up.

  For now he could not. His life would be forfeit if he did the wrong thing and it was before the proper time.

  At 18 his Mother had died. At 19 he had married the one betrothed through his Father's arrangement. He had been so proud and yet so sad that neither his Father nor Mother could be with him on his day of dedication. The ugly skinny girl with the big eyes had become the loveliest thing his eyes had ever seen.

  They had loved each other so deeply. By the time he was 20 he had fathered his first daughter, Siti; then two years later another daughter, Zahra. He did not care that there were no sons. His love for his wife more than compensated.

  Time had passed quickly. He had been working at the Paradise Plantations pineapple canning factory for 18 years. His Grandmother protested vigorously against him working for 'that' company as she so strongly put it. It was the same company that employed his Father.

  It was his first real job. When he started, who owned it, or managed it, was not important. It was a good job, regular pay and a chance to learn more about machinery. His Father, along with three workmates, had been killed in an accident while clearing rain forest to expand the company's pineapple plantation area. The ‘official' version of the accident had always been suspect in his Grandmother’s and Mother's minds.

  Over the years he learned more about the business and operations of his company employer. They were involved in both growing fruit and the canning of their own crop, and that which they bought from others. The company owners, the Yamada family, and his family had been linked in an employer, employee relationship for over 55 years, since the Japanese invasion of the Philippines.

  Despite his 18 years experience with the Paradise Plantation canning division, his rise in the ranks of hierarchy had been small and slow. Management always pointed to his lack of formal training and qualifications. He knew this was not the reason; it was simply that he was Muslim. Other Muslims were held back even with their university education, because they were told they lacked experience.

  Though direct ownership of the corporation was through the Yamada family, the operating and second tier of management were Catholic Tagalogs from Luzon. The current major stockholder and managing director was Ken Yamada, a grandson of Colonel Toshio Yamada, the first generation in the link between the Yamada family and his family.

  Salim's position in the company was not officially recognised by title or fair remuneration. His experience and skills unofficially were. It seemed those skills gave him some form of job security. Unofficial company policy could not let it be seen that any official managerial recognition was given to a Muslim.

  Ken Yamada spent as much time in Japan as he did in Mindanao. Salim had only seen him a few times; even then it had only been from a distance. He was not much older than Salim, and did not look very Japanese.

  Apparently the superior race mentality of Yamada's ancestors did not stretch to marriage with other races. Among Ken Yamada’s Japanese forbears, his Grandfather, the former Colonel Toshio Yamada, had taken a Filipina wife who was mestiza of mixed Filipino and Spanish blood. Non-Filipinos were not allowed to own land in the Philippines, so the marriage was one of convenience, arranged to enable Toshio Yamada to procure large land holdings in the Philippines through his Filipina bride. It must have been a successful marriage as they bore three children. Each of those children then also married outside the Japanese race but still qualified as Japanese because the children were born there.

  Through dummy corporations, corrupt officials and willingly bought
Filipino lawyers, the land holdings controlled by the Yamada family grew rapidly over the post-war years. Some land holdings seemed in the strangest areas, some almost inaccessible. The Grandfather, the former Colonel Toshio Yamada, had been very selective where he wanted to buy in the post-war years, even though nearby and better plantation land had been available at cheaper prices.

  The early Spanish rulers too had been well pleased with their Asian colony. It was rich in gold as well as the spices they originally sought. For the soldiers and sailors on those voyages, many had been forced, through debt, to undertake the then perilous voyages. Debts were repaid by their forgoing payment of any wages for the voyage.

  Those who survived the voyage out from Spain, especially the soldiers, would then have to spend months, sometimes years, in the Spanish colony. The presence of Philippines gold meant many soldiers spent time seeking the valuable metal. Other skilled artisans then secretly smelted the gold that was found into coins. A percentage of the coins smelted were then taken as payment.

  Any discovered booty was technically the property of the Army commander, if the gold was found by a soldier; or the ship's Captain if found by a sailor. To avoid losing their booty to greedy senior officers, many buried their loot with the intention of returning later as a fare paying passenger and digging up their cache. As a paying passenger they were able to keep what they found.

  But many died on the return journey to Spain, or of malaria in the Philippines. Others were killed in the many wars Spaniards fought trying to subdue the local natives, especially in the gold rich but Muslim southern dominated areas of Mindanao.

  Locals had discovered that the metal had a high value. They too would bury their cache for later retrieval, or would be killed by one of the many roving bands of thieves. For nearly 350 years, gold had been dug out of the earth, sluiced from streams, or stolen from prospectors and buried for later retrieval.

  Much had also been hidden away among small Muslim and Catholic family groups, buried for centuries, with only vague knowledge of the whereabouts. Some small caches of gold were recovered after many years of searching.

  In many other cases it had been gold the villagers had won through their own hard efforts of sifting and panning the many mountain streams. Then, fighting off and often losing their gains to one of the many groups of roaming bandits. Even in later years fighting off the Catholic Tagalog soldiers from Luzon as well, who claimed their 'official rights' to confiscate unlicensed gold.

  None of the unlicensed gold would reach Manila, or get beyond the officers and men who had confiscated it.

  Salim's Grandmother had often told him stories of Japanese officers hurriedly burying their ill-gotten treasure as they escaped the advancing US Army.

  Colonel Toshio Yamada, of the 30th Division, was stationed in the area from 1942 to 1944. He had been the prime looter and murderer of villagers in his greed for the treasures Spanish sailors had buried during three hundred and fifty years of their occupation of the Philippines.

  Salim had begun to recall with more detail and clarity the tales his Grandmother and Mother had told him. About how his Grandfather had been forced to help the Japanese officer, Colonel Toshio Yamada, bury his gold and then how Yamada had murdered all those who buried the gold. After that he had gone to the barrio and killed the families of those who had buried the gold. Only Salim's Grandmother and her three children got away, because of her premonition of danger. She had fled into the rain forest, with her children, and hid with the guerrillas until the Americans arrived.

  The subsequent death of Salim's Father and his workmates working for the same company, on land clearing operations, was also suspect. The reasons behind clearing such poor arable land by digging strange trenches seemed odd.

  Those suspect deaths added to his anger and frustration at always being passed over for promotion and deserved salary increases. He was also frustrated that credit was given to some Tagalog from Luzon for ideas and plans for plant improvements that he, Salim, had thought up. The Tagalog would be rewarded, while he would be shunned. He began to think about what he had to do to get his personal compensation and revenge.

  It began with petty thefts of engine parts which he could adapt and use in his friends and relations’ bancas, the small Filipino fishing boats. Then he began to steal tools that he could use to repair those same banca motors. He was sure none of the thefts could ever be traced to him.

  He was wrong. Someone, somewhere, must have reported his actions.

  Though when he had been summonsed to the main office 'that day', he had thought it was to once again elaborate on another of the ideas he had. He had been required to go to the main office many times for that purpose.

  Instead, he was greeted by an angry management team and the local police. The managing director, Ken Yamada stood watching. The deputy management threatened to allow the police to arrest him for theft and sabotage; then withdrew the threat as 'recognition' of his past contribution to the company. But the company fired him anyway.

  He felt relief that he was not going to jail. He could not live being separated from his wife and children. So he thanked them for their generosity and compassion.

  He would have felt differently had he known what was happening at his home while he was in the office.

  Five of the company's armed factory security Tagalog Filipino 'goons' had been sent to his home. Using the pretence they were looking for stolen factory equipment, they had forced entry into his home. They tied up his wife and two daughters, put them all into the bedroom and ransacked the home. Failing to find anything which belonged to the factory, they decided to leave a message that Salim could not fail to understand.

  All five raped his wife in front of his two daughters.

  When he returned to his home, he found his wife, still on their bed, nude, with her hands and legs free of any bindings. She was just lying there, not a mark or bruise on her body. His two daughters were still bound and crying crouched in the corner.

  Why had his wife not fought her attackers?

  He could not forgive her for that.

  Now, three months later, she was dead.

  All the stories, ingrained into his subconscious over the years, had become crystal clear in his mind. All the evils that had happened to his family over the past 55 years had the same root cause. The Yamada family.

  His mind was rapidly becoming focused. He would punish Yamada and all those connected with the Yamada family.

  Now his wife was dead. They had killed his wife. He would get his revenge. He would plan that revenge in detail to the utmost degree. Revenge would not just be for the death of his beautiful wife, but for all the sins and degradation the Yamada family and their associates had inflicted on his ancestors over three generations.

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