Chapter 14
Baguio
(Baguio, the Summer Capital of the Philippines. Source: Microsoft Bing Retrieve 07-12-22)
A few years back parting his ways from Driarco, Taklin surviving those grueling religious training from the parish must be an add-on positive factor for his newfound vocation. What beautiful memories he and Driarco experienced together in their pastoral work.
"As fleeting as the wind," it was all that Taklin now remembers meanwhile fast approaching Baguio, the Summer Capital of the Philippines after those wobbling travel from Manila up passing dreaded Kennon road. It's good that his parents empathized with him what with his sudden turnaround career seeking a far more challenging military career and leaving his good friend Driarco in the seminary.
It's weird but his day was getting smaller as time passes by nearing his official destination.
"Four years to fix things up while in PMA is not a bad idea. I think I could manage it or the dream of becoming a military officer would remain as an elusive dream ever," he said looking at many people walking around towards a far yet Baguio City.
For the first time, Taklin feels lonely thinking of the void after leaving his family back home. He was sure though that this emptiness is just but a natural feeling as he is giving up that solidarity with his loved ones in favor of a far higher ambitious dream of becoming a military officer. Sublimation. This was it focusing more on his energy for a far higher noble purpose in life. He had been there anyway helping his father on their farm and now left on his own charting his path.
"Father will always be special in his heart, no matter what. What good it takes if as a son you did not return the compliment to your family who nurtured you reaching this far," he rationalized.
Taklin's coming to Baguio was his first. Like all other Filipino mortals, he's been looking forward to visiting this Summer Capital of the Philippines. Seeing the place is exciting. Boracay island with its finest white sand and crystal clear sea water; lanzones, hot and cold spring, the sunken cemetery of Camiguin in Northern Mindanao; export quality pomelos, durian, and other tropical fruits; Mt. Apo of Davao and a famous blue marlin for juicy 'kinilaw' included; enchanting caves and exciting wild-life animals of Palawan; Puerto Azul of Mindoro; scenic Taal lakes of Batangas; city in the sky at Tagaytay; religious festivities in Cebu like Sinulog, Dinagyang in Iloilo, Moriones in Catanduanes and Atiatihan for Aklan – all these great sources of Filipino heritage and culture transformed to tourist attractions in the country are all familiar to Taklin's ear but not on his eyes. For while it is considered a pleasure to gawking tourists and wealthy Filipino, it is economic to Juan del a Cruz unless blown by the wind of destiny to any of these places.
Taklin was indeed elated. At least he scored one. He knows that he's barely started appreciating his homeland sending many Europeans and Americans to explore these places. A foreigner of his land, he remembers Mr. Ludimer telling him back home in his province.
"Not anymore; you're no longer a stranger to your land buddy," thought himself while an Air-Con bus runs like a bullet train through the national road pavement. With its zigzag routes, Taklin observed the driver not giving a damn manipulating difficult and dangerous curves sending fear and trembling down his spine. Chasing several buses while ascending Kennon road along a deep ravine was disturbing. Occasionally, he stared outside the window feasting his own eyes on the imposing Grand Canyon whose grandeur and magnificence are seen clearly through the glass. It was a combination of pleasure and torture though as the driver manifesting his recklessness manipulated difficult curves. Now, at last, he understands why drivers are better than priests. Priests would only lull them to sleep with their dull homilies. But a reckless driver always reminds them of God every time they manipulate the handle negotiating through mazes of difficult curves. It reminds him of similar sight-seeing in Bukidnon, Northern Mindanao where the pineapples plantation of the Philippine Packing Corporation abounds all over the place as far as your eyes can see providing an excellent balance to the towering canyons seen earlier.
Momentarily, his ear registered some disturbing noise as the bus gradually scaled the tortuous zigzag routes, which the bus driver didn't worry about anyway. It's an air pressure disturbing his hearing. Recalling the first aid learned from the past, he perfunctorily squeezed his nose closed. With one deep bated breath blown against the base of his nostrils. To no avail. It didn't feel good either until he swallows his saliva once up there in the sky, he recalled the trainer advising prospective passengers in an aircon bus.
Applying by instinct, it gave him relief somehow albeit temporary.
The huge lion's head landmark along the road with "Welcome to Baguio City" was seen visibly painted in dirty white indicating that he's nearing his destination. Soon beautiful houses in navy blue, green chocolate, and red colors sprouted up like mushrooms giving indescribable delight to Taklin's eyes, a living testimony to the genius of Filipino painters and architects.
"This is Baguio," he said with an aura of confidence and a sense of achievement as if he has just successfully scaled Mt. Apo or Mt. Hibok-hibok arriving in the city.
The cold weather was biting. Coming down from the vehicle, clouds of smoke gathered steam gradually covering the rain forest and vegetable gardens towards the South soon engulfed him.
"Looking like I'm on cloud nine," he thought.
Acclimatizing is what he badly needs at least for one week. Mr. Ludimer was right in advising him to come earlier. This would at least provide him the necessary advantage over other classmates and indispensable in getting rid of extra baggage.
"The training right there is rather very rigid, I just want to be sure that you have the necessary preparation," he remembered the words of his mentor, an alumnus of PMA. Riding a taxi cab for Teacher's Camp he would be billeted, at hundreds of makeshift shanties displaying flowers, fruit jams, fresh fruits, and all that were seen along the city's thoroughfares as if welcoming him to the cool city of the mountain.
"These must be the same people, hardworking ones he saw earlier by the slopes of the mountain cultivating vegetable gardens, engaging cut flowers production, and planting fruit trees," he thought.
People walking briskly wearing thick coats with their hands solidly buried in their pockets caught the fancy of the young visitor as the friendly lady cab driver dropped him by the corner.
"Naembag nga aldaw kengkayo apo," he said politely to elders passing him by as his gesture of respect. It was tentative as he was negotiating the final stretch of the Teacher's Camp.
"Naembag nga aldaw mot," one of the eldest answered; the rest nodded their heads collectively.
"Welcome," the other joined after surveying the apparent provincial personality of the visitor.
Taklin fidgeted that he would be proceeding to Teachers' Camp for a night or two before proceeding to Philippine Military Academy. It was a good excuse though for his scant knowledge of the vernacular spoken by the group. Tooth blackened by constant chewing of betel nuts glittered as they grinned at Taklin.
"You'd like to become a soldier," one said.
"Yes," Taklin readily answered surprised by how articulate his newfound friends were.
"Good to have you around. We have so much bloodshed in the country today. Unprecedented one. People seem to me are crazy these days bleeding the country dry at will. Chaos, disorder, armed strife, rebellion – they're almost becoming the fad of the time thriving everywhere."
Taklin who was held captive and dumbfounded listening to the unsolicited talk.
"The country needs a break for peace. We're elated that you'd like to become one of its crusaders. When you do, please be a good soldier your children would like to emulate and any Filipino could be very proud of," the elder advised the young visitor.
Wrinkles forming on his forehead were pronounced as he smiled.
"Like the Israelis' soldiers who are treated first-class citizens by the Jews providing them priority seats in all public utility transportation, "the other intoned.
Taklin was taken aback and caught off-guard by the untimely message of inspiration from old folks. He rarely heard unfamiliar comments yet couched in simplicity said in such a courteous manner yet. He runs out of words but is elated hearing the encouragement given.
"Not like the military hired by the Fiufil, a big multinational corporation operating in Mountain Province driving us out from our ancestral lands to drain gold from our mountains," the other member griped close to saying that hired military has no business operating in their area out of their official function.
Hearing this revelation practically sends a shiver down his spine gradually losing and breaking his grip on what once-respected military institution. Like globules swiftly freeing away from his fingers, his thought brought back the sad memories of many farmers in the country forcibly driven away from their farms by big corporations through hired military officials.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Central Palm oil Plantation, Northern Industrial Development, and similar industries operating in Mindanao are good examples. Clearing of the area was done by the splintered military men belonging to the Ragtag Command so-called because all members are no longer in active service conscripted by the government. For survival, they offer their services free to any power broker and big businessmen requesting order and clearance in any area in favor of the entry of business venture. The palm oil industry is one. Its end product is reportedly used as fuel consumption for airplanes and in operating satellites or so, Taklin was told.
"The Commanding officer only asks us just one question after tendering the summon.
Nothing else," recalling the testimony of Nong Duroy many months passed.
"And what is it?" the question playing back in his memory.
"Just answer me either 'Yes or No!' . . . . Do you want still to live?"
"Who dares to answer 'No' when the cold muzzle of 38 calibers is right poking your forehead. No way unless you'd like to postpone your birthday forever."
"In simple terms, the CO summoning us under the direction of the owner is forcibly coercing us to vacate our area for the project or they're going to have our heads blown to pieces," Nong Duroy reminisced sadly about the incident.
"We're given payment alright. But not current fair market value either. How would we ever survive then?" And the irony of it all, the deal was done right inside the palm oil industry office," the poor farmer continued griping.
Looking around Taklin realized that his friends were already far away. It's as if he has just woken up from deep sleep.
He proceeded to walk toward the Teachers' Camp dangling a rucksack on his back. The accommodation was warm. His room is spacious and cozy. He had plenty of sleep that night gaining more energy and restoring lost calories.
Wanting to survey its thoroughfares, he woke up early and hurriedly don his Nike running outfit. They were brand new his mother purposely provided him to help him sustain his vitality while away from home.
"Early bird catches the worm," he thought while jogging
"I would have just my coffee downtown."
First, he went around the city and catches there several sports enthusiasts jogging. Too many of them were seen later running the oval joining the Gintong Alay trainees and honing their skills for international competition.
Following their circular routes, he noticed that he is heading back to the camp. Running by intuition, he digressed from the route and the group passed. Turning left he passed by Hyatt hotel and descending further he reached the recreation center of the Americans. "This is Camp John Hay," he saw printed on the billboard by the road.
Baguio City was established by the Americans last 1900 to escape the tropical heat from Manila and other places. There they established Camp John Hay as recreation center honeymooners would like to spend their nights away later. Possibly, as storage too of American armaments. With heart-throbbing exhaustion from running, he paused for a moment and summoned enough air and rest for his next leg.
A scenic cemetery nearby for animal pets invited his curiosity. Dog, cats, birds – all these were represented by their dummies atop their burial ground, holy Taklin supposed. He was amused by what he saw and thought whatever happened to Juan de la Cruz why did dogs, cats, and even rice fields rats end their natural death as a sumptuous meal either in Filipino homes or taken as appetizers during a drinking spree. He had tasted dog's meat once and good heavens, who could afford to forget its delicious taste any foreigner might shout 'fuck you, men.'
He has been a certified dog lover himself and could not stomach being negligent of the barbarity of Juan de la Cruz towards dogs much less eat their meat. But unlike those duped into eating without their knowledge, he too fell into the trap.
He recalled donating 250 ccs of type "B" blood for the first time to his good friend Emily who went by-pass operation at the Philippine Heart Center of Asia in Manila. She was his closest friend and his confidante.
Three years his junior and an intelligent lady who graduated Magna Cum Laude later in one exclusive College in Manila. He was hesitant at first but learning that his good friend's life was at stake, he took the risk. Exhausted after donating blood, Emily's father prepared a special menu sending the four others salivating and waiting for the call. He did but only to treat their empty stomach with Ginebra San Miguel Marca demono first.
Running out of patience aggravated by his hungry stomach, he took his glass filled to the brim with Marca Demoño repeatedly drinking shot after shot. As if Emily's father inadvertently set in the flavor for supper, the hot menu was just served on time. With his eyes almost cross-eyed from the effect of Marca Demoño, he whetted his appetite at will. He kept coming back to the table scooping from the casserole what looks like dark almost choked to death discovering that the last piece of meat he ate was that of dogs' feet the remaining nails protruding yet! No wonder that he finds the color, charcoal black, charred by the fire to suspect. From then on, he promised not to fall into a similar trap.
Meanwhile, he continues sharing his blood with the needy. Thus far, he has donated gallons of blood had done it several times in a row. Had he not contracted malaria from one of his vacations in Mindoro, he would have added several gallons more.
"It's good for the body. Impurities are sucked out from veins," he told his friends later for his generosity. Besides, it's good for the soul too you know saving lives," he would add giving premium that blood is life.
"It's better to give than receive it yourself," he challenged people.
Indeed, Filipino's penchant for eating dog meat still intrigued Taklin. Is it for arts, culture, poverty, medicine whatever why did Juan de la Cruz go this far? Unfortunately, Taklin believes that the final answer is still blowing in the wind. Why are other regions so crazy for dog meat?
He has seen for instance that people from Surigao del Sur, Mountain Province, and Pampanga would rather prefer dog meat than that pigs' and goats' meat. Any social gatherings like birthdays or ordinary drinking sprees would not be complete without asocena. He remembered Ka Ernie, a Cabalen from Pampanga informing him how dear dog's meat is to their appetite.
"But no, we don't make them part of our meal. Very rarely," he qualified. When a dog is butchered for you, that means you are a very special visitor to us, he was told by Fred, another friend from Surigao. Ground mixed with chili cooked till the water is drained make dog's menu for the Mountaineers from Ifugao special.
Roasted dogs are what Filipino working in the Middle East prepare during special occasions. Taklin saw once a picture showing a dog roasted with the celebrants at the back grinning wild.
No wonder they look like bulldogs too, remembering the shot. He hears several other equally exotic yet strange menus like those double killed, balut na aso and nilabyog unfortunately has not seen them served before his naked eyes.
Save for the double-killed, he very well knew of rare and weird how the balut na aso and nilabyog performed or cooked. How are they cooked?
"Oh simple," Darwin from Cebu said.
"All you have to do is to look for a female dog on her way to delivery say three to six months depending on your taste. Then have her throat slit, and body cleaned including the internal parts, intestines, and all that leaving unborn puppies intact.
Treat the stomach with clove buds, pineapple juice, rum, brown sugar, and all that. Garnish with pineapple slices and cherries if you wish when you're through cooking. Cooked for one and a half hours basting it once in a while.
"Looks like you're performing an abortion," Taklin protested once. But Darwin laughed it away.
"If you find that menu funny, the more with nilabyog. It's crazy, one that's maybe only existing from the rabid dog-eaters."
Save for the vernacular implying rope rotated in the air, he was practically innocent of what Darwin calls a super menu.
"All you have to do starved the dog for two to five days till drained of impurities and energy sapped. Second, bought one kilo of Lechon and cut them into pieces giving that to the dog. Meanwhile, prepare a container with vinegar, onions, salt, and all that. And as the dog consumes the last piece of Lechon have a close grip on his tail and throws him rotating around the air. Don't drop him until he could not stand reeling as he vomits, catch the Lechon back to the container and serve while still hot," Taklin almost died laughing.
"Holy shit, no way!' the young man protested.
"You see the folly of man. He makes himself more than a dog instead out of his silly menus prepared," Taklin rationalized.
No wonder Americans lately berated such practice in their national daily. Welcome to Filipino arts and culture celebration says the caption with two Filipinos roasting a dog in the background. The streamer looks inviting but not when one focuses on the caricature of Juan de la Cruz as executioner and cook of loyal pets, a member of a family to Uncle Sam.
Taklin would also recall Jose Sionel's Mass, a migrant from the province living in Manila. Samson, the protagonist of the story owns a treasured pet – a dog no less -. Its color might have been black whose blood any Pangasinese loves drinking to cure purportedly asthma. It was so lovable that the Mayor's wife became so crazy about it.
Bribing Samson's mother with the sizable amount, the prized pet was surreptitiously taken to the Mayor's house.
Samson hearing the incident engaged in hot pursuit at the Mayor's house for possible retrieval. Unfortunately, what greeted his eyes through the back door in the kitchen was the coup de grace of his beloved pet. Blood spurting out from the slit throat kept flowing right through the funnel towards the Mayor's wife's mouth. The scene was rather gruesome, Samson just felt sick he went away running.
"But do animals have karma?" Taklin would ask later after reading the novel. Maybe not a farfetched idea. They too are God's creation. They are held sacred by some ethnic groups believing in incarnation. Indians don't butcher cows. They believed them to be the reincarnation of their relatives. The earthquakes, rocks fell, trees regain vitality, and birds and the bees sang merrily when Christ was resurrected from the grave observes Paul Tillich, a famous German theologian. Sionil Jose of course vindicates the danger of killing a dog.
The Mayor's wife died instead from the fresh dog's blood pouring into her throat without seeing herself recovering from asthma and weak lungs. Good grief Charlie Brown, Samson, the protagonist might have uttered relief.
"Wish thunders would strike dog-eaters sometimes," Taklin de la Rosa probably willing to die not eating dog's meat and not the other way around, the thought he found amusing.
Incidentally, Taklin had a similar experience. His own pet Mascara, so-called because his eyes sported black and white spectacle was sold by his mother without his knowledge. The pet went back to him limping and blood draining down his head begging for dear life from the buyer rushing after him.
"Sorry kid but your mother already sold him to us," he said.
"Ah okay," the kid responded fidgeting the buyer to come closer to get Mascara back.
Hesitant and staring right into the eyes, he extended Mascara whining from the damage done by the butcher with his left hand. But as the butcher was reaching out for his pet, he unleashed a solid fifty-kilos PacMan punch to the chin. The swift right cross follow-up to the bread basket sends the poor man falling on his knees to the ground like a marshmallow.
"Good for you," he told leaving the butcher gnashing his teeth in pain.
He also recalled a similar cemetery at San Elmo town, an island facing the famous Boracay island to the north and Sta. Elena, an enchanting municipality whose best contribution to the country is many lovely fine actresses in Philippine movies. It's unfortunate however that some barangays are endemic to malaria. Huge life-size artworks of sand-gravel and cement mixture are all that you would see at their cemetery. Some of its dummies atop the burial ground like a miniature small boat painted fighting cock, a guitar, and similar hallmarks could be a very excellent substitute for any watchtower to a fisherman.
The mere sight alone of these colorful graphic objects from the distance would indicate how many nautical miles you are to your destination. The area happened to fall under the typhoon belt zone. Transforming these into water breakers, typhoons sometimes could not wreak damage to Sta. Elena. With varied huge concrete sea water breakers, onrushing giant waves would find their way back to the sea as they crash their way during typhoons. An earthquake burying these masterpieces to the ground might be it. But so far none of such calamities happened to destroy these important monuments. Maybe because of many dead bodies long buried under whose sanctity preserved all the beauty over its hollowed niches.
Back to reality, Taklin noted that none of his jogging outfits was drenched by perspiration despite the considerable kilometers covered. Leaving Camp John Hay, he increased his speed keeping abreast with the blistering pace set by other Baguio runners ahead of him but he was far from secreting desired perspiration. His calories were just lazy manufacturing one. He has been into running joining track and field contests like a marathon. Despite many failures of not winning, he religiously still participates in said sports fest. The thought alone of being one of the finishers and the joy of running against several veterans and professional runners is already great consolation and a feat for itself. This is what he also thought of life. It needs continuous running to get the most coveted prize. A million miles are yet to be covered. Others have been into it while he is barely starting yet his dream.
"PMA is such a nice base to start with," the thought running in his mind gradually slowing down catching up his breath.
"The many the risk, the better and more colorful the challenge."
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The teacher's camp occupants had already had their breakfast at the refectory upon his arrival. He settled himself at the table by the fireplace to keep himself warm while waiting for his food. A medium-size, sinewy broad soldier, clean-shaven around forty years old man approached him. Taklin gesture his right hand for his seat at the same time surveying
unexpectedly the personality of the visitor that early.
"Taklin de la Rosa," the man said sending a tremble down his back.
"You're right. I am."
"Nice meeting you. I am Capt. Estrada. Col. Joselito Ludimer's bosom friend. Mr. Mirang is also with us in the Reform the Society Movement, RAM for short" the intruder said showing his ID indicating that indeed he is an officer of the military. Only then that the prospective plebe recovered his normal composure intrigued by mentioning the name of his previous military mentor back then at Osigan Agricultural College.
"I'm pleased to meet you too Capt. Estrada," Taklin answered courteously standing and dropping his head a bit as a gesture of respect.
"I'm sorry kid for my blitzkrieg appearance but you see I just received a wire from Mr. Mirang that you would be coming over to Baguio. How he's been?"
"Just fine, I suppose. Do take your breakfast with me."
"Don't worry. I'll just manage. A cup of coffee and a piece of bread will do. I was told that you're a newcomer to Baguio."
"You're right," Taklin responded without batting an eyelash. His breakfast was put on the table by the waiter. It included salted eggs with sliced tomatoes spread through it and fried pork chop. Capt. Estrada settled for coffee only and slice bread telling Taklin that he takes only rice soup and bread for breakfast. He is a rabid sports enthusiast himself playing ball games like basketball, softball, and volleyball with intensity. He jogs but mainly to sustain his stamina in those ball games especially basketball where he excelled like any professional player. It is where his friendship with Col. Ludimer developed.
"Excuse me. Col. Ludimer might have not divulged it. But it has been the tradition of RSM to offer services in whatever way we could contributing to those who are taking up military science as good cheer hopefully to perk your ambition up too to be one with us serving the country as military men for good later. "
"Even if one does not intend to join your organization?"
"You're right. We respect the free will of an individual. We just feel it's one of the basic needs by us who have been through the rigors of training you know. Kid hopes you would have four fruitful years ahead of you in the Academy. Keep it up we're just around to help you stand up on your feet taking any challenges."
"We're almost like Big Brothers with Joe- that's what we call him when we were at the academy then. Joselit is just too formal. His eruditeness, scholarship, prudence, and bravery remind us of our great hero Dr. Jose Rizal. He is almost his namesake precisely we alter his nickname "Lito" which we found too boyish to that of Jose, Dr. Rizal's nickname maybe to his friends. And like the great hero, his academic grades at PMA are yet to be surpassed. Hope you could be another candidate to carry the torch for excellence."Taklin appreciated hearing the anecdote of his good friend Col. Ludimer.
"What's up?"
"Well it is just like this as requested by my good friend Joe; I'd like that you're safe in this city. It's one of the most peaceful cities in the country, you know. My residence is right in the heart of the City."
"Like Bukidnon, it's a good place to live at. Cold, fresh fruits, a place conducive to study and training. Yes, that's why the government has the Philippine Military Academy established near this city," he paused for a moment summoning enough air to sustain his talk.
"Those are commercials. Let's go to business. Joe and I belong you know to the Reform the Society Movement as earlier stated. It is a unique organization among PMAer recognized by Stock Exchange Commission meant to build military ideals right from military service. In one word 'Democracy'.' Other organizations might have theirs. It doesn't make any difference. The approaches may be different but the essence is similar I suppose. The only glaring difference we have from the rest is that we treat Commies as our arch enemies. To include their misguided accomplices – leftists, labor leaders, students and their misguided mentors, laymen, religious or who knows – even from among our ranks. We've been there and have offered our lives for democracy and freedom. No punning here. These people, take note, do not deserve any of our trust. If we could only wipe them out from the face of the earth, we will do it only to protect our emergence of this godless society. Again, we might pay our lives as a price for this cause. No problem. Yes, by all means, and we will be happy offering it."
"Tell us if you know one and we'll show you how it works. We will have his head axed and rolled to the ground - anytime and anywhere you want"
"Without due process of law!"
"No need. The more you negotiate with them, the easier they explain the issues away. For as long as you deliver the goods clean, no need for that extra-legal help."
Taklin just opted to listen but was more shocked and disoriented by the message just heard.
"I know you're probably frightened hearing this revelation. But this is precisely what we've been doing all those who would be joining our ranks – no-holds-barred discussion on the mission we have and meting out desirable penalty!"
Taklin remained glued to the receiving end waiting for further stunning issues.
"These are faceless people – scum of the earth we would be happy dumping around making them effective fertilizers for democracy to thrive."
"In the first place, these people don't deserve life. Not only that they do not respect our Constitution but also are raising arms against duly constituted authority elected by millions of people to guide us through towards peace and development."
"To think that they have the answer to our country's problem and that it is only communism who could save is only true to people suffering neurosis. Neurotic claim as a psychologist would say. God holds the only key to our salvation. If I may sound religious. Isn't it? And they don't have any business messing it here. It may come later but do they have moral persuasion to force the issue?"
"None."
"But carrying out this mission needs everybody's help. That's why the government has to levy taxes on its people.
"I agree though to the atheist's commies that we are living here and now that spiritual need may come later."
"Exactly that's why we have to abide by the laws of the land, respect and practice our basic rights not messing up with these laws fomenting hatred, rebellion, and sedition among the people."
Taklin didn't get exactly the point here but just allowed the lesson of Capt. Estrada sunk into his subconscious.
"Sorry to have shared our cause this early as it might pre-empt your study in the academy. But I hope it would make sense to you and would be of little help in putting you in proper perspective. It's one of the valid choices left to us excluding none. It's hard but once you are used to it, things fall into their proper place all the way swiftly. So by the time, you would graduate, you would already know what to do."
Confusion was seen in Taklin's face but he just kept his cool to solicit his mentor's ideas on how foreign these might be to him.
"Seems you're one of my sponsors," he digressed from the topic.
"I am precisely inviting you for dinner maybe tonight or tomorrow for more hearty and meaty talk."
"Very nice of you."
"Not really. It's just part of our brotherhood Joe and I and the rest shared nurturing what is to be developed among incoming members of the organization."
"No man is an island.
He could not stand alone you know.
"When we could have supper at home, I'd like to share some more with you about the organization and what we intend to do. Oh, if I could only tell you how much I owe Mr. Mirang, you would probably learn that what I'm extending to you is just practically peanuts. So how about that. If you're amenable, I'll just drop you a line later."
"It's a deal then. Okay," Taklin readily acknowledged.
"But of course, I'll fetch you here. Don't worry I have my wheels. I'll take care also your first report to the academy. Okay, kid good luck."
Taklin was astounded by the deal of the Captain. But it was real. He read himself his mentor's wire. No doubt about it. The captain was already nowhere in his sight. Taklin remained glued to his breakfast table wondering whatever happened to him – mind feed much better than what his stomach could manage.
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