The soldiers stole glances at me as Teniente Medina continued to drone on in Spanish. If Vicente were here, then I wouldn't be the only one who understood what the officer was talking about.
Your typical Filipino—even some in the principalia—only knows rudimentary Spanish. Madrid had no quarrel about giving the natives an education. The local Spanish authorities, perhaps to consolidate their power, made sure only a select few could afford it.
They might catch every third or fourth word in the conversation but would likely not understand it as a whole.
Although I think they were picking up clues from the scribbles the lieutenant was making in the dirt with his knife.
On the ground was a square drawn in the dust, surrounded by a circle. A small cross had been marked at the left curve of the circle to show our position—to the western flank of the presidencia building.
