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By Mia Fatima Bandian
The afternoon sun was glaring
down on the spectators littered on the dirt road in front of Aling
Mercy’s bamboo hut. People of all ages were present, and their
mass was enough to bend the poor fence shielding the hut and red
gumamela shrubs from the road. Cries from impatient children could
be heard every now and then—they were tired from standing too long
with their parents. Their racket mingled with the exaggerated
prayers of the old women and the excited chatters of the crowd.
Toto, Aling Mercy’s older ampon,
remained oblivious to the racket. But what 14-year-old Toto lacks in
hearing, he makes up for by using his powerful hands—he has a
knack for fixing things, for making the pieces fall into their
rightful places. For instance, the loud voices of the people waiting
to enter their house didn’t bother him as he was peacefully
repairing the bamboo fence he himself built three years ago.
But it was not Toto the people
were visiting. They were concerned with the boy called Francis, who
was Aling Mercy’s newest son.
Francis. The name did not please
the man sitting under the tamarind tree across the road. He spat on
the dirt road, took a drag from the cigarette resting on his left
hand, and bathed Texas, which he dearly held near his chest, with
smoke. The man was called Mang Ricardo, who was infamous for his
vulgar words and drinking habit. The sudden popularity of Aling
Mercy’s younger ampon caused Mang Ricardo to be immortalized as
the good-for-nothing vagabond who sold his nine-year-old blind son
to the village’s holy spinster.
“Kiko. His real name is just
Kiko, not Francis. A disabled child does not deserve a fancy name,
that old hag is just making it up!” Mang Ricardo exclaimed
vehemently to no one in particular. Some spectators turned to look
at him, their expressions full of disgust for this man reeking of
sweat and cheap gin. But Mang Ricardo didn’t seem to notice the
hostility and continued to voice his protests while stroking
Texas’ feathers.
“We named him Kiko after my
father-in-law. That was my sweet Isay’s request before she died.
In fact, that useless kid used to be taunted as Kiko Kurikong! Now
that old woman has to disgrace the name we gave him and fool the
entire baranggay into thinking he’s special. Pwe!” Again, Mang
Ricardo spat on the ground.
“Hoy Kulas, did you come here
to claim your son? Or your son’s donation box?” A man from the
crowd asked mockingly.
“Aba’y putra—” he
stood awkwardly, ready to raise his clenched fists, but stopped
immediately in fear of dropping his precious Texas. He stroked the
rooster’s feathers once more, as if apologizing that it had to
witness his profanity.
Patiently, he waited for the
crowd to finally leave and give him the chance to ask more money
from Aling Mercy. He could not bear believing the boy would actually
be worth something.
Aling Mercy, the village
spinster, was famous for bombarding children with Bible teachings.
Alas, her passion was unproductive—the youngsters were more
interested on catching spiders and climbing mango trees. Their
parents were no different; they went to church only if there was no
important episode of the popular radio drama.
The spinster led a lonely life
that it did not surprise the neighborhood when she offered to take
care of Toto, a deaf orphan living with his grandmother who was
bound to die from old age. And since Aling Mercy did a good job
taking care of Toto, who was slowly growing up into a young man with
a talent for carpentry, Mang Ricardo did not think twice when she
offered to take care of his disabled son.
While staring absentmindedly at
the cigarette he dropped, his ears were filled with different
conversations from the crowd about the spectacle concerning the boy.
“Francis will save us all!”
“It’s a miracle!”
“He bears the marks of
Jesus!”
“Yes, I saw his hands!”
“His bloody hands! Did you see
the holes? And those on his feet?”
“I hear they don’t smell
rotten, they smell of roses!”
The last statement caught Mang
Ricardo off-guard. Roses. His memory immediately brought him back to
his last encounter with Aling Mercy one week ago, when he came not
to visit his Kiko, but to ask for the payment the woman promised in
exchange for his blind son so that he could finally purchase his own
rooster.
“Aling Mercy!” Mang Ricardo
had called out. He was standing in front of the bamboo hut.
“Ricardo, come in.” A
woman’s voice issued from the inside of the house. Mang Ricardo
did not intend on staying—he just wanted to take his money and
leave. But he entered the house and without waiting for an
invitation, sat down on the bench where Aling Mercy was busy
adjusting the boy’s Sunday’s best attire she had just purchased.
Aling Mercy was also dressed in her usual Sunday attire. The
tranquil look on the boy’s face suddenly changed after sensing his
father’s presence, his glazed eyes looking uneasy as fear flashed
across his face.
“The money.” Mang Ricardo
reminded her. Aling Mercy nodded curtly. She crossed the room and
disappeared into the adjoining room, the scent of roses following
her. Mang Ricardo smirked in disgust. He finally confirmed what his
Pareng Chito had concluded during their previous inuman—that rose
perfume was popular among old women. Craning his neck, he saw her
rummaging under the papag while Toto was busy polishing the wooden
floor with a coconut husk.
“So how have you been behaving
here? Are you giving Aling Mercy a hard time?” Mang Ricardo
suddenly asked sternly, his attempt to break the ice.
Kiko squirmed before answering.
He kept his hands inside his pockets. “No Father. I’ve been
doing everything you ordered me to.”
Mang Ricardo laughed. “Good. No
wonder you look healthier. Aling Mercy has been taking care good of
you. You are very lucky, so be sure to behave well and obey her
orders.”
Kiko nodded nervously. “Yes.
She is very kind to me.”
“And? That’s it? ‘She is
very kind to me’? Can you not use your tiny brain to think of
other decent things to say about the woman who offered you a life I
could never afford?”
The boy gulped. “Well, Father,
she treats us like her own sons.”
“And?”
“And I think she favors
me more than Kuya Toto because every night, every night, she
prepares a glass of milk for me.”
“Francis, enough nonsense!”
Aling Mercy’s voice boomed out. The father and son became silent,
both shocked at the sharpness of her voice. She stood in front of
Mang Ricardo, her outstretched left hand holding a bundle of bills
in front of his face.
“Francis?” Mang Ricardo could
not believe his ears.
Aling Mercy narrowed her eyes.
“Here is the money. Whatever I call him should not concern you
anymore. This boy can do so much better. I will make sure he will
not turn into someone like you. Francis is a better name for a boy
who will humbly serve the Lord Almighty.”
Because of the sight of the
bundle of bills, Mang Ricardo held himself back from retorting.
Besides, he hated listening to her. He grabbed the money from her
palm and headed for the door. He was not sure if it was just his
imagination, but as he was closing the door, he heard a voice hiss,
“There is no need to tell anybody about the glass of milk
again.”
That cold harsh voice embossed on
his memory faded slightly as soon as he heard the cheerful voices of
the hordes of people who were all heading to the church in order to
celebrate the miracle the Lord has blessed the boy. Some were
disappointed for not having the chance to see Francis, while those
who were lucky were obviously impressed. Mang Ricardo could not
explain it, but he felt that there was something wrong. The memory
of Aling Mercy’s cold harsh voice made him decide to wait until
everybody was already sleeping and sneak for answers.
After a few hours, silence
finally enveloped the village; only the songs of the crickets were
heard. Mang Ricardo started his way to Aling Mercy’s backyard. The
moon beamed down on him, giving him enough light and darkness to
sneak around.
Fortunately, the window of the
room they slept in was not completely closed. Hiding behind shrubs
of gumamela, Mang Ricardo strained his eyes to look into the inch of
opening.
Toto was already peacefully
asleep at the other side of the papag. With his wounded hands
clasped together, Francis knelt, obviously deep in prayer. Aling
Mercy entered the room, stirring a glass of milk. She stopped at the
doorway, waiting for Francis to finish his prayer.
When the prayer was over, Aling Mercy offered the glass to the boy,
which he took nervously, his eyes nervously moving back and forth.
“My child, do not be afraid.
Remember that you are being blessed for your sacrifice.” Aling
Mercy said soothingly as the boy drank the entire contents of the
glass obediently. He nodded, and returned the empty glass to her.
The old woman continued reassuring the child even when he began
looking sick.
Mang Ricardo was distracted when
Texas tried to escape from his grasp. He cursed silently, wishing
that Aling Mercy will not notice the noise they created. Crouching
beside the gumamela shrubs, he expertly grabbed and stroked the
rooster, cooing quietly for it to stop trying to escape.
When he was finally able to
secure Texas near his chest, Mang Ricardo slowly peered back into
the opening. He was just in time to see the child’s eyes shut. His
limp body almost fell on the papag with a thud if Aling Mercy did
not catch it expertly. After arranging his body, she began rummaging
under the papag. Mang Ricardo had to move nearer in order to see
what the woman was up to. What he saw made his heart stop.
Holding a giant square nail on
her left hand, and Toto’s hammer on the other, Aling Mercy
murmured, “Sleep tight, my Francis.”
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