When The Church Bells Toll

          There was beauty and comfort in the thought that - I did it because it was my choice and not anybody’s. My world. My rules. My dream. Accept it. Deal with it. I pondered.      When I was young, I used to believe,  birthdays are joyful occasions, but sometimes, a fun holiday with families suddenly turned sour - due to scenarios which made my head throbbed, as the sense of uneasiness became worse. I stared blankly on a wall and contemplated on this thought for a while. My 25th birthday celebration happened last week and there was nothing special about it. It was the same as last year’s - a simple gathering with family and close friends at home. Mother cooked some of her special dishes, the paella valenciana with chicken and rabbit, a big leg of jamon Serrano, patatas brava and almondigas. Everybody enjoyed it except for one thing - the courtroom drama.    Imagine the long, dinner table where my families and relatives acted as prosecutors, while I seated on a trial dock and interrogated for a crime I didn’t commit. It left me with no choice, but to act as my defense lawyer. They asked me the same questions that have been plaguing their minds for the past five years, and still be intrigued by the same responses which they found too hard to comprehend.     “Celina, you’re 25 years old now, when are you getting married? I’ve been hoping for my little nietos and nietas running around, laughing and kissing me on the cheeks,” said Abuela Virginia.     “We are getting old now, Celina. We only have a few years left to live,” Abuelo Pedro seconded her statement.    “Ayy! Don’t say that, Abuelo Pedro. I am just too busy with work.” I replied.     “Celina Mia, Don’t you think you’re old enough to find yourself a husband? convinced Tia Manuela. "Look at your cousins they were all married. Even your best friend Ana, she had a beautiful family. Please hurry up, the train is about to leave you.” she added.     I rolled my eyes and said, “Let the train leave, Tia Manuela. "I am very happy for them. They should be happy for me as well. Besides, I am already married to my books.”      At this point, all the family members who are sitting at the long dinner table looked at each other and questioned in silence the meaning of the phrase, “married to my books.” Yet, nobody dared to ask.      “Tienes novio?” Prima Marietta asked. “Don’t worry, I will find you a date, cousin. We can do a foursome with my fiance Romeo, it would be fun.”     “Oh no, thank you. You don’t have to. For now, I am not looking.”     “There were a couple of eligible men in the office. Would you like me to arrange a meeting for you, Celina?” Tio Peles asked.   "Maybe you need a change of appearance, you know, a little makeup here, new hairdo, and remove that ugly eyeglass of yours. It makes you look older." said another female cousin.    I smirked behind the napkin.     The conversation went on and on and on to the point of exasperation. It would have been a battle of sweet and witty repartee if not for the issue about my single blessedness. I could not find the logic of old thinking about a woman’s greatest accomplishment - to get married. I loved them so dearly but why can’t they get their snooping faces off my back? I thought.  Every time I changed the conversation to a new topic, someone caused a stir and managed the conversation back on track. If it was a real court scene, I would have asked the judge to handcuff me and throw me in jail. At least that way, they can leave me alone… in peace.    My family and relatives had lived in Frias all their lives. Our house was two blocks away from the Parroquia de San Vicente. Mother said, I was a quiet and naive little child until the age of two, but when I turned four years old, I suffered a very high fever and diarrhea that lasted for two days. After I recovered, I started talking a lot and became an active and funny child. Nothing seemed unusual to my parent, because I made them happy. My parents were still traditional but not old- fashioned people. They encouraged me to be the person I want to be. Marcela, the parish cleaner, have told my mother one day that I would turn into a feisty little worm someday. Mother smiled at her, never knowing what to think if it was an insult or a compliment.      Twenty-one years later, this feisty little worm became a librarian at La Biblioteca Nacional de Frias. Perhaps, due to the unlikely comment, Marcela said about me, which mother took with a grain of salt, she had bought me my first book at the age of six years old – Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Nope, it was not a book about fairy tales or anything magical. It was a book about the four March sisters. Being young, and not knowing how to read yet, my mother read the book to me in bed every night. She skipped the sad and sensitive details on each chapter, of course - which later in life, I was able to read in full. Yey! I became fascinated with these women even at a tender age as if I have known them as my own sisters. Among the four, I was closest to the fiery and stubborn Josephine “Jo” March, the eldest who loved literature. I daydreamed a lot of times when I was growing up that I loved the character of Jo. It left my mother confused sometimes if I was being Jo or Celina.                                                                                                           *****    Kk-rrrr-iiiiinnnnggggg!!!  The alarm clock sounded, and with great effort, I rose to my knees. Half-asleep, I switched off the alarm clock. It’s 6:05 a.m. It awakened me half an hour ago, but I loved ruminating about my favorite book heroines, while I lay on the softness and comfort of my bed. I must have probably dozed off again. I glanced at the bedside table, the book I finished reading last night was lying face down.  I closed it properly and placed it back on the table. I mulled over Joan’s tragic death, yet, accepted that it was her fate. I noticed the pale shades of blue and white on the cover – there was a sense of peace I couldn’t explain. My lips formed a smile. I heard the tolling of the bells from a distance, I listened until it reverberated into its fading softness. I stretched my legs, still wrapped under my cotton bed sheets. The heat made me feel uneasy and removed it. It's Easter Sunday. There was enough time to prepare for the christening of Ana Nieves’ 6-month-old daughter, Daniela, which followed after the mass. I swung my feet on the wooden floor and walked towards the drawer. I made several downward brushing strokes on my black and luscious locks with the comb and untied my ponytail. Little sweats formed on my neck and trickled down gently between my breasts. I made a fanning motion to ease the discomfort. It was time for a quick bath.    My mind has taken me back to the present moment as I fixed my make up in the mirror. Tomorrow’s the start of the busy week at the library.      “Oh no!, Tomorrow’s Monday?” I remembered. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I said,  I heard from Ana, Mr. Arrogant Guy is coming back. So what?  I quickly brushed off the idea and checked the last details of my dress, before I headed to the church.    A special mass service was prepared for the Pascua de Resurreccion. The church bells are rung continuously for an hour and signified worshipers to gather for a mass at 11 o’clock. Juanito, the 18-year-old bell ringer, climbed his way up on the concrete stairs leading to the bell tower to clean. Below, Marcela Frisco, an elder female cleaner hummed an unfamiliar song and swept the cobblestoned path leading to the church’s main door. Her fragile hands – bluish blood veins, now almost visible like an old highway with lots of twists and turns - showed years of endless cleaning and scrubbing. Everybody woke up early and finished their meal, except for one person - Melanio. He carefully sipped his warm tea and took his time to enjoy a sliced of delicious tortilla pie, when a male staff came in and handed him a long white letter envelope. He carefully ripped it open, reached for his eyeglasses, and read it.           Hermano Melanio,         I hope life is great for you. May this letter reached you in time. I am coming home in the third week of April for my vacation, as usual, after long months in the middle of the ocean. I would like to visit you as soon as I am free. See you. Take care.                                                                    Truly Yours,                                                                    Leoncio      Melanio’s hands trembled as he put the letter back inside the envelope. His eyes lit up. He made a few small steps to the window, opened the curtain, and shouted at Marcela about the good news. Leoncio treated him as his older brother. Melanio who was the church caretaker for years now, started as one of the altar boys when he was barely 8 years old. An old wives tale went around that he was a son of a marinero who came to Frias when the big Italian ship docked at their town and fell in love with a young lass, but it has not been proven. He had no known family. The community was his only family. The Parroquia de San Vicente was his only home.