Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER IV : New Acquaintances

The parish was constructed in the year 1882, during which the Spanish Empire still had Maharlika as a colony. For more than a century, it became a witness to two great world wars and has miraculously been able to survive with minimal damage during the carpet bombing of Intramuros by the Americans during World War II. It has also withstood the test of time even more so than its revered predecessors: the San Agustin Church and the Intramuros Cathedral which were demolished years earlier to give way to residential dwellings and an eco-park, respectively. This parish is one of the few left regulating churches if not the only one in the Walled City; now, even this can be subjugated by the local government in the future if its efforts turn out futile.

                    Noumenon presumes that this should not suffer subjugation, not now that she sees how determined Monsignor Cabrera is in persuading people back to believing in God, and not ever that she sees how pitiable the residents of the barangay are. That’s why she settled that she will not only be doing a field observation; she will also see to it that the parish’s glory will somehow be restored during their stay.

                    “These people need to be convinced to believe in God again.” The novice uttered to herself while looking at the residents lollygagging close to the parish instead of visiting for worship. She is in the middle of wiping the double door of the church.

                    “That’s going to be tough.” Her senior caught her words.

 They live in negative peace. They are robed in famine. And they only see despair. These are constants about the people of Barangay Laurel. Their hunger is not only about food, but also about faith. They yearn for a response which they can never seem to receive in their most wishful thinking. They did pray; in fact, they prayed earnestly to God, but it appeared that their prayers couldn’t reach Him. They’ve lost hope, and they’ve lost the will to live. It appears that they’re still breathing, yet they’re only pretending to be alive.

            She found what might be reasons validated by locals which encumbered them to go to church. Apparently, as human nature postulates, the insurmountable odds in their lives paired with unanswered prayers made them abandon their faith.

            Noumenon supposed all of those during the first week of her field observation in St. Peter the Fisherman Parish after Monsignor Alvez dropped them off here and went on to a different appointment.

            It was then the second day of her second week in this new environment yet only her third time to ask for permission from the Monsignor to let her go out of the parish again and “mingle” with the townsfolk—at least try to. The priest didn’t initially approve of her tour around the barangay since she was previously harassed by some of the residents as he had feared. An old woman drenched her wet with a pail of water and even confusingly called her a “parish scum.” A kid stole her headdress and tossed it around with his playmates and did not return it; thankfully, she has a spare. Most horribly, she managed to get away from three drunk men who tried to force her to drink with them, seeing that she has a beautiful face. Be that as it may, she insisted anyway.

            She isn’t distressed nor is she disheartened for she is hopeful. Hopeful, that the townsfolk will not blame God for their sufferings anymore, will return to have faith in Him and will not continue to ruin their lives.

            She put on casual clothes but not for a casual stroll. She wore a white blouse, a long blue skirt which reached down her lean calves and never forgot to put on her white polyester headdress—the third one being a symbol of her chosen vocation as a woman who serves God. She pulled open her quarters' door and found Elmer, the lanky sexton, waiting for her outside.

            "Good morning, Sister.” 

            “Good morning, Elmer. Thank you for going with me today.”

            This may probably be the first time that the fifteen-year-old boy spoke to her, for, as she presumed, he is quite timid and reserved. Pablo once told her that the boy took up the obligation to be a sexton in order for him to feed his ill mother and his eight-year-old sister. Monsignor Cabrera gives them food as compensation for his services. Sadly, he is also one of the many youngsters in here who can’t continue going to school anymore.

            The sexton volunteered to chaffeur Noumenon’s stroll around the barangay that day since he had no choice and no one else from the parish boys was willing. He heard of what she had been to during her previous tours at their place. Though he is awed by the novice’s willpower, he looks at her efforts as nothing promising considering how incorrigible the people here are. Monsignor Cabrera occasionally does the same, but even he, so far, isn’t victorious. Well, there’s nothing wrong about trying.

            Most of the houses Noumenon’s eyes have set are made of wood but dilapidated and rickety-looking. They appear like human faces that show a uniform expression—hopelessness. Celeste, one of the oldest residents and now a usual sight to her, mirrored that expression for she would always hopelessly stare at the huge and long wall to the northeast. She is commonly at her porch and sitting on a bamboo stool. She has a blank canvas for a face since she is emotionless, and she is always silent. No one wants to talk to an old reticent woman, not because she has nothing to say, but because she says the most absurd of things—the demise of anyone. To other people, she is insane, but to some, she speaks the future.

            Celeste was a fortuneteller back in the day. She was considered phenomenal for her forecasts were accurate and most of the time, these would happen. People once flocked to her to inquire about what’s in store for them in the future, and she made a living out of this. She was renowned and she was sought after even by the famous and the powerful. However, there is one lapse to her ability: she can’t foresee her own future. Tale has it that there came a time when one man asked her to read his fortune, and her forecast for that man was that “he will have colossal success in his career, but his child will put an end to that and his life.”

            She didn’t foresee that that single forecast will lead to her downfall. What was done to her because of that made her mentally disturbed, and this remains a mystery until today. No one knows what exactly happened to her and who that man was, but Celeste remembers that he was powerful and terrible.

            “Good morning, Aling Celeste.” Aling is a polite honorific for old women in Maharlika. Noumenon gleefully greeted but like before, she didn’t get a response nor was she spared a glance.

            "How are you today?” Still, no response.

            Elmer found the scene comical as the novice stood beside old Celeste. “You have a nice view here.”

            There wasn’t really much to the said view but an array of houses mostly with broken roofs and not even a tall building. 

            "Alright, Aling Celeste, we’re going to continue seeing more of the neighborhood.” The novice finally said and signalled the sexton that they leave which he found to his relief. They were about to be on their way when...

            “You know,” suddenly blurted Celeste, “The angel of death visited me last night.” This astonished the novice and made her turn her attention on her again, yet her companion thought of this as the wording of a crazy former fortuneteller.

            "Sister, let’s be on our way. Aling Celeste must not want us to be bothering her anymore.”

            Noumenon wasn’t particularly interested about the angel of death in the eyes of the old woman, but she wanted her to converse with her, and to have an engagement with her thoughts. This might be a chance for her to do so.

            “That’s interesting. What did he tell you?”

            Celeste then, for the first time, looked to her eyes, and showed her quite an awkward smile. “He told me that he has been observing all of you inside the parish.”

            The novice was disbelieving but something in the back of her mind urged her to listen more to what she has to say, because even Elmer had his ears attentive to her words.

            "He plans to kill all of you, and from what my eyes see, he will succeed.”

            An insane woman’s words are reassuringly false, and she needs not believe these to be real, but these sounded otherwise that these gave her goosebumps.

            “Shut it, hag!” Elmer’s demeanor changed. He is furious, and he will not have more of old Celeste’s forecasts which are as crazy as she is. “Like I told you, Sister, let’s go.”

            The two didn’t have a formal good bye to the old fortuneteller since the sexton abruptly grabbed the novice by the arm and walked on hurriedly. He doesn’t know why she told them that, but if the angel of death were to take their lives, he can think of one reason why.