Short Story: Death in the Family

-->

Every rosary has its place in this world.

Just like humans.

photo by Glorypearl Dy

Death in the Family written by Glorypearl Dy

The old women from the barrio say that if three people from one family die consecutively, it is a sign of bad omen. In order to stop it, they have to take away the rosary from the third person who died and cut the thread that ties all the beads together. That would hinder death from lurking into another relative’s life.

Protasyo Santilan died a week before Biyernes Santo, following a series of death from close relatives. A month before, his Aunty Felis was buried after dying of multiple organ failure; and two months after, his brother, Toto, also died of an unexpected stroke.

Protasyo was buried on a Friday where all the witches were believed to be reviving their powers by refilling their bottles with water from the sea in between Siquijor and Dumaguete.

Even Delta wouldn’t travel on a Holy Friday for fear of been consumed by the power of the supernatural, but Catholic customs insist that a dead man should be buried seven days after his death, so the Santilan’s had to shut their ears from the whispers of the old folks. Other than that, cheap formalin only last for seven days, so it would cost the family more money if they would wait after the holy week to bury Protasyo.

Except for boaters who have carried out their schedules from past traditions, most of the people in town dismissed superstitious beliefs especially because it was the age of the internet. In tune with the modern times, Siquijor was known to have vamped up their tourism with a slogan “We don’t have witches; we have cool beaches.”

So the Santilan family decided to bury Protasyo on April 23, and people mourn of their loss while practicing customary grief for the death of Christ.

On the morning of his burial, Dennis, his youngest daughter, went to his coffin and tried to look at him for the last time. Suggestive of a heart disease, Protasyo’s face was bloated and cosmetics could not cover his dark eye leads. His hands gracefully held a bible and a rosary slung in between his fingers as he lay peacefully with a white barong-tagalog on.

The glass that protected Protasyo from the impulsive clasp of aching relatives showed signs of dried up tears and saliva. Dennis thought of her mother and the gloom in her heart. She almost forgot where to heap strength to endure death in the family especially after losing so many people in less than three months. She should not smile, she decided, because her friends might wonder where she got her joy.

When the video production team arrived, everyone was ready. The team focused a radiant light on the coffin area to make it easier for the film to process. Then they adjusted the angle of their cameras to the casket, following a pan to the people around. After an hour, it was time for the ceremonies to start before the dead leaves the house.

And so the people prayed passing the responsorial reader from one family member, wearing a white shirt pinned or tied with black ribbon, to another. As part of the tradition, Protasyo’s oldest brother alive bade him goodbye last, signaling it was already time to parade the casket to the rest of the town.

Like celebrities, the family’s journey around town to the Church was well documented. Even their tacit break of tears was caught on tape. Families bonded through embraces after years of separation became the art of the production. And their announcement of gratitude to the attendees was most anticipated. Being thanked in public sealed their bond as kinfolk.

Finally, all listened to what the foreign Jesuit Priest, Father John, had to say. He starts with a script ‘Protasyo was a kind and generous man…’, then talks about Death in relation to the Holy Friday; then says Death is a thief, people registers this the most; then say Protasyo was lucky he was prepared for his death. Protasyo was able to confess his sins and was prayed over for the salvation of his soul the night before he died.

Then the Priest added, ‘Some of us may have heard about the bad omen. We are only to believe in…’ But before the Priest could finish his statement, in his eyes, the faces of the family altered into blankness, sealed with white clothing, the faces seemed as if it could not breathe. Only magic far more than sorrow was capable of doing this.

There was an obscure scent of mud in the Church, which couldn’t get more unfamiliar for him. The rest of the attendees awaited the last word of his sentence until he finally said ‘God’. The place regained composure and he recognized Dennis looking up at him with an expression that understood what he had experienced. Dennis was indeed reminded of the beads that hang comfortably in his father’s hands.

The Priest sprinkled holy water on Protasyo before he gestured the family to say their final words before the casket was closed for another journey to the cemetery. A dramatic display of brawling as souls collapse due to a combination of both exhaustion for the preparation of the ceremony and hopelessness, followed. It was time to parade again. The rest of the crowd followed through concealing the whispers of the old folks at the back of their heads. Dennis walked with the Priest.

‘Father, I’m afraid. I think I need to get the rosary from his hands’, Dennis said.

“Little girl, it is not necessary. Believe in Him who died for your sins. He alone decides your fate,’ the Priest said.

“But father, it has been three people in the family. It doesn’t hurt if I cut the rosary, just to make sure.”

“Believe in God alone, Dennis. Pray at all times and all bad entities will flee. Do not take your faith away from the Lord.”

The Priest offered a reassuring smile and pat Protasyo’s youngest daughter’s shoulders. Dennis realized how much she missed her father who used to soothe her anxieties with religious words.

In her town, faith was a weapon against worries of the possibilities of bad creatures from coming. But she had not thought about the unconfirmed stories of the elderly for as long as she could remember. Not until she saw the Priest’s face during the homily.

The parade was a long line of people both young and old. Dennis knew most of them but she felt distant. Her head seemed confined on a frosted glass box where the periphery blurred. For her, the rest of the people did not understand how it is to recycle tears. Dennis fell under a train of memories and she was already far behind the funeral limousine where the Priest and her mother accompanied, leading the line. She knew that after years, her brain would only allow part of the day to remain in her memory.

Finally, the coffin was carried to the entombment area ready for burial. Violet orchids were passed on from relative to relative and black ribbons were collected for final offering.

Cutting her trance, a woman, Dennis recognized but could not make out how, arrested her shoulders clasping it in all strength. Her long hair with silver strands matched the perplexed color of her pupils. “My love, it is okay. Everyone dies,” she said as she uses the girl for balance. Her legs were shaking.

Instead of comfort Dennis felt terror. She ran away from the old woman as fast as she could, forgetting every amount of heat from the piercing sunlight. She jumped over large rocks and glided on tall grasses. She treaded on hardened mud and held on to the rusty gate. She swerved through people until she reached the center where the white coffin laid waiting. Without looking at the person who was trying to comfort her, she opened the casket, lifted the glass covering and scavenged her way until she got a hold of the rosary.

The faces of the people looked like a gathering of yellow and blue shadows that forms from filtered flossed glass. In front of them, she lifted the rosary and ripped it apart in all the power she could rummage from her misery. The white beads fell furiously. But the cross survived, as a thin thread grasped, supporting both ends of the object from the tie to girl’s fingers.

Dennis’ breathing was tight. She sat aside and cried silently, after, much like a ghost.

Dennis’ family empathized that she was sad and her behavior was reasonable. Everyone seem to understand how it was to lose a father. The Priest indicated it was time for the final farewell. The relatives placed Protasyo’s belongings into the grave along with the flowers and the ribbons.

Dennis felt a temporary relief. No more death, she thought.

But the air swiftly smelled of mud as the Holy Friday drew to an end. The time was ready for Black Saturday and the old folks had something else to say. Dennis walked with her oldest Uncle.

------
please also check my other blog Presentation Animation