To Catch a Gust of Wind [COMPLETE]

Chapter 3 - Silay after Dark [#10]

The church's dome traced a half-circle in the twilight sky. Rafael could see the dome, or cupola, topped by a stylized Latin cross. It looked like a gigantic, upturned bowl, naked in the gathering darkness. The cross was illuminated, now shining bluish white, throwing its light upon the dome, painting it dull silver with its curved edges fading into the blanket of fading sky. Rafael could see it from this distance as he walked towards the church from the fountain area, crossed Zamora street and stopped in front of the main entrance gate. Thea Marie followed him not far behind.

The parish church of San Diego was a landmark that, for Rafael, represented the religious side of the city, not because he believed most inhabitants of the city were Catholic but because during his high school days, the church was the place where everything religious was held. It was for him, at that time, the center of the city's spirit albeit so little he knew about it.

The church facade was dominated by a Romanesque high arch which had a rose window in its tympanum. Behind that rose window could be seen the half-figure of Christ looking at the outside world, as if blessing the faithful, at the same time beckoning them to come inside the church. That look of Christ pierced Rafael's heart every time he passed in front of the church in those days. He felt he could not keep a secret nor tell a lie and this feeling had morphed through the years, taking many forms, except that particular feeling about the truth which his heart had bound itself in the name of love for a special girl.

Under the rose window, stood a wooden door, the main entrance, flanked by two concrete Corinthian columns. Behind that door was the nave with a checker-tiled floor which extended to the transept and the main altar and the chancel, and behind was the apse. But what astonished Rafael about the architecture of the parish church of San Diego de Alcala was the 40-meter high, Renaissance-style dome above the crossing of the transept. When, as a child, Rafael sat in the pew under the cupola during the rare occasion when his parents brought him to church in the city, he saw heaven in the ceiling of the dome. The ceiling with its grand clerestory below it, allowing light to enter inside, terminated in a half-sphere where four huge arches met, supported by bare, rectangular concrete columns. Where the base of the dome and arches intersected, portraits of the Four Evangelists were painted on the surface, each identified by the gospel attributed to him. Rafael had forgotten the details of what he had been thinking then, but the feeling remained, blissful, full of innocence only a child could have, feelings that escaped verbal description, beyond time but as real as the facial expression of the people he saw inside the church, kneeling and standing in unison with the priest's celebration of the Holy Mass.

Rafael remained standing in front of the main iron gate, which was still open. The statues of the twelve apostles stood on the pillars of the fence connecting the front and the side entrance gates. Rafael looked up and stared at the two towers on both sides of the facade. To his left was the belfry and the clock tower to his right. Both towers were cupped by domes and topped by small crosses.

And he felt time, or reality, shifted for a moment, just long enough for him to witness long past events unraveling before his eyes. He was in a night religious procession observed during the Holy Week, re-enacting Christ's death and burial, people and devotees in a parade of images embodying the city's faith, statues garbed in resplendent black robes, representing Christ, the Blessed Mother, the Apostles, and the saints, riding on top of motorized carriages (carrozas) around the city, people of all walks of life following them in a solemn march holding lighted candles, saying prayers, singing songs, and humming, humming till the whole column was back where it started, the main entrance gate where he was standing right now. The passion and death of Jesus the Christ, Saviour to billions of people, in a drama of the Sorrowful Mysteries depicted in the tableaux atop the carrozas.

He could see himself, with Mario, Rene, Tony, Richard, Willie, and John, his high school friends, standing on the left aisle inside the church, guiding the faithful in an organized line, reminding them from time to time not to break ranks, for an orderly movement towards the front of the main altar, there to plant a kiss on the feet of the Santo Entierro a life-like statue of Christ depicting the Holy Burial, venerated by the faithful for hundreds of years. Christ had died indeed but would soon come back to life in three days' time in a resurrection that brought hope to suffering billions living in a broken, sinful world.

Someone was pulling at his sleeve. "Let's go," Thea Marie said, letting go of the sleeve at the same time. Rafael blinked and the images, the statues, the crowd, the flickering light from the candles, his batch mates from SI, the Santo Entierro, all vanished away in an instant. And time resumed its forward march, adding something to entropy, the measure of disorder in the universe.

"It's getting dark already." She remained standing beside Rafael, slightly behind him, wondering he had heard her or not. Rafael had been standing there for about thirty minutes staring at the rose window dominating the facade.

Rafael heard her but just couldn't let go what he felt at the moment. Finding the main gate still open, he stepped inside the church yard. Something was pulling him in. It was an eerie feeling deep inside that was trying to find its way out since the first instance he stopped in front of the main gate. A memory suddenly popped out and was tugging at his heartstrings. Something powerful as a spirit hovering above in the gathering darkness, a spirit that only let its presence be felt after dark.

Rafael turned towards Thea Marie, who followed him inside. "Wait for me here. I would like to see something," he said. Without waiting for her to reply, he turned left, towards the convent. Darkness enveloped the surroundings, but whatever light remained, it guided him along the path towards the back of the church. There he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts then resumed his walk towards an ancient arch, the entrance to the ruins of the old church. He was in the place where he left his heart many years ago, to a girl who, for him embodied the spirit of the city, or whatever he knew personally of the city. And once more in a very long time, he thought about the legend of Kansilay...