The Witness

Chapter 2 - Statues

Joaquin was one of the few people Father Gerard trusted with his office. And Joaquin was trustworthy enough to not snoop through his things nor touch his new desktop. He only touched one thing in the cold little room behind the altar--the telephone. Father Gerard, who was on a medical mission with other priests in Zambales, had promised to call, and Joaquin sat on a nearby bench just outside the office, near enough to hear the phone ring as he studied.

Joaquin had five younger siblings and a cancer-stricken mother dependent on him. Nobody knew where his father went. Joaquin himself avoided thinking about it. He had been the only one still studying among his siblings when he won a math contest in the city when he was in Grade 5. The priests of St. Martin de Porres Parish immediately offered him a scholarship in exchange for his service in church. Now, he was able to send all his siblings to school, although finding enough funds to help his mother was still sometimes tricky. Most of the time, Father Gerard paid for his mother's medicine.

Joaquin was smart. But poverty had held him back a couple of grades and most of his classmates in the nearby public high school were two or three years younger than him. Still, he was determined to reach college. He had to, for his family to survive.

The phone rang just as he was finishing the last problem of his algebra homework. He entered the office and answered the call. "Father Gerard?"

"Kuya, it's me." His fifteen-year-old sister Lucia sounded frantic. "I'm calling from the hospital."

"What happened?"

"It's okay. Mom fainted, but she's awake now. The doctors said that she's stable."

Joaquin released his breath.

"The thing is..." Lucia sighed. "They gave her a shot, which we need to pay for, or she won't be released."

Joaquin remembered the money Father Gerard left him in case of emergency.

"Please come," Lucia said. "Mother wants to see you."

"I'll be there. I have money. Wait for me."

Joaquin took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, said a short prayer, and packed his things. When he entered the church, he saw Rosa sleeping in the front pew. He had almost forgotten about her.

There was no choice but to wake her up.

Rosa was startled for a second when Joaquin shook her gently on the shoulder. "My mom needs me," he explained apologetically. "I promise to be back."

"You're leaving?" Rosa sat up. Despite knowing the boy for less than an hour, she felt safe around him.

Joaquin dug into his pockets and took out a ring of keys, which he tossed at Rosa. She caught it. "They're for the bell tower," he explained. "Hide there if something happens. Unless it's a fire of course."

"How long will you be out?" Either she would stay alone in this church, in a rough area of the city, or she would return home, where her mother, brother, and uncle were waiting.

"I don't know, Rosa. My mother's sick and she needs me. Either way...lock the double doors. I have my own key, so don't worry about opening for me."

Rosa stared at him blankly. The choice was clear. She clutched the keys and nodded. Unable to do anything, she watched as Joaquin walked down the aisle and closed the door behind him.

She was all alone in the wide, empty old church.

The January air was cold, slipping into the small, partially-opened windows high above, near the ceiling. Her heart was pounding again. She released a deep breath and sat on the pew.

It's just for one night, Rosalyn, she told herself. One night. You're much safer here. All you have to do is wait for Joaquin to return.

And yet she still felt as if she was being watched. The statues' eyes seemed to look deep into her soul, their mournful and glassy gazes eerily alive. On the walls on either side of her were paintings of the Stations of the Cross, each showing a sorrowful Christ in varying degrees of pain. She narrowed her eyes. She did not feel sorry for him.

There was a thrill in being alone, she realized then. There was freedom, a kind of control that allowed you to preside over the inanimate. She could sleep on the pew, touch the statues, burn down the church, and no one would see. And the space! The wideness which she could roam. She could choose another place to sleep, another pew or corner. Or she could see what was up in the bell tower.

She smiled. She had never been up a bell tower and always wondered what it was like to be in there, seeing everything and everyone. The feeling was probably invincible.

Rosa pondered for a moment. She tried to remember the outside structure of the church. There was an old, as in Rizalian old tower standing left to the main building, which meant that the door to the bell tower must be near the entrance, to the left side. Her footsteps muffled by the dusty red carpet covering the aisle, she walked towards that direction, to a tall oak door right beside the life-sized statue of the Immaculate Mother kept in a clear glass case. Rosa stopped to look at it. The statue was more sorrowful than immaculate, clad in a gentle light blue and white robe, her doll-like eyes terrifyingly real and almost intrusive. Rosa shuddered and distracted herself with the little note taped to the glass case.

1944

During the Second World War, this statue was discovered intact and unburned after the fire that destroyed the Mary Immaculate Convent in La Union, which was taken over by Japanese soldiers. Healing properties, among other miracles, have been attributed to this image during the remainder of the war and after it.

Rosa rolled her eyes. If the statue was so miraculous, then why did the war continue anyway? Of what use were miracles, really, except as successful distractions from bigger tragedies? They only brought false hope. She remembered the Benedictine medals the nuns gave them in school, to protect them from "evil." But Rosa had seen evil, felt evil, known evil enough to be sure that nothing was truly blessed.

She unlocked the door leading to the bell tower and started climbing up the narrow, creaking spiral staircase. She took great care with each step, since only the pale moonlight provided her with any illumination, although it got brighter the closer she reached the tiny room on the top and the wide square windows on three of its four walls. Rosa was finally up the bell tower. A massive bronze bell, guarded by a cordon in the middle of the room, was held securely in place by a tangle of complicated knots and ropes. Rosa peered out of each window. One looked out to the street. Another looked out to the church garden. The third showed the dark, poorly-lit strip of road that ran alongside the murky shoreline of the bay. The stench was so strong that Rosa caught a whiff of it, and she covered her nose. She sank on a sitting position on the cold stone floor, hugged her knees, and watched the stars.

It would be easy, so easy, to let go for just a second. To release her breath. To relax and feel safe. But she didn't dare. She could appreciate the quiet, the stars, and the certainty that home was far, far away from where she was now, but danger always managed to find her. Who was to say that Joaquin was an exception?

I better get out of here before he returns, she thought. But she was looking at the stars as she thought this.

I can't go on like this, she realized then. This isn't living. But where will I run to? Who will listen? Who will care? Who'll believe me this time?

She wrapped her arms around herself and stopped her tears just in time. There was no use crying. Look at the stars, Rosa, she thought to herself. See how lovely they are. Faint and far away, yes, but they listen. They're the only ones who listen. Be grateful.

For a moment, for this moment, she was.

Then she heard the engine of a car.