Chapter XXXIII: Ti Maudi nga Rabii (The Last Night)
The morning after Easter Sunday is heavy with silence. The rooster crows, but even its voice sounds strained, as though it knows the grief that clings to the house. Inside, Meric sits at the sofa once again, her eyes fixed on the coffin at the center of the sala. The glass reflects the dim morning light, and behind it, Mercy's still face seems almost at peace, as though she is simply sleeping.
Meric folds her hands on her lap and exhales deeply. She has lost count of how many hours she has sat here in the same position. It feels like her body is glued to the sofa, as though moving away from her mother's coffin might erase the last bit of closeness she still has.
Her eyes sting, and tears push forward again. "I can't believe you're really gone, Mamang..." she whispers.
Then, a memory returns from last week. She recalls Elric telling the local radio station about Mercy's passing.
"Don't worry Mer, I'll handle it," Elric had said firmly, phone in hand. "People need to know."
And indeed, Bombo Radyo Hermosa announced the news on air. Meric remembers sitting in the kitchen when the announcement played. The voice of the broadcaster, calm yet heavy with finality, had spoken the words: "We announce with deep sorrow the passing of Mrs. Mercedes Cortesa Quadro of Calle Gen. Antonio, Brgy. 1, Hermosa City."
She had frozen then, staring at the pot of boiling water as though it might answer back. The words cut like glass—hearing her mother's name in the past tense.
But because it was Holy Week, most people were busy. In Hermosa, households were preparing for processions, penitents, and the many rituals of the season. The announcement felt swallowed up by the noise of devotion. Only a few neighbors had paused to listen.
Now, back in the present, Meric wipes her cheeks. She hears her mother's voice in her memory, sharp but loving, repeating one of her quotes: "Masapul yu nga sursurwen dagitoy nga banag, sakbay nga mapukaw nak ditoy rabaw ti daga. (You need to learn these things, before I'll vanish from the surface of the earth)"
The words stab her heart, both painful and guiding. Yes, Mang. I must learn now. I must learn to live without you here.
Unknowingly, on that same day, Conching, the maid back then when the family was living at the old house across the Favis House at Calle Crisostomo, visits Mercy's wake. Her hair is now gray, body is thin, but can still manage to walk. From time to time, she visits the family often, giving them 1kg of fresh Bulong-Unas Fish (Largehead hairtail, Trichiurus lepturus), bought from their barangay of Fuerte, Pardas. Mark loves the fish being cooked, especially when fried. Conching sometimes give chocolates to them that came from abroad from her niece.
She is deeply saddened with the loss of Mercy, since the latter treated her as a sister.
The day continues, and more of Mercy's batchmates and friends come to visit. Some arrive from far barangays, sweating and dusty from travel, carrying food wrapped in banana leaves. Others bring flowers, candles, or just their presence.
The house fills with murmurs. Old classmates reminisce about Mercy's sharp wit in school. One recalls how she corrected a teacher once—politely, but firmly—when the lesson was wrong. Another laughs about how she could memorize entire prayers but still forget her umbrella in the rain.
Meric listens with half a smile. "That's Mamang," she says, shaking her head. "Always strong, always herself."
Each story feels like adding threads to a quilt—patches of her mother's life sewn together by those who loved her.
Later that afternoon, Meric sits with Elric and Jonn at the side of the sala, their voices hushed but urgent.
"So when is the funeral procession?" Meric asks, her tone flat, her eyes hollow. "I was thinking Saturday. It's usually one of the regular funeral Mass days at the Cathedral. Or maybe Wednesday."
Elric shakes his head, adjusting his phone. "No. The parish office already confirmed. The Mass will be on Thursday—April 9."
"Thursday, Nong?" Meric frowns. "But that's not the usual day."
"That's the schedule," Elric insists. "April 9. It falls right after the Lenten observances. Maybe it's God's will."
Jonn sighs, rubbing his temples. "Then it's final. April 9... Mamang's final rest."
The words hang in the air like smoke, thick and choking. Meric stares at the coffin, imagining the moment it will be taken away.
The next morning, April 8, dawn breaks with an unexpected commotion. Elric's wife is at the dirty kitchen, frying tinapa for breakfast. The smell of salted fish drifts into the yard. Suddenly, the fire under the pan grows wild, leaping upward as though fed by unseen hands.
"Hoy! Hoy! The fire—!" she screams, dropping the spatula. The flames scorch the edges of the pan, licking dangerously toward the wall.
Elric and Meric rush in, panic written on their faces.
"What did you do, Hon?!" Elric shouts.
"Nothing!" his wife protests, shielding her face. "I didn't do anything! The flame just—just grew by itself!"
Meric grabs a bucket of water and douses the fire. The sizzling hiss fills the kitchen, smoke billowing into the air. Everyone coughs, fanning their hands.
When the fire dies down, the pan is blackened, the fish charred to unrecognizable pieces.
Elric's wife clutches her chest. "I swear, it wasn't me. It was like... like something was controlling the flame."
Meric shivers. She doesn't say it aloud, but a thought gnaws at her: Is this Mamang? Is her spirit still restless?
That evening marks the final night of the wake. Usually, the last night would be filled with Harana—songs played for the dead as a farewell. But this time, the siblings and Rico decide against it.
"No harana," Elric says firmly. "We don't need it. Mama wouldn't want noise."
"Instead," Jonn adds, "let prayers be the music."
Even without the harana, the house is alive. Neighbors stream in and out, some sitting by the coffin, others chatting outside. The yard becomes a little fiesta of its own, with people gathered around tables playing bingo.
"B-I-N-G-O!" shouts a woman in the corner, slamming her card down. Laughter erupts.
Mark sits with the other kids, holding his tiny bingo card, his face scrunched in concentration. "Nanang, I need number 14!" he calls out, waving at Meric.
Meric chuckles softly, standing guard nearby. "Patience, balong. It will come if it's meant for you."
The sound of laughter mixes with murmured prayers. The Ina Poonbato devotees arrive once again, filling the sala with their solemn presence. They pray the rosary, their voices steady, and when it ends, they sing "Naayat," their harmonies rising like incense.
"Naayat, nadungngo nga ina,
Ipupusamo't maikawa da,
Pamiliam inkam inulila,
Ta suminaka itan iti sidongda.
Silaw a narayray,
Ginudas ni patay,
Sasainnek man di agsarday,
Nadungngo nga ina,
Agpakada kan ita,
Dios ti kumuyog kenka.
(Beloved, Most Loving Mother,
Your death became their loss,
Your family is grieving,
As you will leave their side.
The light that once shining,
Got taken by death,
Eternal Sorrow is upon us,
Our Loving Mother,
Say your good byes now,
May the Lord be with you.)"
The song wraps the house in a blanket of sorrow and reverence. Even the bingo game falls silent for a moment as neighbors bow their heads.
Mercy's brothers—Al, Rogie, and Junior—arrive and sit quietly near the coffin. Their faces are lined with grief, each man lost in his own memories of their sister.
"Lucio would have wanted to be here," Al mutters, shaking his head. "Too bad he's still abroad."
"To hell with him. Let's just pray he feels her presence there," Rogie adds.
They bow their heads, the silence between them heavier than words.
As night deepens, Adrion and Aldric, Elric's sons, spread their mats on the floor. They toss and turn, whispering to each other.
"I can't sleep," Adrion mutters.
"Me neither," Aldric replies, staring at the ceiling. "It's too... eerie. Like someone's watching."
Meanwhile, in the corner, Mark snores softly, curled up on his blanket, unbothered by the heavy air.
"Look at that kid," Aldric says with a weak laugh. "Sleeping like nothing's wrong. How does he do it?"
"Because he's innocent," Adrion replies. "He doesn't carry what might haunt us tonight."
Just past midnight, the silence breaks with a sudden shrill sound. Rico's phone, lying on the side table, begins to ring. The vibration rattles against the wood, echoing through the sala.
Rico startles awake, grabbing it quickly. The screen glows, but the caller ID is blank—no number, no name.
"Pang, who is it?" Meric whispers, alarm rising in her chest.
"I—I don't know." Rico shows her the phone. The screen simply flashes, Incoming Call.
The ring continues, relentless, echoing in the house. Everyone gathers around, staring at the strange sight.
After thirty long seconds, the ringing stops. The screen returns to black.
No missed call. No record. Nothing.
Rico's hands tremble. He looks at Meric, his voice breaking. "Could it be... your mother?"
Meric's lips part, but no words come out. She only stares at the coffin, her heart pounding.
The house falls silent once more, the unanswered call lingering like a ghost in the air.
ns216.73.216.95da2
and then Add to home screen.