Tests of Faith
I
A Korean boy goes up to smoking Darna and asks her if she believes in Jesus.
“Of course, I do,” exclaims Darna with big clouds of nicotine. “I also believe in flowers, the birds, the bees, the sun, the clouds, the pokemons and all of the stars in the heaven.”
The Korean stares at her with open mouth and what seem to be open eyes.
The Korean offers her a pamphlet of a handsome Jesus in blue and white robe. But Darna just raises her left eyebrow and laughs.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha.” And she left him with his open mouth.
II
Burt tells the small group of senior citizens that every time a balloon flies, a turtle out in the ocean dies.
Mrs. dela Cerna taps him on the shoulder and says to him, in front of the group, that it’s not funny to tell those kinds of jokes.
Mr. Bernard asks anyway why.
He said, “When a balloon reaches the atmospheric layer where the pressure is too high, it bursts. The most possible area for the deflated balloon to fall is the vast ocean. With its rubbery and gelatinous appearance, a turtle will mistake it for a jellyfish. The poor animal eats it and dies.”
Mr. Bernard claps his hands. He says that it’s been a long time since he met an intelligent kid.
Mrs. dela Cerna disappeared into a corner and chanted her silent prayers.
Burt reads from her lips that she’s praying for the souls of poor dead turtles and for a demonic being retelling their sad fates to the world.
III
Young Fred sits rigid in a multicab. He holds his breath in small spaces and twitches his nose with close contacts with other people.
In front of him, just a hair thin away from his knees, a couple locks up each other in embraces.
Fred squirms as the man circles his arm around the woman’s shoulders, smelling her hair. She looks at the window but her hand grips on his other arm.
As they pass the Redemptorist’s Church, the couple unlocks their arms and did sign of the cross.
In the name of the Father. Fingers on the forehead.
And of the Son. On the stomach.
And of the Holy Spirit. On each shoulder.
Amen. And they kiss.
Fred glares and slaps the woman’s leg.
“That’s my father, you bitch!”
IV
Marie picks up a cigarette butt on a gutter outside San Pedro Cathedral. Another piece for my collection, she thought.
It’s only five o’clock and the show in Rizal Park won’t start until six. Knowing the organizers, it won’t really start until seven thirty. She goes inside the Cathedral and wait.
She sits at the back of the church, few columns away from the center aisle. It’s been a long time since she entered that building. The hallow noise, birds twittering, the scent of burning candles, the holiness of each flap of fans and the divine light that shines the naked body of Jesus at the main altar. All these are almost forgotten in Marie’s busy life.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The mass is about to start. She struggles with the idea of getting out but where will she go? At the park? She hates standing and waiting. It’s better to sit and wait.
She decides to stay and listens to the mass.
Minutes pass as people stand, sit, stand and kneel. Her eyes brighten as she sees them start a queue. These people will gather in lines until the last of their breath for that small piece of white bread, a morsel of heaven in their mouths.
As the line nearest to her grows thin, she stands and goes to it.
“Body of Christ.” The old man in white robe asks rather than offering.
“Amen.” And he places the bread on her tongue.
Hmmm. She almost forgot that ephemeral sweetness of hostia, that soft crust that crumbles in saliva like dust.
Going back to her seat, she goes directly to the exit. At Rizal Park, people are still adjusting the audio system. She takes out her dry hostia from her mouth and places it in her wallet together with the cigarette butt.
Re-starting an old hobby, she thought.
