Chapter XXII: Kindle
The living room of the Caluipat house is unusually quiet this morning. Mercy sits on the long sofa, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose. On her lap rests a thick, aging photo album—its leather cover cracked, its plastic sleeves yellowed.
She flips a page and pauses.
There it is: a family picture. In the photo, everyone smiles stiffly, trying not to blink as the photographer counts, "One, two, three." Melo, Tory, Maxi, Rico, Meric, and Elric all stand together. The backdrop is the Grand Arzobispado, with the Plaza de Salcedo in the left middle ground, and the Colegio del Rosario to the left background, on the day of Maxi's investiture. Maxi looks proud in his cassock, the glowing white surplice bright against his chest.
Mercy chuckles faintly, shaking her head. "We all looked so young then." Her voice cracks, heavy with memory.
Her fingers linger on the page. Then the scene in her mind shifts, pulling her backward, all the way back to Piesta ti Natay or the All Souls and Saints' Days. The Guardino Public Cemetery is packed with people, but Mercy climbs the steep, hilly path, her skirt clinging to her legs. She carries flowers and candles, her slippers tapping against the rocky ground.
She reaches the spot. Two gravestones side by side, united in one large monument-like base—Melo and Tory. Just between them lies a small, simple marker, which is Balbino, her brother, who died young.
Mercy kneels, brushing dust off the stones, and cutting the Cadena de Amor off it. She arranges the flowers carefully.
(Cadena de Amor is a flowering vine that creeps over anything that can be in the wild or not, but mostly countrysides like the Ylocos.)
Then, like always, she starts talking.
"To you, Nanang and Tatang—ay, how things would've been different if you two were still here." she says softly, turning toward her parents' graves nearby. "I wonder, how life could have turned out? If you were still alive, maybe we'd still be one happy family. Maybe things would not be so heavy on my shoulders. Well, people come and go, and someday, Nang, Tang, awan tu kuma met riri mi nga agkakabsaten gapu lang iti daga. Lallalo da Rogie ken Junior. (Nang, Tang, I hope that there will be no more chaos among us siblings because of lots. Especially Rogie and Junior.)"
She sighs, tears pooling. "You know, I always think of that. Always."
The candles flicker in the wind.
Finally, as if to seal her message, she mutters a line she has carried in her heart for years:
"They slept in different beds... yet now they are sleeping together in the grave. Doña Tory, and Don Melo."
The weight of it presses on her chest.
Then, back to Present
Her hand hovers on the photo, lost in that world, until a voice cuts through.
"Mamang!"
Rico comes in with a steaming mug. "Barako coffee, hot. Don't think too much—here, drink this."
Mercy blinks, pulled back. She laughs softly. "Ric! Always the strong coffee, ha? One day my heart will explode."
"You're too strong to explode," Rico teases, handing the cup.
But a few weeks later, strength betrays her.
One morning, Mercy clutches her head. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow. High blood.
"Mang!" Jonn shouts, rushing over. Luckily, he is there visiting from the hospital. He immediately checks her blood pressure, his hands calm but his voice urgent.
"Pang, get the tricycle! Now!"
Together, they rush Mercy to Hermosa Polyclinic, four kilometers away. The road is bumpy, especially uneven concrete and asphalt, each turn making her groan, but they reach in time.
At the clinic, the doctor examines her, then looks grim. "I am afraid to say but your mother is diabetic. She must control her sugar. No more too much sweets."
Mercy frowns, almost insulted. "So... no more leche flan?"
"Only a little," the doctor warns.
"Leche!", says Mercy.
Later, back home, Mark approaches her. His big eyes are full of worry.
"Mang... are you okay?"
Mercy forces a smile, pulling him close. "Don't worry, apo. I promise—I will be strong. For you."
Mark hugs her tightly, comforted.
Summer comes, hot and buzzing with cicadas. Mark gets his very first bicycle. It still has training wheels, but with Rico's guidance, he begins to learn.
Every weekend afternoon, the whole family—Meric, Ben, Mercy, and Rico—heads to Plaza Jose at Hermosa. The plaza is busy with families, couples, and kids on rollerblades and bikes. Some kids go to the playground. Some kids trace their steps along the brick structures of the Plaza.
Mark pedals slowly at first, wobbling. Rico jogs beside him, holding the seat. "Balance, apo, balance!"
Mark sticks his tongue out in concentration.
Weeks pass, and the training wheels come off. Mark wobbles worse than ever, but Rico doesn't give up.
Finally, one afternoon, Mark rides straight and steady for a whole ten meters.
"I DID IT!" he screams proudly.
"Good job!" Rico claps, puffing from all the running.
But not everyone at the plaza is kind.
One day, another boy circles Mark, making faces. "Hahaha, you ride like a duck!" the kid mocks.
Mark tries to ignore him. But suddenly, the boy pushes his bike. Mark tumbles down, scraping his elbow.
"Hey!" Rico shouts, running over.
Before Rico can scold, the boy's mother arrives. She carries a basket of empanadas, apron stained with oil.
Mark expects her to scold the bully. Instead, she turns on him.
"You! Why are you letting my son fall like that?!" she snaps.
Mark's jaw drops. What?!
At that moment, Meric and Ben are just 100 meters away, busy buying groceries at Two Brothers.
Rico steps between them, angry now. "Aba, it was your son who pushed him! Don't twist it."
The empanada vendor scowls.
But then Mercy arrives, face stern. The woman sees her, recognizes her presence, and her bravado crumbles.
"Ah, sorry my bad, sorry it will not happen again! Pasensya!" she mutters quickly, grabbing her son's hand and scurrying away.
Mark, still holding his scraped elbow, whispers, "That was weird."
Holy Week comes. The whole town changes mood—somber, reflective.
At Plaza de Salcedo, Mark, Meric, Mercy, and Rico sit on benches, watching the carrozas roll out from the cathedral. Each carriage carries a depiction of Jesus, solemn and adorned with flowers and candles.
The air smells of melted wax, incense, and sampaguita garlands.
Mark's eyes shine. "Mang, can I join the procession?"
But Mercy shakes her head firmly. "Well, you can apok, but I can't."
"Why not?"
She sighs. "Because when I was young, during this same procession, I slipped on candle wax. Fell hard on my spine. I still remember the pain."
Mark frowns, but nods slowly. "Okay. Maybe next time."
Behind them, Rico murmurs, "Your Mamang is always dramatic."
Mercy swats his arm, but even she laughs a little.
As days pass, sometimes Mercy takes charge of the Bensmert Store to help Meric. She fusses over the arrangement of canned goods, scolds customers who haggle too much, and always insists that Mark not eat too much candy from the stock.
"Remember," she says sternly, "sweets are bad for me now. And for you too. Moderation!"
Mark pouts but obeys—most of the time.
The season turns warm and golden. At Caluipat, the family carries on with their routine: Mark practicing biking, Mercy tending to her health but still strong in spirit, Meric and Ben juggling store work, Rico as the steady presence.
And always, in the quiet moments, Mercy holds her memories—both heavy and beautiful—close to her chest, as if they are treasures she must keep alive for the next generation.