Beyond

Praying for the Dead

Prisoners of war of the infamous Death March were released in August of 1942 and all survivors in a locality in Pangasinan had arrived and accounted for except for my father Juan, a Philippine Army recruit. My grandparents, already weakened by old age, stayed in the balcony of their house every day to wait eagerly for the arrival of their youngest son. His brothers were equally excited to see him and had prepared the fattest goat from the herd for a welcome feast.

A day had passed, and another, and so on, not a shadow of him appeared. The waiting became painful for every day that passed by, only his embrace could heal their aching hearts.

Though their bodies could hardly move around, his parents went from house to house of the known survivors to ask if they had seen their son.

Every answer doused the hope of seeing him again.

The hope in their hearts to see their son continually weakened like a candle consumed by its flame.

More endless days and nights passed by and their flicker of hope finally died down.

Convinced that Juan was one of the hundreds that died daily in the concentration camp, his parents decided to start the novena prayers for his eternal repose. It was a painful decision on their part since they had not seen the body of their son yet.

The ritual of prayers would be nine consecutive days.

And it happened that the first day of prayer for him fell on the last day of prayer of another dead, Juan's cousin. By six in the evening, the old folks numbering about eight women and two males assembled in the wide receiving room of the second floor.

All knelt facing the altar. Behind them were the two huge windows that remained open for ventilation. But the main door to their right remained locked to keep away children who might disturb the solemnity of their prayers. The first round of prayers would be dedicated to Juan's cousin.

The oldest woman, probably in her early eighties, led the prayers.

All eyes and ears were focused on what they were doing and everything went fine until a minor distraction occurred.

Tin plates rattled as if being piled by someone in the adjoining kitchen. Some of them who still have sensitive ears looked at each other. Questions started to form on their wrinkled faces but praying continued.

The sound persisted and it was getting louder and everyone, even those with impaired hearing, overheard the noise. The uncertainties on their faces grew and demanded for an answer, knowing that nobody was there to cause the noise. The horrific feeling from their hearts began to surface and manifested on their faces. Their voices subdued and became whispers as panic started troubling their lips and mind.

Some eyes that refused to see anything unusual dropped to the floor while others trained their sight to the kitchen in search for an answer.

A bright light from a source, similar to our LED bulb today, slowly lighted the kitchen, overwhelming the light of the solitary gas lamp. More questions arose.

The source was hidden from their sight and it was moving. They held their breath as the light slowly moved toward the curtainless door and open partition. And right before them, a luminous male human figure appeared, carrying plates and other utensils.

They froze for a while, stopping their breath; only their eyes and trembling fingers were moving.

He seemed undisturbed by the presence of the praying group as he moved around preparing the kitchen table.

Sob of fear were heard in a whisper-like manner. One of them moved closer and the rest followed as they walked on their knees. Everyone compressed at the center with no room for a needle to drop in between them.

"Juan is here..."

"Please, don't hurt us."

"Leave us in peace."

"Go to your rightful place."

"Let your soul be in peace."

Words for Juan replaced the prayers in their lips.

The heart of a mother roused and gave strength to the feet of my grandma. "Hug me, my son." She extended her arms as she faced the figure but it heard nothing and walked away.

"Come back here Maria, you do not know what you are after." From a kneeling position, my grandpa stretched to grab a part of his wife's dress. It somehow awakened her mind and gave her a second thought.

She went back and knelt beside her husband. Her craving for an embrace of her son turned into fear.

The dim light of a single gas lamp finally dominated the kitchen, a signal that the luminous figure was gone.

The tense moment slowly eased away. There were murmurs; a way of further easing their tensions. They wiped their perspirations.

They walked with their knees again, this time parting from each other as they went back to their original positions. They seemed to forget the horrifying incident, maybe in their looks but not in their mind. Praying continued.

But they were not off the hook yet. When they thought that everything was fine, another disruption happened. Three successive knocks by the door sounded, their lips tightened anew. Worried looks painted their faces again. Neighbors knew that in the middle of prayers, nobody should disturb the group.

"Juan's ghost returned," a middle aged woman couldn't help but voice out her fear. And her fright caused a domino effect on the group as they started moving closer again as if protecting themselves from an army of attackers.

The knocks were repeated, much louder and persistent. The recital was reduced to a whisper until it died down. And all eyes were on my grandpa--as if urging him to do something.

My grandma released his arm, hinting him to open the door.

He looked at them and let go a voiceless yes. Leaning on his knees one after the other for support, he stood up slowly and gingerly walked toward the door. He lifted the wooden cross bar, serving as its lock, from its position. He was still holding it when the door was pushed from the outside. He moved back and from the full view of the prayer group, another human figure appeared, not luminous but its opposite, like a burned figure this time.

A skeleton wrapped by skin almost the color of the night enclosed by a huge loose white t-shirt and equally loose black trousers belted by a straw on a bone and skin waist appeared. The huge eyes, seemingly popping out of their sockets, were keenly staring at them one by one. The sight was too much for them to bear and snapped their breath away for the second time. A woman embraced another, one crawled under a small table, another one wetted the floor and the wisest of them all, a woman who dared to make the greatest escape of her life. She passed through the kitchen, to the back door and down the stairs, running away from the house.

Knowing that escape was possible, one by one they crawled away with their knees out of the room and on their feet upon reaching the kitchen.

The only ones left were Juan's parents, still motionless and shocked to what they were not used to see. The only thing they knew was the skeleton resembled the features of their son.

The feeling of a son longing for the love of a mother persisted in Juan's heart that he walked to her for an embrace.

"You're Juan, my son?" With teary eyes, she extended her arms to meet him, happy to see her son alive but sad to see him in that state of physical deterioration.

His arms, like two bended pieces of sticks, wrapped around her mom with no more fluid coming out of his drained eyes. His father, still holding the wooden bar, joined them in embrace.

The delay of the issuance of his release papers was the cause of this trouble.

The luminous human body was believed to be of his cousin's whom the residents later labeled as "Ampuraw" an Ilocano term for Maputi or White.