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Authors: Tess Uriza Holthe
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had confessed to being in love with the neighbor’s wife. A woman who wanted her daughter to become an opera singer, where obviously the girl had no talent, but the mother, ahh, what a voice. They all came secretly disguised in hooded coats or high collars with big hats.
It was around closing time one evening when one of the nuns visited Esmeralda. It was Sister Mildred, the one who had discovered her as an infant in the church garden. In fact, it was just about the time the opera hopeful and her mother had departed. Sister Mildred moved aside to let the two women pass, then gave Esmeralda a daunting look.
“Ah, Esmeralda, you play with their hopes and fears. Things they should be confessing only to Padre Ramirez. He is the only one with a direct line to God.” She made the sign of the cross when she said this. “This is a dangerous thing you do.”
“I merely give them freedom to be themselves. I encourage them to speak their deepest desires.” Esmeralda shrugged as she put away her jars.
“Are you listening to yourself? You speak as if you were chosen by the Almighty Himself. A kind of saint, is that what you are?” Sister Mildred picked off a piece of lint from her dark robe and smoothed the fabric before placing her pale hands on the table. “Well, let me tell you now, you are not. Would a saint be left on the church doorsteps unwanted? A product of the deepest of sins, I am certain.
“Haven’t I told you to pray for forgiveness? For yourself, and especially for your parents, who I am sure tried to do right by you. You have a responsibility to correct their wrong. It was not a mistake that they left you on the church doorstep. Their intent was obvious; they wanted you to live a life of holiness. Nor is it a mistake that I found you. I am to be your teacher in this life. Your life was entrusted to me. Therefore, as I have told you countless times, you have an obligation to redeem yourself and your parents’ souls by giving your life to the church. Now then, have you said your rosary for the evening?”
“No, sister.” Esmeralda bowed her head.
“Sin clings strongly to you. Lend me some of your lotion. My hands grow dry from this weather. Not that one, the other. The one that smells of flowers. Now let us pray.”
I fell asleep listening to their “Hail Mary, full of grace …” and the responding “Holy Mary, mother of God” echoed in my dreams.
A ND NOW I must tell you about Sister Mildred, for as I said, it was she who found Esmeralda as an infant in the church garden. The church took the baby in, of course. It was a gift from God. And not one person questioned who the mother could be. They decided that it must have been a passing traveler. They never questioned the extra weight that Sister Mildred lost soon after Esmeralda was found. And who would notice any weight at all? Those hideous gowns covered so much of their bodies, and the long wooden crucifixes swung menacingly before them, to chase the curious eyes away. Not one person grasped the reason for Sister Mildred’s brooding moods, how she would live between moments of serene reverence and hellish despair. The infant Esmeralda eclipsed all that surrounded them.
T HAT EVENING AFTER all her customers had come and gone, I woke in time to see her last visitor. Her lover arrived. He was tall for a Filipino. His Spanish blood came through in his aquiline nose and languid strides. He was the Golden Gloves boxing champion of Blanca Negros, and his name was Tearso Batongbukol. I had seen him fight in the local boxing rings many times. He fought like a mountain lion, swift and ruthless. He was always immaculately dressed. Linen pants and loose cotton shirts with the sleeves rolled up were his usual attire. He never came without a gift, and they were always wrapped with ribbons. I once saw her open a delicate box that opened to reveal a smaller box, and on until she found a small white gold ring engraved with vines and onebeautiful pearl. Another
It was around closing time one evening when one of the nuns visited Esmeralda. It was Sister Mildred, the one who had discovered her as an infant in the church garden. In fact, it was just about the time the opera hopeful and her mother had departed. Sister Mildred moved aside to let the two women pass, then gave Esmeralda a daunting look.
“Ah, Esmeralda, you play with their hopes and fears. Things they should be confessing only to Padre Ramirez. He is the only one with a direct line to God.” She made the sign of the cross when she said this. “This is a dangerous thing you do.”
“I merely give them freedom to be themselves. I encourage them to speak their deepest desires.” Esmeralda shrugged as she put away her jars.
“Are you listening to yourself? You speak as if you were chosen by the Almighty Himself. A kind of saint, is that what you are?” Sister Mildred picked off a piece of lint from her dark robe and smoothed the fabric before placing her pale hands on the table. “Well, let me tell you now, you are not. Would a saint be left on the church doorsteps unwanted? A product of the deepest of sins, I am certain.
“Haven’t I told you to pray for forgiveness? For yourself, and especially for your parents, who I am sure tried to do right by you. You have a responsibility to correct their wrong. It was not a mistake that they left you on the church doorstep. Their intent was obvious; they wanted you to live a life of holiness. Nor is it a mistake that I found you. I am to be your teacher in this life. Your life was entrusted to me. Therefore, as I have told you countless times, you have an obligation to redeem yourself and your parents’ souls by giving your life to the church. Now then, have you said your rosary for the evening?”
“No, sister.” Esmeralda bowed her head.
“Sin clings strongly to you. Lend me some of your lotion. My hands grow dry from this weather. Not that one, the other. The one that smells of flowers. Now let us pray.”
I fell asleep listening to their “Hail Mary, full of grace …” and the responding “Holy Mary, mother of God” echoed in my dreams.
A ND NOW I must tell you about Sister Mildred, for as I said, it was she who found Esmeralda as an infant in the church garden. The church took the baby in, of course. It was a gift from God. And not one person questioned who the mother could be. They decided that it must have been a passing traveler. They never questioned the extra weight that Sister Mildred lost soon after Esmeralda was found. And who would notice any weight at all? Those hideous gowns covered so much of their bodies, and the long wooden crucifixes swung menacingly before them, to chase the curious eyes away. Not one person grasped the reason for Sister Mildred’s brooding moods, how she would live between moments of serene reverence and hellish despair. The infant Esmeralda eclipsed all that surrounded them.
T HAT EVENING AFTER all her customers had come and gone, I woke in time to see her last visitor. Her lover arrived. He was tall for a Filipino. His Spanish blood came through in his aquiline nose and languid strides. He was the Golden Gloves boxing champion of Blanca Negros, and his name was Tearso Batongbukol. I had seen him fight in the local boxing rings many times. He fought like a mountain lion, swift and ruthless. He was always immaculately dressed. Linen pants and loose cotton shirts with the sleeves rolled up were his usual attire. He never came without a gift, and they were always wrapped with ribbons. I once saw her open a delicate box that opened to reveal a smaller box, and on until she found a small white gold ring engraved with vines and onebeautiful pearl. Another
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