Chapter XXXV: Kararua (Soul)
The evening is heavy after the long funeral day. At Caluipat, the house feels stranger than before: all of Mercy's flowers in full bloom as though heaven itself watered them, yet every light bulb is dead, each socket refusing to glow. The family stands bewildered in the darkened sala, shadows stretching from the single candle flickering near Mercy's picture frame.
Elric breaks the silence. "We can't stay like this. Come on, let's go at the back. To the eskinita."
Rico raises a brow, exhausted, but nods anyway. Meric, Jonn, and little Mark follow, still shaken from everything. Together, the five of them step outside, slipping through the narrow passage just beside the house.
The eskinita is dim, barely wide enough for two people side by side, with moss clinging to the walls. The deeper they walk, the cooler the air grows, until they reach the end, where a small manual pump stands beside a stone slab. Sitting patiently beside it is an old lady with a bowl of Sukang Iloco in her wrinkled hands.
She nods knowingly. "Ah, you're here. It is time for the gulgol."
Mark clutches Meric's hand tighter. "Mommy, what's that?"
Meric bends down to reassure him. "It's like... a bath for the soul, Balong. A cleansing. Don't be scared."
The old lady dips her finger into the vinegar and presses a drop onto Meric's forehead. The sharp tang fills Meric's nose, stinging but oddly comforting. Then one by one, Jonn, Elric, Mark, and finally Rico all receive the same—just a single drip on the forehead.
The old lady mutters prayers under her breath. "So no bad spirits follow you back. So you may rest without shadow."
Mark wrinkles his nose, whispering, "It smells funny."
"Better vinegar than ghosts," Jonn jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
"The smell sucks." , says Mark.
When the ritual is finished, the family thanks the old woman and walks back to the house. None of them say much, but the air feels a little lighter, as though the vinegar truly chased something unseen away.
Back inside, the three siblings sit together at the dining table, a candle standing in the middle. Rico has already retreated into silence, staring at Mercy's picture. Mark has curled up on the sofa, Raffy the shih tzu guarding him.
Elric leans forward, his tone serious. "We need to talk about... what's been happening."
Meric nods quickly. "Wen. (Yes.) Too many strange things since Mamang died. The stapler at the ICU... the burning pan in the dirty kitchen... Papang's phone ringing by itself at midnight... and now the garden blooming while all the lights are dead. You think this is all normal?"
Jonn joins in, eager. "Exactly! Mamang is with us. She's guiding us. She always said she wouldn't leave us helpless."
Elric exhales heavily, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not denying that Mamang is with us. But I don't believe in superstition. These things—" he gestures vaguely "—could all be explained. Electricity, accidents, coincidence."
"Coincidence?" Meric shoots back, her eyes wet. "Nong, you call this coincidence? Mama loved plants. Panagmulmula ti maysa kadagiti paborito na nga ububraen idi. (Gardening was one of her favorite hobbies back then.) They bloom now of all times, the very day we buried her. The stapler flying off the table when she flatlined? A coincidence? Haan, Nong. (No, brother.) She's here."
Jonn nods in agreement. "Manang's right. It's Mamang. She never wanted to leave us completely."
Elric falls silent, not to argue, but because even he can't shake the eerie patterns. His gaze drifts to the picture frame of Mercy—her eyeglasses perched, her red blouse bright even in the candlelight. The flame flickers, and for a moment, her smiling photo almost seems alive.
The story shifts back. It is March 29, 2015.
At the hospital ICU, the flatline tone pierces the air. Mercy's chest no longer rises. Doctors and nurses scramble, but it is over. Mercy has passed.
Her soul rises gently from her body, a translucent form that mirrors her physical self. She gazes at her still form lying on the bed. Her heart—or whatever part of her soul beats—aches, for she expected Rico to be there at her final moment. But his absence stings like betrayal.
She looks around, her face tightening with anger. "So, you're not even here, Rico?"
Her eyes land on the stapler on the counter. In a fit of spiritual rage, she flicks her hand. The stapler shoots off the table, clattering loudly onto the floor.
Jonn, standing near, notices instantly. "Huh? What the—? Why did the stapler move?"
Mercy bursts into laughter, invisible to all. She clasps her belly, amused. "Ay, Jonn! You noticed! At least you pay attention."
Her soul now free, Mercy discovers she can move anywhere she pleases. She closes her eyes, and in a blink, she's in Saudi Arabia.
There, she finds Ben asleep after a long shift. Mischief curls in her smile. She floats over him and leans her soul's weight onto his chest.
Ben stirs, frowning. "Apay, nagdagsenen? (Why, the sudden heaviness?)" He opens his eyes groggily. "What is this? Who's on top of me?"
Right then, his phone buzzes. It's Meric calling to tell him the news: their beloved Mercy is gone.
Ben sits up, stunned, the heaviness on his chest gone. Mercy watches him silently, her expression softening. At least you care enough to feel me, she whispers.
That evening, Meric and Mark go to Hermosa Cathedral for the Estacion Heneral. Mercy follows them, unseen, walking alongside like she always used to. She watches Mark's little hand clutch his mother's. She brushes her invisible fingers against his hair, though he only shivers slightly without knowing why.
On Good Friday, when the Santo Entierro procession marches, Mercy is there too, invisible in the crowd. She stays close to her family, proud and sorrowful all at once.
During one afternoon of her wake, Candy stands up after prayer, her voice trembling but strong, and begins to sing Mama by Nora Aunor.
Everyone weeps as the lyrics fill the air—everyone except Mercy. Her ghostly eyes widen in indignation.
"WHAT? Nora Aunor?!" Mercy groans, floating above the coffin. "I can't believe this. Of all the songs!"
She folds her arms dramatically, muttering, "I told you all before—Vilma Santos is the real star, not Nora!"
Still, as her family sobs, Mercy softens again. She can't stay mad for long. She sighs and shakes her head. "Fine. Let them cry. Even if it's Nora."
April 8. Elric's wife stands in the dirty kitchen, heating a pan for Tinapa. Mercy floats nearby, glaring playfully. She never liked that woman's habits.
"Hm. Let's make this interesting."
She waves her spectral hand. The flames burst wildly, scorching the pan. Elric's wife screams, dropping the spatula.
"Elric! The fire—!"
Elric rushes in. "What did you do?!"
"I didn't do anything! The flame just grew!"
Mercy cackles silently from the corner, clapping her hands. "That's for ignoring me all those years! And why I haven't received the anointing of the sick while I was in the hospital!"
Later, just before her funeral, Mercy plays one more prank. She rings Rico's phone in the dead of midnight. The ringtone blares into the silence, making Rico's hands shake as he picks it up—yet there is no caller ID, no number, only endless ringing until it suddenly stops.
Rico stares in disbelief, but Mercy only smirks. "Now you know how it feels to be left waiting."
On the day of her burial, Mercy travels with them unseen. When the coffin reaches Pampantok, she stands beside her siblings. She watches Junior hold her rosary.
A funeral staff member advises gently, "Sir, please don't break the cross. Without it, it's not a full rosary."
But stubborn as ever, Junior snaps the cross off. Mercy sighs, shaking her ghostly head.
Yet when she sees Meric's secret—her daughter slipping the real rosary into the coffin earlier—her heart swells.
"Ah, my girl," she whispers with pride. "Always thinking ahead. So smart."
Back at Caluipat, Mercy returns with the family. She walks into the sala, her ghostly body settling onto the sofa where she once rested.
She clasps her hands in prayer, whispering for her family's safety, her voice carrying into the air though no one hears.
Outside, her plants bloom brighter than ever. Inside, every light bulb dies completely, drained of all power.
It is her final touch—a sign of both farewell and presence. Life outside, silence inside.
She lingers in the empty space, watching her children, her grandchild, her husband. A soul still tied by love, refusing to let go.
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