Chapter XXVI: Announcements
The days move forward like a steady river, and at Bayubay Sur, Tuanong, the Lamento family carves out their own rhythm of life. Saturdays are always chore days, a sort of household marathon where everyone, even young Mark, has his own part to play.
"Mark, sweep the floor," Meric calls, handing him a broom half his size.
"Yes, Mommy!" he answers with the enthusiasm of a little soldier reporting for duty. His sweeping, however, is questionable—dust moves from one side of the room to another in messy piles, as if the dust bunnies are migrating instead of disappearing.
Ben, armed with a rag and a bucket of soapy water, shakes his head and chuckles. "At this rate, ballolong (son), you're just making the dust dizzy."
"Daddy, the dust is running away!" Mark protests, chasing a stubborn clump under the sofa.
Meric laughs, tying her hair into a bun as she continues folding laundry. "At least he's trying."
By mid-afternoon, the house smells of detergent, fried garlic from the quick lunch they cook together, and faintly of floor wax.
Sundays are sacred in a different way. The family dresses neatly, Meric in her pressed navy blue blouse, Ben in jeans and polo, and Mark in his blue polo shirt, looking like a miniature gentleman. They go to Hermosa Cathedral for the morning mass.
Inside, the towering ceilings and stained-glass windows bathe them in colored light. Mark looks around with wide eyes, sometimes distracted from the homily by the carvings and the solemnity of the choir.
After mass, instead of going home, they stroll along Calle Crisostomo. The old Spanish-style houses with wooden windows and carved balconies seem to whisper stories of centuries past. Mark skips happily, pointing at the carriages parked by the side and the vendors selling puto bumbong even outside of Christmas season.
They walk up north back towards to Plaza Jose, and in front of the Girls' Scout Building, there is an ice cream vendor. Mark wants one, and Meric buys him an ice cream which costs 10 pesos.
"Daddy, can we ride a kalesa one day?" Mark asks, tugging at Ben's hand.
"One day," Ben promises. "When Papa's wallet is fatter."
Meric laughs, elbowing her husband lightly. "Haanka madanagan balong, (Don't worry son) That day will come. And by the way, you already rode one when you were little. I wonder if that kutsero is still alive."
On weekdays, life is brisk and practical. Ben, ever the responsible father, drives Mark to Hermosa Central School on their motorcycle before heading straight to the government facility at Guardino. The school is only a short detour, but for Ben, those extra minutes with his son are priceless.
"Agbasa ka nga nalaing, balong. (Study well, son.)" he says each morning before Mark runs inside the school gates.
"Yes, Daddy!" Mark shouts back, waving his small hand until Ben disappears into the traffic.
By nightfall, when their responsibilities are done, the little family often heads to Plaza de Salcedo. The neon-lit dancing fountain bursts with colors against the evening sky. Children run around, vendors sell cotton candy and street foods such as fish ball, squid ball, isaw (fried chicken intestines), Kwek-Kwek (fried quail eggs), hotdog, and Betamax (fried liver); and the obelisk in the center stands like a guardian of time.
Mark's eyes always sparkle at the fountain show, his laughter blending with the music of water jets and neon lights. For Meric and Ben, it is less about the fountain and more about the shared peace of simply watching their son's joy.
Meanwhile, Meric's pastillas empire continues to bloom. Her kitchen at Bayubay Sur transforms into a little workshop each morning: sugar melting, milk simmering, her hands kneading and rolling until perfect white balls are born.
She delivers them to the Hermosa Public Market, slipping through stalls of vegetables, meat, and fish. Vendors wave at her, some calling her the "Pastillas Queen."
"Meric, how many packs today?" a grocery owner asks, already preparing her shelf space.
"Fifteen boxes," Meric replies, wiping sweat from her brow.
Each trip to the market also doubles as her chance to buy groceries, so she never comes home empty-handed. By noon, her bags are filled with both money and fresh produce.
Back at Caluipat, Mercy and Rico continue their small-town routines. The Bensmert Store buzzes with regular customers who come for rice, canned goods, and sometimes just gossip. Mercy manages the cash box, while Rico tinkers with bikes outside.
Sometimes, at early dawn, Rico wakes Jonn up for cycling trips. They pedal along the 10-kilometer Guardino–Unasan Bypass road, the cool air brushing their faces as the sun peeks from the horizon. Other days, they ride all the way to Sta. Catalina Beach to enjoy steaming bowls of miki or sinanglao at small eateries by the shore. But their favorite ride always ends at Puerto Beach in Santolomingo, where the sea stretches endlessly, reflecting the morning sky, as the morning sun shines on the wreckage of the pier.
At night, Mercy and Rico retreat to their old karaoke machine with a cassette slot. They load their favorite anonymous hits, their voices blending with crackles of old tape.
When "Ten Guitars" plays, Mercy stands up, swaying gently in the rhythm of what she proudly calls "grandma dance." Rico claps and cheers like she's performing at a concert.
But life has a way of interrupting these simple joys. One afternoon, Mercy receives the news that her aunt, Nieves Prado Crisostomo—the sister of Tory—has passed away. The words weigh heavy in her chest. She has known death before, but each one carries its own sting.
When she tells Meric, her daughter's face falls, and they both decide to pay respect.
At Santo Cristo Chapel, the little church known for its intimacy, Mercy arrives not in her favorite red but in solemn white. She whispers prayers, her rosary beads slipping through her fingers. Meric and Mark stand beside her, their heads bowed.
After the funeral mass, Nieves' body is laid gently to rest in the cemetery inside the church compound. Silence hangs heavy, only broken by sniffles and murmured condolences.
Afterward, instead of heading home, Mercy suggests they try Puregold Hermosa, which stands just beside the four-module public market.
"Purefoods," Mercy says absentmindedly, confusing the store name.
"Mang, it's Puregold," Meric corrects.
"Isu lang nga isu, Mayyang (Same-same, Mayyang)," Mercy waves off.
As they walk, Mark tilts his head at the green facade. "Why is it called Puregold if it's green?" he asks in all seriousness.
Mercy chuckles and pats his head. "Maybe green stands for money. And money turns into gold."
Mark's eyes widen as if he's uncovered a profound secret of the universe. "Ooohhh."
From time to time, Meric and Mark visit Caluipat, where Mercy and Rico greet them with delight. The smell of home-cooked food fills the house, and the stories never end. But when Meric and Mark leave, the house feels emptier, the silence echoing stronger. Mercy often finds herself sitting on the porch, whispering, "I miss them."
One evening, after dinner, Ben gathers Meric and Mark at the apartment's small dining table. His face is calm but serious.
"Meric, Mark," he begins, "I have an important announcement."
They look at him expectantly.
Ben takes a breath. "I will go work abroad."
The words hang in the air like a stone dropped in still water, creating ripples of silence. Meric's fork clatters on the plate. Mark blinks, unsure if he understands.
"Abroad?" Meric repeats, her voice trembling.
"Yes," Ben nods slowly. "It's an opportunity. For us. For Mark's future."
Mark, finally grasping the idea, jumps in. "Daddy, does that mean you won't be here?"
Ben pulls his son close, ruffling his hair. "I won't be here every day, ballolong ko. But I'll always be with you, in your heart. And when I come back, we'll be even stronger."
Meric tries to smile, though her eyes brim with tears. "We'll manage," she whispers. "We'll wait."
The family sits in silence for a moment, the neon glow of the city outside their window casting soft light over their faces.
Life, once a steady rhythm of chores, markets, and fountains, has just shifted again.
And yet, like the dancing fountain at Plaza de Salcedo, their love continues to rise and fall, glowing in many colors, refusing to stop.