LITERARY: "Fourth Sunday"

By: Mr. Rommel Antonio O. Mazon

I

            LUWALHATI SALAMAT did not notice that her name was written at seat Number 7, a lucky number for her.  Although she led a full life in the house of Don Julian Santiago, she proved to him, that she still has the edge of being a part of the roster of intelligent men and women in the future, honorable bench.  The time of the examination started already, and after an exhausting day, the last Sunday will be marked with exultation, contemplation and nervousness. 

            She began to perspire and express such unintentional regret for not paying his brother’s tuition fee because of the loaded work that she was carrying on her shoulder.  Their eyes were on their papers and as the examinees opened the envelope, they read the questions that flowed like waters receding in the brittle rocks of hope.

            “It was a difficult examination, but I did manage to answer all of them,” told Luwalhati to Steve, her classmate and fellow review buddy.

            “Well, that is how the world works in this kind of unremitting profession.  Most of the time, we have to burn the midnight oil before we can see the light of our mornings.”

            “I agree with you Steve, but I still have work to do when I arrive home,” replied Luwalhati.

            “Oh please.  Don’t tell me that you’ll be washing those plates again and not study your lessons.”

            “I can manage, and it will be a matter of time before I can give an aided reflection of the time that I needed,” told Luwalhati as she gathered her books and reviewers after the examination.

            She arrived late at night because of the heavy traffic.  The television set was turned on, nobody is watching on the midnight program of journalist Teddy Benigno.  Don Julian, the owner of the house, was present, smoking his favorite cigar from Cuba.  He just ate the snack that Luwalhati prepared before she left, and to his surprise, he saw her, all clad in perspiration and devoured by the heat of the travel. 

            “You should have been here as early as seven in the evening.”

            “My apologies Don Julian.  The examination is a little difficult.”

            “I see.  You seem to be very careless in your work Luwalhati.  One more mistake and you will not have any roof to cover your head again,” told Don Julian while looking at her.

            “Yes, I will be very early Don Julian and I know that it will be a reflection of what I shall be doing in the future,” replied Luwalhati.

            She prepared the dinner in the nick of time.  The rice was stemming hot and the dish was prepared by Luwalhati.  At the dining table, she was staring at Don Julian, silently, and the latter was observing her looks; from the eyebrows down to her chiseled cleavage. 

There were a number of imaginative figures hovering in his mind and it was a blissful day for Luwalhati.  Her parents were both farmers in the Ilocos and they agreed that Don Julian will take care of Luwalhati; she was fifteen years old then when Don Julian went at their house and convinced her parents that, as a philanthropist, he will be responsible for her education.  She served as a house helper to augment the needs that Don Julian provided for her, and she never lets him down.

II

            HE WAS a frustrated lawyer, but his dream went in the hands of a simple Ilocos girl who lived in the breeze of the fields.  He was always contemplating while looking at the books Luwalhati was using during her review before the final bar examination.  He was contemplating on why a woman like her had succeeded in the ranks of the underprivileged.  Don Julian was also looking at the photographs of his classmates that he cannot contact because of his telephone line that was terminated three years ago.  Success had been too thin for him; all that he can do is to spend his wealth from a needy hand.

            Luwalhati was studying after completing her chores, and her pages were extended until dawn.  Her flickering fingers passed gently in the brittle pages of the law books that she borrowed from her classmates at the Academia de Leyes. 

In her study, she can hear the songs vibrating at the living room; it sounded like a gush of wind, contemplating on the wind that is tangible in one moment.  She gently opened the door and gaze at the little half inch slant of light illuminating at the ‘welcome’ carpet.  She saw Don Julian, reading a letter while humming her favorite piece by Christopher Plumer and Julie Andrews.

            “Oh Luwalhati, it’s you.”

            “I am sorry Don Julian.”

            “I am just chanting – Edelweiss, a German song.

            “I did not know that you can sing such tune.  Who taught you how to sing Don Julian?”

            “It was Sunday, Maria Sunday,” replied Don Julian.

            “Sunday?  Is she your classmate?”

            “No, but she was my infatuation Luwalhati.  Her parents did not like me, even though I did everything to please them.  She was the finest creatures divinely breed at the Colegio de La Concordia; cultivated in the wing of the virtues of the nunnery and pursuing a degree in the arts, and me, a collegiate at the college of law.  We graduated the same year, but I was not able to see her during our agreement that we’ll have our date on the following day. 

One day, a letter arrived in the house, telling me that her parents decided to settle her marriage from a Bostonian magnate named Andrew Simon.  I never got to know the man, but only through her letters that she wrote with fine calligraphically noted strokes of refinement.  From her letters, I got to know her and I got to know my limitations in this world where we lived.

            “How fortunate it is Don Julian.  That must be the reason on why every fourth Sunday of each month, you are chanting.”

            “Singing as if no one is listening.  But I know that my tune will not be fateless in deaf ears.”

            “Is it dedicated to her?”

            “Yes, and it is a tune that near its end.  I received another letter, but this time not written with gentleness but with an inked pendulum.”

            Don Julian gave the letter to Luwalhati and read it.  It is a five page letter with an affixed signature of a judge demanding a court order demanding custody of a boy.  There was a silent moment while Luwalhati was reading the letter at the sofa.  Don Julian stood up in his seat and uttered something in demand.

            “Save my boy Luwalhati, for I don’t have any treasure in this world but him.  He bore the lips of Sunday, the eyes of Sunday and will carry my name when the numbness of my arms will fall into place.

            “I shall do something about it Don Julian,” replied Luwalhati as she observed him holding the boy’s hand in his chest standing at the window –staring with each other.

            And it was Sunday – the last Calvary of patience at the bar examination were her words will not be hanging like the others who did not have the courage to face the work in a different perspective; she was dusting her files on her way at the examination venue before swearing from  the impartial sight of Mother Justice and the boy.