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[av_heading heading=’MY LIFE AS ART ‘ tag=’h3′ style=’blockquote modern-quote’ size=’30’ subheading_active=’subheading_below’ subheading_size=’15’ padding=’10’ color=” custom_font=” av-medium-font-size-title=” av-small-font-size-title=” av-mini-font-size-title=” av-medium-font-size=” av-small-font-size=” av-mini-font-size=” admin_preview_bg=”]
BY PETER SOLIS NERY
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Friday, November 17, 2017
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XIX. AVE MARIA
His voice once filled the nave of the church, and everyone cried as he sang the “Ave Maria.” Those who heard it, never once forgot. Because every so often comes a song that is not the song written on the score, that has nothing to do with technique, breathing, or voice projection. Sometimes, a pure and divine song will come.
*
It was early morning.
The sky, beautiful.
A sand crab climbed Matt’s thigh.
He woke with a start, as if from a bad dream, The baby!
The baby was gone.
*
He looked around, Shit! I’d fallen asleep.
He picked up his guitar and knapsack.
Where can the baby be? And that crazy woman?
Damn! I should not have slept.
He called out, Baby? Baby! Has anybody seen my baby?
*
He walked back to the pier but the place was almost deserted except for drunks who were too wasted to even look up and answer him.
He heard the sound of church bells, and an idea popped into his head like in a comic strip, only this time, more real for him.
A GE A-line incandescent light bulb flickered before totally lighting up.
The church! Perhaps somebody there could help.
*
Matt hurried to the church.
As he approached, he saw the last parishioners leave—old-school Catholic women in drab clothes who did not take off their veils until they were at the church’s doorstep.
Then, Pugak, the hunchback janitor, “the hunchback of Notre Dame” of his childhood, came out with a broom and a dustpan, started to clean the church steps.
*
Pugak? Matt called out to him.
Yes, how may I help you?
Pugak, don’t you remember me?
Why, do I know you?
Of course you do, Matt reminded him.
I used to sing in this church. I’m Father Hingco’s favorite choir singer.
Everyone was Father Hingco’s favorite singer, Pugak answered back.
If you’re in the choir, you’re his favorite. But it doesn’t matter now. Father Hingco has long been dead. Five years.
*
Oh! Matt was surprised.
First, his grandmother. Now, Father Hingco, too. Who remains alive?
With sudden inspiration, he told Pugak, But wait! How about this… and he began to sing with a heavenly voice, soft as a feather floating in the wind,
Ave Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria…
*
Genuinely grateful to be transported to another world, Pugak was teary eyed.
I remember that voice.
There’s nothing like it in the whole of this island.
How can anyone forget?
Can you remember my name? Matt asked excitedly.
Luces!
Feliciano actually, Matt corrected him. Luces Feliciano.
*
Pugak was shaking with excitement, Mateo? Little Matty?
Matt embraced Pugak. Pugak, it’s so good to see you!
You’ve been gone a long time, Matty Matt.
I know, and I’m sorry.
Pugak took Matt’s hand, Come, let me introduce you to Father Zerrudo.
The new parish priest—not very friendly, but hospitable enough.
He’ll be happy to know you once sang in the church choir.
Matt simply nodded, followed Pugak into the church, into the rectory and through it, into the teahouse in the garden. (To be continued)/PN
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