How My Friends and I Started WW II

Tales from My Childhood - Episode 1

The Dead Angel in the Garden

(Or, How My Friends and I Started WW II)

November 3, 1941. Two days ago All Saints Day was solemnly marked in the Islands. Being only 6, I was not taken along to any cemetery. I really wanted to go with Aunt Pilar and Apo Idad to visit Peter’s grave but all I got were denials. “No, we’re not going there,” she said. “We’re going to visit Peter in the hospital.”

“Why can’t I visit him at the hospital?” I then insisted, practically begging.

“Young children are not allowed in San lazaro Hospital,” Aunt Pilar lied. Yes, she lied. They all lied about Peter but I know he’s dead. Someday I’ll visit his grave, I promised myself.

But I’m getting ahead of the story. I have to introduce the characters first in this tale. Of course, I’m in it as participant and narrator. Now, Peter is my friend and playmate. He’s 11 years old and he lives in the house across from ours in Miguelin Street in Manila. Also residing in Apo Idad’s house was Mrs. Reyes and her 9-year old daughter - Letty. The two old women (anyone over 25 was “old” to me) and Aunt Pilar were friends and when I’m around, they all suddenly switch to Spanish so I won’t understand what they’re talking about. I guess my reputation as a cub reporter was well known!

Now, let me proceed with the story. I recall one particular incident around the middle of the year when the three of us came home late after some shopping in Gandara (a street in Quiapo where bargains are available 24/7). Apo Idad, Mrs. Reyes and Aunt Pilar were with us too. That was a Sunday and when we arrived home we all had a late breakfast of “bibingka”  (native cake) at Apo Idad’s house. Peter and Letty were permitted to have tea while I was legislated to have just milk. After breakfast we went down to the garden to light some candles at the grotto of the Virgin Mary. Before we got to the grotto, I discovered a dead sparrow by the ferns; its wings spread open like an angel’s. Black ants were crawling all over the dead bird, some going in and out of the empty eye sockets. Peter was particularly annoyed at the sight of the ants feasting on the sparrow and started sweeping them away with a branch he broke off the hibiscus bush. Letty stomped on the ants scurrying in her direction, calling them “cannibals.” When all the ants were gone, Letty suggested we bury the sparrow behind the grotto to which Peter agreed. Quickly, Letty ran to the house and came back with an empty shoe box which Peter lined with hibiscus petals before depositing the dead bird in the box.

“Let’s pray for the bird before we bury it behind the grotto,” he said.

“It’s not a bird,” I objected. “It’s an angel…”

“Yes, it’s an angel we’re burying,” Letty concurred, definitely humoring me.

Meeting no objection from Peter, he gave me the shoebox and placed me between him and Letty. “You’ll be the sacristan,” he said and he led the hymn as we slowly shuffled off in the grotto’s direction. “Dios te salve, Maria, Llena eres de gracia. El señor es contigo, bandita tu eres…” suddenly Mrs. Reyes, holding a butterfly net, was blocking our path. Her eyes were glaring at us with pure shock! “What are you three doing? She said, trying not to raise her voice in anger.

“Prayers are not for games! You’re all committing a sin! What's in the box? Let me see!" Shocked, she wagged her finger at her daughter's face. "Shame on you, playing with a dead bird!"

“It’s an angel!” Letty protested.

“Not another word from you, hija! Go to the house right now. We need to talk. You, too, Peter! Your Mom will hear of this! You’ll bring bad luck to us all with your unholy game! God will punish you!”

Mrs. Reyes walked away, shaking her head at our sinful game.

There was nothing we could do but abort the funeral procession. Peter dug a shallow hole with the trowel and buried the dead angel behind the grotto. That night I got a lecture from Mother and Aunt Pilar about the proper use of prayers. Two or three months went by before God’s punishment came. Peter had an accident and was hospitalized at St. Luke’s where I visited him twice in the company of Aunt Pilar. All of a sudden, I wasn’t allowed to visit anymore. “They’re taking Peter to a better hospital and it’s so far away,” Aunt Pilar said. A few days later I concluded everyone was really lying. Peter’s bedroom, visible from my bedroom across the street, was now shuttered and dark. His mother hardly left the house except to get her mail.

The day before Todos Los Santos,  the windows in Peter’s room were open. Apo Idad and her housemaid were cleaning the room. That night, I saw a lighted taper on the front window sill. All these confirmed what I had been sensing all along. With all the sweetness I could muster, I approached Aunt Pilar and asked to go with her to the cemetery. With a surprised look, she denied she was going to the cemetery.

I didn’t pursue the issue anymore. Then the atmosphere in our house slowly changed in anticipation of Christmas.

Suddenly Jap planes flew over Manila, bombing ships in the harbor! It was December 8, 1941. That, I concluded with certainty, was the punishment from heaven Mrs. Reyes was referring to – not Peter’s death!

Our game caused World War II!