Chapter XI: Where the Waters Go
It is still the early start of 2001, January 24 to be exact, and dawn breaks over Hermosa as the faithful begin to gather. Mercy, holding a white candle in her right hand, stands among the sea of devotees of Ina Poonbato. They wait quietly in front of the Hermosa Cathedral, the cool morning breeze brushing against their shawls and scarves. As the church bells toll, the procession begins.
"O Ina mi Poonbato... ", the devotees sing.
The devotees walk, humming the hymns, praying the rosary, and murmuring prayers. Mercy looks solemn yet at peace, the candle flickering in her grasp as she takes step after step along the winding streets of the city. The image of Ina Poonbato is carried on a wooden float draped with flowers, a vintage carroza with a generator beneath it, slowly paraded through the early light of day, its scent mingling with incense smoke. Children carry small flags, elderly women clutch rosaries, and Mercy finds herself thinking about the past years, her blessings, and her children. They pass by the Old Santo Cristo Chapel, and passing some of the historical sectors of Hermosa. Eventually, they make their way back to where they started, circling back to the Hermosa Cathedral as the sun peeks from the horizon.
Later that day, the mood shifts dramatically. It's Balikatan Day, a local tradition full of camaraderie and laughter. Mercy changes into a more casual outfit and joins her fellow Balikatans in the city plaza. Her daughter, Meric, sporting a matching shirt, runs up to her with a bottle of soda in one hand and fishballs in the other.
"Mang! Let's go try the new game booth," Meric beams, already tugging her mom's hand.
They spend the afternoon throwing rings, balancing eggs on spoons, and getting their photo taken with the local mayor. There's even a humorous moment when Rico accidentally gets sprayed with water during a relay race and grumbles, "Ayy, my socks are wet! That means bad luck for governor's game of majong later!"
The very next day, January 25, it's Hermosa City Day. A grand parade marches along Quirino Boulevard. Mercy doesn't join this time; she simply watches from under a blue umbrella near the curb. Colorful floats pass by, featuring everything from giant carabaos to glittering replicas of the cathedral. Brass bands play lively anthems, students perform coordinated dances, and tricycles painted in garish neons parade behind them. She smiles as one float throws candies into the crowd and catches a single wrapped pastillas in her hand.
Weeks pass. Meric finally graduates from college, a bittersweet occasion. Mercy is proud, of course, teary-eyed even, but Meric must wait for Ben to finish his course—two more years.
"So no wedding yet, huh?" Mercy teases lightly.
"Really, Mang, we're not even engaged yet," Meric laughs, blushing.
Everything seems calm until July. But peace never lasts long in this city.
A typhoon forms east of Luzon, and the national weather agency warns it will hit Central Luzon directly—including Metro Hermosa. The tension builds. Stores close early, windows are boarded up, and everyone stocks up on candles and canned goods.
Mercy decides to stay in the city proper, along with her two sons, Elric and Jonn. She instructs Rico and Meric to head to the house in Brgy. Caluipat, Pardas. That house had belonged to Rico's late aunt, Remedios Quadro, and has been mostly empty since her death.
"The air there is better. Stay high, avoid the floods," Mercy says.
Rico nods and drives his old tricycle with Meric riding at the back. The roads are slick, but they manage to reach Brgy. Caluipat by dusk. The house is quiet and creaky, its wooden floor echoing every footstep. Dust coats most surfaces.
They settle in for the night. The rain continues.
At around 3 a.m., Meric wakes up, parched. She reaches for her slippers but instead feels unusual. Something is wet, that is... water.
"Huh?" She swings her legs down and is immediately greeted by cold wetness.
"Pang!" she yells, panic rising. "Pang, Papang! Nalayos ta balayen! (The house is flooded!)"
Rico, groggy and alarmed, stumbles out of bed. The water is ankle-deep and rising.
They scramble to lift whatever appliances they can. The radio, the small CRT television, and the rice cooker are all taken to the higher shelves. Meric dashes toward the kitchen to retrieve her phone, but it's no longer on the table. The floodwater has made the table float—and the phone is gone.
"Shete! My Nokia Phone!" she cries. "I had four games of Snake saved there!"
(Shete or Siete is an Ilocano expression is almost similar to saying sh*t, but some say the Spanish of 7 which is Shete, to further censor to real curse word, or the speaker doesn't want to say the curse word itself)
As the water creeps toward waist height, Rico decides it's time to go up to the second floor of the house.
They climb up the old wooden stair case made of wood planks. Meric even slips while carrying the TV and radio. It is still raining, but not as hard. As rain pours down heavy on the roof, that is so loud like a gong even on the second floor, they can see the soft green arc of Pardas across the landscape. Everything else looks like a dull, watery mirror. It is eerily silent.
Days later, the floodwaters finally recede. Mercy and her sons remain safe at the RQ Store in Calle Gen. Antonio. Rico and Meric return.
But tragedy strikes again.
As they step inside the store, Meric notices something strange.
"Where's Yaw-Yaw?" she asks.
Mercy lowers her gaze. "She didn't make it. She had a heart attack the other night. We couldn't do anything. Sorry, Mayyang."
Meric drops to her knees. There, laid gently on a cloth near the back of the store, is Yaw-Yaw, eyes closed, still. Meric cries, her sobs wracking her shoulders.
The memories flood back.
Yaw-Yaw had been a gift to her in sixth grade. A bundle of energy and fluff, the dog followed her everywhere. Over the years, Yaw-Yaw had puppies, some sold by Mercy, and one—to Meric's dismay—accidentally cooked into a family dish. That traumatic day led to three weeks of silent treatment.
Yaw-Yaw never held grudges, though. She would let Meric pet the remaining puppies—especially Chavelita and Puket. During college, Yaw-Yaw would walk Meric to DWCH every morning. After seeing her enter the gates, the dog would walk back to RQ Store, only to return in the afternoon to fetch her again.
Those routines, that unwavering loyalty—gone.
Rico and Elric, solemn and quiet, dig a hole beside Pampantok, the Hermosa Chinese Cemetery. The air is still damp, the ground soft. Jonn stands beside them with a small wooden cross.
As they place Yaw-Yaw in the ground, Meric places a small photo beside the cloth.
"Agyamanak Yaw-Yaw ko. Agyamanak la unay. Sapay kuma aginana kan. (Thank you, my Yaw-Yaw. Thank you very much. We hope you rest in peace now. )," she whispers. "Thank you for loving me and staying by my side all these years."
The wind blows gently, carrying away her words. Mercy, standing by, wipes her tears with her handkerchief. She can't bear of seeing her daughter losing her companion for a long time.
Another goodbye. Another memory etched in the heart of Hermosa.