For whom the bells ring

First, my apologies to the great late Hemingway for paraphrasing the title of his novel (For Whom The Bell Tolls) which is one of my enduring favorites (along with, among others, The Old Man and the Sea and Death in The Afternoon).

And then, I beg your indulgence for going very personal today, veering away from the usual "star talk" (again, with apologies to GMA 7 for dropping the title of one of its shows) and turning serious and somber for a change. I can’t help it, you know.

Today, my brothers and my sisters, along with nephews and nieces and in-laws, are trooping to Las Navas, Northern Samar, our hometown nestled along the Catubig River, to fulfill a promise to our dear Nanay, Remedios Fua Lo, who left against our wishes on October 10 last year and who is now, I’m very sure, watching the angels dance and sing on her rocking chair, with Papa and Berting and Netoy and Manoy Rudy beside her, free from all the cares and worries that we the living are still burdened with.

On that fateful day in October when we laid Nanay to rest at the municipal cemetery as she had wished, with Papa’s 36-year-old bones and ashes wrapped in red Chinese cloth resting on Nanay’s white casket in that tomb that had to be, again as per her last wish, opened as their final "conjugal" resting place, my siblings and I told the town parish priest, Fr. Giray, that we were donating a bell – no, not just a bell and also a kalembang – to the church now undergoing major repairs and renovation.

The priest sadly told us that the old bell, installed there I presumed long, long ago before our parents’ parents’ parents were even born... that bell retrieved from the bottom of the Catubig River where it was dumped by I don’t know who during the war (Spanish War? American War?)... that bell which my friends and I playfully rang early mornings when we were sakristans... had cracked and emitted only a faint broken sound, unable to alert the townspeople to prepare for the (especially) Sunday Mass.

Okay, we assured the priest, our family would donate a bell – no, two bells – in memory of Nanay and Papa, plus a set of carved Station of the Cross (made to order in Paete, Laguna, arranged by my colleague Jojo Gabinete) in the name of our late brothers Berting, Netoy and Manoy Rudy.

So we started searching for the right bell(s) and found one at the Catholic Trade School on Tayuman Street (Sta. Cruz, Manila). It was the only one left, made of pure bronze, and when it was rung at the store for a "sample," lifted by three men (yes, it is that heavy!), I thought the whole Tayuman Street shook. The sound is that loud, reaching, we were told, a 10-kilometer radius, so that all the 54 barrios around Las Navas could hear it.

We had to order the kalembang (the one hung upside-down and turned around and around to produce the kind of sound you hear on Easter Sunday which marks the Resurrection of Christ) from a store along Gandara Street in Binondo, Manila, made-to-order like the Station of the Cross to fit the space of the kampanaryo of our town’s church.

Anyway, it took weeks for the engravers of both stores to "write" Nanay’s and Papa’s names around those bells, complete with their dates of birth and dates of, yes, departure.

Transporting those two bells (weighing tons, I suppose) was quite a challenge. They had to be brought to the bus station somewhere in Paco, Manila, for weighing (to determine freight charges) before they were loaded for the 18-hour road trip to Catarman from where a chartered truck brought it to Las Navas. Thank heavens for Fr. Giray who took charge of that "assignment" (having the bells transported to Las Navas, that is).

The bells have been installed two weeks ago in the kampanaryo but, as per our request, Fr. Giray had them wrapped for the blessing tomorrow morning before the Palm Sunday Mass.

At the crack of dawn, we brothers and sisters, along with our nieces and nephews and in-laws, will rise with the sun, amidst the crowing of roosters, and keep the vow we’ve made for our dear, dear departed. One by one, we’ll ring the bell and together we will turn that kalembang around and around, for it to ring loud enough to reach that Eternal Land where Nanay and Papa and Berting and Netoy and Manoy Rudy will listen with a big, big smile on their faces.

Yes, I will remind the townspeople to please say a little prayer for them and their relatives as well who have gone ahead everytime they hear those bells ringing.

Again, to paraphrase Hemingway, ask not for whom the bells ring...

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