How I almost stole the head of the Virgin Mary

Most people think I collect antiques. I don’t. It’s an expensive hobby I can never afford. I am also afraid of the spirits of the former owners of these pieces. What if they got too attached to their possessions and never let go?

What I collect are old items that once belonged to members of my family — or those close to me, like Rosa Rosal, who had bequeathed to me a pair of lamps, a brass bell and a chandelier. I continue to care for these items — some of which she had bought with her hard-earned money during her early days in the movies.

My first and what will always remain a rare find is this turn-of-the century mirror that has a frame in hard wood on which intricate details are carved and cannot be duplicated anymore by today’s artisans. That once belonged to my maternal grandmother and it was passed on to the youngest in the family, my Aunt Dolly.

This was how it got to my possession. Weeks after my sister got married she moved to Cebu and left her bedroom in our house practically intact. I then had this bright idea of convincing my Aunt Dolly to take my sister’s dresser — in exchange for the mirror. The dresser had drawers and a stool — perfect for her needs. That was my sales pitch. She readily agreed to hand over to me the prized mirror and I swapped it with a possession that was not even mine in the first place.

In the end, my greed and cunning ways saved the mirror. The old house where that mirror was first displayed was destroyed by fire in 1995, along with old framed photos of my maternal grandparents and a heavy metal chest. I should have been greedier and sequestered those items because I’m turning out, if I may say so myself, into a responsible custodian. Now, we no longer have photos of my grandparents in their prime.

But the mirror still hangs proudly in my home and had been featured many times over in architectural magazines and even on Urban Zone.

From my father’s old house in Bulacan, I got a framed lithograph of the Virgin of Antipolo circa 1920s. Obviously, no one else among my relations cared for this old picture of the Blessed Mother. It was stashed away in some old bodega and it resurfaced only because I had asked for it.

Along with the Virgin’s faded photograph, my father also handed me a small wooden frame (with the Madonna and Child in it) that he said he himself made in carpentry class in fifth grade. He apologized for its crudeness and lack of fine craftsmanship. No need for him to get embarrassed. It is for me a beautiful work of art and I value it because it was handmade by my father.

My passion for preserving old things must have started as early as the grades. The first school I went to was Don Bosco Mandaluyong. In its campus on top of a hill stands a structure that was said to have been there since 1716. It was, in fact, the site of the Katipunan’s betrayal.

In its quadrangle where we had our daily formation stood an image of the Salesian priests’ Marian patroness, Mary Help of Christians, in concrete. One time, the winds of a powerful typhoon swooped through it and beheaded the statue.

Weeks later, I discovered the severed head of the Marian image on the floor in one corner of a carpentry workshop that I used as access to get to the swimming pool. I thought school officials kept it there while waiting for better weather before reuniting the head with the rest of the body. That didn’t happen. A new head was molded and later attached to the Marian image.

Months passed and I would see the original head gathering dust in that corner. No way to treat a lady, especially not Our Lady. Unfortunately, I was just a kid no one would listen to. If they didn’t have a need for it, I’d gladly give that detached head a place of honor in our home. But I couldn’t march to the rector’s office to tell him that because I was but just a child.

Then came Dec. 8, the feast of the Immaculate Conception. There was no school and I spent the whole day at home mapping out a plan on how I could steal the Virgin’s head. I must have really been a terrible kid to have such wicked thoughts — and on the most important of Marian feasts of all days.

Dec. 9. I was determined to carry out my plan after school. It was simple. I had two school bags: The big one and the bigger one. I calculated the size of the head and left enough space for the loot in the bigger bag. I was going to casually walk past the corner where the head was and surreptitiously pick it up when no one was looking. Human traffic was never busy there anyway.

After dismissal, I set myself out for a swim at the pool and that was still part of the grand plan. In the privacy of one of the cubicles, I would have the chance to carefully stuff the head in so that it doesn’t bulge in my bag.

When the opportunity came, however, I chickened out completely. I must have marched back and forth past the head many times, but the Christian values I learned from that school said no. Thou shall not steal. This thought also dawned on me: How was I going to explain that at home? What was that head doing with me? My older brothers who went to the same school would surely recognize where that came from.

I know I still would have been forgiven for such childish prank (in my young head though I already knew its value and I am amazed now that I was already thinking like an adult then). That was after all my birthday. I couldn’t be punished on that day. But I felt it was still wrong.

I never took that shortcut anymore till I left that school to avoid temptation. I wasn’t even supposed to have taken that route in the first place, except that secret passageways had always fascinated me.

Now, I still have no idea what happened to the severed Marian head. But I know now that there isn’t always bliss in ignorance. The thought of what happened to the Virgin’s head is still killing me today. Was it just thrown away? Did legendary antique dealer Viring Asis beat me to it? I don’t know.

I still fancy today how I could have commissioned a new body for it now that I can afford it. Or I could have a wood and glass case made to house the Marian head.

The collector in me says I should have taken it. After all, it must have been just dumped somewhere where it is lost forever. My Christian upbringing, however, assures me I did the right thing. I comfort myself in the fact that Mama Mary must have been happy I chose what my conscience told me was right.

I write about this now to purge myself of the guilt feeling of how I once almost stole the head of the Virgin Mary.

And to admit how I was for a time that lost head.