The loud singing of ritual songs disturbed the stillness of the night in Calle Recto. Nearby households were tortured by the screaming voices of old men and women who come to the Garcia residence once in a month to pray and perform the activity. It was the same ritual they had repeatedly done in about a year already. The ritual was done everytime that the moon was full as a "pray-over" for the sick member of the family. That night was not an exemption.

The house was again full of fervent devotees who prayed and sang for the recovery of the little boy who lay at the center of the crowd. The owners of the house, a couple known as Fernando and Venancia, were sure that the heavens would eventually hear their sighs and prayers, and that in a matter of time, their little boy would be healed. A miracle is what he needs, they told their friends who inquire about their child's condition every now and then. But months had passed and still the boy's condition did not get any better; in fact, it had gotten worse with the passing of time.

Still the couple did not give up their hopes that the child would regain his health. Perhaps this is not the time yet, they repeatedly told each other. And so the ritual was done regularly at their lowly house.

The believers had formed a circle, with the child and old man Tata Popong at the center. Tata Popong was the leader of the congregation to which the couple Fernando and Venancia were members. He was a thin man in his seventies and he always had a tobacco in his mouth which he usually used in his healing sessions. He always had a rolled handkerchief around his head and in his neck hung several necklaces with bone pendants. He was bending by the child's side as he murmured prayers only he could understand, raising his hands in the air every now and then summoning the heavens for the child's recovery. He poured in his palms a fluid solution which he himself prepared. He then rubbed the boy's forehead, down to his neck, to his arms and to his feet with his palms. He continued reciting his prayers while his believers sang. The little boy lay on the mat at the center, so weak that he could almost not open his eyes. His hair had slowly fallen. The singing continued, then bible-reading followed, and then another bout of song. The crowd did the ritual of singing and reading, and occasionally a sharing, then clapping.

The ritual was finished and yet not a single manifestation that the boy's condition improved was displayed. He lay on the mat, as still as a sleeping cat. Not a wink was
observed by anyone all throughout the time that the ritual was done.

The group had already left and yet the little boy's condition had not changed. He still had a high temperature and his eyes had already shrunk. No miracle happened, Fernando who sat on a wooden stool near the window told his wife. The couple took separate nooks to wallow in their depression.

"We'll bring the child to the doctor tomorrow," Fernando grumbled in a voice above whisper, his chin resting on his palms as he sat on one corner of the house.

"What are you talking about? That's a violation against what is written in the bible," Venancia answered. "The Lord healed those who came to Him through miracles. We just have to wait a little longer."

"Well, I no longer care about what's written in the bible. I want my child to live longer, that's all."

"But Fernando... are you going to put your child's life in the hands of those doctors and their modern technology?" Venancia asked rather vehemently, raising her voice so that Fernando had to turn his back to see his wife's reaction. "Those doctors... what can they do? They depend too much on those things they carry around with them. What we need, Fernando, is a miracle for our boy to get well. Doctors could not make miracles, could they?"

"No, no. But we have tried several ways to ask for God's miracle and nothing has happened. We have been doing this ritual for quite some time now and look at the child, he's getting worse everytime I look at him," Fernando said as he took his eyes back to the window. "Why won't we try the only thing we have not tried yet?"

"No, Fernando. We could not take that risk. With all the drugs and the tests... God knows what might happen next. We have to be patient... this is just not the time yet," Venancia answered and her remark finished the discussion.

Fernando knew how bullheaded Venancia could be and at the moment, he did not want to push any argument and so he kept his thoughts to himself.

The rest of the night witnessed the hostile treatment of the couple to each other. Nobody dared to start a conversation, especially Fernando who sat on a stool by the window as he kept himself busy gazing at the bright sky. Until the time that they had to sleep, the couple had separate thoughts. Nobody dared say goodnight. It was as if they were avoiding any contact, how brief it may be, that might cause them to speak about their child's condition. For everything revolved around the child. Their only concern was the little boy whom they were slowly losing every single minute.

In the middle of the night the child started writhing in bed. He lay in between his parents, and it was Fernando who woke up first when he noticed that the child beside him kept on moving.

"What is it, son? Tell me, what's wrong?" He talked to the little boy but the child just kept on moving. He spoke nothing for his mouth had slowly been deformed, as a result of his deforming teeth structure. Only tears that well from the boy's eyes communicated the pain that he was experiencing.

"Venancia, wake up. Wake up, Venancia." Fernando shook Venancia who was lying on the other side of the bed. The woman woke up and automatically reached for the boy beside her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"We have to take him to the hospital," was Fernando's reply.

"No! The doctors won't do any good. Come, let us pray," she pulled Fernando by the hand and despite the boy's cries, she started to light the little altar that was in one side of the room.

"Venancia, stop this! We have to go!" shouted Fernando.

"To where? To the hospital? No, we are not taking him there. We will pray, Fernando... God will listen..."

"If you're not going, then I am taking him to the hospital even without you," Fernando said quickly.

"Fernando, have you forgotten what the doctors did to my father? We brought him to the hospital not long ago. He did not die because of his sickness, Fernando, but of the wrong treatment he was given. They killed my father," cried Venancia hysterically and she stood up to stop Fernando from cradling the boy. "No, I won't allow my child to die in the doctor's hands."

"Venancia, listen... we didn't have enough money that time... the doctors did not kill your father. They gave him the cheapest medicine possible. And besides, the hospital was crowded with patients that time... you know how busy public hospitals are... And your father was so sick that no medicine could have saved him," he said. "That's the truth."

"No, what father needed was a miracle. And miracle is what our child needs. Come. Let us pray," she started again in the direction of the altar.

"Miracles are not true, Venancia. If there is one who is capable of doing so, then why is he allowing this child to suffer? No miracle will happen, Venancia, even if we ask all the angels and saints to pray for us... there's no way we could haggle our child's life than to bring him to the doctor," Fernando again started bringing the child out.

Venancia stood from her kneeling position and hurriedly walked toward the door. She started to push up a table and a chair as a barricade. "You and that child are not leaving, Fernando."

"Venancia, have sense. The child's temperature is too high. No miracle could bring it to normal. And besides, look at the child's body. It is full of bruises and his hair, look at his hair," he touched the child's head and as he got his hands away, he had in his hand the child's hair.

"What we need is a miracle... and everything will be fine... Fernando, we-"

"Enough of this Venancia. I do not want our child to die. I am taking him with me and I'm-"

Fernando had not finished what he was about to say when the child shook his frail body and his eyes drooped. His heart beat faster and he grew paler than ever.

"Fernando... Fernando... come on. Let us pray," cried Venancia as she reached for the rosary in the altar.

Instead, Fernando ran back and laid the child to the bed and started massaging his little arms and legs. "Venancia, stop that silly act and help me," he called on to his wife who was kneeling before the altar, with her head vowed so low and her palms clasping the
rosary. She was crying and trembling. She kept on calling the name of her god.

"Venancia, come here!"

"Oh my Lord, help us. Please let our son live a little-"

"Venancia, don't be stupid! Our son's dying and no miracle is going to happen. We have to bring him to the hospital."

Venancia did not say a word but she remained in the same position.

"Come on, Venancia, we have to do this as fast as we can. Move, now!"

Venancia abruptly raised her head in time to see the boy no longer writhing as he used to be a while ago. She stood up, trembling. Fernando was about to cradle the little boy when he touched the boy's wrist and felt no pulse beating. He started pumping the boy's chest for a while. No change happened. He reached for the boy's wrist again. No difference. There was no heartbeat. There was no pulsebeat.

Fernando felt his knees weakened in remorse. "If only we brought him to the hospital... he might still be..." and he cried. Fernando hugged the little boy. He reached for his pulse again, but it was not beating. There was no heartbeat either. Fernando cried and cried until he slouched on the floor, calling his son's name over and over again.

Venancia still stood by the altar, her palms still clasped together, but this time the rosary she was holding was on the floor.