THE UNSHACKLING

Introduction


The uniformed security guard stationed at the entrance to the International Center for Mental Diseases stopped the middle-aged woman who was about to enter its premises. But the woman, with hair unkempt, kept on walking slowly and was oblivious to the guard who was calling to her a bit louder now.

“Hey! Hey, lady! Will you please wait?”

The woman, who kept on advancing slowly, did not show any sign that she had heard the guard who had by now planted his body right in front of her. Ragged breathing was the only sign of the temper he was trying to control.

“You can’t just go inside without telling me who you want to see and why. There are restricted areas in this facility.”

These last words the guard was able to say patiently but firmly. He would have been a little harder with a man, particularly the sneaky type. But he always treated women a bit differently. They reminded him of Lola Lydia, the grandmother who made his orphaned childhood lighter and happier. Lydia was about the age of this woman when she took him in. His thoughts would have strayed further if his hand had not been quick to suppress the hand that the woman was raising. He had taken his training seriously and even if the woman did not look like the sort who would bring a weapon, you never knew.

But when he saw that the hand was grimy, he dropped it as though he was stung by something poisonous and the note fell. Before the wind could blow the sheet of paper away, the guard had managed to grab it.

“Please receive this woman into the center. I am sorry that I cannot take her myself because I do not want to be identified. Besides, I do not know her. I brought her here out of pity. She does not talk nor seem to understand anything that I say. And I thought that this was the best place to take her since something seems to be affecting her. Please take good care of her. God bless you!”

It took sometime for the note’s content to register. Requests like this did not happen everyday. There were people who did not act insane but who went to the center to see psychiatrists. And the woman did not belong to that category. She was not brought to the center by a screaming ambulance and this puzzled him. If the person who had brought the woman to the center was not a relative, there was no reason to be ashamed. Who brought this woman here? He radioed a companion to watch the entrance in his stead.
2
When the other guard arrived, Lola Lydia’s grandson held the still unidentified woman by the elbow and led her to the Admissions Department.

A nurse was trying to interview the shabbily dressed and dirty-looking woman ushered in by the guard. The guard had handed her the note and told her that the woman seemed to need help and he had stayed. Even if the woman had not shown an iota of violence, he had to make sure. He would wait till Nurse Terry Salvador told him to leave.
He positioned himself behind the chair on which the woman sat, regarding her with feigned disinterest. He felt pity for the woman and memories of Lola Lydia came with the feeling. He reminded himself to concentrate on what Nurse Salvador was saying to remain alert.

Terry jotted down the woman’s appearance, her affect, and her behavior. One glance and she was able to take it all in then she started probing, coaxing and imploring the woman to talk about her feelings and thoughts and who cared enough for her to bring her to the center. After all, she had been doing this thing for years ever since her graduation from a nursing school a decade ago. She went on to attend short courses on psychiatric nursing when she realized that her calling was to serve the mentally afflicted.
And her country needed her just as she needed her country. She felt she could not join the exodus of nurses leaving for abroad.

A puzzle sat in front of her waiting to be solved and she knew that her skills would be tested. The woman had neither relative nor friend whom she could interview to get the woman’s background. What was the matter with her?

“I’m Terry and I’m here to help you. I would like to ask you some questions first, if I may? Here is the note that you’ve given our guard, Mr. Ramos. Can you tell me who wrote this?” Terry Sandoval repeated the words for what seemed like an eternity. Years of caring for a bedridden sister now resting in God’s peace came to her aid.

“Mother, oh, Mother, please forgive me. I should not have hurt you.” The woman’s fingers trembled as she reached out to touch Nurse Salvador’s face and she slid down on the floor.

The guard and the nurse rushed forward to catch the woman as she fainted. The guard then carried the woman in his arms, totally forgetting that the dirt and grime on her had repulsed him earlier. He lowered her gently on a clean gurney and lifted its sides to prevent the woman from falling off it. Lola Lydia had done a superb job of raising the boy. Nurse Salvador hurriedly jotted the woman’s name and personal information, at least what she had gleaned earlier, down on the log. She thanked the guard and dismissed him. They had both been shaken by what had just occurred but tact prevented them from using the woman as fodder for conversation. Idle gossip would not help her. For now, Terry Salvador could not tell what would.

3
1

Ms. De Vega had just come from Mass and chanced upon the children while walking on the little sidestreet leading to both their houses as they were about to go wandering to look for their mother. The children did not protest when she forbade them to walk any further. Emily and Michael Roman’s tears mingled with the pouring rain while Ms. De Vega insisted on accompanying them back to their house so they could change into dry clothes. In halting steps and sentences, they managed to tell her why they were outside in spite of the rains and having no umbrella that by the time they reached the Roman household, Marcia de Vega understood what she had observed in them - the pallor of their skin and the heartwrenching plea for their mother’s return that could be read in deeply shadowed eyes swollen from crying.

Marcia had known that the family had no relatives living nearby. The family had arrived in town six years ago with a few bags of belongings and had rented the old row house opposite her newly restored one. There were just the two houses in the alley. When Marcia had first seen Conching, she had been immediately struck by the odd way with which the younger woman regarded her. She had felt that she was under scrutiny as if she was a lab specimen and Conching was looking at her through a microscope. Conching had the appearance of someone in a thriller movie, though heaven knew she had not seen many of those but had remembered how seeing one felt. Michael’s tiny voice intruded in her memories of six years ago.

“Ms. De Vega, are you going to help us find Mama?”

Marcia had no children of her own. She had chosen to remain single. Not that she had lacked suitors or that she had not felt the giddy feeling of falling head over heels for a man. She had felt more than that. She had loved a man once and in her heart, loved him still. Her own family life had been happy but she never missed not having children. She had plenty of nephews and nieces and her parents had instilled in her a concern for other people. And just as she could never imagine her childhood without a mother and father, she hesitated to think of the Roman children growing up without their mother. Her lips came up with a tentative yes. She had been standing by the window that had a little crack on the surface, looking out onto the yard still being drenched by the rain when Michael returned from the bedroom and sprung that question on her. Saying yes seemed so heavy that she suddenly felt she had to sit down. Where in the world is Conching?

Now she knew why she had never liked thrillers. Her life had been simple and had dealt her no ugly surprises. Her parents’ dying had not come like a thief in the night. Her mother had been buried five years when her father retired and started serving full time as a lay minister. He had carefully prepared Marcia and his other children for his passing when death finally came in his sleep. For two years, he had faithfully spent his time in the service of the Church and being a father to his children even though they had all been
4
past their thirties and had their own families except for Marcia. He had played with his children’s children and they would all remember him for making them laugh all the time. Time spent with grandpa had been laugh time. He had made sick people to whom he had given Viaticum laugh, too, every time the solemn part would be over. But Marcia had known that he had struggled with the pain of losing his wife and the loneliness even if he had never admitted as much to Marcia.

“Dad, help me. What am I to do?” Marcia had silently asked her father as she sat feeling as lost as the children who had been searching for their mother.

Marcia's eyes then roamed the small confines of the living room looking for anything that might help find Conching. There were no old photo albums and the room was almost bare except for two vinyl armchairs, one of which she had been sitting on, and a nondescript table in between. The plywood wall proudly showed two framed blown-up photos of Conching with her children. She wondered where these pictures were taken. She stood up and walked towards the picture frames intending to look at them up close.

Just then Emily came into the room and she failed to see that instead of two, there were four children on the photo with a woman who strikingly looked like Conching. Marcia turned and noticed how pretty the girl was turning out to be. And Emily looked unaware of it and achingly vulnerable. All of seventeen but she looked like a child who was about to go on a romp with a favorite pet. She had washed her tear-stained face and put some powder on.

“Ate, Ms. De Vega said she will help us find Mama.”

Emily had looked at Michael and then at Marcia, who nodded her confirmation.

“But first, we have to fill our stomachs first or we’ll easily get tired from looking for her.” Marcia stood up as she said this and was met by a hug from Emily. The girl’s words were muffled against her chest.

“ I don’t know how to thank you, Ms. De Vega.”

She felt Michael’s arms circling her from the back and her clothes getting wet with the children's tears.

“God takes care of his own. We cannot find your mother by ourselves alone, God will help us find her. Let’s go to our house first and eat and get extra umbrellas for you. Bring the most recent photo of your mother with you. That will be of great help.”

Michael ran off to the bedroom to get his mother’s photo while Emily thanked Ms. De Vega for her kindness.

“Emily, call me Ms. Marcia. I really haven’t done much for you. Where do you think your mother could have gone?

“I don’t know any relative of mother’s. She had not spoken much of her childhood or her parents and siblings. My father’s parents were killed…died just before we came here. My father’s heart gave up on him a long time ago and his cousins had not come to visit us within the year before we left Antique. Only Mama knows where they live.”


5
Did Emily’s slip of the tongue really occur or did she just imagine Emily saying that her grandparents had been killed? Marcia had suppressed a start when she heard the chilling word and hoped that Emily had not noticed.

“How did your grandparents die Emily?”

This time it was Emily’s turn to look surprised by her question. Emily started to stammer a continuous “Ahh” and upon realizing how stupid that sounded, decided to be polite but secretive at the same time.

“ I’m sorry that I cannot talk about my grandparents death at this time. It makes me really uncomfortable.”

Marcia nodded as Michael returned with his mother’s photo and the conversation shifted to the locking of all windows and doors and where was the front door key. As soon as the house had been secured, the three people went to the house just across the little rowhouse.