A STORY - PART 1 - Aunt Minnie

The frantic knock startles me as I read my book. I close the book and look up at Aunt Minnie. She does not stir from her rocking chair that faces the window. She stares outside, unblinking in the brightness of the afternoon sun. This April day has started chilly and she would not venture into her garden; her arthritis is on the attack. All afternoon though, since my arrival, all that she has said is that the one beautiful butterfly in the garden seems to be an omen.
“Shall I open the door?” I ask.
Aunt Minnie does not move, except for a slight shrug of her shoulder. She rocks the chair slowly.
I open the door. Father Bert stands outside waiting.
“Father,” I say.
He nods at me. He takes off his hat and steps inside, wiping his shoes on the black rubber mat before entering the sitting room.
“Minerva,” he calls softly. Aunt Minnie only stares outside.
“Auntie,” I said, “Father Bert is here.” She stops rocking, leans slightly towards the window and cranes her neck as she stares at the solitary butterfly in the front garden.
“Minerva,” Father Bert calls again.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Father,” she finally says. “You know it’s useless.”
“You don’t answer my calls,” he says.
The phone has never rang this afternoon. I look at the phone and follow the trail of its cord to the wall: it is unplugged.
“I know why you’re here, Father, and the answer is still ‘no’.” She leans back on her rocking chair. When Father Bert places his hand on her left shoulder, she brushes it off with one hand.
“His lawyers didn’t get a stay on the execution,” Father Bert says. Aunt Minnie stops moving but still does not look at the priest. He continues, “President Estrada is busy in his impeachment trial.” He pauses and waits for a reaction from her. Nothing.
“They had been trying to call you from Manila. The execution proceeds in two hours,” he continues.
“Good,” Aunt Minnie finally says. “Call me when he’s dead so I can open the bottle.” She points to the liquor cabinet by the kitchen door.
“Minerva, a good Christian...”
“Don’t tell me this, Father,” she says, her voice rising. “I was not the one who killed my father. It was that bastard!”
“You came from the same womb, the same seed,” Father Bert replies.
“Yes, but I never killed anyone. I’m so ashamed he’s my brother.” I note the slight quiver in her voice. “I hate him for killing Papa.”
“Domingo did it for...” Father Bert tries to say, but Aunt Minnie’s words cut him off once again.
“I hate him. They should have killed him a long time ago. They shouldn’t have waited this long. I hate him.”
Her words sound more deliberate. And cold. She continues to stare outside. Father Bert stands beside her, holding his hat. He stares outside, too, as if contemplating the butterfly that now flutters around the crocuses just outside the screen door to the garden. Momentarily, it clings itself to the screen.
Father Bert turns around and walks over to the other side of the living room and picks up the phone. Realizing the line is dead, he bends down, reaches for the cord and looks at me. I look at him and shrug my shoulder while I slowly shake my head. He looks at Aunt Minnie before plugging in the cord into the wall socket. The phone rings instantly. A long and two short rings indicate the call is long distance, from overseas. Father Bert picks up the receiver.
“Hello,” he says softly. “Yes, she’s here.” He turns to Aunt Minnie and clears his throat before speaking. “Minerva, he wants to speak to you.”
Aunt Minnie stops. Silence envelopes the bright sitting room. My eyes shift from Father Bert to Aunt Minnie.
“Please, Minerva. He’s dying and all he wants is your forgiveness.”
Nothing. I hear a shrill sound coming from the phone Father Bert is holding and he listens. Then he speaks again.
“Minerva, even if you don’t forgive him, just speak to him. It’s his last request.”
I walk closer to Aunt Minnie, but she stops rocking, leans forward and stands up. When she faces us, I see the fierceness in her face, the hooded lids almost masking her eyes, the eyebrows knitted, the lines emphasizing her age. I remember her to be a very beautiful woman. Today, there is just hatred in her beautiful face.
She walks over to where Father Bert stands and grabs the phone from him. They both stare at each other and I wonder who will blink first. Finally, she places the receiver to her ear. The tautness of her face eases as she opens her mouth, still staring at the priest.
“I...” she starts to say, “...hate...you.” She slams the phone down.

When the phone rings again, I recognize the number from the call display as my parents’. I lift the receiver.
“Hi, Dad,” I say. Mom and Aunt Minnie have never talked to each other ever since I could remember. Dad has always been their bridge and I have since shared that duty with Dad. But the two women just wouldn’t talk. I never know why and I never understand.
“Come home quickly, Alessia,” Dad says. “We’re taking Mom to the hospital.” I hear voices in the background and sirens.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I ask. I feel Father Bert and Aunt Minnie’s eyes on me.
“Just come home. If we’re not here, wait here and I’ll call you,” he continues.
“But, what’s wrong with Mom?” I shriek and start to cry.
“Honey, drive safely, okay?” Dad says and he hangs up.
I put the receiver down and look at Aunt Minnie. “I have to go,” I say, picking up my book and car keys. I wave at Father Bert. Aunt Minnie stands up from her chair and rushes to the door.
"What's wrong with Marina?" she asks. I don’t look at her. I get in my car and I drive away.