(Short Fiction in the Style of Joaquin Antonio Penalosa’s God’s Diary)
When the Cherubim settled down and the fluttering of wings turned into soft rustlings, the Father said, “So tell us, My Son, tell us, what happened.”
The Father knew everything, of course, from the time Gabriel greeted Miss Mary, every second, every heartbeat, every breath the Son made: the hammer in His hands when His earthly father taught him carpentry, the wine in the casket, Lazarus arising, the cross leaning heavy on His Son’s shoulders, the nails in His hands as he hung on the cross, the cry to Him—Eloi, Eloi—but He wanted to hear His Son tell the story of His Great Adventure. He wanted to hear His voice. Tell us, My Son.
And so the Son spoke, and the Cherubim became excited at the boom of His human voice, at the veins throbbing on His neck as His words filled the air, and they marveled at the wounds in His hands glistening as He gestured for emphasize – (His earthly father had taught Him to do that); and the Cherubim, tucked in their wings, whispered in great awe, “A Human, the Son is a real Human!”
The Son’s voice echoed throughout heaven and eternity, throughout time and infinity. And the Father and Cherubim listened, enraptured, and they laughed and marveled and wanted to weep. It was not just the Son’s words that moved them, but the sight of the wounds in His hands and feet, and that terrible jagged cut on His side. The wounds had dried blood in the center, and the flesh was red and blue at the edges. (Did the Son’s friend Thomas really ask to touch those ghastly wounds?)
When the Son got to the part of blood and water gushing from the wound on His side, the Father had to ask, “Son, did you suffer much?”
“Very much so, Father,” He replied, with forthrightness.
There was silence for a long bit of eternity. No one had to say, I’m sorry You had to suffer all that pain and humiliation and die next to thieves, because You are the Father’s eternal Son—yes, Son of God the Father, Creator of everything—because the heavenly hosts knew.
After the profound silence, the Son said, “It wasn’t a piece of cake. I really hated seeing the women crying, especially my Mother, but I had to do it. Only I could do it.”
There was another hushed silence, after which the Father sighed and nodded, and He bent down to where His Son was seated and gently touched the awful wounds, and He peered through the wound on the Son’s side, and He was surprised that He could see all of mankind; and His heart went out to them.
Cecilia Manguerra Brainard
Cecilia Manguerra Brainard is the author and editor of over 20 books, including three novels: When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, Magdalena, and The Newspaper Widow. Her Selected Short Stories was awarded the 40th National Book Award for Short Fiction in English; also a Gintong Aklat Award Finalist. Her recent book is Growing Up Filipino 3: New Stories for Young Adults. Her official website is ceciliabrainard.com
