FIRST off, Part 6, and the conclusion, of the story we have serialized beginning April 17.
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FATHER OLAN, GOD, AND THE RAIN
By Peter Solis Nery
Translated by Celia F. Parcon
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Out of fatigue, Padre Olan fell asleep without having lunch. He felt enervated from holding the liturgy. The thousands who attended Mass and participated in the liturgy seemed to have drained him of all strength. When he entered the convent, he sat down to relax, only to doze off.
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon when Nang Paquit woke the priest. With much glee, she shook the priest’s arm. “Padre! Padre, wake up! Padre!”
Padre Olan was startled.
“Padre, look at the skies! Look out the window!” Nang Paquit was quivering with delight that brought tears to her eyes. “It’s a miracle, Padre! A miracle!”
Padre Olan Divinagracia could hardly believe what he saw out of the window. In the heavens, heavy clouds had quickly formed. Where they came from, no one could tell. How does one comprehend what was coming to pass?
Everything happened so fast. Clouds formed. Thickened. Darkened. In the wink of an eye, shimmering white clouds were replaced by shadowy gray ones. The clouds were blackening the skies, proclaiming what was to come. This meant only one thing. The rains were about to fall!
People paused in the streets. They stopped walking. They came out of their houses. Even the jeepneys and tricycles stopped, and passengers alighted from the vehicles. Everyone looked up to the skies, mouths agape from wonder and surprise. The skies were a sight to behold.
Padre Olan felt the wind blow. First it was gentle, but continued until it grew stronger. And then he knew. The rains will fall. The rains will pour!
Intense emotions teemed into Padre Olan’s heart and soul. Gratitude? Praise? Living faith? A renewed faith in God? He could neither name nor understand it. But so strongly did it flow that he could not help but cry. He was not a crybaby, but his tears just broke.
The priest ran out of the convent into the streets. He joined the faithful who prayed for the rain. Many fell on their knees where they were.
Padre Olan gazed at the heavens. He lifted his arms to embrace the skies. He opened his palms. Then he felt the first drops of rain, like nails from the heavenly love of the powerful God.
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Of course, I would have wanted you to read the story in one sitting.
It’s a short story!
But this is a newspaper, and we can only consider ourselves lucky that we have an opportunity to enjoy my literary output here.
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Also, while we are in the gratitudefest mode, let me just say that I am very, very grateful, and eternally indebted, to my university professor Celia F. Parcon for bringing this story of mine to a wider audience.
And, actually, not just this story.
For in fact, to date, Prof. Parcon has translated six of my stories into English.
The first story Ma’am Cel translated for me was “Lirio,” and her work just blew me away.
I think “Father Olan…” was just the second.
As with “Lirio” I found it brilliant, and as moving as the original, if not more.
I know, I could not ask for a better translator.
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I don’t know exactly if I can say that I found a sympathetic translator in Celia Parcon.
All I know is that her translation is very literate; and obviously, pretty literary as you have sampled here in “Father Olan.”
For her work in bringing the best of contemporary Hiligaynon literature to non-Hiligaynon readers worldwide, Celia F. Parcon is awarded the 2020 Peter’s Prize for Excellence in Literary Translation.
Part of her prize is the publication of her work, a book of stories translated from the Hiligaynon.
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And so we wish for this Covid-19 plague to be over very soon.
That we may celebrate Prof. Parcon’s awarding ceremony, and her forthcoming book.
That we may celebrate literature — masterpieces, and masterful translations, that restore our faith in the kindness, and generosity, of people./PN
