“I’m scared, Father,” Che said nervously. “She won’t remember me. She doesn’t know who I am. She’ll be angry. I know I would be. She won’t understand. She’s so little. I can’t
explain to her…what do I do? I’ve been gone so long…not by choice, but…”
He picked up her bag from the ground. “Come, Che. No use standing here when there is someone who’s been waiting so long to see you.”
With trembling hands, Che took her bag from him. “I brought her something. Maybe I could give her a gift first? I bought her a dress. A pretty floral sundress. I know here all they wear is uniforms…”
“You can give it to her later. Come.” He squeezed her hand gently. “She won’t need it now.”
They walked through the long darkened corridor just like Che remembered, and walked out through the French glass doors onto a courtyard, in the middle of which a group of small children were playing. One tiny girl, who looked to be the ringleader, was showing them how to throw the marker onto a hopscotch square. “No, you’re not doing it right, Sammy,” she was saying imperiously to the befuddled boy. “Are boys even capable of playing this? Watch me. You throw the marker onto a square, but then when you hop, you can’t hop
onto
that square. That’s the point of the game. Otherwise you lose. Now, let’s try it again. I’m going to throw it on square three, and then you hop.” Turning her black-haired head, the girl spotted Father Emilio and Che standing next to him.
For a moment she was motionless.
The small centivo fell from her hands.
“Mama!” she cried. And ran across the stone yard, ran with all her might, and jumped into Che’s arms.
“Oh, Mama…” she cried, hugging Che around the neck, wrapping herself around her mother. For a few moments no one spoke, no one made a single sound, except the chirping birds on the awnings.
“I knew you’d come back,” Nalini whispered. “I knew it. I told everybody. Didn’t I, Papa Emilio?”
“You did, Nalini,” he said, patting her back. “You certainly did.”
Che was crying, holding her baby, and couldn’t speak.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” said Nalini, covering Che’s face with kisses. “You are so beautiful.” She touched Che’s streaked face, her short hair, she wiped her mother’s cheeks and kissed them again.
“I can’t believe how big you got, Nalini.”
“I am five years and five months,” the girl said, a big smile on her face.
“And you’re playing hopscotch.”
“Uh-huh! You know who taught me? Your friend, Larissa. What? Don’t cry. Please. She came to live with us, and stayed for a long time, but then had to go because she had a big emergency, but Papa said she will come back soon…what? Don’t cry. Wait till you see the Nativity play she wrote for us. You won’t believe it. I’m one of the Magi, Mama. I’m the one who brings myrrh, but I know everybody’s lines. I know the whole play by heart. Wanna hear?”
“More than anything.”
“We’re putting it on next week for the Christmas Festival at the church and at the Moonwalk Square. Papa Emilio says if it’s a success we will put it on every year. Next year maybe I can be Mary. Larissa would be so proud. She made us the cave and the costumes.”
“You sound very busy,” Che said, caressing the child’s head and back shoulders. “When do you have time to play hopscotch?”
“Every day. I practice a lot.” She giggled. “I am very good at it. You want to see?”
Reluctantly Che put her down. “Very much. I want to see everything.”
Nalini took hold of her hand, looking up at her. Che brought her to a bench, sat down, pulled Nalini to sit on her lap.
“I thought you wanted to see me play?”
“I do. In a minute.” Che caressed the child’s hair, her arms, her skinny legs, touched her, pawed her, felt her through her fingertips, inhaled her, gazed at her with adoration. “I can’t believe how big you got. How beautiful. What else can you do?”
“I can read! Wait till you hear me read Psalm 136!”
“Praise for the Lord’s Everlasting Mercy?” said Che. “You can sing that?”
“Well,” said Nalini, sheepishly, “Papa Emilio says I memorized it, and maybe I did a little bit, but I can also read it. I can. The Lord’s mercy endures forever. And it’s true, it does endure forever, because look, He brought you back to me. Oh, Mama.”
“Oh, Nalini.”
Their arms wrapped around each other. “Nobody believed me,” Nalini whispered. “I told all the other kids, I told Papa Emilio, I told Larissa, no one would listen. But I knew you’d come back.”
“It was really hard, Nalini. So many times I thought I might not make it. I’ve had a rough couple of years.”
Nalini patted her face. “But now you’re here. And you know that nice man, Larissa’s uncle or brother, or somebody, left us money to go to America if we want to, and he said we can stay at his house. Papa Emilio said.”
“Do you want to do that?”
Nalini clapped her hands together. “So much.”
“Well, maybe we can go and visit, after we get settled. We have to figure out a couple of things first. Where we’re going to live. Mama has to look for a job. We’ve got some things to take care of.”
“But after,” said Nalini, “we’ll go and visit the nice man in his big house?”
“Yes, darling. We can do that.” It was pleasant out, hot,
humid, not much of a breeze, no rain, twinkling sunshine. They got up, Nalini in Che’s arms. “I can’t believe how big you got. You’re nearly my size.”
“No, I’m still your little baby.” She kissed her mother and jumped down. “What does my name mean, Mama? It’s not Filipino. My friends keep asking me.”
“It’s Indian,” replied Che. “It means the most beautiful one.”
Nalini giggled. “Awesome. Wait till I tell ‘em. Now come,” she said. “I want to introduce you to everybody. You want to play hopscotch with us? I’ll teach you.”
“Yes, that would be good,” Che said. “Me and Larissa used to play a long time ago”—Che lowered her head—”when we were kids like you. But I have forgotten how.”
“Well, come on, Mama,” Nalini said, grabbing Che’s hand and pulling on her, “And don’t worry. Now that you’re here, every little thing’s gonna be all right.”
A SONG IN THE DAYLIGHT
Paullina Simons was born in Leningrad and emigrated to the United States in 1973. She lives close to New York, with her husband and four children. Go to her website, www.paullinasimons.com, for more information on her novels.
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…Do not lose heart…Outward man is perishing, yet inward man is being renewed day by day…We do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:16-1
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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FIRST EDITION
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2009
Copyright (c) Timshel Books, Inc 2009
The Society of Authors as the Literary Representatives of the Estate of Virginia Woolf
Lyrics by John Lennon/Paul McCartney (c) Sony/ATV Tunes LLC/Northern Songs All Rights Reserved
Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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EPub Edition (c) 2009 ISBN: 978-0-00-735315-6
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