The Bread of Her Last Errand

I never told anyone about the afternoon I spent with Aling Bebang after she died. It was the summer before I turned six, and my cousin Lita had already been sent to Manila to live with her mother. The house felt empty, and I missed her pranks and the way she laughed when Aling Bebang chased us with a slipper.

Aling Bebang had been with us since Lita was a baby, and by the time I came along, she was more of a grandmother than a maid. She always smelled of coconut oil and laundry soap, and her hands were rough from scrubbing our uniforms, but they were gentle when she braided my hair. When she died of a heart attack while hanging clothes in the backyard, I was too young to understand grief. I just knew that one day she was there, and the next she wasn’t.

My aunt, who was too busy with her business to mourn properly, hired a new maid named Rosa. Rosa was young and silent, and she avoided the backyard. My mother came to stay with us for a week to help, but she left after the funeral. I found myself wandering the house, looking for Aling Bebang in corners. I would open the pantry, expecting to see her shelling peas at the table, but there was only dust.

A week after her death, my aunt had to go to the city for a meeting. She told me to stay with Rosa, but Rosa was washing clothes in the bathroom and I was bored. I knew Aling Bebang used to walk to the sari-sari store at the end of our street, and I remembered that she always took me with her, buying me a thick, sweet bread called ‘pan de sal’ for five pesos. That day, I decided to go to the store myself, thinking maybe I could ask the store keeper, Manong Pedro, if he had seen her.

The store was just a few blocks away, but the afternoon sun was scorching. As I walked, I saw a figure ahead, a small woman in a faded duster, walking slowly. My heart jumped. It was Aling Bebang. She was wearing her favorite dress, the one with yellow flowers, and she was carrying a basket. I called out, ‘Aling Bebang!’ She turned around and smiled at me. Her face was the same, but her eyes were glassy, like marbles.

She waited for me to catch up, and then she took my hand. Her hand was cold, but it felt solid. She didn’t say anything, just walked with me to the store. The store was shaded by an old mango tree, and Manong Pedro was sitting on a stool, fanning himself. He looked surprised when he saw us. ‘Aling Bebang?’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I thought you…’ She just nodded and pointed to the shelf where the bread was. He gave her a long baton-shaped bread, wrapped in paper. She paid him with coins from her basket, and then she handed the bread to me.

‘I’m going now,’ she said, and her voice was like wind through dry leaves. ‘Take care of your Lola.’ Then she walked away, back toward our house. I stood there, holding the bread, watching her disappear around the corner. Manong Pedro was crossing himself behind the counter. He said, ‘Child, she’s been dead for a week. I buried her myself.’

I didn’t understand. I looked at the bread, still warm, and I ate it. It tasted the same as always, sweet and soft. When I got home, Rosa was standing at the gate, her face pale. ‘Where were you?’ she asked. ‘I went to the store,’ I said. ‘I saw Aling Bebang.’ Rosa’s hand flew to her mouth. She whispered, ‘She’s in the backyard. She’s hanging the clothes.’

I ran to the backyard. The line was full of wet clothes, moving in the wind. But there was no one there. Yet, I could smell coconut oil and laundry soap. The clothes swayed, and for a moment, I thought I saw a shape among them, a woman in a yellow-flowered duster, her arms stretched out. Then it was gone.

That night, I heard footsteps in the hallway, soft and shuffling. I opened my door and saw a silhouette at the end of the hall, in front of the door to Aling Bebang’s old room. I whispered, ‘Aling Bebang?’ She turned, but her face was not her face. It was a blank space, like a paper bag stretched over her head. I screamed, and Rosa came running. When she turned on the light, the hallway was empty, but the door to the room was open. Inside, the bed was neatly made, and there was a small bundle on the pillow. Rosa picked it up. It was a bundle of five-peso coins, tied with a rubber band.

A week later, my aunt came home. She found the coins and asked me where I got them. I said, ‘From Aling Bebang. She bought me bread.’ My aunt’s eyes widened. She showed me a photograph from the funeral. In it, Aling Bebang was wearing a yellow-flowered duster, the same one I saw. She said, ‘That dress was buried with her.’

I never saw Aling Bebang again, but sometimes, on hot afternoons, I would hear the creak of the clothesline, and the sweet smell of ‘pan de sal’ would fill the air. And I knew that she was still taking care of me, even from the other side, waiting for the day I would come to her with one last errand.