Weekend Freewrite for May 16, 2020 // THE HOUSE LIBRARY

"Marry your books and give birth to success."

That was a line that my grandmother always told me. She always told me that she loved reading books since she was a little girl. She carried on the tradition of reading books in our ancestral home for long hours, even staying up as late as 3 in the morning. Her books ranged from world history and psychology to Philippine education and biographies of famous people.

The first book that she read to me was not a book full of text. It was a libretto. She isn't only a bibliophile -- she is also a musician in our province, formerly leading the cultural orchestra there. In my tender age of 4, she taught me all the symbols I could see: the staff, the G and F-clefs, the whole notes, half notes, even the rests, naturals, and the pianissimos scattered in the piece.

Her wisdom came from the books she loved to read. Her life advice always came from books on practicality and even the Bible -- she, too, is a devout Catholic like the rest of my family. Whenever we'd go back home to the Philippines when school let out, she'd make it a point to make me and my two other cousins read at least one or two books for 2 hours, and she'd give us a mini exam to test our knowledge and comprehension.

Frankly speaking, I didn't always appreciate the marvel of these hundred-paged, hardbound, sturdy reading materials. I preferred the newspapers, just like her husband -- my grandfather. I read the news, but she and my cousins read those dusty, faded books.

Our house had a bedroom dedicated to all those books, together with a collection of thesis papers and dissertations. She made sure that our home was a source of knowledge. But not only that, she also made certain that we had to develop our patience. Patience in finding what we needed to know.

"Kids, our house didn't run on Google, won't run on Google, and will never run on Google." My two cousins and I giggled at what she said, but we both understood its essence.

After my grandparents left, our house stood empty. It remained that way until my father's younger brother opened one of the bedrooms for rent. One day, some random lady called my uncle and let her stay in the house together with her husband. Little did he know about the couple's background, which was about to surprise him in the weeks forward.

A few weeks later, as we went home for the summer, the couple was still staying in the house. We treated them like family, and so did they. They were the kindest family guests we ever had. I got to know more of the couple, and I was fascinated by the insight they had. When I first met them, I asked how they were. The husband replied, "Oh, she's great, we're great, I'm great. We moved into the house, you know.".

He then mentioned something fascinating to me. "Oh, Jose. I'm sure you're familiar of the room opposite the room we sleep in?"

I replied, "Well, yes, Sir Jimmy. It's the house library. What about it?".

He then replied with a stunning remark, "The library is a godsend. If it weren't for that room, we'd never be nearing completion on our Master's.".

I talked with the husband further. He told me he and his wife were taking a Master's degree. He told me that he had never found a house like ours. A house that had so many thesis papers at their disposal.

I was happy at that remark. But still, it was credits to my grandmother.

But you know what else is in that room? Let me tell you.

One night, I was sleeping in the house library. After all, it was a big room with ample space for one single bed. So I chose to sleep in it for two nights to fulfill my cravings for words.

As I was reading Fifty Shades of Grey on my bed, I happened to glance on the floor on my left blind spot. It was a tooth floss. I picked it up and wondered where this could've come or fell from.

The floss had small identifying marks on it. A series of equidistant black marks running down its entire length. "What's this? Where did this fall from?", I muttered silently.

I started to look around the room for clues. I went high and low on the shelves until I found a spool of magnetic recording wire from the 1950s that my grandparents used to record whatever was happening at the time. The wire also had the black marks on the label. I then proceeded to tie the tooth floss on the recording wire, and then powered on the wire recorder to play the wire.

"Henrietta, if you can hear me, come through. I need to talk to you.", I heard from the recording.

The voice was of my grandfather. I didn't know who Henrietta was... until I heard the next voice on the wire.

"Daddy?", the faint voice of a little girl emanated from the speakers.

"Who is Henrietta? Who is she? What does she have to do with my grandpa?", I questioned to myself.

I flipped the spool of tape on its rear and saw the name of the recording.

"HENRIETTA - OUR DAUGHTER; 04/24/1956"

"Oh sh*t. It was a seance!", I squealed while trying to lower my voice.

I couldn't sleep that night. Until today, the mystery still haunts me. I'd never be able to forget that voice, truthfully.

"Daddy?"