“I told my mother you like the sampaguita flower and she has them growing in the garden. Want to see them?” Clarisse said.
“Sure, it would be nice to see them in a real garden.”
As they made their way to the back of the house, they heard a rattling on the wooden floor coming from the last room. It sounded like someone was scraping furniture around the house. As they got closer to the backroom with the scarlet chair, the sound resonated again—although this time it was more intense with an eerie feeling. Harry could see the chair was in the middle of the room—it had an unwelcoming presence. The polished scarlet leather had intricate stitching and the chair had ornate, carved wooden legs. There were no windows and barely enough filtered light to fill the room. A dim lamp on a round side table offered some visibility from where they were standing.
Clarisse was holding Harry’s arm and tugged on it while escorting him out to the garden.
“Who are all those people in the photo frames on the console table next to the chair?” Harry said.
“Those pictures are family members that have passed away: my grandmother, grandfather, great-grandmother and my two uncles.”
“Can I see their pictures?”
“Oh no, we don’t need to go in there. The only reason this room is open today is that it’s the Day of the Dead—my mother wants their spirits to be free.”
“What about the scarlet chair?”
“That chair was Elena’s—we keep it there in memory of her.”
“Your great-grandmother?”
Clarisse was clearly feeling uncomfortable and tugged on Harry’s arm again. “Yes. Come on, let’s go and see the flowers,” she said.
As she whisked Harry away from the room, another scraping sound resounded behind them. He did not want to make a fuss even though it raised his suspicion. He continued into the garden to see the range of tropical white lilies.
“See those white flowers growing on a vine … they are sampaguita and ready to pick. We need about twenty of them to take to the cemetery,” Clarisse said. She got the basket and handed it to Harry. “The sampaguita is the traditional white flower with a soft yellow centre.”
“They look perfect—your mother has done a great job maintaining them.”
“It’s a hobby for my mother. She spends a lot of time in the garden manicuring the sampaguita.” She grabbed Harry’s arm, tugging him gently towards another plant with maturing flowers. “Did you know that the sampaguita flower is a symbol of love and devotion?”
“Oh, so it’s a flower you give to someone you care about …” Harry picked the best flower from the vine and smelled its fragrance before handing it to Clarisse. “Here, this flower is for you. I’m so happy to be here on this special day. Thanks for inviting me.”
Clarisse squinted her eyes and smiled. “Thank you so much.” It seems she was beginning to see the caring side of him.
“It reminds me of a perfume, but it won’t come to me,” Harry said.
“Did you know that the fragrance of Lady Gaga’s perfume ‘Fame’ was thought to be inspired by sampaguita? Her inspiration came from when she bought one from a street child on the road in Manila.”
“I had no idea that is what inspired her. I think that is the perfume I was referring to before, ‘Fame’,” Harry said.
“We have enough flowers now, so I will tie them and put them in the basket. I need to give some to the family members because they always expect my mother’s flowers on the Day of the Dead to take to the cemetery.”
As they walked to the front of the house, they passed the room with the scarlet chair again. Harry briefly looked inside but could not see anything unusual. This time he managed to admire the design and craftsmanship of the chair. Back home, it would have been a sought-after antique because of its pristine condition and craftmanship. It was an elegant piece of furniture from a time when character, charm and design were of utmost importance. Chairs like these were designed to last and not be thrown out after five years.
They don’t make furniture like that anymore, he thought.
They headed off to church to have their flowers blessed and to pray for the dead. The mass would last around forty-five minutes; he was not sure how to follow the mass rituals. Clarisse assured him not to worry and to sit there patiently, there were no expectations.
After the church ceremony, they took the sampaguita flowers to the cemetery to pay homage to Clarisse’s relatives by laying the flowers next to their graves. They were all laid to rest at the same gravesite, occupying tombs next to each other. Generations of the family lined up in a row from the oldest grave to the most recent. The graves were so close together that not an inch of spare ground was left. Some graves had up to five family members in them, to maximise room in a congested cemetery that was overflowing. Harry had to be careful not to step on anyone’s grave as they moved around from one headstone to another. Her family’s graves went back generations to her great-grandparents. Elena, whom the scarlet chair belonged to, had a very simple grave. Clarisse translated the inscription on her headstone.
“Sometimes we may think that the departure of a loved one is a great injustice, but we are comforted to know that God is right there watching us and gives us comfort,” she said in a soft tone. “Elena died broken-hearted.”
Harry was careful about his next words as he could feel her sorrow. “I was going to ask about her life, but you don’t need to say anything. You may not like talking about it.”
“It’s OK; it’s a well-known story in our family.” She paused and took a sip of water from her bottle. “Elena died from a broken heart because her husband was always unfaithful to her—disappearing for days on end while flirting with women outside of the town during his escapades.”
“That’s such a tragic story—was it one lady in every town?”
“Yes, he was a very handsome man with a charming personality that made him irresistible to women.”
“I see …” Harry did not know what to say next.
“She would spend days waiting for him—sitting in the scarlet chair while crying in shame, feeling heartbroken.”
“She still loved him?”
“Yes, despite his infidelity. She still loved him and remained faithful until her death.”
“That is a sad ending, and I can imagine her pain,” Harry said.
“My mother told me that she could hear her praying at night, asking God for forgiveness—questioning why her marriage was cursed.”
“The chair has a strong connection to your family. I can see how the superstition evolved.”
“To my mother, it’s not a superstition—but an energy that still lingers on, one that has not departed.” Clarisse pointed to another grave and suggested they move on before it got dark. It had been a long day for both of them.
He lay the remaining flowers in his basket on an unknown grave while making their way to the entrance.
The main entrance was overcrowded with a long queue. Everyone was trying to get home for dinner at the same time. They were dodging graves and headstones along the way out until Clarisse slipped and fell onto a marble gravestone, knocking her knee.
“Ouch!” Clarisse moaned. She had bruised her knee and was in pain.
“Let me help you up,” Harry said, lifting her arm onto his shoulder. “Try to balance on the other leg so we can walk out of here.”
He held her tightly as they made their way out through the gates and onto a wooden bench.
“Looks like a small lump on your knee and some swelling,” Harry said.
“Could have been worse and at least we are out of there.” Clarisse grasped his shoulder again and said, “Let’s stroll back to the house.”
Harry didn’t mind the intimacy of holding Clarisse on the way home. The fall had brought them closer together in an unexpected way. Sometimes, things happen out of the blue, and circumstances pave the way for a special moment in time. He held her tightly as she limped back home—making sure she did not put
too much pressure on her swollen knee. When they arrived at the house, Harry got some ice from the freezer and made an icepack by wrapping a tea towel around it.
“Here, put this icepack on your knee and ice it every hour to reduce the swelling.”
“You know first aid?” Clarisse said.
“Oh yes, part of my job—but also because I do lots of exercises, so it’s handy to have.”
“It’s getting cold now.”
“Oh yes, when it gets too cold, take off the ice pack, wait a while and reapply it.”
“I see. Thanks, Harry.”
Harry wanted to make sure her knee was treated, so he decided to check in at the local hotel that evening rather than return to Manila. Clarisse invited him for lunch with her mother the next day—and as is customary, she reminded Harry that relatives might come and go to check on him.
He wasn’t fussed and loved the attention—he was starting to enjoy the company of Clarisse and felt in touch with her. Her presence gave him peace, solace and comfort. She had a calming disposition and was patient towards him. Harry was starting to believe that a relationship could be possible again with the right person. And the thought that he had to travel nine hours by plane to another country to find the perfect girl dumbfounded him. He didn’t want to be too philosophical about it, preferring to keep it simple by relishing the moment.
While settling in his hotel room, Harry treated himself to room service and a local rice dish. He took a seat on the balcony facing the hustle and bustle of the main street and looked on. There was enough time to call Matt due to the time difference. He promised he would call him occasionally to let him know how things were going, but also to pick his brains on cultural differences he was experiencing. He had already made a mistake by asking Clarisse to meet him at the hotel and did not want to repeat that.
“Hi, Matt, how has your day been?”
“I was going to ask you the same question. It’s been busy at work and I’m glad to be home. How is everything going for you in Manila?”
“It’s been great, and Clarisse is a special girl.”
“I’m glad things are working out for you, mate.”
“I do want to ask you something though?”
“Yeah. Tell me …”
“It’s about this superstition—there is a scarlet chair that keeps popping up in conversation. Sometimes I get the feeling there is more to it.”
“You mean they take it seriously, perhaps too seriously?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, that’s normal. Their culture is full of superstition—sometimes I think they can’t live without it.”
“Maybe I’m not used to it and making too much of it?” Harry said philosophically.
“I would not read too much into it, mate. Just go with the flow and try not to be too curious.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t travel much as you do, and I don’t have your experience.”
“Every family has a superstition, and some are bigger than others—in some families they last for generations,” Matt said.
“Must be my curious mind.”
“Yeah, you always overthink things. Be a little looser and soak it all in. You’re going to find some of their ways weird—but they probably think we do some weird things also,” Matt said with a cheeky laugh.
Although Harry could not see Matt in person, he could visualise the expression on his face.
“I think I’ve got it—hang loose and soak it all in.”
“That’s the way to do it!”
Harry wished him a good night and took a deep breath, then sipped on his beer.
Maybe I’m just putting too much thought into it, he thought.
6 the sampaguita
Clarisse and her mother were enjoying a cup of jasmine tea when a bang on the front door filled the room with an intense vibration. They both jolted from the unexpected intrusion while Marlita dropped her teacup on the table, spilling it onto the tiled floor. Before they could get up to clean the mess, another heavy knock on the door resonated throughout the house. Bang, bang, bang—this time it was louder.
“Open the door, Clarisse, open it now!”
“Who is it?” she yelled from across the room.
“What do you mean, who is it? It’s me.”
It was her ex-fiancé, and he was angry. Marlita stood opposite the table with frayed nerves; she was shaking.
“I want you to leave right now. You have no business being here, disturbing my family!” Clarisse said unapologetically. She wanted him out of her life and assumed he had moved on—but he had other plans.
“I heard about that foreigner you brought into the house. So, is this your new lover now?”
“It’s none of your business, I don’t belong to you anymore, so leave before I call someone.”
He banged on the door again—fervently, causing one of the hinges to dislodge. One more thump and the door would collapse.
Marlita ran to the back of the house to call on her sister for help while Clarisse continued persuading him to leave.
“So, who are you going to call? Your relatives, the police; go on, do it—I don’t care what you do.” He smashed an empty beer bottle on the door sending the glass crashing all over the porch. “Next time I will smash it through your window.”
“I’m warning you to leave right now,” she said authoritatively.
“Or what? What will you do?”
Clarisse reached for a long, sharp butcher’s knife from the kitchen. She was prepared to use it if it meant protecting herself.
“Open the door right now, or I will smash the lock!” he said desperately.
Clarisse and her mother had experienced his uncontrollable fits of rage before—it usually happened after he had been drinking heavily. Everyone was aware of what he was capable of when under the influence of alcohol. No matter how rational Clarisse tried to be with him, it made no difference to his erratic behaviour.
“I have a knife, and I am prepared to use it if you step inside my house—I’m warning you! Leave right now!” Clarisse had been through so much she did not care anymore if this was to be her last stand. She did not want to be controlled by his incessant behaviours ever again.
There was commotion at the back door as her uncle Pablo and two neighbours rushed into the house carrying baseball bats. Outside, close family friends from the street started to congregate around her ex-fiancé; he was surrounded with nowhere to run. He was warned not to return to the house by the family, or there would be consequences. He had a reputation for bad behaviour that disgraced the whole community. They were not going to succumb to his threats anymore.
He realised he was outnumbered and did not stand a chance. He walked back slowly to his motorbike with his hands in the air. A group of people followed him, waving their bats and screaming obscenities. They wanted to get even while he was disorientated and under the influence of alcohol. A group of neighbours surrounded him and took turns pushing him around until one of them punched him in the nose. He hobbled off to his motorbike with his nose bleeding, jaded by the unexpected attack. He was always cocky, testing everyone around him by driving fear through the residents in the streets. In the past, people were afraid to stop him, but not now. His past infidelities and indiscretions resonated within the community. They had strength in numbers. Individually he was hard to challenge, but as a group, he’d never stand a chance.
The tide had turned on him, and his last attempt to intimidate people was over. He got on his bike while placing a handkerchief on his broken nose and took off in a crazed manner—almost running over a dog in his path.
Clarisse and her mother came running to the front of the house to see him take off like a coward—relieved that it was the last time they would ever see him. They looked at each other and hugged while relatives consoled them. She asked her uncle Pablo if he could repair the hinge on the front door and replace the screws that had snapped. She didn’t want Harry to see what had happen
ed—he was an intuitive person and would have sensed something astray. After the commotion, everyone went back to their own business while Clarisse and Marlita contemplated what happened.
“Should I report him to the police, Mother?” Clarisse asked.
“Not for now, my dear, I think he’s gone for good. We won’t see him again.”
“But he still lives in the next suburb; what if he confronts us in the street?”
“Let’s see, my dear. If he confronts us again, I will go to the police and get a restraining order against him.”
“OK, Mother, let’s see.” Clarisse was not convinced because she was aware of his potential.
They decided to focus all their energies on repairing the door. Her uncle Pablo arrived with all his tools and started fixing the hinges that had snapped off the wall. The door was balanced precariously and it was surprising it had not fallen completely during the ordeal.
Harry woke up the following day, unaware of what took place at Clarisse’s house the previous evening. He had no idea that her ex-fiancé had taken exception to his presence.
The ceiling fan had been working overtime to provide some relief from the heat. He removed the white sheets, stepped out of bed and walked barefoot into the bathroom. The sunlight found its way through the gaps in the bamboo blinds, creating a tapestry of light on the wall. A jasmine fragrance filled the room creating an essence of calm. He felt pleasant, relaxed and finally in touch with himself.
His grey boxer shorts and cotton shirt offered him the comfort appropriate for the warmer climate. Harry walked over to the sink to admire the sampaguita floating in a glass bowl of water. He appreciated the flower more so since his experience in Clarisse’s garden. It was customary for hotels to place the sampaguita in the rooms to welcome their guests. For some travellers it was just a flower—but for Harry, it carried a different meaning.
He turned the tap and it made a screeching sound; he had to turn it more than usual to get the water flowing. It had seen better days but was still functional considering its vintage. He put his hands together and splattered water all over his face. He wiped his face clean with the hand towel and looked straight in the mirror. The anxiety of his vision that had once tormented him had gone. He could look at himself and not feel pitiful. He had been through a painful divorce that made him lose confidence in himself. He had seen the ugly side of life and did not want to go back to it again. If it did not turn out as expected with Clarisse, he could always state that the experience had changed him.
The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1) Page 7