The art-deco clock on the wall seemed out of place amongst the nineties-style furniture, but it was functional. He realised he had slept in and he did not have much time to prepare himself before Clarisse’s arrival. He had forty-five minutes to get ready; it needed to be quick. There was a possibility she may come late to test him, but that idea soon faded.
Somehow, Harry managed to prepare himself right on cue and dashed downstairs to the foyer. Clarisse had surprised him and was sitting patiently on the sofa.
“Hi, Clarisse, you’re on time today,” he said.
“I think you passed the initial test so no need to do another.”
They both laughed, greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek. She was wearing a sampaguita in her hair to augment the shoulder-length flowing soft curls. Harry couldn’t help noticing other men peering at her slender body. She wore a tight white dress with Picasso-style prints of green-and-lime tropical flowers.
“I like the sampaguita in your hair—is that from your mother’s garden?”
“Yes, I picked the best one, but it also had to be the right size.”
“They had the same flower in my bathroom in a small bowl of water.”
“They do that for the natural jasmine fragrance. Could you smell the flower from a distance?” Clarisse said.
“Oh yes. I could smell the fragrance—it filled the room.”
“You look different today than when we first met,” Clarisse said.
“Really? Come to think about it—I feel different than when I first arrived.”
“You look calmer, relaxed and less tense.” She looked at Harry and smiled.
“I suppose we better get going to your house then?”
“Sure. Follow me, and I will show the way.” Harry opened the door for her like a perfect gentleman—leading into the bustling main street. Motorbikes, vans and bicycles were everywhere, trying to get ahead of each other by navigating every spare inch of the road.
“How is your swollen knee? You seem to be walking well,” he asked.
“I can walk fine now—but it’s still tender if you apply pressure. My mother massaged it yesterday and applied a special ointment we use for sprains made from a local herb.”
“Does the herb work most of the time?”
“Yes, Harry, as you can see, I’m walking better than yesterday.”
“It was creepy watching you fall over a grave in the cemetery.”
“You’re not superstitious?” Clarisse smiled and clasped onto Harry’s arm. “You don’t want people to think we are just strangers … do you?”
“It’s fine by me, Clarisse, hold on tightly in case you fall on the pavement,” Harry said with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s cross the road here.”
“The traffic is gridlocked … do you think it’s a good idea?” He had never experienced traffic chaos like this before and was feeling unsure about navigating across the road.
“Follow me, I will get you across this crazy road. Make sure you hold on to me though.”
Clarisse skilfully led him through the utter madness of the congested road dodging motorbikes with sidecars, taxis and vans. Harry was not sure they’d make it across alive; in a couple of instances he was so close to motorbikes, he thought the worst, that he’d become a road casualty. But he trusted her judgement to get them across the road in one piece.
For the locals, navigating these roads was choreographed madness—there was a balance to it that drivers learned to dodge pedestrians while performing manoeuvres. After they finally made it to the other side of the road it was only a couple of blocks walking distance to her home. Clarisse led the way through the narrow back streets.
Upon arriving at her home, Harry noticed the damage on the front door. “What happened to the door?” he asked inquisitively.
“Oh, nothing, one of the hinges came loose—my uncle Pablo is repairing it. We need to use the back entrance for now.”
“Has the door been damaged?” he asked.
Clarisse changed the subject to avoid further questions and pointed towards the back door. “We need to go through this pathway to get to the back door.” Grasping Harry by the shoulder, she tugged him towards the back entrance. He was still holding her gently to maintain her balance from her bruised knee.
As they got closer to the back of the house Harry could smell the jasmine fragrance of the sampaguita coming from the back garden. It made him feel serene and comfortable, knowing that the flower symbolised love.
Entering the house through the back door was not the family’s preference as it was adjacent to the room with the scarlet chair. All the foot traffic of visitors coming in and out would upset the energy residing in the room.
“Look at all the flowers on the scarlet chair and the petals on the floor,” Harry said.
“Oh. That’s my mother—she does that every year during the Day of the Dead.”
“Does it mean anything?”
“She does it to please the souls of our relatives that have passed away. The jasmine fragrance calms them.”
“And the chair?”
“It balances the energy flow from the chair and the environment around it.”
“I see. Do you believe all of this?” He was still not sure about the superstition and why it emphasised so much to her family.
“I suppose in a way I do—because I grew up with this superstition as a child.”
He wanted to tell Clarisse it was all fictitious and that people don’t need to succumb to these superstitions. But he realised this was not his culture, nor his place to question. Clarisse’s beliefs belonged to her family, and no matter what he thought about them, it was not going to change their conviction.
“Looks like lunch is ready and there is so much to eat,” Clarisse said.
“It does smell wonderful and it is making me hungry,” Harry said, holding on to his stomach.
Inside the dining room was a large table with a variety of local cuisine, much of which Harry had never experienced before, except the rice.
Clarisse got him a plate and one by one explained every dish on the table. “I think you would like to try this one with the crispy pork and rice.”
“Just looking at it is making me hungry.” Harry gulped.
“I won’t say where the pork came from,” Clarisse said.
“Let me guess … the piggery at the back of the house?”
“Yes, and my uncle Pablo has spent all day preparing it.”
They filled their plates with food and made their way to the table to feast on the delicious recipes. While they took their seats, Marlita appeared from nowhere and without warning. She placed another dish on the table. It was the first time she had the opportunity to speak to Harry without distractions.
“So, we get to meet properly this time?” Marlita said.
“Hello, Ms Garcia. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” Her abrupt introduction did not bother Harry.
“You have come a long way to spend time with my daughter. Don’t you have good girls in Australia?”
He did not know what to say without being confrontational. “I’m sure there are good girls in Australia, but I have not met any of them yet.”
“How did you meet Clarisse? Did Marjorie have something to do with it?”
“It’s very complicated, but I first found out about Clarisse through an introduction from my best friend. He had already been to Manila to see a girl called Alicia and returned home.”
“I thought as much,” Marlita said sarcastically.
Clarisse was feeling embarrassed by the line of questioning her mother had taken and reminded her that Harry was a guest in the house.
“So, Harry, my daughter has been through a lot, and I don’t want her to get hurt again. I’m sure we understand each other?” Marlita took her seat at the table and looked directly at him with piercing eyes—ignoring her daughter’s previous request to be polite.
“I have no intention of hurting anyone, Ms Garcia, especially
Clarisse. She is a beautiful person—I am fortunate to be able to spend time with her in the short time that I’m here.”
Marlita was not convinced—she had heard it all before. For Marlita, he was just like the others—the only difference being he was stupid enough to spend all his money to travel to Manila to win over her daughter’s heart.
“The chair can sense your presence—I know it, and I don’t think it’s happy,” Marlita said.
An argument then broke out between Clarisse and her mother in their local language. It appeared by their body language that Clarisse asked her mother not to be so hard on Harry and to calm down.
“I’m sorry about her behaviour, Harry. I wasn’t expecting it.”
Harry turned towards Clarisse with a mannered grin. “I’m not here to marry your mother—although I want to maintain a good relationship with her.” He took her hand and gently caressed it. “I am a foreigner, and it’s going to raise several questions about my integrity. I don’t know your customs—I can’t speak your language. I’m at a disadvantage from the beginning.”
“I guess you’re right, but she could still be polite—you don’t have to like someone to be nice to them.”
“It’s OK. I’m not offended. Maybe next time, as she gets to know me better, she will be more understanding.”
“I guess so … maybe next time.” Clarisse nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. It was her way of calming her delicate nerves.
“Where has your mother gone now?” Harry asked.
“When she is angry, she goes to the room with the scarlet chair and talks to her dead relatives. She prays to them—sometimes up to an hour.”
“She prays to the people in the picture frames?”
“Yes … and sometimes she prays to bless our family.” Clarisse took a deep breath. “The room is like our family altar—we have a cross and rosary beads next to the picture frames.”
“Does she sit in the scarlet chair while praying?”
“No one is allowed to sit in the chair; Mother told me when I was a child that the negative energy could sense your presence—it can make the chair unhappy.”
“I remember you telling me during our first dinner together that the chair belonged to your great-grandmother, Elena, who died of a broken heart.”
“Yes, the sadness stayed with our family.” She took a spoon and passed it to Harry. “Let’s eat before the relatives start walking in one by one to check you out.”
“Oh yes, you warned me about that.”
“And don’t worry, they are not like my mother. They are looking forward to meeting you.”
“Is your aunty from the hotel here also?”
“Yes, how could you forget her?”
The lunch parade went well, and Harry got a taste of the culture—food, people, music and celebrity status as relatives came to greet him and then move on to the next house. It was like a procession starting from one home at the beginning of the street and ending at the last residence. There were no invitations or any formality involved—everyone was free to go house to house at their discretion.
Clarisse’s house brought the most attention as news had spread that Harry the foreigner was in town. His easy-going nature and personality pleased them because they could have a conversation without feeling embarrassed. The level of English with most of her relatives was surprisingly good; they had no issue conversing with him. Most of the talk was about his home country, but some questioned him about his intentions in a roundabout way.
Clarisse warned him about her aunties and how they would be probing. Clarisse was the most beautiful girl in the town and their Aphrodite, the goddess of love. She was popular not just because of her looks—she was a genuine and caring person that had been unlucky in love, and they all felt she deserved better.
One thing Harry noticed was the room with the scarlet chair was closed. It was unofficially out of bounds—her relatives never mentioned it in conversation and it only added to the mystery. If things did not make sense, he wanted to work it out—find the solution or unravel the mystery. That is why Harry enjoyed fixing old collectable cars because they required problem-solving and finding unorthodox ways of repairing.
“I think that was the last family to visit us,” Clarisse said.
“It’s been a long day, and it was great to meet all your family and relatives. Your aunty I met at the hotel—she has an incredible personality.”
“She has always been the bubbly one—everyone loves her.” She poured a cup of tea in her glass and added milk and two teaspoons of sugar. “I enjoyed being around her when I was younger—she always made me feel important,” Clarisse said.
“I got a sense of that also. She has a wicked sense of humour.”
“Do you want some tea before leaving for the hotel?” Clarisse asked with a teapot in hand.
“Yes, I could do with a tea after all that.” He was feeling tired and mentally exhausted from all the attention.
“My uncle Pablo has offered to take us on his motorbike and the sidecar to your hotel.”
“I have never been in a sidecar before. Is it safe?” Harry was feeling apprehensive.
“Hold on tight, you will be fine; if it gets too much, close your eyes,” Clarisse said.
Harry gulped and smiled. “I’m sure I will get there in one piece.”
As they started walking to the back entrance and into the sampaguita garden they passed the room with the scarlet chair. Harry couldn’t let go of his interest in the mystique that surrounded the superstition. He also pondered about the tragedy that preceded it. As they walked past the room, there was a knock on the door and a screeching sound. It resembled someone moving furniture although there was nobody in the room.
“Did you hear that?” Harry said.
“Oh, that’s the wind hitting against the door … maybe a picture frame has fallen.”
Harry was bemused because there were no windows in the room. “Should we check and fix the frame?”
“No need to go in there—my mother can take care of it. She will be back soon,” Clarisse said hesitantly.
There was another screech coming from the room. “Are you sure there is no one in there moving things around?”
“It’s nothing, Harry. Let’s go, my uncle Pablo is waiting.” Clarisse took hold of his arm and gently tugged it in the direction of the garden. “Come on—my uncle Pablo is waiting for us.”
There was a jasmine smell coming from the room—he assumed it was the jasmine that decorated the scarlet chair. The fragrance was not fresh—it had become stagnant with a rotting undertone that pierced the nostrils.
It was too early for the flowers to start rotting … they were picked fresh from the garden yesterday, he thought.
From the time he arrived at Clarisse’s home, there was a constant reminder that the superstition was alive and well. There was no denying that something unusual was going on. The scarlet chair was not only an antique piece of furniture held in remembrance of her great-grandmother—it was more than that. There were too many events that did not make sense. To make matters worse, nobody wanted to talk about the chair—which only added to the mystery.
They put on their bike helmets and stepped into the sidecar. It was a restricted space and Harry had to cuddle next to Clarisse. He didn’t mind, and it was the first time they had been so close.
“Hold on to me if it gets too much,” Clarisse said. She knew he was in for a rough ride.
The motorbike took off—the rattle of the sidecar was imposing. Clarisse assured him it was OK and that the equipment was maintained. Her uncle Pablo dodged other motorbikes in a choreography of movement that only locals knew how to dance. It was utter controlled chaos; everyone understood how to navigate the congestion. “Fight for every inch of the road without being too aggressive” was the mantra. There were a couple of sharp twists and turns that required Harry to hold on to Clarisse. He didn’t mind and was loving it.
There was no doubt Clarisse’s uncle Pab
lo was a great driver—he was able to get them to the hotel promptly, beating all other modes of transport.
They both removed their helmets upon arrival to refresh themselves from the stifling heat. Clarisse’s hair waved in the warm breeze as she tied it to stop it flying around. Her crimson-coloured lipstick and dash of dark blue eyeliner accentuated her almond-shaped eyes. All Harry could do at that moment was stare and say nothing; he was in a daze, reflecting on her immense beauty. In his eyes, she was a picture of perfection and everything he expected in a girl. He was starting to have feelings for Clarisse and was unhappy that he was leaving. Tomorrow was his last day in Manila—he was conscious of leaving her behind.
They stood at the front entrance of the hotel like solitary figures while her uncle Pablo waited to take Clarisse home.
“So, you’re going back to Manila tomorrow morning?” Clarisse said.
Harry folded his arms and nodded. “Yes. My flight is departing at 9:30 p.m. How about you?”
“I need to go back to Manila and prepare for work the day after you leave.”
“I guess you’re taking the same bus back home also?”
“No, I can’t, Harry. I need to stay with my mother for another day.”
“Oh, I understand.” Harry’s tone dropped a few decibels.
“Well … I wanted to ask what time you were planning on leaving? The buses run every hour and I could take you to the bus terminal.”
“Could you do that?” Harry’s face lit up with a brilliant smile.
“Of course, I can take you there. I will get my uncle Pablo to take us in the sidecar again.” She got close to Harry and whispered, “I think he likes you—otherwise, he would have left by now.”
The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1) Page 8