For the next half hour, Carlos instructed the two brothers and their three friends in the alley, using the flat brick surface of a vacant building as a handball wall. As the tennis ball popped against the paddles and the bricks, it brought back a flood of memories from his own youth. He used to feel there was nothing more important in the world than this game, improving his skills, winning point after point, never stopping till sundown or supper took him away from the playground near his house. There had even been a special wall built there just for the sport, with faded white lines to mark the boundaries of the court. They had never had to play in alleys back then.To Carlos' surprise, the boy Lucky was really quite good. He showed the same natural talent Carlos once had, able to wield the paddle with his left hand as well as his right. He had a good eye for angles and an instinct for which way the ball would bounce off the wall. With practice, his timing and balance could improve too. As the boys played, Carlos began to forget all about the heat and his need for sleep. In fact, he got so caught up in the action, he did not notice they were being observed from the street by a bald and bespectacled elderly man dressed in black, a man of the cloth, Father Anthony.
"Carloy!" The priest shouted, using the pet name only Carlos' wife ever spoke. "I had no idea you were a handball coach, Carloy."
"He knows everything, Father," said Lucky. "Look what he has taught us. I'm going to be the best handballer in the barrio. Maybe in all of Manila!"
"Father Anthony," said Carlos, bowing his head to avoid looking in the priest's eyes. "I didn't know you were watching. I'm sorry I have not been to church recently. I really am. Ever since Ems passed away, I... well... I work nights now and I sleep days and...."
"For goodness sake, Carloy, this is not confession," laughed the priest. "I'm just glad to see you. Truly glad. And I'm especially glad to see the boys here enjoying themselves so much. I knew I had been keeping these old paddles around for some reason, and it struck me this morning. Handball would be a good way to keep them off the streets and get them to church, at least to our courtyard if not inside. What do you think, Carloy?"
"The boys show some promise," Carlos replied. "Especially Lucky here."
"Good," said Father Anthony with a wink toward Lucas. "Then you can help me coach them on Wednesdays and Saturdays at San Lazare's."
"Oh, but I can't," Carlos protested, suddenly mindful of his illness.
"Oh please," Lucas interrupted. "We are having such fun, and you are such a good teacher. We could really improve with your help."
"Run along now boys. Let me talk with your coach in private," said the priest. He put a hand on Carlos' shoulder as the five youngsters shot off down the alley, bouncing the tennis ball and whooping with laughter on their way. "You know, you really could help them, Carloy."
"You don't understand, Father. I work nights now. I need to sleep during the day. But for this heat and the boys disturbing me, I'd be in bed right this moment."
"I saw you, Carloy. You were enjoying yourself. You were happy. I could tell. And the boys were improving even as I watched. You have a talent for this. It is a blessing. And you know that God's blessings must be shared."
"Father, you really do not understand."
"Ah, but I do, my son. Let's get out of this heat. Invite me up to your apartment. It's near here, is it not? We can talk inside where it's cooler, and I'll convince you how good it will be to spend a few hours a week at the church."
