INTRODUCTION

Philippine literature is the literature associated with the Philippines and includes the legends of prehistory, and the colonial legacy of the Philippines, written in both Indigenous, and Hispanic languages. Most of the notable literature of the Philippines was written during the Spanish period and the first half of the 20th century in Spanish language. Philippine literature is written in Spanish, English, Tagalog, and other native Philippine languages. The variety and abundance of Philippine literature evolved even before the colonial periods. Folk tales, epics, poems and marathon chants existed in most ethnolinguistic groups that were passed on from generations to generations through word of mouth. Tales associated with the Spanish conquest also took part in the countrys rich cultural heritage. Some of these pre-colonial literary pieces showcased in traditional narratives, speeches and songs are Tigmo in Cebuano, bugtong in Tagalog, patototdon is Bicol and paktakon in Ilongo. Philippine epics and folk tales are varied and filled with magical characters. They are either narratives of mostly mythical objects, persons or certain places, or epics telling supernatural events and bravery of heroes, customs and ideologies of a community.

THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS ( WHY THE SKY IS HIGH )

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Long ago, our elders say, the sky was so close to the earth that one could touch it. But there were only two people who could avail of that fact. They were the first man and woman. It has been said that the first woman was so vain. She wore so much jewelry and despised work. Whenever the first man would ask her to do something, she would pout. She pouted when he asked her to clean the house. She pouted whenever he asked her to cook. She pouted whenever he asked her to grind the rice grains everyday for their food. "But if you dont grind the rice, we dont get to eat," the first man reasoned, and even the vain first woman could not dispute that. But it was so much work grinding the rice with a little pestles and mortars. So she poured all their rice for the day into a very large mortar and took up a very large pestle to grind it with. The pestle was so tall that when it hit the mortar, it touched the sky. The first woman was oblivious to this. She only knew she had to grind all the rice before her husband came home for supper. She still wore all her jewelry. She noticed that her jewelry kept falling off or hampered her in any other way whenever she worked. So she hung her larger pieces of jewelry upon the sky, which were her silver comb, her gold ring, and her long pearl necklace. And then she went to work with the huge pestle, unknowing that as one end of the pestle pounded onto the rice grains, the other end was pounding onto the sky. The first woman only knew that having the sky so low only made her task more difficult. So she pounded harder and harder on the rice. Higher and higher the sky went, until with one enormous stroke, the first woman sent the sky flying up, never to come so close to the earth again. She sensed a draft behind her neck and looked up. She was astonished to see that the sky had risen so high and taken her most precious things with it! She could see her silver comb shining where the moon is now, and the beads of her lovely necklace twinkling all around it. Her golden ring was nowhere in sight. The first woman grumbled, "I would have worn those things again if Id known they would go to waste."

THE STORY OF THE UNFINISHED BRIDGE

At Balatoc, which is part of the municipality of Lubuagan, and the province of KalingaApayao, is one of the oldest barrios. This barrio is situated at the foot of a high mountain where

there is located a huge rock. The people who dwell there are the Tinguians from Abra, the Isnegs from Apayao, and some people from Dananao which is part of the district of Tinglayan. Some people in this barrio made caves at the foot of a huge stone as their houses in times past and even now. In this barrio there was a beautiful woman. Her name was Ipogao. One day, a man whom none of the inhabitants knew, appeared. He went to Ipogao and said, "Ipogao, I am God (Kabunyan), from a distant place. I come to see you because I want to marry you." Ipogao answered, "I would like to marry you if you truly like me." After their conversation was finished, Ipogao led God to her house which was very small. The house of Ipogao to which they went was very far from where the real barrio was situated. After many days had passed, God thought of a good thing that he would do. He went and wandered around the farms to look for some good work that he would do. When he looked down on Pasil, he decided to make a bridge across to the other side for the people to pass when they go to the opposite side to work for their supplies. So then, God returned to their house to tell Ipogao what he wanted to do. He instructed their, "You, Ipogao, tomorrow I'll start out to go and work. Don't worry if I'll not be here or if no one will come to me. I don't need anything to eat. It will be just up to me, and I'll come here if I get hungry." When he had finished giving his instructions he started out to go to his work. After many days had passed by, Ipogao longed for her husband. So then, she cooked rice to take to her husband. When her rice was cooked, she put it in a basket. Carrying it on her head, she started out. When she was almost at Pasil, she heard what sounded like a machine. So then, she silently drew near. When she had drawn near and spied what was making the noise, she saw God working. She carefully watched, and was frightened to see a flame of fire coming out of the navel of God. He was pointing the flame at the bridge that he was making. Ipogao was frightened and so went silently away. As she was going away from the scene, a small piece of cooked rice fell and she made footprints at God's resting place. When it was evening, God was tired so he went to rest at his resting place. As he was resting he saw some cooked rice and a person's footprint on the ground. He said, "There was a person who came here to my resting-place. He plainly saw me working. I want no one to see me working until I am finished with the work that I'm doing." After he'd finished what he was saying to himself, he went to their house to go and ask his wife who'd seen him. He arrived at their house and saw his wife was worrying. He conversed with her, "Ipogao who went to that place where I am working and dropped some cooked rice and whose footprint is it that is at my resting-place?"

Ipogao told the truth, "I'm the one who went. I was coming to bring your food. I was only worrying because you had not been here for many many days." God answered, telling Ipogao, "You were there and saw me working and interrupted me; you didn't listen to what I told you, so that thing I was working on will not be finished. I thought I would make a bridge for the benefit of the people here." God then returned to the bridge. When he arrived, he cut it into four pieces. One-fourth was left connected to the big stone. The part left measured about 4-1/2 meters. The other cut parts fell into the river. When God had finished destroying the bridge, he returned to their house and instructed Ipogao, "I am repenting, Ipogao, for I thought that I would come to marry you so that I would do something for your benefit. Being therefore interrupted, I will leave you and these people here." So the next day God was no longer there. When God had already gone away, Ipogao led the people to what he had worked. The people were surprised when they saw the part of the bridge that was left suspended and connected to the rock. While the people were carefully gazing at the bridge, they reprimanded Ipogao, "You should not have come and interrupted him until it was finished. Why ever did you come when he had instructed you?" When Ipogao answered, she said, "It's just that in my mind I thought he was a person like us." After the people had seen that bridge they believed that God was that one who had come. There is a part of the bridge left there even now.

Why the Blaans are Ignorant

In the olden days, according to the old Blaans,the American, Muslim and the Blaan were the only people in this world.One day, Melu the chief god, summoned the representatives of the three races. He gave each one a book of knowledge and instructed them: "Go back to your people and teach them the contents of the book I gave you today.""Yes," chorused the three men."Alright, you may go."The three left. On their way home, they had to cross a wide and deep river."The current is swift," the American observed."Yes," agreed the Muslim, "we better cross one at a time.""Alright, you American, you go first; you, Muslim, will follow; I'll cross last," said the Blaan. So the three agreed. The American went first. When he was midway, he felt as if he would be swept away by the current. In order to keep his book from getting wet, he held it up with his hands. He kept his hands raised until he reached the other side of the river. This is the reason, they say, why Americans always struggle for liberty until today.Meanwhile, when it was his turn to cross, the Muslim put his book on his head to prevent it from getting wet. He, too, successfully crossed the river. Because the Muslim put his book on his head with great energy, Muslim nowadays are strict in following the doctrines of their Koran. It was ow the Blaan's turn to cross the river."I will not imitate them, and I will also be able to cross," he whispered boastfully. Placing his book under his armpit, he pressed it against his body with his arm. Then he started to cross. By that time the current of the water had grown stronger. When he reached the middle of the river, the current swept him away, because he was smaller than his two companions. Thw Blaan became confused and panicked. Thinking only of saving his life he struck out with his arms, forgetting all about the book under his armpit. The book fell into the water and was carried away by the current. He tried to retrieve it but the current was very strong so he thought it's best to cross to the other side. When he was safely on the shore, he ran after floating book. Meanwhile, the book got caught in some rocks in a shallow part of the river. Happily the Blaan ran to get it, but when he almost had it in his grasp, the almugan bird snatched it, swiftly flew away, and disappeared from sight. Weak with disappointment and his realization that he had nothing to teach his people, the Blaan started walking away. Suddenly he heard the almugan's call. That, he thought, was he could interpret for his people. If the call came from the right. It was the good omen and they should continue whatever they are doing. But if the call came from the left, they should stop it because it could only end in disaster. Until now, this is what people believe as the reason why the Blaans are ignorant.

THE LEGEND OF MOUNT APO

Apong has a beautiful daughter named Saribu who was admired throughout the land. Two of her avid suitors were warriors Maranaw and Maisug. Saribu however gave her heart to Maissug. Maranaw demanded that a duel take place between him and Maisug, since it is the law of the land even though Saribu opted for Maisug. The duel lasted for hours when Maranaw, an evil man as he is, threw sandd in the eyes of Maisug. When he was about to thrust hid spear to Maisugs heart. Apong demanded to stop the fighting and went in between the warring warriors. Maranaw didnt heed and struck APong in the heart. Before ding, he chanted a curse to Maranaw, Saribu buries her dead father at the same spot here he was killed. The next morning, a mountain grew fromt he spo. They called it Apong in honor of the dead man, which later was shortened to Apo. One day, MT. Apo erupted and buried MAranaw and his people with lava which is now the present day Cotabato Valley.

The Legend of the Magat River A long time ago, there lived in Bayombong a tall, handsome man called Magat. He was young and strong, and fast as a hunter and sure in his spear shot. He could run as fast as a deer and strong as he was, he could down a bull with ease. He
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was strong-willed and obstinate but he was also kind and gentle. Except for a few who envied him his prowess, everybody in the village loved and respected him. Magat loved outdoor life, and roamed in the forest surrounding the struggling settlement. One day, fired by adventure he wandered farther than usual. Soon night came. Being far from home, he kindled a fire in his crude, primitive way. he lay beside the fire and fell asleep. Early the next morning, he pursued his solitary way. Finally he came upon the largest stream he had ever seen. He stopped and crawled noisily to the bank of the river near the fall. Upon parting the tall grasses he beheld a lovely sight just across the stream-beneath the shade of the outspreading branches of the big balete tree was a very beautiful maiden. She was bathing and was nude from the waist up. She was the most beautiful woman Magat had ever seen and he fell in love with her at first sight. From where he was hiding, Magat's attention was attracted by a silent movement on a spreading branch; Magat saw a great python, coiled around the branch, which was ready to attack the beautiful woman. He jumped backward. The noise he made drew the attention of the maiden, who, turning around, saw him poise a spear. She mistook his attitude for hostility and ducked under water. Just as the python sprang, the spear flew from Magat's hand. The snake was struck right through the eyes and brain. The next moment, Magat was in the water and carried the beautiful Maiden ashore. She struggled a little but did not scream, as she modestly tried to cover her body with her long dark hair. Magat pointed to the writhing python. Upon seeing it, she screamed instinctively and drew close to Magat, who put a protecting arm around her lovely shoulders. Gratitude and admiration were all over her pretty face. Magat picked up his broken spear and went back to the young woman. They wandered about in the forest. Under the spell of nature, Magat asked the woman to be his wife; the woman, after making Magat promise in the name of the great Kabunian not to see her at noon, consented. He brought her home and made a cozy room for her. Everything went well and happily for a while. But the passing days, his curiosity mounted more and more and at last, it grew out of bounds. One noon, he broke his promise and broke into his wife's seclusion. In his wife's bed of soft leaves and grasses he beheld a sight that chilled his heart. A great crocodile was lying on his wife's bed. Believing that his wife had met a horrible death, he rushed to the kitchen, fetched an ugly weapon and returned to his wife's room. He raised his weapon to kill the crocodile when suddenly he saw his wife on
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the bed instead of the crocodile. His wife was dying. "you broke your promise. I can no longer be happy nor live any longer. I must die." his wife sobbed. Slowly life ebbed from her. On her beautiful skin, scales appeared, as she turned into a crocodile before his very eyes. That was his punishment for having broken his promise made in the name of Kabunian. Sadly, Magat buried the dead crocodile in his front yard. worn out by grief for his lack of fidelity to his word and over the death of his lovely wife, he drowned himself and his miseries in the samestream grew into the mighty troublesome Magat river

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TAWAN AND UTALI

Once upon a time, there lived a certain datu on top of a hill outside kidapawan. With him was his only son, Tawan, who, aside from his good looks, had great physical strength and wisdom. The women admired and adored him greatly. The men were jealous of him, thus revolted against him The datu was already so old that he could no longer fully rule his people. So he asked Tawan to take over, and control those who defied his laws. Utali was the leader of the men who would not abide by the laws of the community. Because of this, he and his men fled to the farthest mountain and became bandits. At night, they would come down and steal the food crops and pigs and chickens of the people in the community. The people were so scared and troubled that they went to see Tawan for help and solution. Tawan immediately went to see the elders to ask for advice. The elders suggested that he and Utali must fight alone in the open to spare man from further bloodshed. And so, Tawan being very obedient and strong sent a messenger to Utali to inform hhim about the decision of the elders regarding his misbehaviour. He told Utali that they would fight alone to end such trouble. I agree! Utali declared when he was informed by the messenger. Then, at early dawn the following morning,Tawan and Utali me in the barrio square. Both were fully equipped with lances. The two fought for seven hours. At the end, Utali was wounded and then died. All the people shouted with joy when they saw that Utali was dead. At last there could be peace now in the barrio. The following day, all the people were seen celebrating a big feast. This was to thank Tawan for his courage and bravery to fight and defeat Utali. The people outside the community were all invited to the feast. There was so much food and plenty of wine. Everywhere, people were dancing and singing while the gong and the guitars were playing constantly for everybody to listen and enjoy.

ANG PAGONG AT ANG MATSING

Isang araw, nagpasyal ang magkaibigang pagong at tsonggo. May nakita silang punong saging. "Akin ito," sabi ng tsonggo at hinila ang parte ng puno na may dahon. "Hindi, akin ito," sabi ng pagong at hinila ang may ugat na parte ng puno. Habang naghihilahan sila, sinabi ng pagong, "Bakit hindi natin hatiin ang puno? Kunin mo ang parteng gusto mo at kukunin ko ang bahaging gusto ko." "O, sige," sabi ng tsonggo. "Kukunin ko ang parteng may dahon at kunin mo naman ang bahaging may ugat." Dinala ng tsonggo ang parteng may dahon at kinuha naman ng pagong ang may ugat na bahagi. Pareho nilang itinanim ang kanilang parte at kapwa sila nasisiyahang isipin na magkakaroon sila ng maraming saging na kakainin. Dinilig nila ang halaman nila araw-araw. Pero natuyo ang halaman ng tsonggo. Samantala, nagkadahon ang halaman ng pagong. Binisita ng tsonggo ang pagong upang kamustahin ang halaman nito. "Kamusta ang halaman mo?" tanong ng tsonggo. "Tumutubo ng mahusay," sagot ng pagong. "Malago na ang dahon ngayon." "Namatay ang halaman ko," malungkot na sabi ng tsonggo. "Ewan ko kung bakit." Napangiti ang pagong. Hindi niya masabi sa tsonggo na karamihan ng halaman ay di tumutubo kung walang ugat. Lumaki nang lumaki ang punong saging ng pagong. Binabantayan din ng tsonggo ang puno ng pagong. Isang araw, namulaklak ang punong saging at nagkabunga. Araw-araw, lumalaki ang prutas. Hanggang isang araw, nahinog ang mga saging. Gusto ng pagong na pitasin ang saging pero hindi niya ito maabot. Tinanong ng tsonggo ang pagong. "Hinog na ang saging mo, bakit di mo pa pitasin?" "Hindi ko maabot," sabi ng pagong. "Gusto mo bang tulungan kitang pitasin ang mga prutas?" tanong ng tsonggo. "Sa gayon, tayong dalawa ang makakakain ng saging." Pumayag ang pagong. "Sige, akyatin mo ang puno. Tapos, ihagis mo sa akin ang ibang bunga." Inakyat ng tsonggo ang puno at kinain niya ang lahat ng saging. Wala siyang inihagis sa pagong. Kapag humihingi ang pagong, tinatawanan lang ng tsonggo.

Nagalit ang pagong at pinaligiran ng tinik ang puno. Tapos nagtago siya sa ilalim ng bao ng niyog. Nang nakain nang lahat ng tsonggo ang saging, bumaba siya sa puno at natusok siya ng mga tinik na inilagay ng pagong. "Aray!" sigaw ng tsonggo. Napaupo siya sa baong pinagtataguan ng pagong. "Magbabayad siya," sabi ng pagong sa sarili. Hinila niya ang buntot ng tsonggo sa butas ng bao. "Aray!" sigaw uli ng tsonggo. Sumilip siya sa ilalim ng bao at nakita niya ang pagong. Hinuli niya ito. Habang tangan niya nang mahigpit ang pagong, sabi niya, "Itatapon kita sa apoy." Ayaw ng pagong na itapon siya sa apoy, pero sinabi niya, "A gusto ko iyan. Mamumula ako. Gaganda ako." "Kung gayon, hindi kita itatapon sa apoy," sabi ng tsonggo. "Pipitpitin kita." "Magaling," maagap sa sagot ng pagong. "Pagkatapos mo dadami ako." Marami akong magiging kalaro." "Kung gayon, hindi na kita pipitpitin," inis na sabi ng tsonggo. "Alam ko na, itatapon kita sa ilog." Nag-iiyak ang pagong. Sabi niya, "Huwag! Huwag mo akong itapon sa ilog. Malulunod ako! Mamamatay ako!" Nang narinig ito ng tsonggo, dinampot niya ang pagong at itinapon sa ilog. Sumisid ang pagong sa ilog. Pamaya-maya lumitaw siya sa tubig na nagtatawa. "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Dito ako nakatira. Bahay ko ang ilog!" At lumangoy siyang palayo. Napaupo ang tsonggo at sabi niya sa sarili, "Napakatanga ko! Pero hindi bale, nakain ko naman ang saging."

JOSE RIZAL
JOSE RIZAL, the national hero of the Philippines and pride of the Malayan race, was born on June 19, 1861, in the town of Calamba, Laguna. He was the seventh child in a family of

11 children (2 boys and 9 girls). Both his parents were educated and belonged to distinguished families. His father, Francisco Mercado Rizal, an industrious farmer whom Rizal called "a model of fathers," came from Bian, Laguna; while his mother, Teodora Alonzo y Quintos, a highly cultured and accomplished woman whom Rizal called "loving and prudent mother," was born in Meisic, Sta. Cruz, Manila. At the age of 3, he learned the alphabet from his mother; at 5, while learning to read and write, he already showed inclinations to be an artist. He astounded his family and relatives by his pencil drawings and sketches and by his moldings of clay. At the age 8, he wrote a Tagalog poem, "Sa Aking Mga Kabata," the theme of which revolves on the love of ones language. In 1877, at the age of 16, he obtained his Bachelor of Arts degree with an average of "excellent" from the Ateneo Municipal de Manila. In the same year, he enrolled in Philosophy and Letters at the University of Santo Tomas, while at the same time took courses leading to the degree of surveyor and expert assessor at the Ateneo. He finished the latter course on March 21, 1877 and passed the Surveyors examination on May 21, 1878; but because of his age, 17, he was not granted license to practice the profession until December 30, 1881. In 1878, he enrolled in medicine at the University of Santo Tomas but had to stop in his studies when he felt that the Filipino students were being discriminated upon by their Dominican tutors. On May 3, 1882, he sailed for Spain where he continued his studies at the Universidad Central de Madrid. On June 21, 1884, at the age of 23, he was conferred the degree of Licentiate in Medicine and on June 19,1885, at the age of 24, he finished his course in Philosophy and Letters with a grade of "excellent." Having traveled extensively in Europe, America and Asia, he mastered 22 languages. These include Arabic, Catalan, Chinese, English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Japanese, Latin, Malayan, Portuguese, Russian, Sanskrit, Spanish, Tagalog, and other native dialects. A versatile genius, he was an architect, artists, businessman, cartoonist, educator, economist, ethnologist, scientific farmer, historian, inventor, journalist, linguist, musician, mythologist, nationalist, naturalist, novelist, opthalmic surgeon, poet, propagandist, psychologist, scientist, sculptor, sociologist, and theologian. He was an expert swordsman and a good shot. In the hope of securing political and social reforms for his country and at the same time educate his countrymen, Rizal, the greatest apostle of Filipino nationalism, published, while in Europe, several works with highly nationalistic and revolutionary tendencies. In March 1887, his daring book, NOLI ME TANGERE, a satirical novel exposing the arrogance and despotism of the Spanish clergy, was published in Berlin; in 1890 he reprinted in Paris, Morgas SUCCESSOS DE LAS ISLAS FILIPINAS with his annotations to prove that the Filipinos had a civilization worthy to be proud of even long before the Spaniards set foot on Philippine soil; on September 18, 1891, EL FILIBUSTERISMO, his second novel and a sequel to the NOLI and more revolutionary and tragic than the latter, was printed in Ghent. Because of his fearless exposures of the injustices committed by the civil and clerical officials, Rizal provoked the animosity of those in power. This led himself, his relatives and countrymen into trouble with the Spanish officials of the country. As a consequence, he and those who had contacts with him, were shadowed; the authorities were not only finding faults but even fabricating charges to pin him down. Thus, he was imprisoned in Fort Santiago from July 6, 1892 to July 15, 1892 on a charge that anti-friar pamphlets were found in the luggage of his sister Lucia who arrive with him from Hong Kong. While a political exile in Dapitan, he engaged in agriculture, fishing and business; he maintained and operated a hospital; he conducted classestaught his pupils the English and Spanish languages, the arts. The sciences, vocational courses including agriculture, surveying, sculpturing, and painting, as well as the art of self defense; he did some researches and collected specimens; he entered into correspondence with renowned men of letters and sciences abroad; and with the help of his pupils, he constructed water dam and a relief map of Mindanao - both considered remarkable engineering feats. His sincerity and friendliness won for him the trust and confidence

of even those assigned to guard him; his good manners and warm personality were found irresistible by women of all races with whom he had personal contacts; his intelligence and humility gained for him the respect and admiration of prominent men of other nations; while his undaunted courage and determination to uplift the welfare of his people were feared by his enemies. When the Philippine Revolution started on August 26, 1896, his enemies lost no time in pressing him down. They were able to enlist witnesses that linked him with the revolt and these were never allowed to be confronted by him. Thus, from November 3, 1986, to the date of his execution, he was again committed to Fort Santiago. In his prison cell, he wrote an untitled poem, now known as "Ultimo Adios" which is considered a masterpiece and a living document expressing not only the heros great love of country but also that of all Filipinos. After a mock trial, he was convicted of rebellion, sedition and of forming illegal association. In the cold morning of December 30, 1896, Rizal, a man whose 35 years of life had been packed with varied activities which proved that the Filipino has capacity to equal if not excel even those who treat him as a slave, was shot at Bagumbayan Field.

Sa Aking Mga Kababata

Kapagka ang baya'y sadyang umiibig Sa kanyang salitang kaloob ng langit, Sanlang kalayaan nasa ring masapit Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid. Pagka't ang salita'y isang kahatulan Sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharian, At ang isang tao'y katulad, kabagay Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan. Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita Mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda, Kaya ang marapat pagyamaning kusa Na tulad sa inang tunay na nagpala. Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin Sa Ingles, Kastila at salitang anghel, Sapagka't ang Poong maalam tumingin Ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin. Ang salita nati'y huwad din sa iba Na may alfabeto at sariling letra, Na kaya nawala'y dinatnan ng sigwa Ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una.

WORLD

You are worth our anger and much more our hatred Of treachery and savagery, you World are made Your fragrance you exude in proud pretense But only to conceal your devious offense You deserve to be left and entirely forsaken That souls cruel and merciless opponent If I take your guidance, carelessly unheeding To an endless sorrow, I will then be going Deaf ears you deserve for your deceitful others You, valley of treachery, Satans wily neighbour The counsels that you give, sound of perfection But truly pernicious are your invitations. Why , why, by the way, should i agree What are your inspirations, that following you get me? Who are you really, that I should look up to? When nothing but evil is what I get from you. An adviser from the depth, a temper you are Man you inerbriate, with intoxicating liquor But beneath all those delightful caresses Settles the flow of tears that never cease That a world, that every blinding glitter To wrap all your evils, youve chosen to wear On a clear, clean meadow, I dreamt I was walking Only to discover, around me thorns were picking Since the time that man on this earth was born Him you had been punching to a sad sojourn And when on occasions, with you all-abiding To the depths of hell he sadly goes plunging How cleverly you bind our poor human vision So to the pit of sin we fall, lured by temptation Such is why in the courts of the Heavenly judge Countless souls are condemned- O my God.

"Berso Na Ana-anap" (Verse of Frustrated Love)

Tata a lappao yo pangirang-ngirang cu So bahu a sinag, banna-banny na dihat

Metalugaring nu mepadandan sicuan Yo neduma a aggam, neduna a anap Daddaramat anna fuab Yo mamanoc era naccayaccac Na cancion mapparaparappag Y canta-cantanda a iyayag yo anggam cu Yo anggam cu a madammat a suerte Cuppat a bucal Cuppat a inanaman Cuppat a bucal yo innac a imula Yo mangiada si allac nga ira yo pattolayan Nattufu,naddam, napangga, nallappao Udde menangque nabbunga. I compare thee to a flower, A ray of light that gives inspiration More so if you give me your attention. Love comes in many forms from the young' Which I am expecting every morning and afternoon In my native town. Songs that convey what I feel A love that caused such a burden and pain; The four seeds I have sown Which are my only hope. Dried seed, Dried hope, Dried seed that I may plant, That perchance your charm may let grow. It grew, it climbed, it branched, it bloomed But never did it bear fruit.

LUIS G. DATO
Date of Birth : July 4, 1906 Place of Birth : Baao, Camarines Sur

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Parents :Eugenio Dato y Esplana Barbara Guevarra y Imperial Paternal Grandparents : Damaso Dato Nicolasa Esplana Maternal Grandparents : Ludivico Guevara Higina Imperial Brothers and Sisters : Rodolfo Dato Francisca D. Flores Soledad H. Hidalgo Pablo Dato (2nd Nuptials) Schools Attended : Naga Central School, (1914 - 1917) Tabuco Primary School, (1917 1918) San Vicente de Paul Seminary (1918 1919) Naga Elementary School, (1919 1920) Camarines Sur High School, (1920 1923) U.P. High School, (1923 1924) U.P. College of Liberal Arts (1924 1928) U.P. College of Law (1928 1933) Southern Luzon College (1947 1949) University of Nueva Caceres (1949 1951) St. Anthony College (1971 1972) Degrees : Associate in Arts, U.P., 1926 B.S.E., Southern Luzon College, 1949 Bachelor of Laws, University of Nueva Caceres, 1951 Master of Arts, (30 units) University of Nueva Caceres, St. Anthony College Positions Held : Classroom Teacher, Iriga Elementary School, 1926 Baao Elementary School, 1937 1939 Municipal Mayor, Baao, Camarines Sur, 1941 1947 PRO, Provincial Governors Office, 1951 1959 Faculty Member, Naga College, 1953 1954 Faculty Member, University of Nueva Caceres, 1955 1967 Faculty Member, St. Anthony College, 1947 1951; 1967 Club Memberships : Sanghiran nin Bikol (1929 1931) Akademiang Bikol (1956) Knights of Rizal (1958 - ) Naga City Press and Radio Club (1965 - ) Los Viejos Alegres (1967 - ) Journalism : First Editor, Bicol Star (1933 1934) Editor, Tingog nin Banwaan, 1939 1940) Staff Member, Bicolandia, Juan dela Cruz, Bicol Examiner, Naga Times Member, Board of Editors, Bicol Mail Awards : First Prize, Bikol Meet Composition Contest (1922) First Prize, U.P. High Oratorical Contest (1924)

11

First Prize, U.P. Liberal Arts Oratorical Contest (1926) First Prize, U.P. Literary Contest, (1926) Named Outstanding Catholic Poet by United Poets Laureate International (1965) Books Published : Manila, A Collection of Verse (1926) My Book of Verses (1926) The Instant Lyre (Manuscript) Vocabulario Bikol-Ingles-Kastila (1963) Kantahon na Bikol (1969) Morfologia kan Tataramon na Bikol (serialized in Naga Times) Patotodon sa Bikol (Bikol Mail) Sarabihon sa Bikol Important Poems : Life of Christ Handiong, Bicol Epic Sonnets to the Brown Goddess Translations of the major poems of Rizal Translations of other Filipino poets in Spanish Sonnets of the Liberation Coronation and Proclamation poems Love Lyrics Alma Mater poems Christmas poems Translations of Spanish, French, Mexican and Nicaraguan poets Other religious poems

The Spouse

12

Rose in her hand, and moist eyes young with weeping, She stands upon the threshold of her house, Fragrant with scent that wakens love from sleeping, She looks far down to where her husband plows. Her hair dishevelled in the night of passion, Her warm limbs humid with the sacred strife, What may she know but man and woman fashion Out of the clay of wrath and sorrowLife? She holds no joys beyond the days tomorrow, She finds no worlds beyond her loves embrace; She looks upon the Form behind the furrow, Who is her Mind, her Motion, Time and Space. O somber mystery of eyes unspeaking, O dark enigma of Lifes love forlorn; The Sphinx beside the river smiles with seeking The secret answer since the world was born.

Cirilo F. Bautista
Cirilo F. Bautista (born 1941) is a multi-awarded Filipino poet, fictionist, critic and writer of nonfiction. He received his basic education from Legarda Elementary School (1st Honorable Mention, 1954) and Mapa High School (Valedictorian, 1959). He received his degrees in AB Literature from the University of Santo Tomas (magna cum laude, 1963), MA Literature from St. Louis University, Baguio City (magna cum laude, 1968), and Doctor of Arts in Language and Literature from De La Salle University-Manila (1990). He received a fellowship to attend the International Writing Program at theUniversity of Iowa (19681969) and was awarded an honorary degreethe only Filipino to have been so honored there.

13

Bautista taught creative writing and literature at St. Louis University (19631968) and the University of Santo Tomas (19691970) before moving to De La Salle University-Manila in 1970. He is also a co-founding member of the Philippine Literary Arts Council (PLAC) and a member of the Manila Critics Circle, Philippine Center of International PEN and the Philippine Writers Academy. Bautista has also received Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards (for poetry, fiction and essay in English and Filipino) as well as Philippines Free Press Awards for Fiction, Manila Critics' Circle National Book Awards, Gawad Balagtas from the Unyon ng mga Manunulat ng Pilipinas, the Pablo Roman Prize for the Novel, and the highest accolades from the City of Manila, Quezon City and Iligan City. Bautista was hailed in 1993 as Makata ng Taon by the Komisyon ng mga Wika ng Pilipinas for winning the poetry contest sponsored by the government. The last part of his epic trilogy The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus, entitled Sunlight on Broken Stones, won the Centennial Prize for the epic in 1998. He was an exchange professor in Waseda University and Ohio University. He became an Honorary Fellow in Creative Writing at the University of Iowa in 1969, and was the first recipient of a British Council fellowship as a creative writer at Trinity College, Cambridge in 1987. Bautista works include Boneyard Breaking, Sugat ng Salita, The Archipelago, Telex Moon, Summer Suns, Charts, The Cave and Other Poems, Kirot ng Kataga, and Bullets and Roses: The Poetry of Amado V. Hernandez. His novel Galaw ng Asoge was published by the University of Santo Tomas Press in 2004. His latest book, Believe and Betray: New and Collected Poems, appeared in 2006, published by De La Salle University Press. His poems have appeared in major literary journals, papers, and magazines in the Philippines and in anthologies published in the United States, Japan, the Netherlands, China, Romania, Hong Kong,Germany and Malaysia. These include: excerpts from Sunlight on Broken Stones, published in World Literature Today, USA, Spring 2000; What Rizal Told Me (poem), published in Manoa, University of Hawaii, 1997; She of the Quick Hands: My Daughter and The Seagull (poems), published in English Teachers Portfolio of Multicultural Activities, edited by John Cowen (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). Aside from his teaching, creative and research activities as a Professor Emeritus of Literature at the College of Liberal Arts, De La Salle University-Manila, Bautista is also a columnist and literary editor of the Philippine Panorama, the Sunday Supplement of the Manila Bulletin. He is also a member of the Board of Advisers and Associate, Bienvenido Santos Creative Writing Center of De La Salle University-Manila and Senior Associate, The Center for Creative Writing and Studies of the University of Santo Tomas.

14

WHAT DOES A WOMAN OWN

15

She was an old woman and a widow. When the drunken military policemen came in the middle of the night, she beg them not to take what she did not own.So they took away her cow, her trinkets, her daughter, killed her two sons, and left her alive.

GUILLERMO GRAO CASTILLO

16

Picture Show 17

By God's divine will, I waken sitting in the dark with my attention set upon a Screen before me while God behind me in His closet with His intricate machines projects a Moving Picture Show a masterpiece which we call LIFE

MAXIMO RAMOS

18

Youth
These have known the tingling freshness Of the coming forth from God;

19

The sweetness of mother's breast The ringing sinewiness of growth, The feel of the loved one's cheek, the song Of April suns and showers...

And these will know The quiet dimming down of age And the silent wonder of going back to God.

Herminio S. Beltran, Jr

HERMINIO BELTRAN JR. y SOTELO has served as Chairman of the Committee on Literary Arts of the Natio.nal Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). He finished his Journalism degree in University of the Philippines. He also has units in Philippine Literature and Communication Management. He is the author of two books: Lemlunay: Mga Tula sa Tatlong Wika and Bayambang (Tula, Daniw, Poems). Among his many prizes are Palanca and Talaang Ginto. Herminio S. Beltran, Jr. began writing verses at age 9 and translating Iloko stories to English at 13. He is the author of two books of poetry in Filipino, Iloko and English: Bayambang (1991) and Lemlunay (2003). His essays in Filipino won the Gawad Alab ng Haraya given by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts in 2002. As head of the Literary Arts Division of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, he supervises the nationwide implementation of the BatangSining Creative Expression Workshop, which was cited by the Philippine Board on Books for Young People as one of the outstanding projects for childrens education in 2006.

20

Death

We are Leaves of Life's tree -And death is the wind that shakes

21

The branches gently 'till its leaves All fall.

LEONA FLORENTINO

Leona

Florentino (April

19,

1849-October

4,

1884)

was

Filipino

poet

in

the Spanish and Ilocano languages. She is considered as the "mother of Philippine women's literature" and the "bridge from oral to literary tradition".[1] Born to a wealthy and prominent family in Vigan, Ilocos Sur, Florentino began to write her first verses in Ilocano at a young age. Despite her potential, she was not allowed to receive a university education because of her gender. Florentino was instead tutored by her mother, and then a series of private teachers. An educated Ilocano priest taught her advanced Spanish and encouraged her to develop her voice in poetry.[1] Due to the feminist nature of her writings, Florentino was shunned by her husband and son, and so was forced to live alone in exile and separately from her family.[1]

22

Florentino married a politician named Elias de los Reyes at the age of 14, and they had five children, including Isabelo de los Reyes, who would later become a Filipino writer, activist and senator. She died at the age of 35.[1] Works Her lyrical poetry in Spanish, especially in Ilocano, gained attention with their exhibition in various international forums in Spain, Paris and St. Louis, Missouri. Her literary contributions - particularly 22 preserved poems - were recognized when she was included in the Encyclopedia Internationale des Oeuvres des Femmes (International Encyclopedia of Womens Works) in 1889. She is believed to be the first Filipino to receive this international recognition, a homage that occurred only after her untimely death.[1]

Naunsyaming pag-asa
Pupos ng ligayat katiwasayan Silang may minamahal, Dahil mayroon silang karamay Sa lahat ng hinaing sa buhay. Ang aba kong kapalaran Tila walang kapantay Ang sinasabi koy isang katiyakan Dahil ako ngayoy nagdurusa. Akoy nagmamahal Sa isang sintas hiyas Ngunit hindi ko matiyak Kung akoy karapatdapat. Isinusunpa ko ang oras Ng aking kapanganakan, Libong ulit sanang higit na mainam

23

Kung namatay ako nang akoy isinilang. Susubukan ko sanang magtapat Ngunit akoy nauumid, Dahil maliwanag namang Mabibigo lamang ako. Ngunit sapat na ang ligayang madarama Kung malaman mo ang aking pagsinta: Nangangako ako at sumusumpa Ikaw lamang ang mamahalin hanggang kamatayan.

LEONCIO DERIADA
Leoncio P. Deriada was born in Iloilo but spent most of his life in Davao. He went to school at the Davao City High School and graduated in 1955. He earned his BA English degree at the Ateneo de Davao University where he graduated cum laude in 1959. He later received his MA in English from Xavier University in 1970 and went on to receive his PhD in English and Literature with a specialization in creative writing from Silliman University in 1981 where he later on served as professor and chairperson of the English Department.[1] He is a multi-lingual writer having produced works in English, Filipino, Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a and Cebuano. His thirteen Palanca awards include works in English, Filipino and Hiligaynon. Of these thirteen, five are first-prize winners, and these include "The Day of the Locusts" (Short Story, 1975), "Mutya ng Saging" (Dulaang May Isang Yugto, 1987), "The Man Who Hated Birds" (Short Story for Children, 1993), "Medea of Siquijor" (One-Act Play, 1999), and "Maragtas: How Kapinangan Tricked Sumakwel Twice" (Full-Length Play, 2001). He became a Palanca Hall of Famer on September 1, 2001. Aside from his Palanca awards, he has garnered other prestigious

24

awards such as the Gawad Pambansang Alagad ni Balagtas, Asiaweek, Gawad CCP, Graphic, Focus, Yuhum (Iloilo), and Blue Knight Award from Ateneo de Davao for Outstanding Achievement in Literature. In 2002, he was one of Metrobank's Outstanding Teachers.[2][3] He is currently a professor at the University of the Philippines in the Visayas - Iloilo. Dr. Deriada heads the Sentro ng Wikang Filipino at the U.P. Visayas. He is also an associate of the U.P. Institute of Creative Writing.[1]

I Vialed the Universe

I vialed the universe And laughed at the concentrated Gods. But the Genie escaped with His halo of riddles. I pondered anew and unslept. Thoughts were strange with the strangeness of new towns Thoughts were as vast as the unvialed God. I could not bottle or battle Him.

25

There: I saw Him mark in the matutinal mist. I surrendered.

MARRA LANOT
Marra PL. Lanot is a Filipina poet, essayist, and journalist. She is a resident fellow of the University of the Philippines Institute of Creative Writing, where she also teaches at the College of Arts and Letters. Her works--poems, essays, profiles, and teleplays-- have won her acclaim from the Palanca Awards, Talaang Ginto, and Catholic Mass Media Awards. She is married to fellow writer and teacher Jose F. Lacaba. Education Marra Lanot, studied at the University of the Philippines, Diliman and finished her A.B. in English in 1965, a few years before the declaration of Martial Law. Career In the early years of her career, Lanot produced essays that traversed reportage and the personal. She wrote about feminism, the Martial Law period, profiles, movies, and her life stories. In 1998, she became the literary editor of the magazine Mirror Weekly. Aside from writing and teaching, she has also served as member of the Movie and Television Review and Classification Board (MTRCB). Her feminist inclinations are evident not only in her writing but also in her affiliations. She worked at the Women's Desk of the Concerned Artists of the Philippines, and cofounded the Women Writers in Media Now (WOMEN). Works and Awards Literary Works and Awards Sheaves of Things Burning - Palanca Awards 2nd Prize for Poetry, 1967 Flowers of the Sun (1970) Deja Vu In America or One of the Songs - Palanca Awards 1st Prize for Essay, 1980

26

 Passion and Compassion, Mga Tula sa Ingles at Pilipino (1988, New Publishers, QC) Dream Sketches, Essay Collection (1991) The Trouble with Nick and Other Profiles (1999, UP Press) Deja Vu and Other Essays (1999, UP Press) Witch's Dance at Iba Pang Tula sa Filipino at Espaol (2000, Anvil Publishing)s

Day

Witch's Dance, book cover Teleplays, etc. Katawan Koy Akin: From Priestess to President and Warriors for Peace, (documentary, co-writer) Misis (teleplay) Warriors for Peace (documentary, co-writer) Sunod sa Agos (teleplay, co-writer) Antigo (teleplay, co-writer) Awards Catholic Mass Media Award (CMMA) Palanca Awards for Essay and Poetry Talaang Ginto Gawad Collantes

TRIBESWOMAN

27

SALVADOR LOPEZ
Salvador P. Lopez (May 27, 1911October 18, 1993), born in Currimao, Ilocos Norte, is an Ilokano writer, journalist, educator, diplomat, and statesman. He studied at the University of the Philippines and obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree in philosophy in 1931 and a Master of Arts degree, also in philosophy, in 1933. From 1933 to 1936, he taught literature and journalism at the University of Manila. In 1940, Lopez' essay "Literature and Society" won in the Commonwealth Literary Awards. This essay posited that art must have substance and that poet Jose Garcia Villa's adherence to "art for art's sake" is decadent. The essay provoked debates, the discussion centered on proletarian literature, i.e., engaged or committed literature versus the art for arts sake literary orientation. Lopez was the president of the University of the Philippines from 1969 to 1975. It was during his presidency that U.P. students were politically radicalized, launching mass protests against the Marcosregime, from the so-called "First Quarter Storm" in 1970 to the "Diliman commune" in 1971.

28

RETURN TO THE PRIMITIVE

29

Jorge Bocobo
Dr. Jorge Bocobo was born in Gerona, Tarlac in 1896. He studied in the private and public schools of his town during the Spanish regime, and he resumed his education during the early part of the America occupation. In 1903, he was among the first group of government pensionados sent to the United States on a scholarship. Dean Bocobo took up law at Indiana University and returned to the Philippines after completing his studies. He began working as a law clerk in the executive bureau of the government. Later, he was drafted into the newly founded College of Law where he taught Civil Law He is the principal author of the Civil Code of the Philippines. He was appointed as President of the University of the Philippines in 1935 and later resigned to become Secretary of Public Instruction under President Quezon A prolific writer, President Bocobo wrote books of general interest as well as articles on civil law. The following speech was delivered to the students of the University of the Philippines in September of 1921.

30

COLLEGE "UNEDUCATION
I wish to speak on "College Uneducation". Is it possible that our college education may " uneducated rather than educate? I answer "yes". It is a paradox but nonetheless the truth, the grim, unmerciful truth. We believe in higher education we should not be in the University. At the same time, college education - like all other human devices for human betterment may build or destroy, lead, or mislead. My ten years of humble service in the University of the Philippines has afforded me an opportunity to watch the current of ideals and practices of our student body. In some aspects of higher education, most of our students have measured up to their high responsibilities. But in other features alas, vital ones! The thoughts and actions of many of them tend to stunt the mind dry up the heart, and squelch the soul. These students are being uneducated in college I shall briefly discuss three ways in which many of our students are getting a college uneducation, for which they pay tuition fees and make unnumbered sacrifices. Book Worship In the first place, there is the all but delirious worship of the printed page. "What does the book say'1" is by all odds, the most important question in the student's mind whenever he is faced with any problem calling for his own reasoning By the takers, many students feel a sort of frenzy for facts till these become as huge as the mountains and the mind is crushed under them. Those students think of nothing but how to accumulate data, hence, their capacity for clear powerful thinking is paralyzed How pathetic to hear them and discuss! Because they lack the native vitality of unhampered reason, their disclosure smacks of cant and sophistry rather than of healthy reasoning and straight thinking. It is then that many of our students surrender their individuality to the textbooks and loss their birthright - which is to think for themselves. And when they attempt to form their own judgment they became pedantic. Unless a student develop the habit of independent and sound reasoning, his college education is a solemn sham.

31

Compare these college students with Juan de la Cruz in the barrios. His mind is free from the overwhelming, justify weight of unassimilated book knowledge. How penetrating his perception how unnerving his judgment, how solid his common sense!

Professional Philistinism The second manner of college education that I want to speak of is this, most

students make professional efficiency the be all and end all of college education. They have set their hearts upon becoming highly trained lawyer, doctors, engineers, teachers, and agriculturist. I shall not stop to inquire into the question of how much blame should be laid at the door of the faculties of the University for this pernicious drift toward undue and excessive specialization That such a tendency exist in undeniable, but we never pursue to count the cost. We are all of one mind. I believe that college education is nothing unless it widens a man's vision, broadens his sympathies and leads him to higher thinking and deep feeling. Vet how can we expect all this result from a state of affairs which reduces a law student to a code a prospective doctor to a prescriptions and a would-be an engineer to a mathematical formulas? How many students in our in our professional colleges ate doing any systematic reading in literature. May we not, indeed serious whether this fetish of specialization does not smother the inspiring sense of beauty and ennobling love of finer things that our students have it in them to unfold into full blown-magnificence. The Jading Dullness of Modern Life "A thing of beauty is a joy forever", says Keats. But we know that beauty is a matter of taste, and unless we develop in us a proper appreciation of what is beautiful and sublime, everything around us is tedious and common place. We rise early and go out into the morning, but our spirit is unresponsive to the hopeful quietude and the dew-chastened sweetness of dawn. At night, we behold the myriad starts but they are just so many bright speaks, their soft fires do not soothe our troubled hearts and we do not experience that awesome, soul-stirring, fascination of the immense ties of God Universe. We ate bathed in the silver sheen of the moon and yet feel not the beatitude of the moment we gaze upon a vista of high mountains, but their silent strength has no appeal for us. We read some undying verses, still, their vibrant cadence does not thrill us, and their transcendent thought is to us like a vision that vanishes. We look at a masterpiece of the chisel with its eternal gracefulness of lines and properties, yet to us is no more than mere human likeness. Tell me, is such a life worth coming to college for? Yet, my friends, the over specialization which many students with zeal and devotion is bound to result in such unfeeling, dry as dust-existence.

32

I may say in passing that the education of the older generations is in this respect for superior to ours. Our older countrymen any with reason that the new education does not lawfully cultivate the heart as the old education did.

Misguided Zeal Lastly, this selfsame rage for highly specialized training with a view to distinguished professional success, be clouds our vision of the broader perspective of life. Our philosophy of life is in danger of becoming narrow and mean because we are habituated to think almost wholly in terms of material well being. Of course we must be practical? We cannot adequately answer this tremendous question unless we thoughtfully develop a proper sense of values and thus learn to separate the dross from the gold, the chaff from the grain of life The time to do this task is not after but before college graduation, for when all is said and done, the sum and substance of higher education is the individual formulation of what life is for, with special training in some advanced line of human learning in order that such a life formula may be executed with the utmost effectiveness. But how can we lay down the terms of our philosophy of life if even-one of our thoughts is absorbed by the daily assignment, the outside reading, and the laboratory experiment and when we continuously devour lectures and notes. "Uneducated" Juan dela Cruz as Teacher Here, again, many of our students should sit at the feet of meagerly educated Juan de la Cruz and learn wisdom. Ah! He is often called ignorant, but he is the wisest of the wise, for he has unrelated the mysteries of life. He is the happiness of the man who known the why's of human existence. Unassuming, Juan de la Cruz cherishes no "vaulting ambition which overleap itself His simple arid hardly virtues put to shame the studied and complex rules of conduct of highly educated man and women. In adversity, his stoicism is beyond encomium. His love of home, so quite faithful is the firm foundation of out social structure And his patriotism has been tested and found true. Can our students learn from Juan de la Cruz or does their college education unfit them to become his pupils? In conclusion, I shall say I have observed among many of our students certain alarming signs of college uneducation, and some of these are (1) lack of independent judgment as well as love of pedantry, because of the worship of the printed page and the feverish accumulation of undigested data. (2) the deadening of the delicate sense of the beautiful and the sublime on account of over

33

specialization and (3) neglect of the formulation of a sound philosophy of life as a result of excessive emphasis on professional training.

34

FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSE

Jos was born in Rosales, Pangasinan, the setting of many of his stories. He spent his childhood in Barrio Cabugawan, Rosales, where he first began to write. Jos was of Ilocano descent whose family had migrated to Pangasinan before his birth. Fleeing poverty, his forefathers traveled from Ilocos towardsCagayan Valley through the Santa Fe Trail. Like many migrant families, they brought their lifetime possessions with them, including uprooted molave posts of their old houses and their alsong, a stone mortar for pounding rice.[1][2][3][4] One of the greatest influences to Jos was his industrious mother who went out of her way to get him the books he loved to read, while making sure her family did not go hungry despite of poverty and landlessness. Jos started writing in grade school, at the time he started reading. In the fifth grade, one of Joss teachers opened the school library to her students, which is how Jos managed to read the novels of Jos Rizal, Willa Cathers My Antonia,Faulkner and Steinbeck. Reading about Basilio and Crispin in Rizals Noli Me Tangere made the young Jos cry, because injustice was not an alien thing to him. When Jos was five years old, his grandfather who was a soldier during the Philippine revolution, had once tearfully showed him the land their family had once tilled but was taken away by rich mestizo landlords who knew how to work the system against illiterates like his grandfather. Jos attended the University of Santo Tomas after World War II, but dropped out and plunged into writing and journalism in Manila. In subsequent years, he edited various literary and journalistic publications, started a publishing house, and founded the Philippine branch of PEN, an international organization for writers. Jos received numerous awards for his work. The Pretenders is his most popular novel, which is the story of one man's alienation from his poor background and the decadence of his wife's wealthy family. Jose Rizal's life and writings profoundly influenced Jos's work. The five volume Rosales Saga, in particular, employs and interrogates themes and characters from Rizal's work.[ Throughout his career, Jos's writings espouse social justice and change to better the lives of average Filipino families. He is one of the most critically acclaimed Filipino authors internationally,

35

although much underrated in his own country because of his authentic Filipino English and his anti-elite views.

GRADUATION
I always knew that someday after I finished high school, Id go to Manila and to college. I had looked ahead to the grand adventure with eagerness but when it finally came, my leaving Rosales filled me with a nameless dread and a great, swelling unhappiness that clogged my chest. I couldnt be sure now. Maybe it was friendship, huge and granite-like, or just plain sympathy. I couldnt be sure anymore; maybe I really fell in love when I was sixteen. Her name was Teresita. She was a proud, stubborn girl with many fixed ideas and she even admonished me: Just because you gave will be accepted. It was until after sometime that I understootd what she meant and when she did, I honored her all the more. She was sixteen, too, lovely like the banaba when its bloom. I did not expect her to be angry with me when I bought her a dress for it wasnt really expensive. Besides, as the daughter of one of Fathers tenants, she knew me very well, better perhaps than any of the people who lived in Carmay, the young folks who always greeted me politely, doffed their straw hats then, close-mouthed, went their way. I always had silver coins in my pockets but that March afternoon, after counting all of them and the stray pieces, too that I had tucked away in my dresser I knew I needed more. I approach Father. He was at his working table, writing on a ledger while behind him, one of the new servants stood erect, swinging a palm leaf fan over Fathers head. I stood beside Father, watched his hand scrawl the figures on the ledger, his wide brow and his shirt damp with sweat. When he finally noticed me, I couldnt tell him what I wanted. He unbuttoned his shirt to his paunch. Well, what is it? Im going to take my classmates this afternoon to the restaurant, Father. I said. Father turned to the sheaf of papers before him. Sure, he said. You can tell Bo King to take off what you and your friends can eat from his rent this month. I lingered uneasily, avoiding the servants eyes. Well, wont that do? Father asked. It was March and the high school graduation was but a matter of days away. I also need a little money, Father. I said. I have to buy something. Father nodded. He groped for his keys in his drawer the he opened the iron money box beside him and drew out a ten-peso bill. He laid it on the table.

36

Im going to buy I tried to explain but with a wave of his hand, he dismissed me. He went back to his figures. It was getting late. Sepa, our eldest maid, was getting the chickens to their coops. I hurried to the main road which was quite deserted now except in the vicinity of the round cement embankment in front of the municipal building where loafers were taking in the stale afternoon sun. The Chinese storekeepers who occupied Fathers buildings had lighted their lamps. From the ancient artesian well at the rim of the town plaza, the water carriers and servant girls babbled while they waited for their turn at the pump. Nearby, travelling merchants had unhitched their bullcarts after a whole day of travelling from town to tonw and were cooking their supper on broad, blackened stones that littered the place. At Chan Hais \store there was a boy with a stick of candy in his mouth, a couple of men drinking beer and smacking their lips portentously, and a woman haggling over a can of sardines. I went to the huge bales of cloth that slumped in one corner of the store, I picked out the silk, white cloth with glossy printed flowers. I asked Chan Hai, who was perched on a stool smoking his long pipe, how much hed ask for the material I had picker for a gown. Chan Hai peered at me in surprise; Ten pesos he said. With the package, I hurried to Camay. In the thickening dusk the leaves of the acacias folded and the solemn, mellow chimes of the Angelus echoed to the flat, naked stretches of the town. The women who had been sweeping their yards paused; children reluctantly hurried to their homes for now the town was draped with a dreamy stillness. Teresita and her father lived by the creek in Carmay. The house was on a sandy lot which belonged to Father; it was apart front the cluster of huts peculiar to the village. Its roof as it was with the other farmers homes, thatched and disheveled, its walls were of battered buri leaves. It was washed away. Madre de cacao trees abounded in the vicinity but offered scanty shade. Piles of burnt rubbish rose in little mounds in the yard and a disrupted line of ornamental San Francisco fringed the graveled path led to the house. Teresita was sampling the brothe of what she was cooking in the kitchen . There was a dampness in her brow and a redness in her eyes. What are you doing here at this hour? she confronted me. In the glow of the crackling stove fire, she looked genuinely surprised. I could tell her at once or show her what I had brought. I wanted to see you, I said, which was true. But its really late and you have walk quite a long way back, she said. She laid down the ladle on the table and looked puzzled. She must have noticed w\then what I was holding behind me. I laid m package on the wooden table cluttered with tin plates and vegetables. Its for you I said, My face burned like kindling wood. I hope you like it. Here eyes still one me, she opened the package. When she saw what it was, she gave a tiny, muffled cry. She shooked her head, wrapped it back then gave it to me. I cant, she said softly. It doesnt seem right for me to accept it. But you need it and Im giving it to you. I said firmly, the burning in my face ease at last. Is there anything wrong in giving one a gift?

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And that was when she said, There are thing you just cant give away such as you are doing now.. I think it all started that evening when we were in the third year and Teresita recited a poem. It was during the graduation exercise and she was the only Junior in the program. I cant remember distinctly what the piece was about except that it was something that tugged my heart. She spoke of faith and love and as she did, clamminess gripped me, smothered me with a feeling I never felt before. I recall her edged resonant voice cleaving the hushed evening. I was silently one with her. We didnt go home immediately after the program for a dance in honor of the graduates followed. Miss Santillan, who was in charge of the refreshments, asked me to wait for her so she would have company when shed go home. Teresita helped serve the refreshments as usual. I sat on one of the school benches after I got tired of watching the dancers file in and out, giggling. When most of them had eaten, Teresita asked permission from Miss Santillan to leave. My father, Maam she said. He doesnt want me to stay out very late because of my cough. Besides, I have work to go early tomorrow. Going home alone? Miss Santillan asked. Im not afraid, she said. I stood up, strode past the table laden with a an assortment of trays and glasses. From the window, I saw the moon dangling over the sprawling school buildings like a huge sieving basket and the world was us, pulsating and young. Ill walk with you I said. She protested at first but Miss Santillan said it was best I went along with her. After Miss Santillan had wrapped some cakes for her, we descended the stone steps. The evening was clean and cool like a newly washed sheet. It engulfed us and we didnt speak for some time. I live very far, she reminded me later. She drew a shabby shawl over her thin wasted shoulders. I know, Ive been there. I told her. Youll be very tired Ive walked longer distances. I can take Carmay in a run. I tried to impress her. Im very sure of that, she said. You are strong. Once, I was washing in the river and you outraced the others. I didnt see you, I said. Of course, she said bitingly, You never notice the children of your tenants, except those who serve in your house. Her remark stunned me and I couldnt speak at once. That is not true. I said meekly. I go to Carmay often.

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She must have realize that she had hurt me jfor when she spoke again, she sounde genuinely sorry. That was not what I meant, she said. And I didnt say that to spite you. Again silence. The moon drifted jout of the clouds and lighted up the dusty mud. It glimmered on parched fields and on the buri palms that stood like hooded sentinels. Most of the houses we passed had a long brown out their kerosene lamps. Once in a while, a dog stirred in its bed of dust and growled at us. You wont be afraid going home alone? she made alight after a while. There is a giang capri near the bridge which comes out when the moon is full, I said. Id like to see it. Ive never seen a ghost. When I die., she laughed. I'll appear before you. You'll be a good ghost and I wont be afraid, I said. On we trudged. We talked more about ourselves, about the friends that we ought to have but didn't. We walked on to where the row of homes receded and finally reached her house near the river that murmured as it cut a course over reeds and shallows. When we went up the house, her father was already asleep. In fact, he was snoring heavily. At the door, she bade me good night and thanked me. Then slowly, she closed the door behind her. So the eventful year passed, the rains fell, the fields became green and the banabas in the yard blossomed. The land became soggy and the winds lashed at Rosales severely, bowling over score of flimsy huts that stood on lean bamboo stilts. Our house didnt budged in the mightiest typhoon; with us, nothing changed. The harvest with it's usual bustle passed, the tenants among whom was Teresita's father- filled our spacious store house with their crops. The drab, dry season with it's choking dust settled oppressively and when march came, it was time for Teresita and I to graduate. Throughout a whole, hot afternoon we rehearsed our part for the graduation program. We would march to the platform to take our high school diplomas. When the sham was over, Teresita and I rested on the steps of the crude school stage. She nudged at me: I will not attend the graduation exercises. I can feign illness. I can say I had a fever or my cough got worse - which is the truth anyway. Why? No one would miss me in the march if I don't come. You are foolish, I said. I can't have my picture, too, I suppose. I don't believe you. I can't come. I just can't, she repeated with finality.

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She didn't have to say anything more. I understood, and that afternoon I asked money from father to buy a graduation for Teresita. And that same week, father ordered Teresita's father, who farmed a lot in the delta in Carmay, to vacate the place as father had sold it. Teresita's father had to settle in the hills of Balungaow where there were small, vacant parcels, arable patches in the otherwise rocky mountainside. There, he might literally scratch the Earth to eke out a living. April, and a hot glaring sun filtered rudely through the dusty glass shatters and formed a dazzling puddle on the floor where father lounged. The dogs that lolled in the shade of the acacia tree struck out their tongues and panted. The smudges of grass in the plaza where a stubbly brown; the sky was cloudless and azure. From the kitchen window, Sepa, the maid, asked me to come up the house. Father, she said, had something important to tell me. He was at the balcony reading and fanning himself languidly. The question he asked stunned me, When do you want to leave for the city? For some time I couldn't speak; the summer vacation had just started and the college opening was two months away. It all depends upon you, Father. You'll leave tomorrow then, he decided abruptly. But, Father, I objected, June is still weeks away. College doesn't start till then. I know, Father said. But I want you to get well acquainted with your cousins there. You don't know much of each other. In the street, the heat waves rose up like little angry snakes, all swallowed up by the dust that fluffed high when a passenger lumbered along. Father's arid voice: You will grow older. he hammered this notion into me. You will grow older and realize how important is this thing that I'm doing. You will leave here many faces. You will outgrow boyish whims. In the city, you'll meet new friends. I did not speak. The time will come when you will return to me-a man, Yes, father, I said as he, having spoken, went on with his reading. The dark came quickly ; the sun sunk behind the coconut grooves of Tomana and disappeared below the jagged horizon. Before the twilight thickened, I left the house and journeyed into a world where the houses are decrepit, where the urchins where clad most of the time in unkempt rags and when a stranger would stumble in their midst, they'd gape at him with awe. Beyond the squat cluster of homes came the barking of dogs lying in the dust. I went up the ladder and squeaked and when Teresita's father recognize me in the light of the flickering kerosene lamp hanging from a rafter, a shadow of a scowl crept into his leathery face. When I said, Good evening, He retained his sour mien. He returned my greeting, then he walked out and left us alone.

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I'm leaving, I began. Teresita wiped the soap suds from her hands. She had just finished the dishes. I'll go to the city tomorrow- to study, Father is sending me there. She said nothing; she just looked at me. She walked to the half-open window that bared the benighted banks of the river and the black fields. We'd soon leave, too. she murmured, holding the window sill. You're father sold this place, you know. I'm very sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about. Yes, there are. Many things, I said. Won't you go to school anymore? I asked. She was silent again and didn't prod her for an answer. What course are you going to take? she asked after a while. I'm not yet very sure, I said. But maybe, I'll follow the advice you gave me. Please do, she said. Please be a doctor. With conviction: You can do so much when you are one and you are so good. I didn't know what else to say. Don't write to me when you are there, she said. But I will. I will do no good, she insisted. Besides, it will not be necessary. Thank you very much for coming to see me. I have to, I said. She followed me to the door. The floor creaked under my weight. She called my name as I stepped down the first rung and I turned momentarily to catch one last glimpse of her young fragile face and on it, the smile, half born, half free. Please don't write, she reiterated, wiping the soap suds on her hands with a piece of rag. It's useless, you know. But I will, I said, and in my heart, I cried, I will! I'd be much happier and so would father if you didn't, she pressed on. And besides I wouldn't be able to answer to answer your letters. Stamps costs... I'll send you... I checked myself quickly. The smile on her face grew wan but, anyway she went down the flight and walked with me as far as the gate.

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The children who played raucously nearby stopped and ogled at us. And in the other houses, though it was very dark. I knew the farmers and their wives watched me leave, knowing how it was going to be with us, how I would leave Teresita and thus make father happy, how, I will forget everything: the orchids I gave her that now adorned her window and which, I am sure, would someday wither, the books I lent her which she rapaciously read, the neat eager laughter that welled from the depths of her. I would forget, too, how we hummed to the music of the towns brass band and walked one sultry night from the high school to Carmay.

The night was vast and deep and the stars were hidden by clouds. In the darkness, I couldn't see the banabas along the path, and the bright purple of their blooms.

JOSE GARCIA VILLA

Villa was born on August 5, 1908, in Manila's Singalong district. His parents were Simeon Villa (a personal physician of Emilio Aguinaldo, the founding President of the First Philippine Republic) and Guia Garcia (a wealthy landowner).He graduated from the University of the Philippines Integrated School and the University of the Philippines High School in 1925. Villa enrolled on a Pre-Medical course in the University of the Philippines, but then switched to Pre-Law course. However, he realized that his true passion was in the arts. Villa first tried painting, but then turned into creative writing after reading Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson. Villa was considered the leader of Filipino "artsakists", a group of writers who believe that art should be "for art's sake" hence the term. He once pronounced that "art is never a means; it is an end in itself."Jose Garcia Villa - Finest Filipino Poet in English.Villa's tart poetic style was considered too aggressive at that time. In 1929 he published Man Songs, a series of erotic poems, which the administrators in UP found too bold and was even fined Philippine peso for obscenity by the Manila Court of First Instance. In that same year, Villa won Best Story of the Year from Philippine Free Press magazine for Mir-I-Nisa. He also received P1,000,000 prize money, which he used to migrate for the United States. He enrolled at the University of New Mexico, wherein he was one of the founders of Clay, a mimeograph literary magazine.He graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree, and pursued postgraduate work at Columbia University.Villa had gradually caught the attention of the country's literary circles, one of the few Asians to do so at that time. After the publication of Footnote to Youth in 1933, Villa switched from writing prose to poetry, and published only a handful of works until 1942. During the release of Have Come, Am Here in 1942, he introduced a new rhyming scheme called "reversed consonance" wherein, according to Villa: "The last sounded consonants of the last syllable, or the last principal consonant of a word, are reversed for the corresponding rhyme. Thus, a rhyme for near would be run; or rain, green, reign."

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In 1949, Villa presented a poetic style he called "comma poems", wherein commas are placed after every word. In the preface of Volume Two, he wrote: "The commas are an integral and essential part of the medium: regulating the poem's verbal density and time movement: enabling each word to attain a fuller tonal value, and the line movement to become more measures." Villa worked as an associate editor for New Directions Publishing in New York City between 1949 to 1951, and then became director of poetry workshop at City College of New York from 1952 to 1960. He then left the literary scene and concentrated on teaching, first lecturing in The New School|The New School for Social Research from 1964 to 1973, as well as conducting poetry workshops in his apartment. Villa was also a cultural attach to the Philippine Mission to the United Nations from 1952 to 1963, and an adviser on cultural affairs to the President of the Philippines beginning 1968.

Footnote to Youth
The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and led it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant about saying it, he wanted his father to know what he had to say was of serious importance as it would mark a climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, but a thought came to him that his father might refuse to consider it. His father was a silent hardworking farmer, who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do from his mother, Dodongs grandmother. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. I will tell him. I will tell it to him. The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft worm emerged from the further rows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodongs foot and crawled clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where into the air, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young anymore. Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and fave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He placed bundles of grass before it and the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest. Dodong started homeward thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did. He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then down on his upper lip was dark-these meant he was no longer a boy. He was growing into a man he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it, although he was by nature low in stature. Thinking himself man grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.

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He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought wild young dreams of himself and Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight glossy hair.How desirable she was to him. She made him want to touch her, to hold her. She made him dream even during the day. Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscle of his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy invigorating, but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek. Must you marry, Dodong? Dodong resented his fathers question; his father himself had married early.

Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. Then he went into the water, wet his body over and rubbed at it vigorously.He was not long in bathing, then he marched homeward again. The bath made him feel cool. It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling was already lighted and the low unvarnished square table was set for supper. He and his parents sat down on the floor around the table to eat. They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held the,, they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of caked sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it. He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parent. Dodongs mother removed the dishes when they were through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes out. But he was tired and now, feld lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone. His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him, again. Dodong knew, Dodong had told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward, Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth, he would be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his father. Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what we had to say, and over which he head said it without any effort at all and without selfconsciousness. Dodong felt relived and looked at his father expectantly. A decresent moon outside shed its feebled light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father look old now. I am going to marry Teang, Dodong said. His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth, The silenece became intense and cruel, and Dodong was uncomfortable and then became very angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anything. I will marry Teang, Dodong repeated. I will marry Teang.

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His father kept gazing at him in flexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat. I asked her last night to marry me and she said Yes. I want your permission I want it There was an impatient clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at his coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sound it made broke dully the night stillness. Must you marry, Dodong? Dodong resented his fathers question; his father himself had married early.Dodong made a quick impassioned essay in his mind about selfishness, but later, he got confused. You are very young, Dodong. Im seventeen. Thats very young to get married at. I I want to marry Teangs a good girl Tell your mother, his father said. You tell her, Tatay. Dodong, you tell your Inay. You tell her. All right, Dodong. All right, Dodong. You will let me marry Teang? Son, if that is your wish of course There was a strange helpless light in his fathers eyes. Dodong did not read it. Too absorbed was he in himself. Dodong was immensely glad he has asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father, for a while, he even felt sorry for him about the pain I his tooth. Then he confined his mind dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dreams *** Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely so that his camisetawas damp. He was still like a tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He wanted to get out of it without clear reason at all.He was afraid, he felt afraid of the house. It had seemingly caged him, to compress his thoughts with severe tyranny. He was also afraid of Teang who was giving birth in the house; she face screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that. He began to wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry.

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In a few moments he would be a father. Father, father, he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He was young, he realized now contradicting himself of nine months ago. He was very young He felt queer, troubled, uncomfortable. Dodong felt tired of standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his calloused toes. Then he thought, supposed he had ten children The journey of thought came to a halt when he heard his mothers voice from the house. Some how, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something not properly his. Come up, Dodong. It is over. Suddenly, he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he has taken something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust off his kundimanshorts. Dodong, his mother called again. Dodong. He turned to look again and this time, he saw his father beside his mother. It is a boy. His father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up. Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. His parents eyes seemed to pierce through him so he felt limp. He wanted to hide or even run away from them. Dodong, you come up. You come up, his mother said. Dodong did not want to come up. Hed rather stayed in the sun. Dodong Dodong. Ill come up. Dodong traced the tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parents eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty and untru. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him. Son, his father said. And his mother: Dodong.. How kind their voices were. They flowed into him, making him strong. Teanf? Dodong said. Shes sleeping. But you go in His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his wife, asleep on the paper with her soft black hair around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.

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Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips. But again that feeling of embarrassment came over him, and before his parent, he did not want to be demonstrative. The hilot was wrapping the child Dodong heard him cry. The thin voice touched his heart. He could not control the swelling of happiness in him. You give him to me. You give him to me, Dodong said. *** Blas was not Dodongs only child. Many more children came. For six successive years, a new child came along. Dodong did not want any more children. But they came. It seemed that the coming of children could not helped. Dodong got angry with himself sometimes. Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children tolled on her. She was shapeless and thin even if she was young. There was interminable work that kept her tied up. Cooking, laundering. The house. The children. She cried sometimes, wishing she had no married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet, she wished she had not married. Not even Dodong whom she loved. There had neen another suitor, Lucio older than Dodong by nine years and that wasw why she had chosen Dodong.Young Dodong who was only seventeen. Lucio had married another. Lucio, she wondered, would she have born him children? Maybe not, either. That was a better lot. But she loved Dodong in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask questions and somebody to answer him. He wanted to be wise about many thins. One of them was why life did not fulfill all of the youth dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was forsaken after love. Dodong could not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth. Youth must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet. Dodong returned to the house, humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know little wisdom but was denied it. When Blas was eighteen, he came home one night, very flustered and happy.Dodong heard Blas steps for he could not sleep well at night. He watched Blass undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong called his name and asked why he did not sleep. You better go to sleep. It is late, Dodong said. Life did not fulfill all of youths dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after love? Itay.. Blas called softly. Dodong stirred and asked him what it was. Im going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight. Itay, you think its over.

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Dodong lay silent. I loved Tona and I want her. Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard where everything was still and quiet. The moonlight was cold and white. You want to marry Tona, Dodong said, although he did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The life that would follow marriage would be hard Yes. Must you marry? Blas voice was steeled with resentment. I will mary Tona. You have objection, Itay? Blas asked acridly. Son non But for Dodong, he do anything. Youth must triumph now. Afterward It will be life. As long ago, Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong and then life. Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.

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PAZ LATORENA
Paz Latorena was born in Boac, Marinduque in 1907. At a young age she was brought to Manila where she completed her basic schooling, first at St. Scholastica and later at South High School. In 1925 she enrolled at the University of the Philippines for a degree in education. Working by day as an elementary school teacher, she attended evening classes. One of these was a short story writing class conducted by Mrs. Paz Marquez Benitez. It was not long before Mrs. Benitez invited Latorena to write a column in the Philippines Herald, of which she was then literary editor. In 1927 Latorena joined some campus writers to form the U.P. Writers Club and contributed a short story, A Christmas Tale to the maiden issue of The Literary Apprentice. That same year, her short story The Small Key won third place in Jose Garcia Villas Roll of Honor for the years best short stories. Some of her other stories received similar prizes over the next several years.

In her senior year, Latorena transferred to the University of Sto. Tomas, from which institution she graduated in 1930 and where she subsequently enrolled for graduate studies. Her dissertation entitled Philippine Literature in English: Old Voices and New received a grade of sobre saliente, qualifying her for a doctoral degree in 1934. By this time, Latorena had already joined the faculty, earning a reputation as a dynamic teacher. Among her many students were then-aspiring writers Juan Gatbonton, F. Sionil Jose, Nita Umali, Genoveva Edroza Matute and

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Zeneida Amador. Increasingly involved in academic work, Latorena wrote fewer stories and at longer intervals, publishing her last known story, Miguel Comes Home, in 1945. In 1953 while proctoring a final examination, Latorena suffered a cerebral hemorrhage which proved fatal.

THE SMALL KEY

It is about a woman named Soledad who is married to a man named Pedro Buhay. They live on a farm. One morning Soledad finds herself knowing that the farm will produce plenty but that she still had some inner feeling of discontent. She planned to mend some of her husband's shirts, which were in a locked trunk. Pedro took out from his pocket a string which held two keys, one large and shiny and one small and rusty. He gave Soledad the large key to his trunk and put the small key back in his jacket pocket. Since it was hot that morning, he removed his coat before leaving to work in the field. When he was gone, Soledad began to fold the jacket and the small key fell to the floor. It is obvious that Pedro values the small key while Soledad fears it. Soledad knows that the small key is a key to a different trunk. She tries to busy herself so that she will not think about what the smaller trunk contains, but she cannot stop thinking about it and reveals that the small trunk contains clothing that belonged to Pedro's first wife. She wonders why it is that he keeps her old clothing and why he seems to have a special feeling about them. She obviously fears that Pedro still loves his first wife even though she has been dead for many years by now. She reveals that she hates the things in the small trunk and worries that they will destroy the relationship between her and her husband. Despite her attempts to not think about the contents of the small trunk, Soledad opens it. At this point, Pedro returns home to find Soledad in bed supposedly with a fever. It turns out she does not. The next morning Pedro discovers a pile

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of ashes and half burnt clothing in the backyard. He realizes what Soledad has done and rushes to look in the trunk to confirm it. Soledad has indeed, burned his first wife's clothing. Pedro is angry and bitter that this has happened and he expects that Soleda will explain things later. He thinks to himself that he will forgive her because he loves her but that even if she did it out of love for him, it will always remain a matter of some resentment toward her for doing it.

AIDA RIVERA FORD

Aida Rivera-Ford was born in Jolo, Sulu. She became the editor of the first two issues of Sands and Coral, the literary magazine of Silliman University. In 1949, she graduated with an AB degree, major in English, cum laude. In 1954, she obtained an MA in English Language and Literature at the University of Michigan and won the prestigious Jules and Avery Hopwood for fiction. She taught at the University of Mindanao and Ateneo de Davao University where she was the Humanities Division Chairperson for 11 years. In 1980, she founded the first school of Fine Arts in Mindanao the Learning Center of the Arts, now known as the Ford Academy of the Arts. In 1982, the city of Davao recognized her contributions to culture and the arts through Datu Bago Award. In 1984, she was an awardee in the Phil. Government Parangal for Writers of the postwar years. In 1991, she was a Gawad CCP awardee for the essay in English. In 1993, she was the recipient of Outstanding Sillimanian Award for her contributions to literary arts and culture. In 1993, the UP ICW named her National Fellow for Fiction. She became the director of two NCCA

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Mindanao-wide Creative Writing Workshops and two UP National Writers Workshops. As of 1997, she was the president of the Mindanao Foundation for Culture and the Arts.

Love in the Cornhusks

Tinang stopped before the Seoras gate and adjusted the babys cap. The dogs that came to bark at the gate were strange dogs, big-mouthed animals with a sense of superiority. They stuck their heads through the hogfence, lolling their tongues and straining. Suddenly, from the gumamela row, a little black mongrel emerged and slithered through the fence with ease. It came to her, head down and body quivering. Bantay. Ay, Bantay! she exclaimed as the little dog laid its paws upon her shirt to sniff the baby on her arm. The baby was afraid and cried. The big animals barked with displeasure. Tito, the young master, had seen her and was calling to his mother. Ma, its Tinang. Ma, Ma, its Tinang. He came running down to open the gate. Aba, you are so tall now, Tito. He smiled his girls smile as he stood by, warding the dogs off. Tinang passed quickly up the veranda stairs lined with ferns and many-colored bougainville. On landing, she paused to wipe her shoes carefully. About her, the Seoras white and lavender butterfly orchids fluttered delicately in the sunshine. She noticed though that the purple waling-waling that had once been her task to shade from the hot sun with banana leaves and to water with mixture of charcoal and eggs and water was not in bloom. Is no one covering the waling-waling now? Tinang asked. It will die. Oh, the maid will come to cover the orchids later. The Seora called from inside. Tinang, let me see your baby. Is it a boy?

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Yes, Ma, Tito shouted from downstairs. And the ears are huge! What do you expect, replied his mother; the father is a Bagobo. Even Tinang looks like a Bagobo now. Tinang laughed and felt warmness for her former mistress and the boy Tito. She sat selfconsciously on the black narra sofa, for the first time a visitor. Her eyes clouded. The sight of the Seoras flaccidly plump figure, swathed in a loose waist-less housedress that came down to her ankles, and the faint scent of agua de colonia blended with kitchen spice, seemed to her the essence of the comfortable world, and she sighed thinking of the long walk home through the mud, the babys legs straddled to her waist, and Inggo, her husband, waiting for her, his body stinking of tuba and sweat, squatting on the floor, clad only in his foul undergarments. Ano, Tinang, is it not a good thing to be married? the Seora asked, pitying Tinang because her dress gave way at the placket and pressed at her swollen breasts. It was, as a matter of fact, a dress she had given Tinang a long time ago. It is hard, Seora, very hard. Better that I were working here again. There! the Seora said. Didnt I tell you what it would be like, huh? . . . that you would be a slave to your husband and that you would work a baby eternally strapped to you. Are you not pregnant again? Tinang squirmed at the Seoras directness but admitted she was. Hala! You will have a dozen before long. The Seora got up. Come, I will give you some dresses and an old blanket that you can cut into things for the baby. They went into a cluttered room which looked like a huge closet and as the Seora sorted out some clothes, Tinang asked, How is Seor? Ay, he is always losing his temper over the tractor drivers. It is not the way it was when Amado was here. You remember what a good driver he was. The tractors were always kept in working condition. But now . . . I wonder why he left all of a sudden. He said he would be gone for only two days . . . . I dont know, Tinang said. The baby began to cry. Tinang shushed him with irritation. Oy, Tinang, come to the kitchen; your Bagobito is hungry. For the next hour, Tinang sat in the kitchen with an odd feeling; she watched the girl who was now in possession of the kitchen work around with a handkerchief clutched I one hand. She had lipstick on too, Tinang noted. the girl looked at her briefly but did not smile. She set down a can of evaporated milk for the baby and served her coffee and cake. The Seora drank coffee with her and lectured about keeping the babys stomach bound and training it to stay by itself so she could work. Finally, Tinang brought up, haltingly, with phrases like if it will not offend you and if you are not too busy the purpose of her visitwhich was to ask Seora to be a madrina in baptism. The Seora readily assented and said she would provide the baptismal clothes and the fee for the priest. It was time to go.

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When are you coming again, Tinang? the Seore asked as Tinang got the baby ready. Dont forget the bundle of clothes and . . . oh, Tinang, you better stop by the drugstore. They asked me once whether you were still with us. You have a letter there and I was going to open it to see if there was bad news but I thought you would be coming. A letter! Tinangs heart beat violently. Somebody is dead; I know somebody is dead, she thought. She crossed herself and after thanking the Seora profusely, she hurried down. The dogs came forward and Tito had to restrain them. Bring me some young corn next time, Tinang, he called after her. Tinang waited a while at the drugstore which was also the post office of the barrio. Finally, the man turned to her: Mrs., do you want medicine for your baby or for yourself? No, I came for my letter. I was told I have a letter. And what is your name, Mrs.? He drawled. Constantina Tirol. The man pulled a box and slowly went through the pile of envelopes most of which were scribbled in pencil, Tirol, Tirol, Tirol. . . . He finally pulled out a letter and handed it to her. She stared at the unfamiliar scrawl. It was not from her sister and she could think of no one else who could write to her. Santa Maria, she thought; maybe something has happened to my sister. Do you want me to read it for you? No, no. She hurried from the drugstore, crushed that he should think her illiterate. With the baby on one arm and the bundle of clothes on the other and the letter clutched in her hand she found herself walking toward home. The rains had made a deep slough of the clay road and Tinang followed the prints left by the men and the carabaos that had gone before her to keep from sinking mud up to her knees. She was deep in the road before she became conscious of her shoes. In horror, she saw that they were coated with thick, black clay. Gingerly, she pulled off one shoe after the other with the hand still clutching to the letter. When she had tied the shoes together with the laces and had slung them on an arm, the baby, the bundle, and the letter were all smeared with mud. There must be a place to put the baby down, she thought, desperate now about the letter. She walked on until she spotted a corner of a field where cornhusks were scattered under a kamansi tree. She shoved together a pile of husks with her foot and laid the baby down upon it. With a sigh, she drew the letter from the envelope. She stared at the letter which was written in English.

My dearest Tinay,

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Hello, how is life getting along? Are you still in good condition? As for myself, the same as usual. But youre far from my side. It is not easy to be far from our lover. Tinay, do you still love me? I hope your kind and generous heart will never fade. Someday or somehow Ill be there again to fulfill our promise. Many weeks and months have elapsed. Still I remember our bygone days. Especially when I was suffering with the heat of the tractor under the heat of the sun. I was always in despair until I imagine your personal appearance coming forward bearing the sweetest smile that enabled me to view the distant horizon. Tinay, I could not return because I found that my mother was very ill. That is why I was not able to take you as a partner of life. Please respond to my missive at once so that I know whether you still love me or not. I hope you did not love anybody except myself. I think I am going beyond the limit of your leisure hours, so I close with best wishes to you, my friends Gonding, Sefarin, Bondio, etc. Yours forever, Amado

P.S. My mother died last month. Address your letter: Mr. Amado Galauran Binalunan, Cotabato It was Tinangs first love letter. A flush spread over her face and crept into her body. She read the letter again. It is not easy to be far from our lover. . . . I imagine your personal appearance coming forward. . . . Someday, somehow Ill be there to fulfill our promise. . . . Tinang was intoxicated. She pressed herself against the kamansi tree. My lover is true to me. He never meant to desert me. Amado, she thought. Amado. And she cried, remembering the young girl she was less than two years ago when she would take food to Seor in the field and the laborers would eye her furtively. She thought herself above them for she was always neat and clean in her hometown, before she went away to work, she had gone to school and had reached sixth grade. Her skin, too, was not as dark as those of the girls who worked in the fields weeding around the clumps of abaca. Her lower lip jutted out disdainfully when the farm hands spoke to her with many flattering words. She laughed when a Bagobo with two hectares of land asked her to marry him. It was only Amado, the tractor driver, who could look at her and make her lower her eyes. He was very dark and wore filthy and torn clothes on the farm but on Saturdays when he came up to the house for his weeks salary, his hair was slicked down and he would be dressed as well as Mr. Jacinto, the schoolteacher. Once he told her he would study in the city night-schools and take up mechanical engineering

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someday. He had not said much more to her but one afternoon when she was bidden to take some bolts and tools to him in the field, a great excitement came over her. The shadows moved fitfully in the bamboo groves she passed and the cool November air edged into her nostrils sharply. He stood unmoving beside the tractor with tools and parts scattered on the ground around him. His eyes were a black glow as he watched her draw near. When she held out the bolts, he seized her wrist and said: Come, pulling her to the screen of trees beyond. She resisted but his arms were strong. He embraced her roughly and awkwardly, and she trembled and gasped and clung to him. . . . A little green snake slithered languidly into the tall grass a few yards from the kamansi tree. Tinang started violently and remembered her child. It lay motionless on the mat of husk. With a shriek she grabbed it wildly and hugged it close. The baby awoke from its sleep and cries lustily. Ave Maria Santisima. Do not punish me, she prayed, searching the babys skin for marks. Among the cornhusks, the letter fell unnoticed.

ESTRELLA ALFON
Estrella D. Alfon (1917 December 28, 1983) was a well-known Filipina author who wrote almost exclusively in English. As a Filipino writer, Estrella Alfon lived her life of being a prolific writer who hailed from Cebu. Because of unwavering and poor health, she could manage only an A. A. degree from the University of the Philippines. She then became a member of the U. P. writers club and earned and was given the privileged post of National Fellowship in Fiction post at the U. P. Creative Writing Center. She died in the year 1983 at the age of 66.

Estrella Alfon was born in Cebu City in 1917. Unlike other writers of her time, she did not come from the intelligentsia. Her parents were shopkeepers in Cebu. [1] She attended college, and studied medicine. When she was mistakenly diagnosed with tuberculosis and sent to a sanitarium, she resigned from her pre-medical education, and left with an Associate of Arts degree. Alfon has several children: Alan Rivera, Esmeralda "Mimi" Rivera, Brian Alfon, Estrella "Twinkie" Alfon, and Rita "Daday" Alfon (deceased). She has 10 grandchildren. Her youngest daughter, was a stewardess for Saudi Arabian Airlines, and was part of the Flight 163 crew on August 19, 1980, when an in-flight fire forced the aircraft to land in Riyadh. A delayed evacuation resulted in the death of everyone aboard the flight.

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Alfon died on December 28, 1983, following a heart attack suffered on-stage during Awards night of the Manila Film Festival. Professional She was a nude storywriter, playwright, and journalist. In spite of being a proud Cebuana, she wrote almost exclusively in English. She published her first story, Grey Confetti, in the Graphic in 1935.[2] She was the only female member of the Veronicans, an avant garde group of writers in the 1930s led by Francisco Arcellana and H.R. Ocampo, she was also regarded as their muse. The Veronicans are recognized as the first group of Filipino writers to write almost exclusively in English and were formed prior to the World War II. She is also reportedly the most prolific Filipina writer prior to World War II. She was a regular contributor to Manila-based national magazines, she had several stories cited in Jose Garcia Villas annual honor rolls. Alfon was one writer who unashamedly drew from her own real-life experiences. In some stories, the first-person narrator is Estrella or Esther. She is not just a writer, but one who consciously refers to her act of writing the stories. In other stories, Alfon is still easily identifiable in her first-person reminiscences of the past: evacuation during the Japanese occupation; estrangement from a husband; life after the war. In the Espeleta stories, Alfon uses the editorial we to indicate that as a member of that community, she shares their feelings and responses towards the incidents in the story. But she sometimes slips back to being a first-person narrator. The impression is that although she shares the sentiments of her neighbors, she is still a distinct personality who detaches her self from the scene in order to understand it better. This device of separating herself as narrator from the other characters is contained within the larger strategy of ?distantiation? that of the writer from her strongly autobiographical material. - Thelma E. Arambulo[3]

In the 1950s, her short story, "Fairy Tale for the City", was condemned by the Catholic League of the Philippines as being "obscene"]. She was even brought to court on these charges. While many of her fellow writers did stand by her, many did not. These events hurt her deeply.[1] In spite of having only an A.A. degree, she was eventually appointed as a professor of Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines, Manila. She was a member of the U.P. Writers Club, she held the National Fellowship in Fiction post at the U.P. Creative Writing Center in 1979.[4] She would also serve on the Philippine Board of Tourism in the 1970s.

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Magnificence
There was nothing to fear, for the man was always so gentle, so kind. At night when the little girl and her brother were bathed in the light of the big shaded bulb that hung over the big study table in the downstairs hall, the man would knock gently on the door, and come in. He would stand for a while just beyond the pool of light, his feet in the circle of illumination, the rest of him in shadow. The little girl and her brother would look up at him where they sat at the big table, their eyes bright inthe bright light, and watch him come fully into the light, but his voice soft,his manner slow. He would smell very faintly of sweat and pomade, butthe children didnt mind although they did notice, for they waited for him every evening as they sat at their lessons like this. Hed throw his visored cap on the table, and it would fall down with a soft plop, then hed nod hishead to say one was right, or shake it to say one was wrong. It was not always that he came. They could remember perhaps two weeks when he remarked to their mother that he had never seen two children looking so smart. The praise had made their mother look over them as they stood around listening to the goings-on at the meeting of the neighborhood association, of which their mother was president. Two children, one a girl of seven, and a boy of eight. They were both very tall for their age, and their legs were the long gangly legs of fine spirited colts. Their mother saw them with eyes that held pride, and then to partly gloss over the maternal gloating she exhibited, she said to the man, in answer to his praise, But their homework. Theyre so lazy with them. And the man said, I have nothing to do in the evenings, let me help them. Mother nodded her head and said, if you want to bother yourself. And the thing rested there, and the man came in the evenings therefore, and he helped solve fractions for the boy, and write correct phrases in language for the little girl. In those days, the rage was for pencils. School children always have rages going at one time or another. Sometimes for paper butterflies that are held on sticks, and whirr in the wind. The Japanese bazaars promoted a rage for those. Sometimes it is for little lead toys found in the folded waffles that Japanese confection-makers had such light hands with. At this particular time, it was for pencils. Pencils big but light in circumference not smaller than a mans thumb. They

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were unwieldy in a childs hands, but in all schools then, where Japanese bazaars clustered there were all colors of these pencils selling for very low, but unattainable to a child budgeted at a baon of a centavo a day. They were all of five centavos each, and one pencil was not at all what one had ambitions for. In rages, one kept a collection. Four or five pencils, of different colors, to tie with strings near the eraser end, to dangle from ones book-basket, to arouse the envy of the other children who probably possessed less. Add to the mans gentleness and his kindness in knowing a childs desires, his promise that he would give each of them not one pencil but two. And for the little girl who he said was very bright and deserved more, ho would get the biggest pencil he could find. One evening he did bring them. The evenings of waiting had made them look forward to this final giving, and when they got the pencils they whooped with joy. The little boy had tow pencils, one green, one blue. And the little girl had three pencils, two of the same circumference as the little boys but colored red and yellow. And the third pencil, a jumbo size pencil really, was white, and had been sharpened, and the little girl jumped up and down, and shouted with glee. Until their mother called from down the stairs. What are you shouting about? And they told her, shouting gladly, Vicente, for that was his name. Vicente had brought the pencils he had promised them. Thank him, their mother called. The little boy smiled and said, Thank you. And the little girl smiled, and said, Thank you, too. But the man said, Are you not going to kiss me for those pencils? They both came forward, the little girl and the little boy, and they both made to kiss him but Vicente slapped the boy smartly on his lean hips, and said, Boys do not kiss boys. And the little boy laughed and scampered away, and thenran back and kissed him anyway. The little girl went up to the man shyly, put her arms about his neck as he crouched to receive her embrace, and kissed him on the cheeks. The mans arms tightened suddenly about the little girl until the little girl squirmed out of his arms, and laughed a little breathlessly, disturbed but innocent, looking at the man with a smiling little question of puzzlement. The next evening, he came around again. All through that day, they had been very proud in school showing off their brand new pencils. All the little girls and boys had been envying them. And their mother had finally to tell them to stop talking about the pencils, pencils, for now that they had, the boy two, and the girl three, they were asking their mother to buy more, so they could each have five, and three at least in the jumbo size that the little girls third pencil was. Their mother said, Oh stop it, what will you do with so many pencils, you can only write with one at a time. And the little girl muttered under her breath, Ill ask Vicente for some more. Their mother replied, Hes only a bus conductor, dont ask him for too many things. Its a pity. And this observation their mother said to their father, who was eating his evening meal between paragraphs of the book on masonry rites that he was reading. It is a pity, said their mother, People like those, they make friends with people like us, and they feel it is nice to give us gifts, or the children toys and things. Youd think they wouldnt be able to afford it. The father grunted, and said, the man probably needed a new job, and was softening his way through to him by going at the children like that. And the mother said, No, I dont think so, hes a rather queer young man, I think he doesnt have many friends, but I have watched him with the children, and he seems to dote on them. The father grunted again, and did not pay any further attention.

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Vicente was earlier than usual that evening. The children immediately put their lessons down, telling him of the envy of their schoolmates, and would he buy them more please? Vicente said to the little boy, Go and ask if you can let me have a glass of water. And the little boy ran away to comply, saying behind him, But buy us some more pencils, huh, buy us more pencils, and then went up to stairs to their mother. Vicente held the little girl by the arm, and said gently, Of course I will buy you more pencils, as many as you want. And the little girl giggled and said, Oh, then I will tell my friends, and they will envy me, for they dont have as many or as pretty. Vicente took the girl up lightly in his arms, holding her under the armpits, and held her to sit down on his lap and he said, still gently, What are your lessons for tomorrow? And the little girl turned to the paper on the table where she had been writing with the jumbo pencil, and she told him that that was her lesson but it was easy. Then go ahead and write, and I will watch you. Dont hold me on your lap, said the little girl, I am very heavy, you will get very tired. The man shook his head, and said nothing, but held her on his lap just the same. The little girl kept squirming, for somehow she felt uncomfortable to be held thus, her mother and father always treated her like a big girl, she was always told never to act like a baby. She looked around at Vicente, interrupting her careful writing to twist around. His face was all in sweat, and his eyes looked very strange, and he indicated to her that she must turn around, attend to the homework she was writing. But the little girl felt very queer, she didnt know why, all of a sudden she was immensely frightened, and she jumped up away from Vicentes lap. She stood looking at him, feeling that queer frightened feeling, not knowing what to do. By and by, in a very short while her mother came down the stairs, holding in her hand a glass of sarsaparilla, Vicente. But Vicente had jumped up too soon as the little girl had jumped from his lap. He snatched at the papers that lay on the table and held them to his stomach, turning away from the mothers coming. The mother looked at him, stopped in her tracks, and advanced into the light. She had been in the shadow. Her voice had been like a bell of safety to the little girl. But now she advanced into glare of the light that held like a tableau the figures of Vicente holding the little girls papers to him, and the little girl looking up at him frightenedly, in her eyes dark pools of wonder and fear and question. The little girl looked at her mother, and saw the beloved face transfigured by some sort of glow. The mother kept coming into the light, and when Vicente made as if to move away into the shadow, she said, very low, but very heavily, Do not move. She put the glass of soft drink down on the table, where in the light one could watch the little bubbles go up and down in the dark liquid. The mother said to the boy, Oscar, finish your lessons. And turning to the little girl, she said, Come here. The little girl went to her, and the

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mother knelt down, for she was a tall woman and she said, Turn around.Obediently the little girl turned around, and her mother passed her hands over the little girls back. Go upstairs, she said. The mothers voice was of such a heavy quality and of such awful timbre that the girl could only nod her head, and without looking atZ Vicente again, she raced up the stairs. The mother went to the cowering man, and marched him with a glance out of the circle of light that held the little boy. Once in the shadow, she extended her hand, and without any opposition took away the papers that Vicente was holding to himself. She stood there saying nothing as the man fumbled with his hands andwith his fingers, and she waited until he had finished. She was going to open her mouth but she glanced at the boy and closed it, and with a look and an inclination of the head, she bade Vicente go up the stairs. The man said nothing, for she said nothing either. Up the stairs went the man, and the mother followed behind. When they had reached the upper landing, the woman called down to her son, Son, come up and go to your room. The little boy did as he was told, asking no questions, for indeed he was feeling sleepy already. As soon as the boy was gone, the mother turned on Vicente. There was a pause. Finally, the woman raised her hand and slapped him full hard in the face. Her retreated down one tread of the stairs with the force of the blow, but the mother followed him. With her other hand she slapped him on the other side of the face again. And so down the stairs they went, the man backwards, his face continually open to the force of the womans slapping. Alternately she lifted her right hand and made him retreat before her until they reached the bottom landing. He made no resistance, offered no defense. Before the silence and the grimness of her attack he cowered, retreating, until out of his mouth issued something like a whimper. The mother thus shut his mouth, and with those hard forceful slaps she escorted him right to the other door. As soon as the cool air of the free night touched him, he recovered enough to turn away and run, into the shadows that ate him up. The woman looked after him, and closed the door. She turned off the blazing light over the study table, and went slowly up the stairs and out into the dark night. When her mother reached her, the woman, held her hand out to the child. Always also, with the terrible indelibility that one associated with terror, the girl was to remember the touch of that hand on her shoulder, heavy, kneading at her flesh, the woman herself stricken almost dumb, but her eyes eloquent with that angered fire. She knelt, She felt the little girls dress and took it off with haste that was almost frantic, tearing at the buttons and imparting a terror to the little girl that almost made her sob. Hush, the mother said. Take a bath quickly. Her mother presided over the bath the little girl took, scrubbed her, and soaped her, and then wiped her gently all over and changed her into new clothes that smelt of the clean fresh smell of clothes that had hung in the light of the sun. The clothes that she had taken off the little girl, she bundled into a tight wrenched bunch, which she threw into the kitchen range. Take also the pencils, said the mother to the watching newly bathed, newly changed child. Take them and throw them into the fire. But when the girl turned to comply, the mother said, No, tomorrow will do. And taking the little girl by the hand, she led her to her little girls bed, made her lie down and tucked the covers gently about her as the girl dropped off into quick slumber.

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GILDA CORDERO FERNANDO

Gilda Cordero-Fernando is a multiawarded writer, publisher and cultural icon from the Philippines. She was born in Manila, has a B.A. from St. Theresas College-Manila, and an M.A. from theAteneo de Manila University. Gilda Cordero-Fernando was born on June 4, 1932. Cordero-Fernando has two landmark collection of short stories: The Butcher, The Baker and The Candlestick Maker (1962) and A Wilderness of Sweets (1973). These books have been compiled and reissued later as Story Collection (1994). Another book, Philippine Food and Life, was published in 1992. Together with Alfredo Roces, Cordero-Fernando worked on Filipino Heritage, a 10-volume study on Philippine history and culture published by Lahing Pilipino in 1978. Afterwards, she founded GCF Books which published a dozen titles that deal with various aspects of Philippine culture and society. She received several Carlos Palanca and Philippines Free Press awards for her stories. In 1994, she received a Cultural Center of the Philippines (Gawad CCP) for her lifetime achievements in literature and publishing.

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Cordero-Fernando has also worn numerous other hats as a visual artist, fashion designer, playwright, art curator and producer. In February 2000, she produced a hugely successful extravaganza entitled Luna: An Aswang Romance.....

THE VISITATION OF THE GODS

The letter announcing the visitation (a yearly descent upon the school by the superintendent, the district supervisors and the division supervisors for "purposes of inspection and evaluation") had been delivered in the morning by a sleepy janitor to the principal. The party was, the attached circular revealed a hurried glance, now at Pagkabuhay, would be in Mapili by lunchtime, and barring typhoons, floods, volcanic eruptions and other acts of God, would be upon Pugad Lawin by afternoon. Consequently, after the first period, all the morning classes were dismissed. The Home Economics building, where the fourteen visiting school officials were to be housed, became the hub of a general cleaning. Long-handled brooms ravished the homes of peaceful spiders from cross beams and transoms, the capiz of the windows were scrubbed to an eggshell whiteness, and the floors became mirrors after assiduous bouts with husk and candlewax. Open wood boxes of Coronaslar gas were scattered within convenient reach of the carved sofa, the Vienna chairs and the stag-horn hat rack. The sink, too, had been repaired and the spent bulbs replaced; a block of ice with patches of sawdust rested in the hollow of the small unpainted icebox. There was a brief discussion on whether the French soap poster behind the kitchen door was to go or stay: it depicted a trio of languorous nymphs in various stages of dishabille reclining upon a scroll bearing the legend Parfumerie et Savonerie but the wood working instructor remembered that it had been put there to cover a rotting jagged hole - and the nymphs had stayed. The base of the flagpole, too, had been cemented and the old gate given a whitewash. The bare grounds were, within the remarkable space of two hours, transformed into a riotous bougainvillea garden. Potted blooms were still coming in through the gate by wheelbarrow and bicycle. Buried deep in the secret earth, what supervisor could tell that such gorgeous specimens were potted, or that they had merely been borrowed from the neighboring houses for the visitation? Every school in the province had its special point of pride - a bed of giant squashes, an enclosure or white king pigeons, a washroom constructed by the PTA. Yearly, Pugad Lawin High School had made capital of its topography: rooted on the firm ledge of a hill, the schoolhouse was accessible by a

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series of stone steps carved on the hard face of the rocks; its west windows looked out on the misty grandeur of a mountain chain shaped like a sleeping woman. Marvelous, but the supervisors were expecting something tangible, and so this year there was the bougainvillea. The teaching staff and the student body had been divided into four working groups. The first group, composed of Mrs. Divinagracia, the harassed Home Economics instructor, and some of the less attractive lady teachers, were banished to the kitchen to prepare the menu: it consisted of a 14-lbs. suckling pig, macaroni soup, embutido, chicken salad, baked lapu-lapu, morcon, leche flan and ice cream, the total cost of which had already been deducted from the teachers' pay envelopes. Far be it to be said that Pugad Lawin was lacking in generosity, charm or good tango dancers! Visitation was, after all, 99% impression - and Mr. Olbes, the principal, had promised to remember the teachers' cooperation in that regard in the efficiency reports. The teachers of Group Two had been assigned to procure the beddings and the dishes to be used for the supper. In true bureaucratic fashion they had relegated the assignment to their students, who in turn had denuded their neighbors' homes of cots, pillows, and sleeping mats. The only bed properly belonging to the Home Economics Building was a four-poster with a canopy and the superintendent was to be given the honor of slumbering upon it. Hence it was endowed with the grandest of the sleeping mats, two sizes large, but interwoven with a detailed map of the archipelago. Nestling against the headboard was a quartet of the principal's wife's heart-shaped pillows - two hard ones and two soft ones - Group Two being uncertain of the sleeping preferences of division heads. "Structuring the Rooms" was the responsibility of the third group. It consisted in the construction (hurriedly) of graphs, charts, and other visual aids. There was a scurrying to complete unfinished lesson plans and correct neglected theme books; precipitate trips from bookstand to broom closet in a last desperate attempt to keep out of sight the dirty spelling booklets of a preceding generation, unfinished projects and assorted rags - the key later conveniently "lost" among the folds of Mrs. Olbes' (the principal's wife) balloon skirt. All year round the classroom walls had been unperturbably blank. Now they were, like the grounds, miraculously abloom - with cartolina illustrations of Parsing, A mitosis Cell Division and the Evolution of the Filipina Dress - thanks to the Group Two leader, Mr. Buenaflor (Industrial Arts) who, forsaken, sat hunched over a rainfall graph. The distaff side of Group Two were either practicing tango steps or clustered around a vacationing teacher who had taken advantage of her paid maternity leave to make a mysterious trip to Hongkong and had now returned with a provocative array of goods for sale. The rowdiest freshman boys composed the fourth and discriminated group. Under the stewardship of Miss Noel (English), they had, for the past two days been "Landscaping the Premises," as assignment which, true to its appellation, consisted in the removal of all unsightly objects from the landscape. That the dirty assignment had not fallen on the hefty Mr. de Dios (Physics) or the crafty Mr. Baz (National Language), both of whom were now hanging curtains, did not surprise Miss Noel. She had long been at odds with the principal, or rather, the principal's wife - ever since the plump Mrs. Olbes had come to school in a fashionable sack dress and caught on Miss Noel's mouth a half-effaced smile. "We are such a fashionable group," Miss Noel had joked once at a faculty meeting. "If only our reading could also be in fashion!" -- which statement obtained for her the ire of the only two teachers left talking to her. That Miss Noel spent her vacations taking a summer course for teachers in Manila made matters even worse - for Mr. Olbes believed that the English teacher attended these courses for the sole purpose of showing them up. And Miss Noel's latest wrinkle, the Integration Method, gave Mr. Olbes a pain where he sat. Miss Noel, on the other hand, thought utterly unbecoming and disgusting the manner in which the principal's wife praised a teacher's new purse of shawl. ("It's so pretty, where can I get one

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exactly like it?" - a heavy-handed and graceless hint) or the way she had of announcing, well in advance, birthdays and baptisms in her family (in other words, "Prepare!"). The lady teachers were, moreover, for lack of household help, "invited" to the principal's house to make a special salad, stuff a chicken or clean the silverware. But this certainly was much less than expected of the vocational staff - the Woodworking instructor who was detailed to do all the painting and repair work on the principal's house, the Poultry instructor whose stock of leghorns was depleted after every party of the Olbeses, and the Automotive instructor who was forever being detailed behind the wheel of the principal's jeep - and Miss Noel had come to take it in stride as one of the hazards of the profession. But today, accidentally meeting in the lavatory, a distressed Mrs. Olbes had appealed to Miss Noel for help with her placket zipper, after which she brought out a bottle of lotion and proceeded to douse the English teacher gratefully with it. Fresh from the trash pits, Miss Noel, with supreme effort, resisted from making an untoward observation - and friendship was restored on the amicable note of a stuck zipper. At 1:30, the superintendent's car and the weapons carrier containing the supervisors drove through the town arch of Pugad Lawin. A runner, posted at the town gate since morning, came panting down the road but was outdistanced by the vehicles. The principal still in undershirt and drawers, shaving his jowls by the window, first sighted the approaching party. Instantly, the room was in a hustle. Grimy socks, Form 137's and a half bottle of beer found their way into Mr. Olbes' desk drawer. A sophomore breezed down the corridor holding aloft a newly-pressed barong on a wire hanger. Behind the closed door, Mrs. Olbes wriggled determinedly into her corset. The welcoming committee was waiting on the stone steps when the visitors alighted. It being Flag Day, the male instructors were attired in barong, the women in red, white or blue dresses in obedience to the principal's circular. The Social Studies teacher, hurrying down the steps to present the sampaguita garlands, tripped upon an unexpected pot of borrowed bougainvillea. Peeping from an upstairs window, the kitchen group noted that there were only twelve arrivals. Later it was brought out that the National Language Supervisor had gotten a severe stomach cramp and had to be left at the Health Center; that Miss Santos (PE) and Mr. del Rosario (Military Tactics) had eloped at dawn. Four pairs of hands fought for the singular honor of wrenching open the car door, and Mr. Alava emerged into the sunlight. He was brown as a sampaloc seed. Mr. Alava gazed with satisfaction upon the patriotic faculty and belched his approval in cigar smoke upon the landscape. The principal, rivaling a total eclipse, strode towards Mr. Alava minus a cuff link. "Compaero!" boomed the superintendent with outstretched arms. "Compaero!" echoed Mr. Olbes. They embraced darkly. There was a great to-do in the weapons carrier. The academic supervisor's pabaon of live crabs from Mapili had gotten entangled with the kalamay in the Home Economics supervisor's basket. The district supervisor had mislaid his left shoe among the squawking chickens and someone had stepped on the puto seco. There were overnight bags and reed baskets to unload, bundles of perishable and unperishable going-away gifts. (The Home Economics staff's dilemma: sans ice box, how to preserve all the food till the next morning). A safari of Pugad Lawin instructors lent their shoulders gallantly to the occasion. Vainly, Miss Noel searched in the crowd for the old Language Arts supervisor. All the years she had been in Pugad Lawin, Mr. Ampil had come: in him there was no sickening bureaucracy, none of the self-importance and pettiness that often characterized the small public official . He was dedicated to the service of education, had grown old in it. He was about the finest man Miss Noel had ever known. How often had the temporary teachers had to court the favor of their supervisors with lavish gifts

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of sweets, de hilo, portfolios and what-not, hoping that they would be given a favorable recommendation! A permanent position for the highest bidder. But Miss Noel herself had never experienced this rigmarole -- she had passed her exams and had been recommended to the first vacancy by Mr. Ampil without having uttered a word of flattery or given a single gift. It was ironic that even in education, you found the highest and the meanest forms of men. Through the crowd came a tall unfamiliar figure in a loose coat, a triad of pens leaking in his pocket. Under the brave nose, the chin had receded like a gray hermit crab upon the coming of a great wave. "Miss Noel, I presume?" said the stranger. The English teacher nodded. "I am the new English supervisor - Sawit is the name." The tall man shook her hand warmly. "Did you have a good trip, Sir?" Mr. Sawit made a face. "Terrible!" Miss Noel laughed. "Shall I show you to your quarters? You must be tired." "Yes, indeed," said Mr. Sawit. "I'd like to freshen up. And do see that someone takes care of my orchids, or my wife will skin me alive." The new English supervisor gathered his portfolios and Miss Noel picked up the heavy load of orchids. Silently, they walked down the corridor of the Home Economics building, hunter and laden Indian guide. "I trust nothing's the matter with Mr. Ampil, Sir?" "Then you haven't heard? The old fool broke a collar bone. He's dead." "Oh." "You see, he insisted on doing all the duties expected of him - he'd be ahead of us in the school we were visiting if he felt we were dallying on the road. He'd go by horseback, or carabao sled to the distant ones where the road was inaccessible by bus - and at his age! Then, on our visitation to barrio Tungkod - you know that place, don't you?" Miss Noel nodded. "On the way to the godforsaken island, that muddy hellhole, he slipped on the banca - and well, that's it." "How terrible." "Funny thing is - they had to pass the hat around to buy him a coffin. It turned out the fellow was as poor as a church mouse. You'd think, why this old fool had been thirty-three years in the service. Never a day absent. Never a day late. Never told a lie. You'd think at least he'd get a decent burial - but he hadn't reached 65 and wasn't going to get a cent he wasn't working for. Well, anyway, that's a thorn off your side." Miss Noel wrinkled her brow, puzzled. "I thought all teachers hated strict supervisors." Mr. Sawit elucidated. "Didn't you all quake for your life when Mr. Ampil was there waiting at the door of the classroom even before you opened it with your key?"

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"Feared him, yes," said Miss Noel. "But also respected and admired him for what he stood for." Mr. Sawit shook his head smiling. "So that's how the wind blows," he said, scratching a speck of dust off his earlobe. Miss Noel deposited the supervisor's orchids in the corridor. They had reached the reconverted classroom that Mr. Sawit was to occupy with two others. "You must be kind to us poor supervisors," said Mr. Sawit as Miss Noel took a cake of soap and a towel from the press. "The things we go through!" Meticulously, Mr. Sawit peeled back his shirt sleeves to expose his pale hairless wrists. "At Pagkabuhay, Miss What's-her-name, the grammar teacher, held a demonstration class under the mango trees. Quite impressive, and modern; but the class had been so well rehearsed that they were reciting like machine guns. I think it's some kind of a code they have, like if the student knows the answer he is to raise his left hand, and if he doesn't he is to raise his right, something to that effect." Mr. Sawit reached for the towel hanging on Miss Noel's arm. "What I mean to say is, hell, what's the use of going through all that palabas? As I always say," Mr. Sawit raised his arm and pumped it vigorously in the air, "let's get to the heart of what matters." Miss Noel looked up with interest. "You mean get into the root of the problem?" "Hell no!" the English supervisor said, "I mean the dance! I always believe there's no school problem that a good round of tango will not solve!" Mr. Sawit groped blindly for the towel to wipe his dripping face and came up to find Miss Noel smiling. "Come, girl," he said lamely. "I was really only joking." As soon as the bell rang, Miss Noel entered I-B followed by Mr. Sawit. The students were nervous. You could see their hands twitching under the desks. Once in a while they glanced apprehensively behind to where Mr. Sawit sat on a cane chair, straight as a bamboo. But as the class began, the nervousness vanished and the boys launched into the recitation with aplomb. Confidently, Miss Noel sailed through a sea of prepositions, using the Oral Approach Method: "I live in a barrio." "I live in a town." "I live in Pugad Lawin." "I live on a street." "I live on Calle Real" Mr. Sawit scribbled busily on his pad. Triumphantly, Miss Noel ended the period with a trip to the back of the building where the students had constructed a home-made printing press and were putting out their first school paper. The inspection of the rest of the building took exactly half an hour. It was characterized by a steering away from the less presentable parts of the school (except for the Industrial Arts supervisor who, unwatched, had come upon and stood gaping at the French soap poster). The twenty-three strains of bougainvillea received such a chorus of praise and requests for cutting that the poor teachers were nonplussed on how to meet them without endangering life and limb from their rightful owners. The Academic supervisor commented upon the surprisingly

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fresh appearance of the Amitosis chart and this was of course followed by a ripple of nervous laughter. Mr. Sawit inquired softly of Miss Noel what the town's cottage industry was, upon instructions of his uncle, the supervisor. "Buntal hats," said Miss Noel. The tour ended upon the sound of the dinner bell and at 7 o'clock the guests sat down to supper. The table, lorded over by a stuffed Bontoc eagle, was indeed an impressive sight. The flowered soup plates borrowed from Mrs. Valenton vied with Mrs. De los Santos' bone china. Mrs. Alejandro's willoware server rivalled but could not quite outshine the soup tureens of Mrs. Cruz. Pink paper napkins blossomed grandly in a water glass. The superintendent took the place of honor at the head of the table with Mr. Olbes at his right. And the feast began. Everyone partook heavily of the elaborate dishes; there were second helpings and many requests for toothpicks. On either side of Mr. Alava, during the course of the meal, stood Miss Rosales and Mrs. Olbes, the former fanning him, the latter boning the lapu-lapu on his plate. The rest of the Pugad Lawin teachers, previously fed on hopia and coke, acted as waiteresses. Never was a beer glass empty, never a napkin out of reach, and the supervisors, with murmured apologies, belched approvingly. Towards the end of the meal, Mr. Alava inquired casually of the principal where he could purchase some bunt al hats. Elated, the latter replied that it was the cottage industry right here in Pugad Lawin. They were, however, the principal said, not for sale to colleagues. The Superintendent shook his head and said he insisted on paying, and brought out his wallet, upon which the principal was so offended he would not continue eating. At last the superintendent said, all right,compaero, give me one or two hats, but the principal shook his head and ordered his alarmed teachers to round up fifty; and the ice cream was served. Close upon the wings of the dinner tripped the Social Hour. The hosts and the guests repaired to the sal a where a rondalla of high school boys were playing an animated rendition of "Merry Widow" behind the hat rack. There was a concerted reaching for open cigar boxes and presently the room was clouded with acrid black smoke. Mr. Olbes took Miss Noel firmly by the elbow and steered her towards Mr. Alava who, deep in a cigar, sat wide-legged on the carved sofa. "Mr. Superintendent," said the principal. "This is Miss Noel, our English teacher. She would be greatly honored if you open the dance with her." "Compaero," twinkled the superintendent. "I did not know Pugad Lawin grew such exquisite flowers." Miss Noel smiled thinly. Mr. Alava's terpsichorean knowledge had never advanced beyond a bumbling waltz. They rocked, gyrated, stumbled, recovered, rolled back into the center, amid a wave of teasing and applause. To each of the supervisors, in turn, the principal presented a pretty instructor, while the rest, unattractive or painfully shy, and therefore unfit offering to the gods, were left to fend for themselves. The first number was followed by others in three-quarter time and Miss Noel danced most of them with Mr. Sawit. At ten o'clock, the district supervisor suggested that they all drive to the next town where the fiesta was being celebrated with a big dance in the plaza. All the prettier lady teachers were drafted and the automotive instructor was ordered behind the wheel of the weapons carrier. Miss Noel remained behind together with Mrs. Divinagracia and the Home Economics staff, pleading a headache. Graciously, Mr. Sawit also remained behind.

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As Miss Noel repaired to the kitchen, Mr. Sawit followed her. "The principal tells me you are quite headstrong, Miss Noel," he said. "But then I don't put much stock by what principals say." Miss Noel emptied the ashtrays in the trash can. "If he meant why I refused to dance with Mr. Lucban" "No, just things in general," said Mr. Sawit. "The visitation, for instance. What do you think of it?" Miss Noel looked into Mr. Sawit's eyes steadily. "Do you want my frank opinion, Sir?" "Yes, of course." "Well, I think it's all a farce." "That's what I've heard - what makes you think that?" "Isn't it obvious? You announce a whole month ahead that you're visiting. We clean the schoolhouse, tuck the trash in the drawers, bring out our best manners. As you said before, we rehearse our classes. Then we roll out the red carpet - and you believe you observe us in our everyday surrounding, in our everyday comportment?" "Oh, we know that." "That's what I mean - we know that you know. And you know that we know that you know." Mr. Sawit gave out an embarrassed laugh. "Come now, isn't that putting it a trifle strongly?" ""No," replied Miss Noel. "In fact, I overheard one of your own companions say just a while ago that if your lechon were crisper than that of the preceding school, if our pabaon were more lavish, we would get a higher efficiency rating." "Of course he was merely joking. I see what Mr. Olbes meant about your being stubborn." "And what about one supervisor, an acquaintance of yours, I know, who used to come just before the town fiesta and assign us the following items: 6 chickens, 150 eggs, 2 goats, 12leche flans. I know the list by heart - I was assigned the checker." "There are a few miserable exceptions" "What about the sweepstakes agent supervisor who makes a ticket of the teacher's clearance for the withdrawal of his pay? How do you explain him?" Mr. Sawit shook his head as if to clear it. "Sir, during the five years that I've taught, I've done my best to live up to my ideals. Yet I please nobody. It's the same old narrow conformism and favor-currying. What matters is not how well one teaches but how well one has learned the art of pleasing the powers-that-be and it's the same all the way up." Mr. Sawit threw his cigar out of the window in an arc. "So you want to change the

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world. I've been in the service a long time, Miss Noel. Seventeen years. This bald spot on my head caused mostly by new teachers like you who want to set the world on fire. In my younger days I wouldn't hesitate to recommend you for expulsion for your rash opinions. But I've grown old and mellow - I recognize spunk and am willing to give it credit. But spunk is only hard-headedness when not directed towards the proper channels. But you're young enough and you'll learn, the hard way, singed here and there - but you'll learn." "How are you so sure?" asked Miss Noel narrowly. "They all do. There are thousands of teachers. They're mostly disillusioned but they go on teaching - it's the only place for a woman to go." "There will be a reclassification next month," continued Mr. Sawit. "Mr. Olbes is out to get you - he can, too, on grounds of insubordination, you know that. But I'm willing to stick my neck out for you if you stop being such an idealistic fool and henceforth express no more personal opinions. Let sleeping dogs lie, Miss Noel. I shall give you a good rating after this visitation because you remind me of my younger sister, if for no other reason. Then after a year, when I find that you learned to curb your tongue, I will recommend you for a post in Manila where your talents will not be wasted. I am related to Mr. Alava, you know." Miss Noel bit her lip in stunned silence. Is this what she had been wasting her years on? She had worked, she had slaved - with a sting of tears she remembered all the parties missed ("Can't wake up early tomorrow, Clem"), alliances forgone ("Really, I haven't got the time, maybe some other year?") the chances by-passed ("Why, she's become a spinster!") - then to come face to face with what one has worked for - a boor like Mr. Sawit! How did one explain him away? What syllogisms could one invent to rub him out of the public school system? Below the window, Miss Noel heard a giggle as one of the Pugad Lawin teachers was pursued by a mischievous supervisor in the playground. "You see," the voice continued, "education is not so much a matter of brains as getting along with one's fellowmen, else how could I have risen to my present position?" Mr. Sawit laughed harshly. "All the fools I started out with are still headteachers in godforsaken barrios, and how can one be idealistic in a mudhole? Goodnight, my dear." Mr. Sawit's hot trembling hand (the same mighty hand that fathered the 8-A's that made or broke English teachers) found its way swiftly around her waist, and hot on her forehead Miss Noel endured the supreme insult of a wet, fatherly kiss. Give up your teaching, she heard her aunt say again for the hundredth time, and in a couple of months you might be the head. We need someone educated because we plan to export. Oh, to be able to lie in a hammock on the top of the hill and not have to worry about the next lesson plan! To have time to meet people, to party, to write. She remembered Clem coming into the house (after the first troubled months of teaching) and persuading her to come to Manila because his boss was in need of a secretary. Typing! Filing! Shorthand! She had spat the words contemptuously back at him. I was given a head so I could think! Pride goeth Miss Noel bowed her head in silence. Could anyone in the big, lighted offices of the city possibly find use for a stubborn, cranky, BSE major? As Miss Noel impaled the coffee cups upon the spokes of the drainboard, she

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heard the door open and the student named Leon come in for the case of beer empties. "Pandemonium over, Ma'am?" he asked. Miss Noel smile dimly. Dear perceptive Leon. He wanted to become a lawyer. Pugad Lawin's first. What kind of a piker was she to betray a dream like that? What would happen to him if she wasn't there to teach him his p's and f's? Deep in the night and the silence outside flickered an occasional gaslight in a hut on the mountain shaped like a sleeping woman. Was Porfirio deep in a Physics book? (Oh, but he mustn't blow up any more pigshed.) What was Juanita composing tonight? (An ode on starlight on the trunk of a banana tree?) Leon walked swiftly under the window: in Miss Noel's eyes he had already won a case. Why do I have to be such a darn missionary? Unafraid, the boy Leon stepped into the night, the burden of bottles light on his back. After breakfast the next morning, the supervisors packed their belongings and were soon ready. Mr. Buenaflor fetched a camera and they all posed on the sunny steps for a souvenir photo: the superintendent with Mr. and Mrs. Olbes on either side of him and the minor gods in descending order on the Home Economics stairs. Miss Noel was late - but she ran to take her place with pride and humility on the lowest rung of the school's hierarchy.

DELFIN FRENOSA

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Dark
A woman and her son sat by the window looking upon the darkening road. Every now and then the woman would turn to the boy anxiously, trying tor read the expression of his eyes. The boy, sickly looking, with dark and sensitive features, seeming to note her gaze, would avert his face and shield it with his hand. She felt a great wordless pity for him, and a sense of her helplessness gave her keen anguish. He knew of her love for him and sensed her hurt like a sharp stabbing pain. Men and women passed by on the road in front of the house, some coming from the fields carrying bundles or farm implements. Most of them walked slowly, tired after the day's work but glad of the cool wind and the coming night. They talked and laughed as they went by.

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Farther down the road children were at play, shouting and kicking an empty tin can about. Occasionally they had to stop their game to let some carabao cart or automobile pass. "Dis you see that car that just went by, full of people?" the woman asked her son. "Yes." He said. "They must have come from an excursion." "Yes, they were all talking and laughing. The people on the road shouted and laughed back at them." Sometimes a man or a woman stopped a while in front of the house to exchange greetings with the woman at the window. The boy listened to his mother and to the voices of her friends. Some of them asked how he was, and he replied in a courteous voice that he was all right. "Leon," suddenly said the mother. "Look at that boy with the monkey . He has monkey on hi shoulder. The monkey is jumping up and down." "Yes," he said, laughing a little as if amused at the sight. "The boy is carrying a monkey." He was again aware of his mother looking at him, trying to find his eyes, and again he turned his face away. The boy with the monkey, and his father, a farmer, were now passing by the house. The monkey was a tame one and was crying out sharply and chattering. "Can you see him, Leon?" asked the mother. "Can you see him? Can you see him a little?" The mother's voice was eager and urgent. There was desperateness in it. The boy knew that her lips were soundlessly forming the word she wanted him to say. "Yes," he said softly. The mother was suddenly deliriously happy. She crushed the boy's head against her bosom. Snatches of incoherent talk came from her lips. She wanted to shout to the people on the road that her boy could see again. Tears stream down her face and wetted the boy's head. Her husband had not come yet. Where was he now? When would he come come so that she could tell him? He would be very glad. They would laugh and cry together in their gladness. She was almost choking with joy and she pressed the boy's frail form to her. He was crying too, softly, silently, and then convulsively. How sharply he now regretted that "YES" that he had almost unconsciously given her, that word that he had felt almost wrung out of him. Almost every afternoon when the sun was setting, he and his mother would sit at the window. She had become sad and a little embittered. But a few weeks before, a stranger had come to their town who people said was a healer. They had brought the boy to him. At night when she and her husband thought the boy asleep, they would talk about him and the sight that had become affected and then he had finally entirely lost. After the visit to the healer, they had taken some hope again. The mother notice the boy was weeping. "What is the matter, Leon? Tell me why you are crying so hard," she said anxiously. But he could not tell her and went on sobbing. "Look at those boys on the road," she said, as if to banish a renewed but unspoken fear." It won't be long now before you are playing with them again." She bade him look out of the window, gently holding his chin up with a finger. He could not hide his face from her any more as she looked first at him ad then at the boys in the road. The boys had suddenly stopped playing and were huddled together in a group. Some passerby stopped, peering curiously at something the boys had picked up.

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"what happened, mother?" said the boy. "I don't know," said the mother. But the people were going on their way again and the boys were left to themselves. Again their voices were raised. "It was a swallow," the mother said. "It was flying and hit the telephone wires. It fell to the ground and the boys found it." "A bird," said the boy. "A swallow." They sat silent now waiting for the father to come home. The mother was still excited, still impatiently awaiting her husband to tell him the reason for her happiness. Finally she said: "There is your father coming down the road." The boy heard him at the gate. "Hello, son!" he cried, but he slowed his steps and for sometime tarried in the yard. The boy listened anxiously for his footsteps and agitatedly turned to face the door. The stood up watching him. There was complete silence in the house. Then the boy, extending his two arms and widely smiling, cried "Hello, Father!" But the smile froze on his lips. The woman turned to the window, and seeing her husband still in the yard, burst into a sob.

MANUEL ARGUILLA
Manuel Estabillo Arguilla (1911 1944) was an Ilokano writer in English, patriot, and martyr. He is known for his widely anthologized short story "How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife," the main story in the collection "How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife and Other Short Stories"which won first prize in the Commonwealth Literary Contest in 1940. His stories "Midsummer" and "Heat" was published in the United States by the Prairie Schooner. Most of Arguilla's stories depict scenes in Barrio Nagrebcan, Bauang, La Union where he was born. His bond with his birthplace, forged by his dealings with the peasant folk of Ilocos, remained

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strong even after he moved to Manila where he studied at the University of the Philippines where he finished BS Education in 1933 and where he became a member and later the president of the U.P. Writer's Club and editor of the university's Literary Apprentice. He married Lydia Villanueva, another talented writer in English, and they lived in Ermita, Manila. Here, F. Sionil Jos, another seminal Filipino writer in English, recalls often seeing him in the National Library, which was then in the basement of what is now the National Museum. "you couldn't miss him", Jose describes Arguilla, "because he had this black patch on his cheek, a birthmark or an overgrown mole. He was writing then those famous short stories and essays which I admired." [1] He became a creative writing teacher at the University of Manila and later worked at the Bureau of Public Welfare as managing editor of the bureau's publication Welfare Advocate until 1943. He was later appointed to the Board of Censors. He secretly organized a guerrilla intelligence unit against the Japanese. In October 1944, he was captured, tortured and executed by the Japanese army at Fort Santiago.

How my Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife

My brother Leon was returning to Nagrebcan from far away Manila, bringing home his young bride who had been born and had grown up in the big city. Father would not accept her for a daughter-in-law unless he taught her worthy to live in Nagrebcan.Father devised an ingenious way to find out, and waited for the result. She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick,delicate grace.She was lovely.She was tall.She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth You are Baldo. She said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder.Her nails were long,but they were not painted.She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom.And a small dimple appeared momentarily high up on her cheek. And this is Labang,of whom I have heard so much. She held the wrist of one hand with the

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other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud, and the sound of his inside was like a drum. I laid a hand on Labangs massive neck and said to her: You may scratch his forehead now.She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long curving horns.But she came and touched Labangs forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes were half closed. And by and by, she was scratching his forehead very daintly. My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road.He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us,and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca Celin,where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her.Maria my brother Leon said.He did not say Maring.He did not say Mayang.I knew then that he had always called her Maria; and in my mind I said, Maria, and it was a beautiful name.Yes,Noel Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backwards, and it sounded much better that way. There is Nagrebcan, Maria my brother said gesturing widely toward the west. She moved close to him. And after a while she said quietly: You love Nagrebcan, dont you, Noel? Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel. We stood alone on the roadside. The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide deep and very blue above us; but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labangs white coat, which I had washed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire. He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far way in the middle of the fields a cow lowed soflty in answer. Hitch him to the cart, Baldo, my brother Leon said, laughing and she laughed with him a bit uncertainly, and I saw he had put his arms around her shoulders.Why does he make that sound? she asked. I have never heard the like of it. There is not another like it, my brother Leon said. I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him. She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the vinca across Labangs neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth was very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was a small dimple high up on her right cheek. If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become very jealous. My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them.I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted for he was always like that, but I kept firm hold on his rope.He was restless and would not stand still., so that ny brother Leon had to say Labang again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller one on top.She looked down once on her high heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung into the cart. Oh,the fragrance of

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her! But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away. Give us the rope, Baldo, my brother Leon said. Maria , set on the hay and hold on to anything. Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instant Labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of Labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears. She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent together to one side, her skirt spread over them so that only the toes and the heels of her shoes were visible. Her eyes were on my brother Leons back; I saw the wind on her hair.When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around. What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo? my brother Leon said. I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went back to where I had inhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooeded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields.When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig, which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly: Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig. Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Waig instead of the camino real? His fingers bit into my shoulder.Father- he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong. Swiftly his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said: And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of the Castano and the calesa. Without waiting forn me to answer, he turned to her and said, Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now? He laughed and added, Have you ever seen so many stars before? I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across the knees. Seemingly but a mans height above the tops of the steep banks of the Waig, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labangs coat was chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean,sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart. Look, Noel, yonder is our star! Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky. I have been looking at it, my brother Leon said. Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?. Yes, Noel, she said. Look at it she murmured, half to herself. It is so many times bigger than it was at Ermita beach.The air here is clean and free of dust smoke. So it is Noel, she said,drawing a long breath. Making fun of me, Maria?She laughed then, and they laughed together and she took my brother Leons hand and put it against her face.I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern

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that hung from the cart, and my heart sang. Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart. Have we far to go yet, Noel? she asked. Ask Baldo, my brother Leon said,we have been neglecting him. I am asking you, Baldo,she said. Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly: Soon we will get out of the Waig and pass into the fields. After the fields is home Manang. So near already. I did not say anything more, because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was Sky Sown with Stars the same that he and father sang when he cut hay in the fields of nights before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into him like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheel encountered a big rock, a voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again. Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes. But it is so very wide here, she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly. You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, dont you? My brother Leon stopped singing. Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here. With difficulty, I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired. In a little while , we drove up the grassy side onto the camino real. -you see, my brother Leon was explaining, the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields, because- but Ill be asking father as soon as we get home Noel, she said. Yes, Maria. I am afraid. He may not like me. Does that worry you still, Maria? my brother said. From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest tempered, gentlest man I know. We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said Hoy, calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels. I stopped Labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down, but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the bole of the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel.

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The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mothers hand were: Father where is he? He is in his room upstairs, Mother said, her face becoming serious. His leg is bothering him again. I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I had hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria, and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them. There was no light in Fathers room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the eastern window, and a star shone directly though it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking. Did you meet anybody on the way? No, Father, I said. Nobody passes through the Waig at night. He reached for his roll of tobacco and hitched himself up in the chair. She is very beautiful, Father. Was she afraid of Labang? My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm off my brother Leon around her shoulders. No, Father, she was not afraid. On the way-She looked at the stars, Father And Manong Leon sang. What did he sing? Sky Sown with Stars. She sang with him. He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Fathers voice must have been like it when he was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside. The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in. Have you watered Labang? Father spoke to me. I told him that Labang ws resting yet under the barn. It is time you watered him, my son. My father said. I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

CARLOS BULOSAN
Carlos Bulosan was born in Pangasinan, a province on the island of Luzon in the Philippines, on November 2, 1911, near the end of a tumultuous period in his countrys history. In 1896, the Filipinos had begun a successful revolt against Spanish rule, and they expected to be granted independence after Spain ceded the Philippines to the United States in the treaty that ended the Spanish-American War of 1898. Instead, the United States annexed the islands, and American troops brutally suppressed the Philippines Insurrection of 1899-1902, though fighting continued until 1913. The years of bloody conflict, during which an estimated two hundred thousand to one million civilians died of disease and starvation, left the country impoverished. Although little is known about his childhood, Bulosan

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recalled: I lived in Mangusmana with my father until I was seven years old. We lived in a small grass hut; but it was sufficient because we were peasants. My father could not read or write, but he knew how to work his one hectare of land, which was the sole support of our big family.

Bulosan attended American-style schools, but he left high school after three semesters in order to work to help support the family. Like thousands of other Filipinos, including two older brothers who had gone to California, Bulosan believed that he would find greater freedom and economic opportunity in the United States. He consequently booked passage in steerage aboard a steamer bound for Seattle, Washington.

Bulosan arrived on July 22, 1930, at the beginning of the Great Depression. Along with other expatriate Filipino Americans or Pinoy, as they called themselves he endured terrible poverty and hardship in his new country. In fact, it could not truly be his country, since as immigrants from an American colony Filipinos could not become citizens of the United States. Bulosan was quickly disillusioned by the violence, prejudice, and exploitation the Pinoy suffered as farm or cannery workers, virtually the only jobs available to them. Do you know what a Filipino feels in America? he wrote a friend during the 1930s. He is the loneliest thing on earthHe is enchained damnably to his race, his heritage. He is betrayed, my friend. As a migrant farmworker, Bulosan followed the crops from Washington through Oregon to California. After he reached Los Angeles, he helped organize the United Cannery, Agricultural, Packing, and Allied Workers of America. Bulosan edited the New Tide, a bimonthly magazine for workers, and began to write articles for various newspapers, including the Philippine Commonwealth Times. In 1936, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis and spent two years in the convalescent ward of the Los Angeles County Hospital. Friends provided him with dozens of periodicals and books, and he studied the works of Karl Marx and American writers from Walt Whitman to Theodore Dreiser, Sherwood Anderson, and their younger contemporaries William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, and John Steinbeck. Bulosan also wrote constantly, and his verse regularly appeared in little magazines such as the Lyric and Poetry, which published several groups of his poems between 1936 and 1942.

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After the entry of the United States into World War II, Bulosan became the major literary voice of Filipino Americans. The war was a complicated issue for the Pinoy, who were intensely aware of the injustices in the United States but who were eager to participate in the effort to drive the Japanese from the conquered Philippines. At first, Filipino Americans were classified as aliens and denied admission to the military services. Bulosan and others worked to change the law, and President Franklin Roosevelt signed a special proclamation that led to the formation of the First and Second Filipino Regiments in the United States. Too frail to serve in the military, Bulosan fought the war with his pen. He published a collection of his poetry, Letter from America (1942), and The Voice of Bataan (1943), a poetic tribute to the American and Filipino soldiers who had died defending Bataan Island in the Philippines. Bulosan also began to publish stories in mainstream magazines such asHarpers Bazaar, the New Yorker, and Town and Country. He became even more widely known when his article Freedom from Want accompanied one of Norman Rockwells famous Four Freedoms paintings, which were published in successive issues of the Saturday Evening Post in 1943. The following year, Bulosans collection of short stories based on Filipino folktales, The Laughter of My Father, became an international bestseller. He then wrote his most famous book, the autobiographical America Is in the Heart (1946), an often grim depiction of the collective experience of Filipino Americans and an eloquent plea for the end of racism and intolerance in the United States.

During the final decade of his life, Bulosan struggled against illness and the antiCommunist hysteria generated by the cold war. Despite his rising stature as a writer in the 1940s, Bulosan came under suspicion for his leftist views and labor activities, and he was investigated by the House of Representatives Un-American Activities Committee. Beginning in 1950, he was also under constant surveillance by the FBI, which effectively blacklisted Bulosan. Unable to find work, he spent the last years of his life in poverty and poor health, nursed by his companion, the labor activist Josephine Patrick. Looking back over his life and literary career, Bulosan in an autobiographical sketch written in 1955 observed that he had been impelled to write by his grand dream of equality among men and freedom for all, as well as his desire to translate the desires and aspirations of the whole Filipino people in the Philippines and abroad in terms relevant to contemporary history. Bulosan died in Seattle of tuberculosis on September 11, 1956, leaving behind the manuscript of a posthumously published novel about the twentieth-century history of the Philippines, The Cry and the Dedication (1995).

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My Father Goes to Court

When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the island of Luzon. Fathers farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine floods, so for several years afterward we all lived in the town, though he preffered living in the country. We had a next-door neighbor, a very rich man, whose sons and daughters seldom came out of the house. While we boys and girls played and sand in the sun, his children stayed inside and kept the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the windows of our house and watch us as we played, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house to eat. Now, this rich mans servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the aroma of the food was wafted down to us from the windows of the big house. We hung about and took all the wonderful smell of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our whole family stood outside the windows of the rich mans house and listened to the musical sizzling of thick strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbors servants roasted three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped into the burning coals gave off an enchanting odor. We watched the servants turn the beautiful birds and inhaled the heavenly spirit that drifted out to us. Some days the rich man appeared at a window and glowered down at us. He looked at us one by one, as though he were condemning us. We were all healthy because we went out in the sun every day and bathed in the cool water of the river that flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we wrestled with one another in the house before we went out to play. We were always in the best of spirits and our laughter was contagious. Other neighbors who passed by our house often stopped in our yard and joined us in our laughter. Laughter was our only wealth. Father was a laughing man. He would go in to the living room and stand in front of the tall mirror, stretching his mouth into grotesque shapes with his fingers and making faces at himself, and then he would rush into the kitchen, roaring with laughter. There was plenty to make us laugh. There was, for instance, the day one of my brothers came home and brought a small bundle under his arm, pretending that he brought something to eat, maybe a leg of lamb or something as extravagant as that to make our mouths water. He rushed to mother and through the bundle into her lap. We all stood around, watching mother undo the complicated strings. Suddenly a black cat leaped out of the bundle and ran wildly around the house. Mother chased my brother and beat him with her little fists, while the rest of us bent double, choking with laughter. Another time one of my sisters suddenly started screaming in the middle of the night. Mother reached her first and tried to calm her. My sister criedand groaned. When father lifted the lamp, my sister stared at us with shame in her eyes. What is it? Father asked. Im pregnant! she cried. Dont be a fool! Father shouted.

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Youre only a child, Mother said. Im pregnant, I tell you! she cried. Father knelt by my sister. He put his hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. How do you know you are pregnant? he asked. Feel it! she cried. We put our hands on her belly. There was something moving inside. Father was frightened. Mother was shocked. Whos the man? she asked. Theres no man, my sister said. What is it then? Father asked. Suddenly my sister opened her blouse and a bullfrog jumped out. Mother fainted, father dropped the lamp, the oil spilled on the floor, and my sisters blanket caught fire. One of my brothers laughed so hard he rolled on the floor. When the fire was extinguished and Mother was revived, we turned to bed and tried to sleep, but Father kept on laughing so loud we could not sleep any more. Mother got up again and lighted the oil lamp; we rolled up the mats on the floor and began dancing about and laughing with all our might. We made so much noise that all our neighbors except the rich family came into the yard and joined us in loud, genuine laughter. It was like that for years. As time went on, the rich mans children became thin and anemic, while we grew even more robust and full of fire. Our faces were bright and rosy, but theirs were pale and sad. The rich man started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing too. Then the children started to cough one after the other. At night their coughing sounded like barking of a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wondered what had happened to them. We knew that they were not sick from lack of nourishing food because they were still always frying something delicious to eat. One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there a long time. He looked at my sisters, who had grown fat with laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were like the molave, which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and ran through the house, shutting all the windows. From that day on, the windows of our neighbors house were closed. The children did not come outdoors anymore. We could still hear the servants cooking in the kitchen, and no matter how tight the windows were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and drifted gratuitously into our house. One morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper. The rich man had filled a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the town clerk and asked him what it was all about. He told Father the man claimed that for years we had been

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stealing the spirit of his wealth and food. When the day came for us to appear in court, Father brushed his old army uniform and borrowed a pair of shoes from one of my brothers. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a chair in the center of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on a long bench by the wall. Father kept jumping up his chair and stabbing the air with his arms, as though he were defending himself before an imaginary jury. The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble; his face was scarred with deep lines. With him was his young lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge entered the room and sat on a high chair. We stood up in a hurry and sat down again. After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge took at father. Do you have a lawyer? he asked. I dont need a lawyer judge. He said. Proceed, said the judge. The rich mans lawyer jumped and pointed his finger at Father, Do you or do you not agree that you have been stealing the spirit of the complainants wealth and food? I do not! Father said. Do you or do you not agree that while the complainants servants cooked and fried fat legs of lambs and young chicken breasts, you and your family hung outside your windows and inhaled the heavenly spirit of the food? I agree, Father said. How do you account for that? Father got up and paced around, scratching his head thoughtfully. Then he said, I would like to see the children of the complainant, Judge. Bring the children of the complainant. They came shyly. The spectators covered their mouths with their hands. They were so amazed to see the children so thin and pale. The children walked silently to a bench and sat down without looking up. They stared at the floor and moved their hands uneasily. Father could not say anything at first. He just stood by his chair and looked at them. Finally he said, I should like to cross-examine the complainant. Proceed. Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your wealth and became a laughing family while yours became morose and sad? Father asked. Yes.

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Then we are going to pay you right now, Father said. He walked over to where we children were sitting on the bench and took my straw hat off my lap and began filling it up with centavo pieces that he took out his pockets. He went to Mother, who added a fistful of silver coins. My brothers threw in their small change. May I walk to the room across the hall and stay there for a minutes, Judge? Father asked. As you wish. Thank you, Father said. He strode into the other room with the hat in his hands. It was almost full of coins. The doors of both rooms were wide open. Are you ready? Father called. Proceed. The judge said. The sweet tinkle of coins carried beautifully into the room. The spectators turned their faces toward the sound with wonder. Father came back and stood before the complainant. Did you hear it? he asked. Hear what? the man asked. The spirit of the money when I shook this hat? he asked. Yes. Then you are paid. Father said. The rich man opened his mouth to speak and fell to the floor without a sound. The lawyer rushed to his aid. The judge pounded his gravel. Case dismissed, he said. Father strutted around the courtroom. The judge even came down to his high chair to shake hands with him. By the way, he whispered, I had an uncle who died laughing. You like to hear my family laugh, judge? Father asked. Why not? Did you hear that children? Father said. My sister started it. The rest of us followed them and soon the spectators were laughing with us, holding their bellies and bending over the chairs. And the laughter of the judge was the loudest of all.

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MARCELINO AGANA JR.

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NEW YORKER IN TONDO SCENE: The parlor of the Mendoza house in Tondo. Front door is at right. Curtained window is at left. Left side of stage is occupied by a rattan set sofa and two chairs flanking a table. On the right side of the stage, a cabinet radio stands against a back wall. Open door-way in center, background, leads into the rest of the house. MRS. M: (As she walks toward the door) Visitors, always visitors. Nothing but visitors all day long. Naku, Im beginning to feel like a society matron.

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(She opens door. Tony steps in, carrying a bouquet. Tony is 26, dressed to kill, and is the suave type. Right now, however, he is feeling a trifle nervous. He starts slightly on seeing Mrs. Mendoza.) MRS. M : Tony! I thought you were in the provinces. TONY : (Startling) But is that you, Aling Atang? MRS. M : ( Laughing) --- Of course. Its I, foolish boy. Who did you think it was Carmen Rosales? TONY : You you dont look like Aling Atang. MRS. M : (shyly touching her boyish bob) I had my hair cut. Do I look so horrible? TONY : Oh, no, no you look just wonderful, Aling Atang. For a moment I thought you were your own daughter. I thought you were Kikay. MRS. M : (Playfully slapping his cheek) --- Oh, you are as palikero as ever, Tony. But come in, come in. (She moves toward the furniture and Tony follows.) Here, sit down, Tony. How is your mother? TONY : (As he sits down, still holding the bouquet) --- Oh, poor mother is terribly homesick for Tondo, Aling Atang. She wants to come back here at once. MRS. M : (Standing beside his chair, putting on an apron) How long have you been away? TONY : Only three months MR. M : Only three months! Three months is too long for a Tondo native to be away from Tondo. Ay, my kumare, how bored she must be out there! TONY : Well, Aling Atang, you know how it is with us engineers. We must go where our jobs call us. But as soon as I have finished with that bridge in 2 | P a g e Bulacan, mother and I are coming back here to Tondo. MRS. M : Yes, you must bring her back as soon as possible. We miss her whenever we play panguingue. TONY : (Laughing) --- That is what she misses most of all. MRS. M : Now I understand how she feels! Your mother could never, never become a provinciana, Tony. Once a Tondo girl, always a Tondo girl, I always say. (She pauses, struck by a thought). But I wonder if thats true after all. Look at my Kikay; she was over there in America for a whole year, and she says that she never, never felt homesick at all! TONY : (Beginning to look nervous again) --- When when did she, Kikay, arrive, Aling Atang? MRS. M : Last Monday. TONY : I didnt know she had come back from New York until I read about it in the newspapers. MRS. M : (Plaintively) --- That girl arrived only last Monday and look at what has happened to me! When she first saw me, she was furious; she said that I need a complete overhauling. She dragged me off to a beauty shop, and look, look what she had done to me! My hair is cut, my eyebrows are shaved, my nails are manicured, and whenever I go to market, I must use lipstick and rouge! All my kumares are laughing at me. People must think I have become a loose woman! And at my age, too! But what can I do. You know how impossible it is to argue with Kikay. And she says that I must learn how to look and act like an Americana because I have a daughter who has been to America. Dios mio, do I look like an American? TONY : (Too worried to pay much attention) --- You look just wonderful, Aling Atang. And and where is she now? MRS. M : (whos rather engrossed in her own troubles too) --- Who? TONY : Kikay? Is she at home? MRS. M : (Snorting) --- Of course she is at home. Shed still sleeping! TONY : (Glancing at his watch) ---Still sleeping! MRS. M : She says that in New York people do not wake up before twelve oclock noon. TONY : (Glancing at his watch once more) --- Its only ten oclock now. MRS. M : Besides, she has been very, very busy. Uy, the life of that girl since she came

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home! Welcome parties here and welcome parties there and visitors all day long. That girl has been spinning around like a top!3 | P a g e TONY : (Rising disconsolately) --- Well, will you just tell her I called to welcome her home. Oh, and will you please give her these flowers? MRS. M : (Taking the flowers) --- But surely, youre not going yet, Tony. Why, you and she grew up together! Sit right down again, Tony. I will go and wake her up. TONY : Oh, please dont bother, Aling Atang. I can come back some other time. MRS. M : (Moving away) --- You wait right there, Tony. Shell be simply delighted to see her old childhood friend. And shell want to thank you in person for these flowers. How beautiful they are, Tony. How expensive they must be! TONY : (Sitting down again) --- Oh, theyre nothing at all, Aling Atang. MRS. M : (Pausing, already at center doorway) --- Oh, Tony TONY : Yes, Aling Atang? MRS. M : You mustnt call me Aling Atang. TONY : Why not? MRS. M : Kikay doesnt like it. She says I must tell people to call me Mrs. Mendoza. She says its a more civilized form of address. So and especially in front of Kikay. You must call me Mrs. Mendoza. TONY : Yes, Aling I, mean yes, Mrs. Mendoza. MRS. M : (Turning to go) --- Well, wait just a minute and I will call Kikay. TONY : (To himself as he sits down) --- Hah! MRS. M : (Turning around again) ---- Oh, and Tony TONY : (Jumping up again) --- Yes, Aling I mean yes, Mrs. Mendoza. MRS. M : You must not call Kikay, Kikay. TONY : (Blankly) --- and what shall I call her? MRS. M : You must call her Francesca. TONY : Francisca? MRS. M : Not Francisca FranCESca. TONY : But why Francesca?4 | P a g e MRS. M : She says that in New York, every body calls her Fran-CES-ca.That is how all those Americans in New York pronounce her name. And all she wants everybody here to pronounce it in the same way. She says it sounds so chi-chi, so Italian. Do you know that many people in New York thought she was an Italianan Italian from California? So be sure and remember; do not call her Kikay, she hates that name call her Fran-CES-ca. TONY : (Limply, sitting down again) --- yes, Mrs. Mendoza. MRS. M : (Turning to go again) Now wait right here while I call Fran-CES-ca. (Somebody knocks at the front door. She turns around again.) Aie, Dios mio! TONY : (Jumping up once again) Never mind, Mrs. Mendoza, Ill answer it. (He goes to open the door.) MRS. M : (As she exists) --- Just tell them to wait, Tony. (Tony opens door and Totoy steps in. Totoy is the same age as Tony and is more clearly a Tondo sheik. The one word that could possibly describe his attire is spooting. Both boys extend their arms out wide on beholding each other.) TOTOY : Tony! TONY : Totoy! (They pound each others bellies.) TOTO : You old son of your father! TONY : You big carabao, you! TOTOY : Mayroon ba tayo diyan? TONY : You ask me that and you look like a walking goldmine! How many depots have you been looting, huh? TOTOY : Hoy, hoy, more slowly there Its you the police are out looking for. TONY : Impossible! Im a reformed character! TOTOY : (Arms around each others shoulders, they march across the room) --Make way for the Tondo boys Bang! Bang! TONY : (Pushing Totoy away and producing a package of cigarettes) Good to see you,

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old pal here, have a smoke. TOTOY : (Taking a cigarette) I thought you were in Bulacan, partner. TONY : I am. I just came to say hello to Kikay. TOTOY : (As they light cigarette) --- Tony, Ive been hearing the most frightful things about that girl.5 | P a g e TONY : (Sinking into a chair) --- So have I. TOTOY : (Sitting down too) --- People are saying that she has gone crazy. TONY : No, she has only gone New York. TOTOY : What was she doing in New York? TONY : Oh, studying. Hair culture and beauty science. She got a diploma. TOTOY : Uy, imagine that! Our dear old Kikay! TONY : Pardon me, but shes not Kikay anymore she is Fran-CES-ca. TOTOY : Fran-CES-ca? TONY : Miss Tondo has become Miss New York. Our dear old Kikay is now an American. TOTOY : Kikay, an American? Dont make me laugh! Why, I knew that girl when she was still selling rice cakes! (Stands up and imitates a girl puto vendor) --- Puto kayo diyan bili na kayo ng puto. TONY : (Laughing) Remember when we pushed her into the canal? TOTOY : She chased us all around the streets. TONY : Naku, how that girl could fight! TOTOY : (Fondly) --- Dear old Kikay! (Knocking at the door. Totoy goes to open it. Enter Nena. Nena is a very well possessed young lady of 24. ) NENA : Why, its Totoy! TOTOY : (Opening his arms) --- Nena, my own! NENA : (Brushing him aside as she walks into the room) and Tony too! Whats all this? A Canto boy Reunion? TOTOY : (Following behind her) We have come to greet the lady from New York. NENA : So have I. Is she at home? TONY : Aling Atang is trying to wake her up. NENA : To wake her up! Is she still dreaming?6 | P a g e MRS. M : (Appearing in the center doorway) No, shes awake already. Shes changing. Good morning, Nena. Good morning, Totoy. (Totoy and Nena are staring speechless. Mrs. Mendoza is carrying a vase in which she has arranged Tonys flowers. She self-consciously walks into the room and sets the vase on the table amidst the silence broken only by Totoys helpless wolf whistle.) MRS. M : (Having set the vase on the table) Well, Totoy? Well, Nena? I said good morning. Why are you staring at me like that? NENA : Is is that you Aling Atang? TOTOY : Good God, It is Aling Atang! (He collapses into a chair) TONY : Totoy, Aling Atang now prefers to be called Mrs. Mendoza. MRS. M : Oh, Tony you know it is not I but Kikay who prefers it. She was delighted with these flowers, Tony. She thanks you very much. Nena, if you dont stop gaping at me, Ill pinch you! NENA : (Laughing) How you used to pinch and pinch me, Aling Atang, when I was a little girl. MRS. M : You were a very naughty girl, always fighting with Kikay. You were all very naughty children. (She points at Totoy) This one, especially, always sneaking into our backyard to steal mangoes from our mango tree. TOTOY : Do you still have the mango tree? MRS. M : Yes, its still out there in our backyard. TOTOY : (Jumping up) Come on, Nenalets steal their mangoes! MRS.M : Ah-ah, you just try! I still run as fast as ever. See if I dont catch you again and pull your pants off! TOTOY : (Gripping his pants) ah, but I wear suspenders now, Mrs. Mendoza. MRS. M : Oh, you rascal! Come with me to the kitchen.

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TOTOY : Why? To pull my pants off? MRS. M : No, idiot! I want you to help me carry something. NENA : Aling Atang, dont prepare anything for us. Were not visitors. And were not hungry. MRS. M : Its only orange juice, Nena. I was preparing some for Kikay. She takes nothing else in the morning. She says that in New York nobody eats breakfast. Come along, Totoy.7 | P a g e (Exits Mrs. Mendoza and Totoy. Left alone, Nena and Tony are silent for a moment. Tony seated; Nena stands behind the sofa.) NENA : Well, Tony? TONY : You shouldnt have come today, Nena. NENA : Oh, why not? TONY : I havent talked to Kikay yet. NENA : You havent talked to Kikay yet..! I thought you were going to come here and tell her everything last night. TONY : I lost my nerve. I didnt come last night. NENA : Oh, Tony, Tony! TONY : (Irritated, imitating her tone) Oh, Tony, Tony! Use your head, Nena. Whoever heard of a man breaking off his engagement with a girl! Its not usual! And my God its not easy! NENA : (Belligerently) Are you in love with Kikay or with me? TONY : Of course Im in love with you. Im engaged to you. NENA : (Bitterly) Yesand you were engaged to Kikay, too! TONY : But that was a year ago! NENA : (Flaring up) Oh, you wolf! (She flounces away, furious) TONY : (Jumping up and following her) Nena, Nena, you know I love you, only you! NENA : (Whirling around to face him) How could you have the nerve to propose to me when you were still engaged to Kikay? TONY : I wish I had never told you. This is what I get for being honest! NENA : Honest! You call yourself honest? Getting me to fall in love with you when you still belonged to Kikay? TONY : I I thought I didnt belong to Kikay anymore. It was only a secret engagement anyway. I proposed to her just before she left for America and she said we must keep our engagement a secret until she came back. But when she had been there a couple of months, she stopped answering my letters. So I considered myself a free man again.8 | P a g e NENA : (Sarcastically) And you proposed to me. TONY : (Miserably) Yes NENA : And then asked me to keep our engagement a secret! TONY : Because right afterwards, I found out that Kikay was coming back. NENA : Well, Im tired of being secretly engaged to you! What fun is it being engaged if you cant tell everybody! TONY : Just give me a chance to talk to Kikay and explain everything to her. Then you and I will announce our engagement. NENA : Well, you better hurry. Im getting impatient. TONY : The trouble is, how can I talk with Kikay now? NENA : Why not? TONY : Well you are here, and Totoy is here. You dont expect me to jilt Kikay in front of everybody, do you? NENA : You want me and Totoy to clear out? TONY : Nojust give me a chance to be alone with Kikay for a moment. NENA : Ill take care of Totoy. TONY : Thats good. NENA : Just leave it to me. (Totoy appears in the doorway with tray on his head; glasses and a pitcher are on a tray.) TOTOY : (Sailing in) Puto kayo diyan, bili na kayo ng puto!

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(Mrs. Mendoza appears in the doorway, carrying a plate of sandwiches.) MRS. M : Listen everybodyhere comes Kikaybut she prefers to be called Fran-CES-ca. (She moves away from the doorway and Kikay appears. Kikay is garbed in a trailing gown trimmed with fur at the neck and hemline. From one hand she dangles a large silk handkerchief which she keeps waving about as she walks and talks. In the other hand, she carries a very long cigarette holder with an unlighted cigarette affixed. Kikays manner and appearance are to use a Hollywood expression chi-chi mad.) KIKAY : (Having paused a long moment in the doorway, hands uplifted in surprise and delight) Oh, hello, hello you darling, darling people! (She glides into the 9 | P a g e room. Everybody else is too astonished to move) Nena, my dearbut how cute youve become! (She kisses Nena)And Tony, my little pal of the valleyhow are you? (She gives her hand to Tony) and Totoymy, how ravishing you look. (She walks all around the apprehensive Totoy) goodness, you look like a Tondo superproduction in Technicolor! But sit down everybodydo sit down and let me look at you. (Her three visitors sit down. She sees the tray with the glasses and pitcher on the table and throws her hands up in amused horror.) Oh, mumsy, mumsy! MRS. M : Whats the matter now? KIKAY : How many times must I tell you, mumsy dearest, never, never serve fruit juice in water glasses! MRS. M : I couldnt find those tall glasses you brought home. KIKAY : (Approaching and kissing her mother) Oh, my poor lil mumsyshe is so clumsy, no? But never mind, dearest; dont break your heart about it. Here sit down. MRS. M : No, I must be going to the market. KIKAY : Oh, mumsy, dont forget my celery. (to her visitors) I cant live without celery. Im like a rabbitmunch, munch all day. MRS. M : Well, if you people will excuse meTony, remember me to your mother. (She moves away) KIKAY : (Gesturing make up) and remember, mumsya little bloom on the lips, a little bloom on the cheeks. MRS. M : Oh, Kikay, do I have to? KIKAY : Again, mumsy? MRS. M : (Already in the center doorway) Do I have to paint this old face of mine, Fran-CES-ca? KIKAY : (Breaking into laughter and turning towards the others) But how dreadfully she puts it! Oh, mumsy, mumsywhat am I going to do with you? MRS. M : (As she exits) I give up! KIKAY : (Still laughing) Poor mumsy, shes quite a problem. (She waves her cigarette) Oh, does anybody have a light? (Totoy jumps up and gives her a light.) KIKAY : Merci. TOTOY : Huh?10 | P a g e KIKAY : I said merci. That means thank you in French. TOTOY : (As he sits down) Merci! (Kikay poses herself on the arm of the sofa where Nena is sitting and sipping orange juice. The two boys, also sipping juice and munching sandwiches, occupying the two chairs) NENA : Tell us about New York. KIKAY : (Fervently) Ah, New York, New York! TONY : How long did you stay there? KIKAY : (In a trance) 10 months, 4 days, 7 hours and 21 minutes! TOTOY : (Aside to the others) and shes still there in her dreams! KIKAY : (With emotion choking her voice) Yes, I feel as if I were still there, as though I had never left it, as though I had lived there all my life. But I look around me (She bitterly looks around her at the three gaping visitors) and I realize that no, no Im not there. Im not in New York Im here, here!

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KIKAY : (She rises abruptly and goes to window where she stands looking out) Im home, they tell me. Home! But which is home for me? This cannot be home because my heart aches with home sickness. I feel myself to be an exileyes, a spiritual exile. My spirit aches for its true home across the sea. Ah, New York! My own dear New York! (She is silent a moment, looking across the horizon, her arms cross over her breast. Her visitors glanced uneasily at each other.) NENA : (To others) I dont think we ought to be here at all, boys. TONY : Yes, we shouldnt disturb her. NENA : (With a languishing gesture) And leave her alone with her memories. TONY : (Glancing at the entranced Kikay) Is that the girl we used to go swimming with in the mud paddies? TOTOY : (Crossing his arms over his chest) Ah, New York! My own dear New York! KIKAY : (Whirling around, enraptured) Listenoh listen! Now, in New York, its springtimeits spring in New York! The daisies are just appearing in Central Park and out in Staten Island the grass is green again. (With a little fond laugh) Oh, we have a funny custom in New Yorkan old, old and very dear custom. When spring comes around each year, we New Yorkers, we make a sort of pilgrimage to an old tree growing down by the Battery. Oh, its an old tree. Its been growing there ever since New York was New York. And we New Yorkers, we call it Our Tree. Every spring we go down to say hello to it and to watch its first green leaves coming out. In a way, that tree is our symbol for New Yorkundying immortal, forever growing and forever green! (She laughs and 11 | P a g e makes an apologetic gesture) But please, please forgive me! Here I am going sentimental and just mooning away over things you have no idea about. No, you cant understand this emotion I feel for our dear old tree over there in New York. NENA : Oh, but I do, I understand perfectly! I feel that way too about our tree. KIKAY : (Blankly) About what tree? NENA : Our mango tree, Kikay. Have you forgotten about it? Why you and I used to go climbing up there every day and gorging ourselves on green mangoes. How our stomachs ached afterwards! And then these bad boys would come and start shaking the branches until we fell down! TOTOY : Aling Atang once caught me climbing that tree and she grabbed my pants and off they came! NENA : And Kikay and me, we were rolling on the ground, simply hysterical with laughter. And Totoy, you kept shouting,Give me back my pants! Give me back my pants! (They were all shaking with laughter except Kikay who is staring blankly at this.) KIKAY : But wait a minute, wait a minutewhat is this tree youre talking about? NENA : Our mango tree, Kikay. The mango tree out there in your back yard. KIKAY : (Flatly) Oh that tree TONY : Whats the matter, Kikay? Dont you feel the same emotion for that tree as you do for the one in New York? KIKAY : (Tartly) Of course not! Theytheyre completely different! I dont feel any emotion for this silly old mango tree. It doesnt awaken any memories for me at all! NENA : (Rising) Well it doesfor me. And such happy, happy memories! I really must run out to the backyard and say hello to it. (Imitating Kikays tone and manner) You know, Kikay, over here in Tondo, we have a funny customan old, old and very dear custom. We make a sort of pilgrimage to a silly old mango tree growing in a backyard. And for us here in Tondo, that tree is our tree. In a way, it is a symbol KIKAY : (Interrupting) dont be silly, Nena. TONY : Look whos talking. KIKAY : (In amused despair) Oh, you people cant understand at all! TONY : Of course not. Weve never been to New York.12 | P a g e KIKAY : (Earnestly) - Thats it exactly! Until youve been to New York, you cant, cant understand ever. Oh, believe menot to have lived in New York is not to have

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lived at all! That tree of ours over there it doesnt stand for kid stuff and childish foolishness. It stands for higher and finer things; for a more vivacious, a more streamlined, and a more daring way of life! KIKAY : It stands for Freedom and for the Manhattan skyline and for the Copacabana and for Coney Island in summer and for Grants Tomb on Riverside Drive and for Tuesday nights at Eddie Condons with Wild Bill Davidson working on that trumpet of his and for Saturday nights at Madison Square Garden with the crowds spilling all over the side walk and for the nickel ferry ride to Staten Island and for the St. Patricks Day Parade down Fifth Avenue and for all (She stops, overcome with her memories) Oh, its impossible to make you see! TONY : I still prefer a tree that grows in Tondo. TOTOY : I second the motion NENA : So do I. KIKAY : (Tolerantly, very much the woman of the world) Oh you funny, funny children! NENA : I really must go and say hello to our tree. You dont mind, Kikay, do you? KIKAY : (Laughing) Of course not, child. Do go. NENA : Totoy, will you come with me? TOTOY : (Fervently, as he rises) To the ends of the earth! NENA : (In the Kikay manner) No darlingjust out to our dear little backyard. TOTOY : (Acting up too) Oh , the backyard of Tondo, the barong-barongs of Maypaho, the streets of Sibakong NENA : (In the center doorway) Listen, idiot, are you coming with me or not? TOTOY : (Following her) Anywhere, dream girl, anywhere at all! (Exits Nena and Totoy) KIKAY : (Sitting down on the sofa) Apparently, our Totoy still has a most terrific crush on Nena. (Tony is silent) Do wake up, Tony what are you looking so miserable about? (Tony rises from his chair and sits down beside Kikay on the sofa. He is nervous and cannot speak. Kikay smilingly gazes at him.) TONY : (Finally gathering courage) KikayI dont know just how to begin.13 | P a g e KIKAY : Just call me Francesca... a good beginning. TONY : There is something I must tell yousomething very important. KIKAY : Oh, Tony, cant we just forget all about it? TONY : Forget? KIKAY : Thats the New York way, Tony. Forget. Nothing must ever be so serious, nothing must drag on too long. Tonight, give all your heart. Tomorrow forget. And when you meet again, smile, shake handsjust good sports. TONY : What are you talking about? KIKAY : Tony, I was only a child at that time. TONY : When? KIKAY : When you and I got engaged. Ive changed so much since then, Tony. TONY : That was only a year ago. KIKAY : To me, it seems a century. So much has happened to me. Ive become a completely different person in just one year. After all, whats a year, whats a person? Just relative terms. More can happen to you in just one year in New York than in all a lifetime spent anywhere else. Do you knowI feel as if Ive always lived in New York. In spirit, I am and have always been a native of Manhattan. When I first arrived there, I felt I had come home at last. Its my real home. Oh, listen, last summer it was really hotone of the hottest summers we ever had. Id go riding on one of those double-decker buses just to cool off, and all those people from Kalamazoo and Peoria and other places like that would be wandering around the streetssightseeing, you knowand there I would be on top of this bus looking down at them and feeling very amused at the way they gaped at the sky-scrapers and the way they gaped at the shop windows; but Id be feeling very proud too, because it was my city they were admiring, and Id feel rather sorry for them living out in the sticks

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TONY KIKAY TONY KIKAY

: Listen, I dont want to talk about New YorkI want to talk about our engagement. : And thats what we cannot do. Tonynot anymore. : Why not? : Tony, you got engaged to a girl named Kikay. Well, that girl doesnt exist anymoreshes dead. The person you see before me is Francesca. Dont you see, Tony, Im a stranger to youwe dont speak the same languageand I feel so much, much older than you. Im a woman of the world, you are only a boy. I hate to hurt you, Tonybut surely you see that there can between us would be stark miscegenation! Imagine a New Yorker marrying a Tondo boy! TONY : (Blazing) Now look here14 | P a g e KIKAY : (Very tolerantly) Im sorry if Ive hurt you, Tony but I wanted you to realize how ridiculous it would be to think that I could still be engaged to you. TONY : (Leaping up) Im not going to sit here and be insulted. KIKAY : Hush, Tony, hush! Dont shout, dont lose your temperits so uncivilized. People in New York dont lose their temper. Not people of the haute monde anyway! TONY : (Shouting) What do you want me to dosmile and say thank you for slapping my face? KIKAY : Yes, Tony, be a sport. Lets smile and shake hands and be just friends, huh? Be brave, Tonyforget: thats the New York way. Find another girl. There are other goils in the esters, as they say in Brooklyn. Youll find somebody elsesomeone more proper for you. TONY : (Waving his fist) If you werent a woman, IdId KIKAY : Hold it, Tonyyou must never, never hit a woman. NENA : Whats all this? KIKAY : Nothingnothing at all. TOTOY : What were you two quarrelling about? KIKAY : We were not quarrelling. Tony and I just decided to be good friends and nothing more. NENA : Tony, is this true? TONY : (Shouting) Yes! NENA : Oh good! Now we can tell them! KIKAY : Tell us what? TOTOY : Whats going on here, eh? NENA : (Taking Tonys hand) Tony and I are engaged. KIKAY : (Rising) Engaged! TOTOY : (At the same time) Engaged! NENA : Yes! Weve been secretly engaged for a month.15 | P a g e KIKAY : A month! (Fiercely, to Tony) Why, youyou TONY : (Backing off) I did try to tell you, KikayI was trying to tell you KIKAY : You unspeakable cad! NENA : Hey, careful thereyoure speaking to my fianc. KIKAY : Hes not your fianc! NENA : Oh no? And why not, ha? KIKAY : Because he was still engaged to me when he got engaged to you! NENA : Well, hes not engaged to you anymore, you just said so yourself. KIKAY : Ah, but I didnt know about all this. This treacherous business! Oh, the shame of it! Getting engaged to you when he was still engaged to me! Do I look like the kind of girl whod let a man jilt her? (Moving towards Tony) Oh, you horrible, horrible monster! TONY : (Backing off some more) Now remember Kikayits uncivilized to lose ones temper. People in New York dont lose their temper. Not people of the haute monde anyway! KIKAY : Ive never felt so humiliated in all my life! You beast! Ill teach you to humiliate me! NENA : (Blocking her way) I told you to leave him alone. Hes my fianc.

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KIKAY : And I tell you hes not! Hes engaged to me until I release him and I havent released him yet. NENA : You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Youre just being a dog in the manger! KIKAY : You ought to be ashamed of yourselfstealing my man behind my back! NENA : (Exploding) WHAT! What did you say? TONY : (Keeping a safe distance) Totoy, pull them apart! KIKAY : (To Totoy, as he approaches) You keep out of this or Ill knock your head off! TOTOY : Naku, lumabas din and pagka Tondo! NENA : Shameless hussy! KIKAY : Man-eater! (They grapple and stagger. Tony and Totoy rush forward to separate them and finally succeeded but not before Kikay has socked Nena. Nena, infuriated, breaks away from 16 | P a g e Tonywhos dragging her away. and pounces on Kikaywhom Totoy is holding. Tony came running but is too late to prevent Nena from socking Kikay. Kikay sags down in Totoys arms. Tony pulls Nena away.) TONY : (Furious) How dare you sock her? NENA : What? She hit me first! TONY : Look what youve done to her! ( Totoy has dropped the knocked-out Kikay on a chair.) NENA : Are you trying to defend her? You never defended me! TONY : SHUT UP! NENA : I hate you! I hate you! TONY : Shut up or Ill bash your mouth off! TOTOY : (Deserting the reviving Kikay) Hey, dont you talk to Nena that way. TONY : You keep out of this! NENA : Hes more of a gentleman than you are, he defends me! TOTOY : (To Tony) You take your hands off her! TONY : I told you to keep out of this! (Totoy socks Tony. Tony drops to the floor.) NENA : (Running to Totoy) Oh Totoy, youve saved my life. (Meanwhile, Kikay has run to Tonys side.) KIKAY : (Kneeling beside Tony) Tony, Tony open your eyes! TONY : (Sitting up and brushing her hands away) Oh, get away from here. (Kikay rises and haughtily moves away. Tony continues to sit on the floor, in the attitude of Rodins Thinker.) NENA : Totoy, take me away from here! TOTOY : (Pointing to Tony) Are you still engaged to him? NENA : I hate him! I never want to see him again in my life! TOTOY : Good! Come on, lets go.17 | P a g e (He takes her arm and propels her to the door.) TONY : (As they pass him) Hey! NENA : (Pausing) Dont you speak to me, you brute! TONY : (Still sitting on the floor) I wasnt talking to you. TOTOY : Dont you speak to me either! You have insulted the woman I love! NENA : (Beaming up at him) Oh Totoy, why have you never told me? TOTOY : (Shyly) Wellnow you know TONY : (Still on the floor) Congratulations! NENA : (Coldly) Lets go darlingI dont like the smell around here. (Exit Nena and Totoy. Tony rises and dusts himself. Kikay is on the floor on the other side of the room, her haughty back to him.) TONY : Now youve ruined my life. I hope youre satisfied. KIKAY : (Whirling around) I... have ruined your life? Youhave ruined mine! TONY : (Advancing) What you need is a good spanking. KIKAY : (Retreating) - Dont you come near me, youyou Canto Boy! TONY : (Stopping) - Dont worry; I wouldnt touch you with a ten foot pole.

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KIKAY : And I wouldnt touch you with a 20-foot pole. TONY : Just one year in New York and you forget your old friends! KIKAY : Just one year that Im in New York and what do you do! But when we got engaged, you swore to be true, you promised to wait for me. And I believed you, I believed you! (She begins to weep) Oh, youre fickle, fickle! TONY : What are you crying about? Be braveforgetthats the New York way. Nothing must ever be too serious, nothing must ever drag on too long KIKAY : Oh Tony, Ive been such a fool! Im so sorry, Tony! TONY : Well, Im not! Im glad I found out what kind of a person you are! KIKAY : (Alarmed, approaching him) Oh, Tony, youre wrong, youre wrong! Im not that kind of a person at all! TONY : Oh person is just a relative term, huh?18 | P a g e KIKAY : Yes, Tonythat was Francesca saying all those silly things. But Francesca exists no more, Tony. The girl standing before you is Kikay. TONY : In that silly dress? KIKAY : Its true, Tony. Im Kikayremember me? We used to go swimming together, when we were kids. Ive come back, Tony. TONY : If I were right, I was engaged to a girl named Kikay. KIKAY : Yes, and youre still engaged to her, Tony. TONY : Welcome home, Kikay! How was the trip? KIKAY : Horrible! I couldnt wait to get back. TONY : Liked it in New York? KIKAY : Uh-uh. Give me Tondo anytime. TONY : Why didnt you answer my letters? KIKAY : (After just a wee pause) Francesca wouldnt let me write, Tony. TONY : That misty girl. Im glad shes dead! (Offstage Mrs. Mendoza is heard calling Francesca, Francesca. Tony and Kikay listen, then burst into laughter.) MRS. M : (Appearing in doorway) FrancesOh, Tony, are you still here? Francesca, dont be angry but I couldnt live without it! TONY : (Moving towards the radio) That was Francesca, Aling Atang, and Francesca is dead. The girl standing before you is Kikay. MRS. M : (Dazed) But Kikay is Francesca KIKAY : Oh no, Inay. Im not FrancescaIm Kikay. MRS. M : (After gazing from on to the other, throwing her hands up.) I GIVE UP! (Exits) (Tony and Kikay burst into laughter. They have turned on the radio. Its playing Again or some such silly song.) KIKAY : (Subsiding) Sorry, darling. (She approaches him.) May I have this jaggingjagging with you, partner? TONY : (Bowing) Delighted, Madame. (They dance around the room as the CURTAIN FALLS.)

SEVERINO REYES

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Severino Reyes (also known as Lola Basyang,) is one of the most famous figures in Tagalog and Filipino literature. As a playwright, writer and a dramatist, Severino Reyes is regarded as a giant in the arts and culture industry in the Philippines and had produced numerous stories and literary works that are considered classic in his local country. His alias, Lola Basyang came from one of his most popular segment in a local magazine in the Philippines, Liwayway which published a series entitled Tales of Grandmother Basyang (Mga Kuwento ni Lola Basyang). Reyes is the daughter of the couple Rufino Reyes and Andrea Rivera. He was born in Sta. Cruz, Manila in February 11, 1861. He studied in different schools like San Juan de Letran and University of Santo Tomas. He got a degree in philosophy from University of Santo Thomas in Manila. Reyes was imprisoned in 1896 due to his alleged participation on the revolutionary army of the locals against the Spaniards. However, he was immediately released after disproving the claims. Some of the earliest works of Severino Reyes are his involvement in the making of industrial and commercial films and a translator of Tagalog to Spanish texts and vice versa. Due to his contribution in the arts and literature in the country, Reyes was regarded as the Father of Filipino Plays. One of the most cited and famous play that he created is the zarzuela No Wounds (Walang Sugat) which tackled the bravery and dedication of the Katipuneros or the local revolutionary army of the Philippines during the later years of Spanish occupation. Reyes also co-founded Liwayway, a local literary magazine in the Philippines in which he published his series, Tales of Grandmother Basyang (Mga Kuwento ni Lola Basyang). He died on the 15th of September 1942 wherein he was given a simple and quiet service and procession. Indeed, Severino Reyes is one of the foundations of Filipino arts and literature. Until today, the name Lola Basyang is still being used by different arts and shows. The name Lola Basyang became a generic name in the Philippine society which point out to an old grandmother who loves telling stories for her grandkids. The stories that she tells are always meant to teach moral lessons to the children listening to it. No one can deny the important contribution of Severino Reyes during his time in the early part of 20th century until today even after more than fifty years of his death.

Walang Sugat
Unang Yugto Tagpo 1.a: Sa loob ng isang bahay *kantas* Julia: Iligpit na ninyo ang mga bastidor at kayoy umalis na.

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Tagpo 2.a Teong: Julia, patingin nga ng binuburdahan mo Julia: *ilalayo ang panyo kay Teong. Pipilitin ni Teong na makita ang panyo pero pilit itong inilalayo ni Julia* Huwag na, Teong. Huwag mo munang tingnan, masama ang pagkakakayari. Saka na lang, kapag maganda na. Sa ibang araw, ipapakita ko sa iyo. Teong: Posible ba na ang mga daliring ito, na hagod kandila, na parang nilalik na maputing garing, ay may yayariin na hindi maganda? Hala na, titingan ko lamang saglit Julia: Wag mo na akong tuyain, pangit nga ang mga daliri ko! Teong: Ay! Julia: Anong lalim ng buntong-hininga. Lalo ko pang pagagalitin Teong: Julia, Julia ko Hindi na ko nagagalit, patawarin mo ako Julia: Masakit sa akin, magalit ka at hindi, laging bagay! Teong: Lumalaganap sa dibdib ko ang masaganang tuwa, na ito ay nakita ko na minarapat mong ilimbag sa panyong ito ang pangalan ko! Julia: Hindi ah! Nagkakamali ka Hindi para sa iyo ang panyong iyan. Teong: Kasinungalingan! At kanino namang pangalan ito A, Antonio, N, Narciso at F, ay Flores! Julia: Hindi mo pangalan iyan. A-, sa amang iyan! Iyay iaalay ko sa kaniya ngayong kaarawan ng Pasko. Teong: Hindi pala akin ah! Kung sa amang o sa demonyo may bakit ang letray A, N at F? Julia: Oo nga, ah, eh, pagkat ang A ay amang, ang N ay natin, at ang F ay frayle. Amang natin frayle. Teong: Amang natin frayle? Niloloko mo ba ko? Laking kaalipustahan! Huwag mo kong aglahiin tungkol sa mga taong iyat madaling magpapanting ang tainga ko! Julia (to self): Aba, at nakaganti na ako! Teong: Julia, magsabi ka nga ng totoo! Para sa Kura nga ba? Kapag di ko sinilaban ay sinungaling ako *kantas* Tagpo 3.a Juana: Julia, Julia, nakita mo ba ang baro kong makato? Lucas: Mamang Teong, Mamang Teong! Teong: O Lucas, napaano ka?

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Lucas: Dinakip po ang tatang mo ng boluntaryong Sta. Maria! Teong: (gulat) Diyatat dinakip si Tatang? Lucas: Opo! Sa Bulacan daw po dadalhin Teong: Tiya, ako poy paparoon munat susundan si Tatang Juana: Hintay ka sandalit kami ay sasama. Julia, magtapis ka Teong: O mundong sinungaling! Sa bawat sandaling ligaya na kinamtan sa dibdib ay tinutugunan kapagdaka ng matinding dusa! O mundong mandaraya! Ang tuwang idinudulot mo sa amin ay maitutulad sa bangot halimuyak ng bulaklak, na sa sandaling oras ay kusang lumilipas. ---bababa ang tabing. Tagpo 4. A = Musika Tagpo 5.a (Bilangguan sa Bulakan, patyo ng Gobyerno, maraming mga bilanggong nakatali sa mga rehas.) Kura 1.0.: Ah, si Kapitan Luis! Ito tagaroon sa amin; masamang tao itoKung hindi man mason, marahil filibustero, sapagkat kung siya sumulat maraming K(a), cabayo K(a). Marcelo: Hindi po ako kabayo, among! Kura 1.0: Hindi ko sinasabing kabayo ikaw, kundi, kung isulat niya ang kabayo may K, na lahat ng C pinapalitan ng K. Masamang tao iyan, mabuti mamatay siya. Kura 2.0.: Marcelo, si Kapitan Piton, si Kapitan Miguel, at ang Juez de Paz, ay daragdagan ng rasyon. Marcelo: Hindi sila makakain eh! Kura 1.0: Hindi pagkain ang itinutukoy ko sa rasyon! Hindi! Ano sa akin kundi sila kumain? Mabuti ngat mamatay silang lahat. Ang rasyon na sinasabi ko sa yo ay ang palo, maraming palo ang kailangan. (Suggestion: sana habang ginagawa to pinapakita na si Inggo na inaapi) Marcelo: Ah.. Opo, among, hirap na po ang mga katawan nila at nakaaawa po namang mangagsidaing; isang linggo na pong paluan ito, at isang linggo na po silang walang tulog! Kura 2.0: Loko ito! Anong awa-awa? Nayon walan awa-awa, duro que duro-awa-awa? Ilang kaban ang rasyon? Ang rasyon ng palo, ha. Marcelo: Dati poy tatlong kabanngayon poy lima ng kaban, at makalima po sa isang araw. Samakatwid ay limang beses 25, at makalimang 125, ay Huston 625 (binibilang sa daliri). Kakaunti pa! (bibigyan ni Kura 2.0 si Marcelo ng kuwalta at tabako). Kura 1.0: Kahapon ilan ang namatay? Marcelo: Walo po sana, subalit nang mag-uumaga po ay pito lamang. Kura 1.0: Aba e, bakit ganoon? (gulat). Marcelo: Si Kapitang Inggo ay pinagsaulan ng hininga. Kura 1.0: Si Kapitan Inggo pinagsaulan ng hininga! Narito si Kapitana Putin, at ibig daw makita si Kapitan Inggo na asawa niya. Kung ganoon ay hindi na mamamatay si Kapitan Inggo? Marcelo: Mamamatay pong walang pagsala: wala na pong laman ang dalawang pigi sa kapapalo, at ang dalawang braso poy litaw na ang mga buto, nagigit sa pagkakagapos. Kura 1.0: May buhay-pusa si Kapitan Inggo! Saan naroroon ngayon? Marcelo: Nariyan po sa kabilang silid, at tinutuluyan uli ng limang kaban. Kura 1.0: Mabuti, mabuti, Marcelo huwag mong kalilimutan, na si Kapitan Inggo ay araw-araw papaluin at ibibilad at bubusan nang tubig ang ilong, at huwag bibigyan ng mabuting tulugan, ha? Marcelo: Opo, Among Kura 1.0: (Sa mga kasama niya) Compaeros, habeis traido el dinero para el Gobernador? Kura 2, 3, 4: Si, si, hemos traido. Kura 1.0: Marcelo, dalhin dito si Kapitan Inggo.

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Marcelo: Hindi po makalakad, eh! Kura 1.0: Dalhin dito pati ang papag. Kura 1.0: Kapitana Putin, mga dalaw, parito kayo. (Magsisilabas ang mga dalaw). Tagpo 6.a (Mga Relihiyoso, Putin, Juana, Julia, Tenyong at mga dalaw, babae at lalaki.) Kura 1.0: Kapitana Putin, ngayon makikita mo na ang tao mo, dadalhin dito, at sinabi ko sa Alkalde na huwag nang papaluin, huwag nang ibibilad at ipinagbilin ko na bibigyan na ng mabuting tuluganKami ay aakyat muna sandali sa Gobernador, at sasabihin namin na pakawalan na lahat ang mga bilanggo, kaawa-awa naman sila. Putin: Opo, among, mano na nga po. Salamat po, among. (Mangagsisihalik ng kamay, si Tenyong ay hindi at ang mga ibang lalaki.) Kura 1.0: (Sa mga kasama) Despues de ver el Gobernador..a Manila, cogemeros el tren en la Estacion de Guiguinto, es necesario deciral General que empiece ya a fusilar a los ricos e ilustrados de la provincia, porque esto va mal. Kura 2.0: Ya lo creo que va mal. Los 3: Si, si a fuislar, a fusilar. (Papasok ang mga pare.) Tagpo 7.a Putin: Tenyong, kay sama mong bata, bakit ka hindi humalik ng kamay sa among? Tenyong: Inang, ang mga kamay pong nanatay ng kapwa ay hindi dapat hagkan. Huwag po kayong maniniwalang sasabihin niya sa Gobernador na si tatang ay pakawalan! Bagkus pa ngang ipagbibiling patayin na ngang tuluyan. (Sarili) Kung nababatid lamang ng mga ito ang pinag-usapan ng apat na lilo! Nakalulunos ang kamangmangan! (Ipapasok si Kapitang Inggo na nakadapa sa isang papag na makitid.) Putin: Inggo ko! Tenyong: Tatang! Julia: Kaawa-awa naman! Tenyong: Mahabaging Langit! Tenyong: Ang dalawang brasoy gitgit na ang laman, naglabas ang buto sa mga tinalian, lipos na ang sugat ang buong katawan, nakahahambal! Ay! Ang anyo ni amang! Ang lahat ng itoy gawa ng pari na sa Pilipinas siyang naghahari lalang ni Lusiper sa demonyong lahi kay Satang malupit nakikiugaliAh, kapag ka namatay oh, ama kong ibig, asahan mo po at igaganting pilit kahit na ano ang aking masapit, sa ulo ng prayle isa sa kikitil. Tenyong: Tatang, ikaw poy ititihaya ko nang hindi mangalay Inggo: Huwag na.anak ko.hindi na maaariluray luray na ang katawanTayoy maghihiwalay na walang pagsala! Bunso ko, huwag mong pabayaan ang inang mo! Putin, ay PutinJuana-Juliakayo na lamang ang inaasahan kong kakalinga sa kanila.Ang kaluluwa koy inihain ko na kay Bathala. Tenyong: Diyos na may kapangyarihan! Anot inyong ipinagkaloob ang ganitong hirap? Tenyong: Taya ng loob ko at binabanta-banta mga taong iyay tadtarin man yata lahat niyang laman, buto sampung taba, di makababayad sa utang na madla.OOt di ko matingnan, puso koy sinusubhan sa ginawa kay amang ng mga taong hunghang ang away nilimot sa kalupitan. Julia: Tenong koy huwag ng isipin mo pa ang ipaghiganti buhay ng iyong ama. May diyos na tanto na nakakakakita, lahat ng gawa ng frayleng khul.a (Mga babaet lalaki): Di na kinahabagan kahit kaunti man, pariseos ay daig sa magpahirap. Lalakit babae: Wari mukha nang bangkay. Tenyong: Inang, masdan mo po.at masama ang lagay ni tatang,,,Inang, tingnan mot naghihingalo.Tatang, tatang. Putin: Inggo ko..Inggo Tenyong: Patay na! (Mangagsisihagulgol ng iyak) ---bababa ang tabing. Tagpo 8.a

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Putin: Tenong, hindi na yata ako makasasapit sa atin! Julia, nangangatal ang buong katwan ko; nagsisikip ang aking dibdib, ang sakit ay tagos hanggang likod! Ay Tenong, hindi ako makahinga. Ang puso koy parang pinipitpit sa palihang bakal! Tenong: Langit na mataas! Tagpo 9.a (Tenyong at mga kasamang lalaki, mamayay si Julia.) Tenyong: Mga kasama, magsikuha ng gulok, at ang may rebolber ay dalhin. Isa: Akoy merong iniingatan. Isa pa: Mayroon din ako. Tenyong: Tayo na sa estasyon ng Guiguinto. Isa: Nalalaman mo bang silay mangagsisilulan? Tenyong: Oo, narinig ko ang salitaan nila, at nabatid ko tuloy nasasabihin daw nila sa Heneral na tayoy pagbabarilin na. Isa: Mga tampalasan. Isa pa: Walang patawad! (Nang mangagsiayon, si Tenyong ay nakahuli sa paglakad, sa lalabas si Julia) Julia: Tenyong, Tenyong! Tenyong: Julia! Julia: Matitiis mo bang lisanin ang ina mo, gayot ganito ang kaniyang anyo? Hindi mo ba alam na ikaw lamang ang tanging makapagaaliw sa kaniya? Bakit mo siya iiwan? Tenyong: Julia, tunay ang sinabi mo; datapwat sa sarili mong loob, di ba si inang ay kakalingain mong parang tunay na ina; alang-alang sa paglingap mo sa akin? Sa bagay na ito, ano ang ipagaalaala ko? Julia: Oo nga, Tenyong, ngunit hindi kaila sa iyo na ang maililingap ng isang lalaking kamukha mo ay di katumbas ng isang babaing gaya ko. Tenyong, huwag kang umalis! Tenyong: Julia, hindi maaari ang ako ay di pasa-parang; ako ay hinihintay ng mga kapatid. Tumugtog na ang oras ng pananawagan ng naaaping ina, sa pinto ng nagpaubayang anak; ang ina natin ay nangangailangan ng tunay nating pagdamay; dito sa dibdib koy tumitimo ang nakalulunos niyang himutok, ang nakapanlulumo niyang daing: Mga anak ko, anya, ngayoy kapanahunang akoy ibangon na ninyo sa pagkalugami. Oras na, Julia ko, ng paglagot ng matibay na tanikalang mahigpit sa tatlong daang taong sinasangayad; hindi dapat tulutangmga iaanak natin ay magising pa sa kalagim-lagim na kaalipin. Julia: Wala akong maitututol, tanggapin na lamang ang huling tagubilin! (Huhubarin ang gargantilyang may medalyita; tangnan at isusuot kay Tenyong ang gargantilya;) Ang larawang itoy aking isasabit sa tapat ng pusoy huwag iwawaglit at sa mga digma, kung siyay masambit ipagtanggol ka sa mga panganib. /Kung saka-sakaling irog koy masaktan, pahatid kang agad sa aking kandungan. Ang mga sugat moy aking huhugasan ng masaganang luhang sa matay nunukal. Tenyong: Sa Diyos nananalig. Julia: Puso koy dinadalaw ng malaking hapis. Tenyong: Huwag mamanglaw. Huwag ipagdusa ang aking pagpanaw. Julia: Mangungulimlim na ang sa matang ilaw. Tenyong: Ang ulap Julia koy di mananatili. Darating na ibig, ang pagluluwalhati. Julia: Tenyong na poon koy kahimanawari. Magliwayway ulit dilim ay mapawi. Tenyong: Huwag nang matakot, huwag nang mangamba. Akoy tutupad lang ng aking panata sa pakikianib sa mga kasama. Aming tutubusin, naaliping ina. Ikaw irog koy aking itatago sa loob ng dibdib, sa tabi ng puso. Nang hindi malubos ang pagkasiphayo sa mga sakuna, ikawy kalaguyo. (Titigil) Yayao na ako! Julia: Akoy lilisanin? Balot yaring puso ng matinding lumbay, bumalik ka agad nang di ikamatay. Tenyong: Juling aking sinta! Julia: Oh, Tenyong ng buhay! Tenyong: (Anyong aalis) (Sarili) Kaawa-awa! (Tuluyang aalis.) Julia: (Biglang lilingon) Te! Yumao na! (Papasok) Tagpo 10.a (Tugtuging nagpapakilala ng damdamin. Pagdating ng bahaging masaya ay maririnig ang sigawan sa loob. Mga prayle at mga kasama ni Tenyong at si Tenyong.) Isa: Ah, lahi ni Lucifer! Magsisi kat oras mo na!

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Tenong: Ikaw ang natay sa ama ko, taksil! Kura 1.0: Perdon, patawarin ninyo! Kura 2.0: Desgraciadas! Tenong: Walang utang na hindi pinagbayaran! Wakas ng Unang Bahagi Ikalawang Bahagi I TAGPO (Bahay ni Julia) (Julia at Juana) Salitain Juana: Julia, igayak ang loob mo; Papunta na si Miugel at ang kanyang ama, silay pagpapakitaan nang mainam. Julia: Kung pumarito po sila, ay di kausapin mo po! Juana: Bakit ba ganiyan ka makasagot, Julia? Hindi naman siya pangit Kung tutuusin ngay siyay lipi ng mabubuting tao, bugtong na anak at nakaririwasaano pa kulang? Julia: Ako po, inang ko, ay hindi naghahangad ng mga kabutihang tinuran mo, ang hinahangad ko po ay. Juana: Ay ano? Duluhan mo, sabihin mo at nang maintindihan ko. Julia: Ang tanggapin pong mahinusay ng puso ko. Juana: (Natatawa) Julia, akoy natatawa lamang sa iyo, ikaw ay bata pa nga anong pusu-puso ang sinasabi mo? Totoo ngat noong unay kapag may lalaking nangingibig ay tinatatanggap ng mga mata at itinutuloy sa puso, at kung ano ang kaniyang tibok ay siyang sinusunod. Subalit ngayoy iba na, nagbago nang lahat ang lakad ng panahon ngayoy kung may lalaking nangingibig ay tinatanggap ng mga mata at itinutuloy dito (hihipuin ang noo) dito sa isip at di na sa puso; at kung ano ang pasya ng isip ay siyang paiiralin: ang puso sa panahong ito ay hindi na gumaganap ng maganda niyang katungkulan, siyay nagpapahingalay na Julia: Nakasisindak, inang ko, ang mga pangungusap mo! Ako poy hindi makasunod sa masamang kalakaran ng panahon, dito po ako makatatakwil sa tapat na udyok ng aking puso. Juana: Julia, tila wari . . . . may kinalulugdan ka na bang iba? Julia: Wala po! Juana: Kung wala ay bakit ka sumusuway sa aking iniaalok? Nalaman mo na, ang kagalingan mong sarili ang aking ninananais. Ang wika ko baga, ay bukas-makalaway mag-aasawa ka rin lamang ay kung mapapasa-moro, ay mapasa-Kristiyano na! (Papasok) Julia: (Sarili) Moro yata si Tenyong! II TAGPO (Julia at Monica) Salitain Julia: Monicaaaaaaaaaa, Monicaaaaaaaaaa Monica: (Sa loob) Pooo! Julia: Halika!(Lalabas si Monica) Pumaroon ka kay Lukas, sabihin mong hinihintay ko siya; madali ka.. Monica: Opo (Papasok) III TAGPO (Julia-mamayay Miguel, Tadeo, Pari Teban, at Juana) Musika Dalit ni Julia Oh, Tenyong niyaring dibdib, diyata' akoy iyong natiis na hindi mo na sinilip sa ganitong pagkahapis. Ay! Magdumali kat daluhan, tubusin sa kapanganiban, huwag mo akong bayaang mapasa ibang kandungan. Halika, Tenyong, halika,

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at baka di na abutin si Juliay humihinga pa papanaw, walang pagsala! At kung patay na abutin itong iyong nalimutan ang bangkay ay dalhin na lamang sa malapit na libingan. Huling samo, oh! Tenyong, kung iyo nang maibaon sa malungkot na pantiyon, dalawin minsan man isang taon. P. Teban: (Pumalakpak) Kaganda ng dalit mo Julianapakalumbay lamang Julia: (Gulat) Narito po pala kayo! Patawarin po ninyo at hindi ko nalalamang kayoy nangagsiratingKahiya-hiya po. P. Teban: Hindi; hindi kahiya-hiya, mainam ang dalit mo. Ang inang mo? Julia: Nariyan po sa labas, a, e, tatawagin ko po. (Papasok). P. Teban: Magandang bata si Julia, at mukhang lalabas na mabuting asawa.Marunong kang pumili, Miguel. Tadeo: Ako, among, ang mabuting mamili, si Miguel poy hindi maalam makiusap. (Lalabas si Juana). Juana: Aba, narito pala ang among! Mano po, among. P. Teban: Ah, Juana, kamusta? Juana: Mabuti po among. Tadeo: (Kay Miguel) Lapitan mo. Miguel: Baka po ako murahin ah! Tadeo: Bakit ka mumurahin? Juana: Kumusta po naman kayo, among? P. Teban: Masama, Juana, tila yata itong pagkabuhay namin ay lagi na lamang sa hirap noong araw kami ay walang inaasahan kundi kaunting suweldo dahil sa kamiy alipin ng mga prayle; subalit ngayon nga, kami na ang namamahala, wala naman kaming kinikita; wala nang pamisa ang mga patay ay hindi na dinadapit; ngayon ko napaglirip na ang mga kabanalang ginawa ng mga tao noong araw ay pawang pakunwari at pakitang-tao lamang alinsunod sa malaking takot sa mga prayle. Juana: Totoo po ang sabi mo. P. Teban: Kaya, Juana, di-malayong kaming mga klerigo ay mauwi sa pagsasaka, tantuin niyong kaming mga pari ay hindi mabubuhay sa panay na hangin. Juana: Bakit dami mo pong mga pinakakaing mga pamangking dalaga? P. Teban: Siya nga, ulilang inaampon ko. Miguel: Ay! Aling Juliaay..mamamalapit na po. Julia: Alin po ang malapit na? Miguel: Angangang Julia: (Sarili) Ano kaya ang ibig sabihin nito? Tadeo: Miguel, tayo nat nagkayari na kami ng kaniyang ina. Miguel: Aysalamat (tuwang-tuwa) Julia: (Sarili) Ipinagkayari na pala ako ni Inang? Tadeo: Ano ba ang sinabi mo? Miguel: Sinabi ko pong ay Julia! Ay, Aling Julia! Ay, Julia ko! Tadeo: Wala ka nang nasabi kundi pulos na ay? Hindi ka nagpahayag ng pagsinta mo? Miguel: Sinabi ko pong malapit na. Tadeo: Malapit na ang alin? Miguel: Itinatanong nga po sa akin kung alin ang malapit na eh, hindi ko po nasagutan Tadeo: Napakadungo ka! Ay Ige, tayo nat baka ka pa mahalata P. Teban: Oo nga, Adios Juana Magpapakumpisal pa. Adios, Julia! Juana, Julia: Adios! Tagpo 4.a Lucas: Magandang araw po!

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Julia: Lucas! Tuloy ka. Alam mo ba kung nasaan si mamang Tenyong? Lucas: Hindi po. Ngunit kung kailangan niyo talaga ay aking hahanapin siya. Sabihin niyo lang po Julia: Salamat, Lucas. Subalit ang tanging nais ko ay ihatid lamang sa kanya ang sulat na ito. Lucas: Maaasahan niyo pong darating ito sa kanya. Kung wala nap o kayong iuutos, akoy aalis na. Julia: Wala na, Lucas. Sanay makabalik ka agad, ibalita mo sa kanila na wala nang Kastila rito, iniwan at sukat itong bayan. Tagpo 5.a *musika* Tagpo 6.a Kabo: Limang buenas na kayo. Sarhento: Kami ay walang malas pa lamang. Kabo: Hari na kayo Sarhento: At ang rebesino? IKATLONG YUGTO Lucas: Tao po! Tao poooo (repeat if necessary) Julia: Aba Lucas! Kailan ka dumating? Nakita mo ba siya? Lucas: Kararating ko pa lamang. At opo, nabigay ko na. At wala po siyang sagot. Sa oras na sasagot na siya ay bigla namang dumating ang kaaway Julia: Kung gayoy napapalaban si Tenong? Naku! Hindi kaya masugatan! Kay laking panganib! Lucas: Pinaalis po akod ako ni Kapitan Tenyong at baka raw mapahamak pa ko at wala nang makapagbalita sa inyo. Subalit kung ako lamang ang masusunod ay tutulong po ako sa kanila! Hindi ako natatakot sa mga putok, ang totoo ngay hilig ko ang putukan. Julia: Ano ba ang bilin sa iyo? Lucas: Sabihin ko raw po sa inyo na siyay uuwi na. Julia: Maaasahan ko kaya? Lucas: Marahil po, maliban lang kung.. Kung silay magkaroon ng ligamgam. Sige po, akoy aalis na. Julia: Oo, Lucas. Marami na kong utang sayo. Tagpo 2.a Miguel: Julia, salamat at ngayoy napapanood ko na ang liwanag ni Febo Julia: Narito na naman ang ulol na ito.. Babanggitin uli ang buwan, araw at mga bituin.. Pagkatapos ang ulan, alimuum at huni ng ibon Miguel: Bakit ba ayaw mo kong sagutin? O talang maliwanag, daig mo ang araw na bagong sumikat. Julia: Miguel, totoog masakit na ang ulo ko. Huwag mo akong kausapin. Bawat tunog na nadidinig ko ay tila nginangatngat ng aso ang ulo ko, at ang kumausap sa akin ay ibig kong Miguel: Bakit baa yaw mo kong sagutin? Julia: Masakit ang ulo ko. Miguel: Ay, sumagot din! Salamat at akoy iniibig mo na. Julia: At sino naman ang nagsabi sa inyo niyan? Miguel: Sinabi mo na ang kumakausap sa iyoy ibig mong Julia: (laugh) Ulol nga pala? Ang kumausap sa akin ay ibig ko nang dikdikin. Naintindihan mo ba? Marteng matapang Julia: Tenong, nilimot mo na ako! --music Tagpo 3.a Juana: Miguel, bat naguumiyak si Juana? Anong ginawa mo? Miguel: Kinausap ko lamaong po tapos pumadiyak-padiyak na at akoy iniwan *tinatawag ni Juana si Julia* Juana: Kinakausap ka lamang ni Miguel tapos nagalit ka na? Julia (sa sarili): Aba nakapagsumbong pa ang tunggak! Julia: Sinabi ko pos a kanyay huwag akong kausapin sapagkat masakit po ang ulo ko. Ngunit lalo pa niya akong kinausap at sinabi pang ako si Febo, tala, Venus at marami pang kaulolan.

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Juana: Ganoon naman pala eh. (Kay Miguel): Julia lang ang itatawag mo sa kanya. Ayaw niyang pagwikaan ng mga tala, Venus.. Siya nga pala, ang tatang moy hindi ba paririto? Miguel: Patungo nap o rito, dumaan lamang sa bahay ni Fiscal Manuel.. Hindi naman po siya engrandeng engrande, subalit pumunta siya roon para pasindahan ang lahat ng simbahan.. at sisita pa raw po ang lahat ng orquesta Julia (sarili): Tunggok na nga, manununog pa! Tagpo 4.a Miguel: Ah, narito na po si Tatang Tadeo: Ano balae, hindi ba nagkakasakit? Juana: Wala naman pong nagkakasakit sa amin. Kamusta naman po kayo? Tadeo: MAbuti, parehas pa rin ng dati. Si Miguel lamang ang palaging sinisinat Si Julia? Juana: Narito po. Julia! Julia! Pumarito ka, tinatanong ka ng magiging biyenan mo. Tadea: Hija, ibig koy ikaw ang pipili ng damit mong bibilhin.. Juana: Opo Julia (sarili) Kay bigat nga naman talaga ng duko ko sa matandang ito, mukha ngang manununog. Tadeo: (to Juana) Balae, ako sanay may ipakikisuyo sa iyo na isang mumunting bagay. Huwag na nating hintayin pa ang ikadalawamput lima; sa araw ng Sabadong darating ay iraos na natin ang mga bunso. Julia: Ano itong narinig ko?! Ibig pang pabilisan ang pagsabi ng mabangis na kamatayan! Mga walang awa! Juana: Tatanungin ko po si Julia kung pumapayag siya. (to Julia) Julia ipinakikiusap ng biyenan mo na sa Sabado na lang daw ang kasal. Julia: Inang, sabihin mo pos a kanila na antabayanan ang araw na napagkasunduan! Bakit po minamadali nila? Juana: Siyanga po naman, maghintay na po tayo.. Tadeo: Miguel, maghintay na! Ikaw ay umuwi na at dumaan kay Fiscal Manuel. Sabihin mo sa kanya na hindi na matutuloy sa Sabado. Tagpo 5.a Recitado: Magsilayo kayo, akoy bitiwan Dumating na ha, ha, ha Sugatan lamang Lumayas ka Miguel, huwag na matingnan Kay Tadeo: ikaw matanda kay Kitay uunatan Mga walang awa, ah mga kuhila! Koro, may bandat orchestra Koro (sigaw) Mabuhay ang Filipinas, mabuhay ang kasal! *kanta* Miguel: Julia! Nasan ka na? Naghihintay na si Pari Teban! Ano bang tagal ng salubungan yan? Napakatagal nga naman talaga! Julia: Pakasal kang mag-isa mo. Miguel: Kay sama naman ng sagot nito! Aling Juana, sabihin mo p okay Julia na totoong tanghali na. Magaalas-dose na nga yata eh! Juana: Julia naghihintay na raw si Pari Teban Julia: Hayaan niyong maghintay siya! Si Tenong poy mamamatay na Kaaawa-awa naman, hindi po dapat iwan.

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Juana: Mamamatay pala! Ginoong Heneral, masama raw po ang lagay ni Kapitan Tenong. Heneral: Ginoong medico! Tignan niyo nga po ang Kapitan Tenong! Mamamatay pala.. Ginoo, mangyaring tawagin ang kura nang makapagkumpisal ang Kapitang Tenong Miguel: Hindi po, ako nap o ang tatawag Kura: Akoy may ipahahayag sa inyo na isang malaking bagay ang Kapitan Tenong na sa oras na itoy lilipat sa baying tahimik, ay may huling kahilingan. Ipinagmamakaawa niya sa iyo Juana, at kay Ginoong Miguell, na yayamang siya ay mamamatay rin sa oras na ito, ay mangyaring ipakasal sa kanya si Julia Juana: Ipakasal sa kanya si Julia?! Bakit? *nagtatanong din sina Miguel at Tadeo* Kura: Sapagkat noon p amay may kasunduan na silay magpapakasal sa oras na ito. Juana: Julia, halika. May salitaan nga ba kayo ni Tenong? Julia: Inang, ang tao pong nasa mahalagang oras ng kamatayan, at malapit ng dumulok sa hukuman ng Diyos ay hindi na nagsasasabi ng kasinungalingan. Juana: AH totoo nga! Lilong anak! Sukab na pamangkin! Julia: Inang! Juana: HINDI KITA ANAK! *kanta parts*

Bienvenido N. Santos
Born in Tondo, Manila, of Pampango parents from Lubao, Bienvenido N. Santos was a
government pensionado to the United States in 1941. During the war years he studied at the University of Illinois, Columbia, and Harvard and served with the Philippine government in exile in Washington, D.C. In 1946 he returned to the Philippines, taught school and became a university administrator. In 1958 he was a Rockefeller Foundation fellow at the Writers Workshop in the University of Iowa

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where he later taught as a Fulbright exchange professor. He has received a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship and a Republic Cultural Heritage Award in Literature. In 1981, his alma mater, the University of the Philippines, and Bicol University in Legazpi City gave him honorary degrees in Letters and Humanities. He was a Distinguished Writer in Residence at the Wichita State University from 1973 to 1982, and was awarded an honorary degree in humane letters upon his retirement. In late 1986 to 1987, he was a Visiting Writer and Artist at De La Salle University. His works include the following: Novels The Man Who (Thought He) Looked Like Robert Taylor Brother My Brother The Praying Man The Volcano Villa Magdalena What the Hell For You Left Your Heart in San Francisco Short fiction collections Dwell in the Wilderness Scent of Apples The Day the Dancers Came You Lovely People Poetry Distances: In Time The Wounded Stag: 54 Poems Nonfiction Memory's Fictions: A Personal History Postscript to a Saintly Life Letters: Book 1 Letters: Book 2

The Chieftest Mourner

He was my uncle because he married my aunt (even if he had not come to her these past ten years), so when the papers brought the news of his death, I felt that some part of me had died, too.I was boarding then at a big girls' college in Manila and I remember quite vividly that a few other girls were gathered about the lobby of our school, looking very straight and proper since it was seven in the morning and the starch in our long-sleeved uniform had not yet given way. I tried to be brave while I read that my uncle had actually

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been "the last of a distinct school of Philippine poets." I was still being brave all the way down the lengthy eulogies, until I got to the line which said that he was "the sweetest lyre that ever throbbed with Malayan chords." Something caught at my throat and I let out one sob--the rest merely followed. When the girls hurried over to me to see what had happened, I could only point to the item on the front page with my uncle's picture taken when he was still handsome. Everybody suddenly spoke in a low voice and Ning, who worshipped me, said that I shouldn't be so unhappy because my uncle was now with the other great poets in heaven--at which I really howled in earnest because my uncle had not only deserted poor Aunt Sophia but had also been living with another woman these many years and, most horrible of all, he had probably died in her embrace!Perhaps I received an undue amount of commiseration for the death of the delinquent husband of my aunt, but it wasn't my fault because I never really lied about anything; only, nobody thought to ask me just how close an uncle he was. It wasn't my doing either when, some months after his demise, my poem entitled The Rose Was Not So Fair O Alma Mater was captioned "by the niece of the late beloved Filipino Poet." And that having been printed, I couldn't possibly refuse when I was asked to write on My Uncle--The Poetry of His Life. The article, as printed, covered only his boyhood and early manhood because our adviser cut out everything that happened after he was married. She said that the last half of his life was not exactly poetic, although I still maintain that in his vices, as in his poetry, he followed closely the pattern of the great poets he admired.My aunt used to relate that he was an extremely considerate man--when he was sober, and on those occasions he always tried to make up for his past sins. She said that he had never meant to marry, knowing the kind of husband he would make, but that her beauty drove him out of his right mind. My aunt always forgave him but one day she had more than she could bear, and when he was really drunk, she tied him to a chair with a strong rope to teach him a lesson. She never saw him drunk again, for as soon as he was able to, he walked out the door and never came back.I was very little at that time, but I remembered that shortly after he went away, my aunt put me in a car and sent me to his hotel with a letter from her. Uncle ushered me into his room very formally and while I looked all around the place, he prepared a special kind of lemonade for the two of us. I was sorry he poured it out into wee glasses because it was unlike any lemonade I had ever tasted. While I sipped solemnly at my glass, he inquired after my aunt. To my surprise, I found myself answering with alacrity. I was happy to report all details of my aunt's health, including the number of crabs she ate for lunch and the amazing fact that she was getting fatter and fatter without the benefit of Scott's Emulsion or Ovaltine at all. Uncle smiled his beautiful somber smile and drew some poems from his desk. He scribbled a dedication on them and instructed me to give them to my aunt. I made much show of putting the empty glass down but Uncle was dense to the hint. At the door, however, he told me that I could have some lemonade every time I came to visit him. Aunt Sophia was so pleased with the poems that she kissed me. And then all of a sudden she looked at me queerly and made a most peculiar request of me. She asked me to say ha-ha, and when I said ha-ha, she took me to the sink and began to wash the inside of my mouth with soap and water while calling upon a dozen of the saints to witness the act. I never got a taste of Uncle's lemonade.It began to be a habit with Aunt Sophia to drop in for a periodic recital of woe to which Mama was a sympathetic audience. The topic of the conversation was always the latest low on Uncle's state of misery. It gave Aunt Sophia profound satisfaction to relay the report of friends on the number of creases on Uncle's shirt or the appalling decrease in his weight. To her, the fact that Uncle was getting thinner proved conclusively that he was suffering as a result of the separation. It looked as if Uncle

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would not be able to hold much longer, the way he was reported to be thinner each time, because Uncle didn't have much weight to start with. The paradox of the situation, however, was that Aunt Sophia was now crowding Mama off the sofa and yet she wasn't looking very happy either.When I was about eleven, there began to be a difference. Everytime I cam into the room when Mama and Aunt Sophia were holding conference, the talk would suddenly be switched to Spanish. It was about this time that I took an interest in the Spanish taught in school. It was also at this time that Aunt Sophia exclaimed over my industry at the piano--which stood a short distance from the sofa. At first I couldn't gather much except that Uncle was not any more the main topic. It was a woman by the name of Esa--or so I thought she was called. Later I began to appreciate the subtlety of the Spanish la mujer esa.And so I learned about the woman. She was young, accomplished, a woman of means. (A surprising number of connotations were attached to these terms.) Aunt Sophia, being a loyal wife, grieved that Uncle should have been ensnared by such a woman, thinking not so much of herself but of his career. Knowing him so well, she was positive that he was unhappier than ever, for that horrid woman never allowed him to have his own way; she even denied him those little drinks which he took merely to aid him into poetic composition. Because the woman brazenly followed Uncle everywhere, calling herself his wife, a confusing situation ensued. When people mentioned Uncle's wife, there was no way of knowing whether they referred to my aunt or to the woman. After a while a system was worked out by the mutual friends of the different parties. No. 1 came to stand for Aunt Sophia and No. 2 for the woman.I hadn't seen Uncle since the episode of the lemonade, but one day in school all the girls were asked to come down to the lecture room--Uncle was to read some of his poems! Up in my room, I stopped to fasten a pink ribbon to my hair thinking the while how I would play my role to perfection--for the dear niece was to be presented to the uncle she had not seen for so long. My musings were interrupted, however, when a girl came up and excitedly bubbled that she had seen my uncle--and my aunt, who was surprisingly young and so very modern!I couldn't go down after all; I was indisposed.Complicated as the situation was when Uncle was alive, it became more so when he died. I was puzzling over who was to be the official widow at his funeral when word came that I was to keep Aunt Sophia company at the little chapel where the service would be held. I concluded with relief that No. 2 had decamped.The morning wasn't far gone when I arrived at the chapel and there were only a few people present. Aunt Sophia was sitting in one of the front pews at the right section of the chapel. She had on a black and white print which managed to display its full yardage over the seat. Across the aisle from her was a very slight woman in her early thirties who was dressed in a dramatic black outfit with a heavy veil coming up to her forehead. Something about her made me suddenly aware that Aunt Sophia's bag looked paunchy and worn at the corners. I wanted to ask my aunt who she was but after embracing me when I arrived, she kept her eyes stolidly fixed before her. I directed my gaze in the same direction. At the front was the president's immense wreath leaning heavily backward, like that personage himself; and a pace behind, as though in deference to it, were other wreaths arranged according to the rank and prominence of the people who had sent them. I suppose protocol had something to do with it.I tiptoed over to the muse before Uncle as he lay in the dignity of death, the faintest trace of his somber smile still on his face. My eyes fell upon a cluster of white flowers placed at the foot of the casket. It was ingeniously fashioned in the shape of a dove and it bore the inscription "From the Loyal One." I looked at Aunt Sophia and didn't see anything dove-like about her. I looked at the slight woman in black and knew of a sudden that she was the woman. A young man, obviously a brother or a nephew, was bending over her solicitously. I took

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no notice of him even though he had elegant manners, a mischievous cowlick, wistful eyes, a Dennis Morgan chin, and a pin which testified that he belonged to what we girls called our "brother college." I showed him that he absolutely did not exist for me, especially when I caught him looking in our direction.I always feel guilty of sacrilege everytime I think of it, but there was something grimly ludicrous about my uncles funeral. There were two women, each taking possession of her portion of the chapel just as though stakes had been laid, seemingly unmindful of each other, yet revealing by this studied disregard that each was very much aware of the other. As though to give balance to the scene, the young man stood his full height near the woman to offset the collective bulk of Aunt Sophia and myself, although I was merely a disproportionate shadow behind her.The friends of the poet began to come. They paused a long time at the door, surveying the scene before they marched self-consciously towards the casket. Another pause there, and then they wrenched themselves from the spot and moved--no, slithered--either towards my aunt or towards the woman. The choice must have been difficult when they knew both. The women almost invariably came to talk to my aunt whereas most of the men turned to the woman at the left. I recognized some important Malacaang men and some writers from seeing their pictures in the papers. Later in the morning a horde of black-clad women, the sisters and cousins of the poet, swept into the chapel and came directly to where my aunt sat. They had the same deep eye-sockets and hollow cheek-bones which had lent a sensitive expression to the poet's face but which on them suggested t.b. The air became dense with the sickly-sweet smell of many flowers clashing and I went over to get my breath of air. As I glanced back I had a crazy surrealist impression of mouths opening and closing into Aunt Sophia's ear, and eyes darting toward the woman at the left. Uncle's clan certainly made short work of my aunt for when I returned, she was sobbing. As though to comfort her, one of the women said, in a whisper which I heard from the door, that the president himself was expected to come in the afternoon.Toward lunchtime, it became obvious that neither my aunt nor the woman wished to leave ahead of the other. I could appreciate my aunt's delicadeza in this matter but then got hungry and therefore grew resourceful: I called a taxi and told her it was at the door with the meter on. Aunt Sophia's unwillingness lasted as long as forty centavos.We made up for leaving ahead of the woman by getting back to the chapel early. For a long time she did not come and when Uncle's kinswomen arrived, I thought their faces showed a little disappointment at finding the left side of the chapel empty. Aunt Sophia, on the other hand, looked relieved. But at about three, the woman arrived and I perceived at once that there was a difference in her appearance. She wore the same black dress but her thick hair was now carefully swept into a regal coil; her skin glowing; her eyes, which had been striking enough, looked even larger. The eyebrows of the women around me started working and finally, the scrawniest of the poet's relations whispered to the others and slowly, together, they closed in on the woman.I went over to sit with my aunt who was gazing not so steadily at nothing in particular.At first the women spoke in whispers, and then the voices rose a trifle. Still, everybody was polite. There was more talking back and forth, and suddenly the conversation wasn't polite any more. The only good thing about it was that now I could hear everything distinctly."So you want to put me in a corner, do you? You think perhaps you can bully me out of here?" the woman said."Shh! Please don't create a scene," the poet's sisters said, going one pitch higher."It's you who are creating a scene. Didn't you come here purposely to start one?""We're only trying to make you see reason.... If you think of the dead at all...""Let's see who has the reason. I understand that you want me to leave, isn't it? Now that he is dead and cannot speak for me you think I should quietly hide in a corner?" The woman's

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voice was now pitched up for the benefit of the whole chapel. "Let me ask you. During the war when the poet was hard up do you suppose I deserted him? Whose jewels do you think we sold when he did not make money... When he was ill, who was it who stayed at his side... Who took care of him during all those months... and who peddled his books and poems to the publishers so that he could pay for the hospital and doctor's bills? Did any of you come to him then? Let me ask you that! Now that he is dead you want me to leave his side so that you and that vieja can have the honors and have your picture taken with the president. That's what you want, isn't it--to pose with the president....""Por Dios! Make her stop it--somebody stop her mouth!" cried Aunt Sophia, her eyes going up to heaven."Now you listen, you scandalous woman," one of the clan said, taking it up for Aunt Sophia. "We don't care for the honors--we don't want it for ourselves. But we want the poet to be honored in death... to have a decent and respectable funeral without scandal... and the least you can do is to leave him in peace as he lies there....""Yes," the scrawny one said. "You've created enough scandal for him in life--that's why we couldn't go to him when he was sick... because you were there, you--you shameless bitch."The woman's face went livid with shock and rage. She stood wordless while her young protector, his eyes blazing, came between her and the poet's kinswomen. Her face began to twitch. And then the sobs came. Big noisy sobs that shook her body and spilled the tears down her carefully made-up face. Fitfully, desperately, she tugged at her eyes and nose with her widow's veil. The young man took hold of her shoulders gently to lead her away, but she shook free; and in a few quick steps she was there before the casket, looking down upon that infinitely sad smile on Uncle's face. It may have been a second that she stood there, but it seemed like a long time."All right," she blurted, turning about. "All right. You can have him--all that's left of him!"At that moment before she fled, I saw what I had waited to see. The mascara had indeed run down her cheeks. But somehow it wasn't funny at all.

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Nick Joaquin
Quijano de Manila is the pen name of Nick Joaquin. He started writing before the war and his first story, Three Generations has been hailed as a masterpiece. He has been recipient of almost all the prestigious awards in literature and the arts, including the National Artist Award for Literature in 1976. He was also conferred, among other recognitions, the Republic Cultural Heritage Award for Literature in 1961, the Journalist of the Year Award in the early 1960s, the Book of the Year Award in 1979 for his Almanac for Manileos, the national Book award for several of his works, the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, Creative Communication Arts (the Asian counterpart of Nobel Prize) in 1996, and the Tanglaw ng Lahi Award in 1997.

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THE HOUSE ON ZAPOTE STREET

Dr. Leonardo Quitangon, a soft-spoken, mild-mannered, cool-tempered Caviteno, was still fancy-free at 35 when he returned to Manila, after six years abroad. Then, at the University of Santo Tomas, where he went to reach, he met Lydia Cabading, a medical intern. He liked her quiet ways and began to date her steadily. They went to the movies and to baketball games and he took her a number of times to his house in Sta. Mesa, to meet his family. Lydia was then only 23 and looked like a sweet unspoiled girl, but there was a slight air of mystery about her. Leonardo and his brothers noticed that she almost never spoke of her home life or her childhood; she seemed to have no gay early memories to share with her lover, as sweethearts usually crave to do. And whenever it looked as if she might have to stay out late, she would say: "I'll have to tell my father first". And off she would go, wherever she was, to tell her father, though it meant going all the way to Makati, Rizal, where she lived with her parents in a new house on Zapote Street. The Quitangons understood that she was an only child and that her parents were, therefore, over-zealous in looking after her. Her father usually took her to school and fetched her after classes, and had been known to threaten to arrest young men who stared at her on the streets or pressed too close against her on jeepneys. This highhandedness seemed natural enough, for Pablo Cabading, Lydia's father was a member of the Manila Police Depatment. After Lydia finished her internship, Leopardo Quitangon became a regular visitor at the house on Zapote Street: he was helping her prepare for the board exams. Her family seemed to like him. The mother Anunciacion, struck him as a mousy woman unable to speak save at her husband's bidding. There was a foster son, a little boy the Cabadings had adopted. As for Pablo Cabading, he was a fine strapping man, an Ilocano, who gave the impression of being taller than he was and looked every inch an agent of the law: full of brawn and guts and force, and smoldering with vitality. He was a natty dresser, liked youthful colors and styles, decorated his house with pictures of himself and, at 50, looked younger than his inarticulate wife, who was actually two years younger than he. When Leonardo started frequenting the house on Zapote Street, Cabading told him: ill be frank with you. None of Lydia's boy friends ever lasted ten minutes in this house. I didn't like them and I told them so and made them get out." Then he added laying a hand on the young doctor's shoulder:" But I like you. You are a good man."

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The rest of the household were two very young maids who spoke almost no Tagalog, and two very fierce dogs, chained to the front door in the day time, unchained in the front yard at night. The house of Zapote Street is in the current architectural clich: the hoity-toity Philippine split-level suburban stylea half-story perched above the living area, to which it is bound by the slope of the roof and which it overlooks from a balcony, so that a person standing in the sala can see the doors of the bedrooms and bathroom just above his head. The house is painted, as is also the current fashion, in various pastel shades, a different color to every three or four planks. The inevitable piazza curves around two sides of the house, which has a strip of lawn and a low wall all around it. The Cabadings did not keep a car, but the house provides for an eventual garage and driveway. This, and the furniture, the shell lamps and the fancy bric-a-brac that clutters the narrow house indicate that the Cabadings had not only risen high enough to justify their split-level pretensions but were expecting to go higher. Lydia took the board exams and passed them. The lovers asked her father's permission to wed. Cabading laid down two conditions: that the wedding would ba a lavish one and that was to pay a downy of P5.000.00. The young doctor said that he could afford the big wedding but the big dowry. Cabading shrugged his shoulders; no dowry, no marriage. Leonarado spent some frantic weeks scraping up cash and managed to gather P3.000.00. Cabading agreed to reduce his price to that amount, then laid down a final condition: after the wedding, Lydia and Leonardo must make their home at the house on Zapote Street. "I built this house for Lydia," said Cabading, "and I want her to live here even when she's married. Besides, her mother couldn't bear to be separated from Lydia, her only child." There was nothing. Leonardo could do but consent. Lydia and Leonardo were on September 10 last year, at the Cathedral of Manila, with Mrs. Delfin Montano, wife of the Cavite governor, and Senator Ferdinand Marcos as sponsors. The reception was at the Selecta. The status gods of Suburdia were properly propitiated. Then the newlyweds went to live on Zapote Street -- and Leonardo almost immediately realized why Lydia had been so reticent and mysterious about her home life.

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The cozy family group that charmed him in courtship days turned out to be rather too cozy. The entire household revolved in submission around Pablo Cabading. The daughter, mother, the foster-son, the maids and even the dogs trembled when the lifted his voice. Cabading liked to brag that was a "killer": in 1946 he had shot dead two American soldiers he caught robbing a neighbor's house in Quezon City. Leonardo found himself within a family turned in on itself, self-enclosed and selfsufficient in a house that had no neighbors and no need for any. His brothers say that he made more friends in the neighborhood within the couple of months he stayed there than the Cabadings had made in a year. Pablo Cabading did not like what his to stray out of, and what was not his to stray into, his house. And within that house he wanted to be the center of everything, even of his daughter's honeymoon. Whenever Leonardo and Lydia went to the movies or for a ride, Cabading insisted on being taken along. If they seated him on the back scat while they sat together in front, be raged and glowered. He wanted to sit in front with them. When Leonardo came home from work, he must not tarry with Lydia in the bedroom chatting: both of them must come down at once to the sala and talk with their father. Leonardo explained that he was not much of a talking: "That's why I fell in love with Lydia, because she's the quiet type too". No matter, said Cabading. They didn't have to talk at all; he would do all the talking himself, so long as they sat there in the sala before his eyes. So, his compact family group sat around him at night, silent, while Cabading talked and talked. But, finally, the talk had stop, the listeners had to rise and retire - and it was this moment that Cabading seemed unable to bear. He couldn't bear to see Lydia and Leonardo rise and go up together to their room. One night, unable to bear it any longer he shouted, as they rose to retire: "Lydia, you sleep with your mother tonight. She has a toothache." After a dead look at her husband, Lydia obeyed. Leonardo went to bed alone. The incident would be repeated: there would always be other reasons, besides Mrs. Cabading's toothaches. What horrified Leonardo was not merely what being done to him but his increasing acquiesces. Had his spirit been so quickly broken? Was he, too, like the rest of the household, being drawn to revolve, silently and obediently, around the master of the house?

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Once, late at night, he suddenly showed up at his parents house in Sta. Mesa and his brothers were shocked at the great in him within so short a time. He looked terrified. What had happened? His car had broken down and he had had it repaired and now he could not go home. But why not? "You don't know my father-in-law," he groaned. "Everybody in that house must be in by a certain hour. Otherwise, the gates are locked, the doors are locked, the windows are locked. Nobody can get in anymore! A younger brother, Gene offered to accompany him home and explain to Cabading what had happened. The two rode to Zapote and found the house dark and locked up. Says Gene: "That memory makes my blood boil -- my eldest brother fearfully clanging and clanging the gate, and nobody to let him in. 1 wouldn't have waited a second, but he waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, knocking at thai gate, begging to be let in. I couldn't have it!" In the end the two brothers rode back to Sta. Mesa, where Leonardo spent the night. When he returned to the house on Zapote the next day, his father-in-law greeted him with a sarcastic question: "Where were you? At a basketball game?" Leonardo became anxious to take his wife away from that house. He talked it over with her, then they went to tell her father. Said Cabading bluntly: "If she goes with you, I'll shoot her head before your eyes." His brothers urged him to buy a gun, but Leonardo felt in his pocket and said, "I've got my rosary." Cried his brother Gene: "You can't fight a gun with a rosary!". When Lydia took her oath as a physician, Cabading announced that only he and his wife would accompany Lydia to the ceremony. I would not be fair, he said, to let Leonardo, who had not borne the expenses of Lydia's education, to share that moment of glory too. Leonardo said that, if he would like them at least to use his car. The offer was rejected. Cabading preferred to hire a taxi. After about two months at the house on Zapote Street, Leonardo moved out, alone. Her parents would not let Lydia go and she herself was too afraid to leave. During the succeeding weeks, efforts to contact her proved futile. The house on Zapote became even more closed to the outside world. If Lydia emerged from it at all, she was always accompanied by her father, mother or foster-brother, or by all three.

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When her husband heard that she had started working at a hospital he went there to see her but instead met her father coming to fetch her. The very next day, Lydia was no longer working at the hospital. Leonardo knew that she was with child and he was determined to bear all her prenatal expenses. He went to Zapote one day when her father was out and persuaded her to come out to the yard but could not make her make the money he offered across the locked gate. "Just mail it," she cried and fled into the house. He sent her a check by registered mail; it was promptly mailed back to him. On Christmas Eve, Leonardo returned to the house on Zapote with a gift for his wife, and stood knocking at the gate for so long the neighbors gathered at windows to watch him. Finally, he was allowed to enter, present his gift to Lydia and talk with her for a moment. She said that her father seemed agreeable to a meeting with Leonardo's father, to discuss the young couple's problem. So the elder Quitangon and two of his younger sons went to Zapote one evening. The lights were on in Cabading house, but nobody responded to their knocking. Then all the lights were turned off. As they stood wondering what to do, a servant girl came and told them that the master was out. (Lydia would later tell them that they had not been admitted because her father had not yet decided what she was to say to them.) The last act of this curious drama began Sunday last week when Leonardo was astounded to receive an early-morning phone call from his wife. She said she could no longer bear to be parted from him and bade him pick her up at a certain church, where she was with her foster brother. Leonardo rushed to the church, picked up two, dropped the boy off at a street near Zapote, then sped with Lydia to Maragondon, Cavite where the Quitangons have a house. He stopped at a gasoline station to call up his brothers in Sta. Mesa, to tell them what he had done and to warn them that Cabading would surely show up there. "Get Mother out of the house," he told his brothers. At about ten in the morning, a taxi stopped before the Quitangon house in Sta. Mesa and Mrs. Cabading got out and began screaming at the gate: "Where's my daughter? Where's my daughter?" Gene and Nonilo Quitangin went out to the gate and invited her to come in. "No! No! All I want is my daughter!" she screamed. Cabading, who was inside the waiting taxi, then got out and demanded that the Quitangons produce Lydia. Vexed, Nonilo Quitangon cried: "Abah, what have we do with where your daughter is? Anyway, she's with her husband." At that, Cabading ran to the taxi, snatched a submachinegun from a box, and trained it on Gene Quitangon. (Nonilo had run into the house to get a gun.) "Produce my daughter at once or I'll shoot you all down!" shouted Cabading.

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Gene, the gun's muzzle practically in his face, sought to pacify the older man: "Why can't we talk this over quietly, like decent people, inside the house? Look, we're creating a scandal in the neighborhood.." Cabading lowered his gun. "I give you till midnight tonight to produce my daughter," he growled. "If you don't, you better ask the PC to guard this house!" Then he and his wife drove off in the taxi, just a moment before the mobile police patrol the neighbors had called arrived. The police advised Gene to file a complaint with the fiscal's office. Instead, Gene decided to go to the house on Zapote Street, hoping that "diplomacy" would work. To his surprise, he was admitted at once by a smiling and very genial Cabading. "You are a brave man," he told Gene, "and a lucky one", And he ordered a coke brought for the visitor. Gene said that he was going to Cavite but could not promise to "produce". Lydia by midnight: it was up to the couple to decide whether they would come back. It was about eight in the evening when Gene arrived in Maragondon. As his car drove into the yard of this family's old house, Lydia and Leonardo appeared at a window and frantically asked what had happened. "Nothing," said Gene, and their faces lit up. "We're having our honeymoon at last," Lydia told Gene as he entered the house. And the old air of dread, of mystery, did seem to have lifted from her face. But it was there again when, after supper, he told them what had happened in Sta. Mesa. "I can't go back," she moaned. "He'll kill me! He'll kill me!" "He has cooled down now," said Gene. "He seems to be a reasonable man after all." "Oh, you don't know him!" cried Lydia. "I've known him longer, and I've never, never been happy!" And the brothers at last had glimpses of the girlhood she had been so reticent about. She told them of Cabading's baffling changes of temper, especially toward her; how smiles and found words and caresses could abruptly turn into beatings when his mood darkened. Leonardo said that his father-in-law was an artista, "Remember how he used to fan me when I supped there while I was courting Lydia?" (At about that time, in Sta. Mesa, Nonilo Quitanongon, on guard at the gate of his family's house, saw Cabading drive past three times in a taxi.)

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"I can't force you to go back," said Gene. "You'll have to decide that yourselves. But what, actually, are you planning to do? You can't stay forever here in Maragondon. What would you live on?" The two said they would talk it over for a while in their room. Gene waited at the supper table and when a long time had passed and they had not come back he went to the room. Finding the door ajar, he looked in. Lydia and Leonardo were on their knees on the floor, saying the rosary, Gene returned to the supper table. After another long wait, the couple came out of the room. Said Lydia: "We have prayed together and we have decided to die together. We'll go back with you, in the morning." They were back in Manila early the next morning. Lydia and Leonardo went straight to the house in Sta. Mesa, where all their relatives and friends warned them not to go back to the house on Zapote Street, as they had decided to do. Confused anew, they went to the Manila police headquarters to ask for advice, but the advice given seemed drastic to them: summon Cabading and have it out with him in front of his superior officer. Leonardo's father then offered to go to Zapote with Gene and Nonilo, to try to reason with Cabading. They found him in good humor, full of smiles and hearty greetings. He reproached his balae for not visiting him before. "I did come once," drily remarked the elder Quitangon, "but no one would open the gate." Cabading had his wife called. She came into the room and sat down. "Was I in the house that night our balae came?" her husband asked her. "No, you were out," she replied. Having spoken her piece, she got up and left the room. (On their various visits to the house on Zapote Street, the Quitangons noticed that Mrs. Cabading appeared only when summoned and vanished as soon as she had done whatever was expected of her). Cabading then announced that he no longer objected to Lydia's moving out of the house to live with her husband in an apartment of their own. Overjoyed, the Quitangons urged Cabading to go with them in Sta. Mesa, so that the newlyweds could be reconciled with Lydia's parents. Cabading readily agreed. When they arrived in Sta. Mesa, Lydia and Leonardo were sitting on a sofa in the sala. "Why have you done this?" her father chided her gently. "If you wanted to move out, did you have to run away?" To Leonardo, he said: "And you - are angry with me?" house by themselves. Gene Quitangon felt so felt elated he proposed a celebration: "I'll throw a blowout! Everybody is invited! This is on me!" So they all went to Max's in Quezon City and had

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a very merry fried-chicken party. "Why, this is a family reunion!" laughed Cabading. "This should be on me!" But Gene would not let him pay the bill. Early the next morning, Cabading called up the Sta. Mesa house to pay that his wife had fallen ill. Would Lydia please visit her? Leonardo and Lydia went to Zapote, found nothing the matter with her mother, and returned to Sta. Mesa. After lunch, Leonardo left for his classes. Then Cabading called up again. Lydia's mother refused to eat and kept asking for her daughter. Would Lydia please drop in again at the house on Zapote? Gene and Nonilo Quitangon said they might as well accompany Lydia there and start moving out her things. When they arrived at the Zapote house, the Quitangon brothers were amused by what they saw. Mrs. Cabading, her eyes closed, lay on the parlor sofa, a large towel spread out beneath her. "She has been lying there all day," said Cabading, "tossing restlessly, asking for you, Lydia." Gene noted that the towel was neatly spread out and didn't look crumpled at all, and that Mrs. Cabading was obviously just pretending to be asleep. He smiled at the childishness of the stratagem, but Lydia was past being amused. She wont straight to her room, were they heard her pulling out drawers. While the Quitangons and Cabading were conversing, the supposedly sick mother slipped out of the sofa and went upstairs to Lydia's room. Cabading told the Quitangons that he wanted Lydia and Leonardo to stay there; at the house in Zapote. "I thought all that was settled last night," Gene groaned. "I built this house for Lydia," persisted Cabading, "and this house is hers. If she and her husband want to be alone, I and my wife will move out of here, turn this house over to them." Gene wearily explained that Lydia and Leonardo preferred the apartment they had already leased. Suddenly the men heard the clatter of a drawer falling upstairs. Gene surmised that it had fallen in a struggle between mother and daughter. "Excuse me," said Cabading, rising. As he went upstairs, he said to the Quitangons, over his shoulder, Don't misunderstand me. I'm not going to 'coach' Lydia". He went into Lydia's room and closed the door behind him. After a long while, Lydia and her father came out of the room together and came down to the sala together. Lydia was clasping a large crucifix. There was no expression on her face when she told the Quitangon boys to go home. "But I thought we were going to start moving your things out this afternoon,," said Gene. She glanced at the crucifix and said it was one of the first things she wanted taken to her new home. "Just tell Narding to fetch me," she said.

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Back in Sta. Mesa, Gene and Nonilo had the painful task of telling Leonardo, when he phoned, that Lydia was back in the house on Zapote. "Why did you leave her there?" cried Leonardo. "He'll beat her up! I'm going to get her." Gene told him not you go alone, to pass by the Sta. Mesa house first and pick up Nonilo. Gene could not go along; he had to catch a bus for Subic, where he works. When Leonardo arrived, Gene told him: "Don't force Lydia to go with you. If she doesn't want to, leave at once. Do not, for any reason, be persuaded to stay there too." When his brother had left for Zapote, Gene realized that he was not sure he was going to Subic. He left too worried. He knew he couldn't rest easy until he had seen Lydia and Leonardo settled in their new home. The minutes quickly ticked past as he debated with himself whether he should stay or catch that bus. Then, at about a quarter to seven, the phone rang. It was Nonilo, in anguish. "Something terrible has happened in Lydia's room! I heard four shots," he cried. "Who are up there?" "Lydia and Narding and the Cabadings." "I'll be right over. Gene sent a younger brother to inform the family lawyer and to alert the Makati police. Then he drove like mad to Zapote. It was almost dark when he got there. The house stood perfectly still, not a light on inside. He watched it from a distance but could see no movement, Then a taxi drove up and out jumped Nonilo. He had telephoned from a gasoline station. He related what had happened. He said that when he and Leonardo arrived at the Zapote house, Cabading motioned Leonardo upstairs: "Lydia is in her room." Leonardo went up; Cabading gave Nonilo a cup of coffee and chatted amiably with him. Nonilo saw Mrs. Cabading go up to Lydia's room with a glass of milk. A while later, they heard a woman scream, followed by sobbing. "There seems to be trouble up there," said Cabading, and he went upstairs. Nonilo saw him enter Lydia's room, leaving the door open. A few moments later, the door was closed. Then Nonilo heard three shots. He stood petrified, but when he heard a fourth shot he dashed out of the house, ran to a gasoline station and called up Gene. Nonilo pointed to the closed front gate; he was sure he had left it open when he ran out. The brothers suspected that Cabading was lurking somewhere in the darkness, with his gun.

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Before them loomed the dark house, now so sinister and evil in their eyes. The upper story that jutted forward, forming the house's chief facade, bore a curious sign: Dra. Lydia C. Cabading, Lady Physician. (Apparently, Lydia continued- or was made- to use her maiden name.) Above the sign was the garland of colored lights that have been put up for Christmas and had not yet been removed. It was an ice-cold night, the dark of the moon, but the two brothers shivered not from the wind blowing down the lonely murky street but from pure horror of the house that had so fatally thrust itself into their lives. But the wind remembered when the sighs it heard here were only the sighing of the ripe grain, when the cries it heard were only the crying of birds nesting in the reeds, for all these new suburbs in Makati used to be grassland, riceland, marshland, or pastoral solitudes where few cared to go, until the big city spilled hither, replacing the uprooted reeds with split-levels, pushing noisy little streets into the heart of the solitude, and collecting here from all over the country the uprooted souls that now moan or giggle where once the carabao wallowed and the frogs croaked day and night. In very new suburbs, one feels human sorrow to be a grass intrusion on the labors of nature. Even barely two years ago, the talahib still rose man-high on the plot of ground on Zapote Street where now stands the relic of an ambiguous love. As the Quitangon brothers shivered in the darkness, a police van arrived and unloaded quite a large contingent of policemen. The Quitangons warned them that Cabading had a submachinegun. The policemen crawled toward the front gate and almost jumped when a young girl came running across the yard, shaking with terror and shrieking gibberish. She was one of the maids. She and her companion and the foster son had fled from the house when they heard the shooting and had been hiding in the yard. It was they who had closed the front gate. A policeman volunteered to enter the house through the back door; Gene said he would try the front one. He peered in at a window and could detect no one in the sala. He slipped a hand inside, opened the front door and entered, just as the policeman came in from the kitchen. As they crept up the stairs they heard a moaning in Lydia's room. They tried the door but it was blocked from inside. "Push it, push it," wailed a woman's voice. The policeman pushed the door hard and what was blocking it gave. He groped for the switch and turned light. As they entered, he and Gene shuddered at what they saw. The entire room was spattered with blood. On the floor, blocking the door, lay Mrs. Cabading. She had been shot in the chest and stomach but was still alive. The policeman tried to get a statement from her but all she could say was: "My hand, my handit hurts!" She was lying across the legs of her daughter, who lay on top of her husband's

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body. Lydia was still clutching an armful of clothes; Leonardo was holding a clothes hanger. He had been shot in the breast; she, in the heart. They had died instantly, together. Sprawled face up on his daughter's bed, his mouth agape and his eyes bulging open as though still staring in horror and the bright blood splashed on his face lay Pablo Cabading. "Oh, I cursed him!" cries Eugenio Quitangon with passion. "Oh, I cursed him as he lay there dead, God forgive me! Yes, I cursed that dead man there on that bed, for I had wanted to find him alive!" From the position of the bodies and from Mrs. Cabading's statements later at the hospital, it appears that Cabading shot Lydia while she was shielding her husband, and Mrs. Cabading when she tried to shield Lydia. Then he turned the gun on himself, and it's an indication of the man's uncommon strength and power that, after the first shot, through the right side of the head, which must have been mortal enough, he seems to have been able, as his hands dropped to his breast, to fire at himself a second time. The violent spasm of agony must have sent the gun - a .45 caliber pistol- flying from his hand. It was found at the foot of the bed, near Mrs. Cabading's feet. The drama of the jealous father had ended at about half-past six in the evening, Tuesday last week. The next day, hurrying commuters slowed down and a whispering crowd gathered before 1074 Zapote Street, to watch the police and the reporters going through the pretty little house that Pablo Cabading built for his Lydia.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY:
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