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The Unfinished Bridge ( CAR )

At Balatoc, which is part of the municipality of Lubuagan, and the province of
Kalinga-Apayao, 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 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 this 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 theopposite side to work for their supplies.

So then, God returned to their house to tell Ipogao what he wanted to do. He instructed
her, "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 she was almost at Pasil, she heard what sounded

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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 flame of fire coming out from 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 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 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. Ithought 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 a 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 he was
finished. Why ever did you come when he had instructed you?" When Ipogao answered,
sh 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.

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 The Creation Story ( Region 3 )
When the world first began, there was no land, only the sea and the sky, and
between them was a crow. One day this bird, which had nowhere to land, grew tired of
flying around, so she stirred up the sea until it threw its waters against the sky. The sky,
in order to restrain the sea, showered upon it many islands until it could no longer rise
but instead flow back and forth, making a tide. Then the sky ordered the crow to land
on one of the islands to build her nest and to leave the sea and the sky in peace.

Now at this time the land breeze and the sea breeze were married, and they had a child
which was a bamboo. One day when this bamboo was floating about on the water, it
struck the feet of the crow who was on the beach. The bird, angry that anything should
strike it, pecked at the bamboo, and out of one section came a man and from the other
a woman.

Then the earthquake called on all the birds and fish to see what should be done with
these two, and it was decided that they should marry. Many children were born to the
couple, and from them came all the different races of people.

After a while the parents grew very tired of having so many idle, useless children
around. They wished to be rid of them, but they knew of no place to send them to.
Time went on, and the children became so numerous that the parents enjoyed no
peace. One day, in desperation, the father seized a stick and began beating them.

This so frightened the children that they fled in different directions, seeking hidden
rooms in the house. Some concealed themselves in the walls, some ran outside, others
hid in the earthen stove, and several fled to the sea.

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Now it happened that those who went into the hidden rooms of the house later became
the chiefs of the islands, and those who concealed themselves in the walls became
slaves, while those who ran outside were free men. Those who hid in the stove
became dark-skinned people. Those who fled to the sea were gone many years, and
when their children came back, they were white people.

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 The Legend of Magayon ( Region 5 )
Long ago, there lived in Ibalong the tribal Chief Makusog of Rawis who had an only
daughter, Daragang Magayon. Her mother Dawani died shortly after giving birth to the
girl. Magayon grew up to be so beautiful and sweet that love-struck swains from
faraway tribes, including those outside the region, vied for her affection. But not one of
the young men captivated the heart of the lovely maiden, not even the handsome but
haughty Pagtuga, the great hunter and powerful Chief of Iraga, who showered
Magayon’s father with fabulous gifts of gold, pearls, and wild trophies of the hunt.
Not until Ulap showed up in Rawis. He was soft-spoken but brave son of Chief Karilaya
of the Tagalog Region. He had come all the long way on foot to see for himself the
celebrated beauty of Daragang Magayon. Unlike other suitors, Ulap bided his time. For
many days he simply stole admiring glances from a distance at Daragang Magayon as
she bathed at the Yawa River.
It did not take long for an opportunity to present himself. After an unusually rainy night,
Magayon went to bathe as her wont to Yawa, but a swift current, dislodging her foot
from a slippery rock, abruptly plunged her into the chilly water. In a flash, Ulap was at
her side and brought the trembling maiden safely to dry land. The frightened women-in-
waiting could only gape at them stupified.
As the stars would have it, this sparked the glowing love between Daragang Magayon
and Ulap.
A few more meetings with the lovely daraga after this fateful incident emboldened the
youth to follow her home one bright morning. Signifying his intention to marry Magayon,
he thrust his spear at the stairs of Chief Makusog’s house. Magayon could only blush
and cast her eyes down. sensing that at last Magayon was in love and wishing only
happiness for her daughter, the father offered no objection. Magayon and Ulap were

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overjoyed. But the wedding was to be in a month’s time, for Ulap had yet to inform his
people to gather provisions for the feast.
This happy news spread fast and, in no time, reached Pagtuga. He was furious. He laid
in wait for Chief Makusog to hunt, took him captive, and sent word to Magayon that
unless she agreed to marry him, her father must die, and that a war would be waged
against Magayon’s people.
An early date was set for the nuptials. Informed of this unhappy turn of events, Ulap
abandoned the wedding preparations of his tribe and along with his bravest warriors,
hastily returned to rawis just in time for the ceremonies.
In a skirmish that followed, Pagtuga was slain by Ulap. The joyous Magayon, rushing to
embrace Ulap, was hit by a stray arrow. While Ulap held the dying Magayon in his arms,
Linog, a burly henchman of Pagtuga hurled his spear at Ulap’s back killing him instantly.
At that precise moment, Makusog swung his mighty arm and struck down Linog with his
minasbad.
This awful spectacle left the combatants speechless and remorseful. Instead of rejoicing
over a wedding, there was wailing over the dead and the dying. Chief Makusog, himself
in tears, dug the grave for Ulap and Magayon and tenderly laid them together each in
the other’s arms as they had died.
The days that followed saw the grave rising higher and higher attended by muffled
rumblings and earthquakes, and red-hot boulders bursting from the crater. When this
occurs, old folk believe that Pagtuga, aided by Linog, agitates the volcano to get back
the gifts which, following the ancient custom, was buried with Magayon.
On certain days, when the tip is covered with clouds, the old folk say that Ulap is kissing
Magayon. When afterwards rain trickles caressingly down the gentle slopes of the
mountain, they insist that it is the tears of Ulap.
Magayon has since been shortened to Mayong or Mayon whose tragic story casts a
foreboding shadow even on the brightest day, over this lovely countryside of Daragang
Magayon.

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 The Legend of Magat River ( Region 2 )

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 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;

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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 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 same stream grew into the

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 The Legend of Banana ( Apo-Sagin )

Many years ago there lived a kind-hearted old man. He was fondly called Apo
Sagin by his neighbors.
Apo Sagin Lives alone in his shack however, his neighbor shad considered him part of
the family so he is welcomed in their house anytime. They all love him as if their own
grandfather. He was always kind and helpful to them. They could ask anything from him
and he would obliged and give it wholeheartedly.

The little children are always welcomed in Apo Sagin’s home. They would visit him in
the afternoon and would listen to his stories. After which, he would offer them snacks he
himself cooked.
Even strangers were welcomed and treated well by the old man. One time, while Apo
Sagin was in the woods gathering firewood, he stumbled upon a man who was weak
from hunger. He immediately brought the starving man to his house and took care of
him until he was better.

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At another time, a small girl came asking for alms from him. He brought home and gave
her food to eat. Before the girl went on her way, Apo Sagin taught her how to make fans
out of dried leaves. The girl would never have to ask for alms he said, she can just sell
fans. The girl thanked Apo. Soon she would be able to make it up to him for all kindness
he has shown, says the girl. Apo Sagin just smiled and said he didn’t ask for anything in
return.

Apo Sagin was soon afflicted with illness. He grew very weak. Many neighbors came to
visit him and took care of him. They would take turns waiting on him while he was sick.
Even the young children who came to visit and told him stories.

But Apo Sagin’s illness became grave and because he was old and grew very weak. All
of the townsfolk, came to see their beloved Apo Sagin for the last time. The old man
gave his last words and then breathe his last.

The townsfolk all cried and were grief-stricken with the lost of their neighbor that they
did not notice a small girl enter the house. It was the beggar whom Sagin had helped
and taught to make fans. She was not just a beggar but rather was a fairy. She told the
townsfolk to bury Sagin in the yard. Furthermore, she told them not to worry

After a few weeks, a plant soon grew on top of Sagi9n’s grave. After few more weeks, a
heart-shaped thing grew on the plant. The townsfolk remember the words of the fairy.
The heart reminded them of Sagin’s generous heart that was full of kindness and love.
The fruit turned out of love to be sweet and plenty.

Sagin indeed remained in the peoples midst and until now is still generous in giving.
The plant was soon called Saging.

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 The Monkey and The Turtle (fable-Region 12 )
One morning, amonkey and a turtle who were close friends talked about their situation.
After a while, the monkey said, Let's go tothe forest and make a trap for wild pigs." The
turtle agreed. When they came upon a dakit tree, they saw the tracks of wild pigs. "Let's
make a trap here." said the turtle, pointing to a base of the tree.

"No, let's make one trap up the tree because pigs go there and gather fruit," said the
monkey.

"No, let's stay down here because the tracks are here."

"All right, you make your trap here while I make one up the tree."

So the monkey and the turtle went their separate ways. After setting their traps, the
monkey said, "Let's return after two days. Wild pig should be here by then."

But the day after the traps were laid, the monkey went back to the dakit tree by himself.
The turtle's trap had a pig, his has a bird. The turtle was right. To save face, the monkey
brought the pig from the turtle's trap to his own and replaced it with the bird caught in
his.

On his way home, he met the turtle.

"Where have you been?" asked the turtle.

"I went to the river to take a bath," was the reply.

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As agreed, on the day after the traps were laid, the monkey and the turtle went to the
dakit tree.

"Let's hurry so we can get there early. Last night, I had a good dream. Our traps must
surely have something in them," the monkey said.

The turtle was surprised to find a pig up the tree and a bird in his trap which was set on
the ground. He knew the monkey tricked him and told the monkey so. The monkey
insisted that he had nothing to do with the result of their catch. Without saying another
word, the monkey and the turtle went home with the pig and the bird respectively.

When they came near the monkey's house, they decided to fight it out.

"Wait," the monkey said. "I'll build myself a fort." He proceeded to make a fort out of
banana leaves. He believed them impregnable.

"Shoot first," the turtle said. "After all you challenged me to this fight. If it were true that
my trap caught a bird, pray that i will be killed at once."

The monkey took careful aim while his family watched from behind the banana fort. The
turtle was hit. The monkey rejoiced.

The turtle cried, "You hit my back but I'm protected by my shell. Can't you see I am
alive?"

The monkey was dismayed he was a good sport. "Then shoot," he called from the fort.

The turtle took careful aim and when his arrow found its mark, he heard a monkey cry.
One of the monkey's children was killed.

"No, I was not hit. It was one of my children," lied the monkey.

The monkey's turn to shoot came but the turtle was not afraid, His shell was very thick.
The arrows bounced.

Each Each time the turtle released an arrow, it hit the monkey. One by one, the
monkey's wife and children died.

"Why don't we become friends again?" shouted the monkey from his fort. "I'll tell you the
truth. Your trap caught the pig. It's yours."

The moneky and the turtle reconciled once more. If the monkey did not shout after the
last of his children was killed, the turtle would have killed him too. They sealed their
friendship by partaking of nama from the monkey's chew box.

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Sometimes later, the monkey felt lonely because his wife and children were dead.
"Please keep me company," the monkey pleaded. "We can go to the river and fish."

They left for the river to fish. At the river bank they saw a banana stalk. "Let's cut this in
two," the monkey suggested. I'll take the upper half because the leaves and the fruit are
too heavy for you."

The monkey and the turtle went to their respective kaingin and planted their respective
parts. The ext visit to their kaingin brought happiness to turtle and sadness to the
monkey. The turtle saw his plant heavy with fruit. The monkey's plant had wilted.

The monkey volunteered to get the fruit for the turtle. When he was up there, He did not
care to go down any more. He ate everything. He was so full that he slept with a banana
in his mouth. This made the turtle very mad.

Silently, the turtle planted bamboo stakes around the banana stalk. When the monkey
turned on his side, he fell and was at once impaled. Helpless, the monkey agonizingly
died.

The turtle feasted on the monkey. His ears were like good buyo leaves, his tail was like
betel nut, and his brain tasted like superior lime. He chewed the concoction and was
pleased with himself.

On his way home, he met a pack of monkeys who were on their way to the kaingin.
They saw the turtle's black teeth so they asked for some of his nama. He hesitated for a
while because he was afraid the monkeys might harm him. Then a wonderful idea
struck his mind. He turned his back and wrapped some of his nama in a leaf from a wild
tree that grew by the roadside. He told the monkey to open the package only when they
reached their kaingin.

The monkeys did as bidden. When they reached their kaingin they gathered around the
package and looked forward to a wonder nama. After chewing some, many threw up;
others felt weak and dropped dead. Those who did not partake the nama realized that
what their companions chewed was a monkey. They decided to run after the turtle and
kill him.

The monkeys found the turtle near the riverbank. The turtle was subdued at once. The
monkeys laid him on flat stone. Each monkey beat him with a stone. They saw how
turtle enjoyed it. "Go ahead, continue beating me so I'll turn out wide and flat; then I will
be able to lick you all with my tail." So the monkeys decide to throw him into the river.
This seemed to frighten the turtle. Seeing how pale the turtlewas, the monkeys were
sure they decided on the right thing. So into the water the turtle went with a splash.

"Ha-ha!" The monkey heard the turtle laugh. "don't you know that i can live in water?"

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The monkeys were very mad. Then it happened that a deer was drinking upstream.
They asked the deer to drink to drink all the water there so they could get the turtle.

The deer promised to help the monkeys. He asked them to put a stopper in his anus.
They used a corn cob to close the orifice.

The monkey waded toward the turtle while the deer drew water from the river. When the
monkeys could almost make it to the turtle, tabkuko pecked on the corn cob and out
went the water again. Thrice the deer drew the water, thrice did the tabkuko remove
the corn cob. Three monkeys drowned.

The tabkuko incurred the monkeys' wrath because they never succeeded in laying their
hands on the turtle. They seized the bird and twisted it's neck. The bird writhed in pain
and felt its end was near. "You won't kill me that way. Can't you see your even making
me beautiful? see how red my bill is? The harder you twist my neck the redder my bill
becomes. But if you want to kill me, pull the feathers and leave me on that stone near
the river. In a week's time you will see worms feasting on my body."

The monkeys stripped the tabkuko of all its plume and left it on the stone. After a week,
they saw what looked like worms all over the tabkuko's body. They thought it was
rotting. When the monkeys left, the bird stretched its wings and examined what it knew
would turn out into beautiful feathers.

But the turtle did not go unpunished. When he went out of the water, he met a red-tailed
lizard. He wanted to have a tail as red as the lizard's. The lizard told him that he only
had to climb a red tree and jump from it. The lizard offered to bring him up the tree.

So up the tree they went. The turtle held on to the lizard's tail as hard as he could, but
he slipped! Down he go with a hard crash. His lizard friend went to him but he was
beyond help; its shell was broken into a thousand pieces. And while the sun hid behind
a tree, the turtle died.

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 The Cow and The Carabao (fable-Northern Luzon )
It is said that a long time ago, the first cow and the first carabao wore skins that fit them
exactly. They could both walk on only their two hind feet then. They both served a
farmer who demanded much of them as beasts of burden. But the cow and the carabao
were thinking that he made them work too much. "No one should work this much under
the heat of the sun!" the cow remarked. "We deserve a vacation!". "What say you we
play hooky one noon," the carabao proposed, "while the farmer is resting in the shade,
as he always does when the sun is at its most furious? "So it was that one noon, while
the farmer who owned the first cow and the first carabao was fast asleep, the two
friends shrugged off the plow and raced to the nearby river. They took off their skins,
hung them on the low branch of a tree at the riverbank, and dived underwater. But alas,
as they were having their fun, the farmer woke up, saw that his two beasts were missing
from the fields where they belonged, took up his whip and went out searching for them.
By following their footprints he found them almost immediately, bathing in the nearby
river.
The farmer frightened the two beasts with his whip and made them scramble up to the
bank. In their haste to appear decent before their master, the cow and the carabao
switched skins, but then they were not able to get the false skins off again. As the
carabao was larger than the cow, his skin sagged at the cow’s belly, and the cow’s skin
clung tight to his flesh. And then it was impossible to retain their pride. They came
before their master on all fours, begging to be forgiven. The farmer said they were
forgiven, but they could no longer walk on only two legs, and they could never take off
the false skins they wore. The cow and the carabao accepted their fate timidly, and
handed down to their offspring their symbols of shame.

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 Urbana At Felisa by Modesto

Si Feliza kay Urbana –Paumbaong Mayo 10, 185 . . .

Urbana : Ngayong a-las-seis ng hapon na pinagugulong ng hari ng mga astro ang

karosang apoy at itinatago sa bundok at kagubatan, ipinagkakait sa sangkapuluan ang
kaliwanagan, atsa alapaap ay nagsambulat ng ginto’t purpura; ang mundo’y tahimik,
sampo ng amiha’y hindi nagtutulin, nagbibigay-aliw ang mga bulaklak at nanagsasabog
ng bangong iningat sa doradong caliz; ang lila’t adelpa ni itinanim mo sa ating pintuan;
ang liro’t asusena; sinasamo’t kampupot ni inihanay mo’t pinagtapat-tapat sa daang
landas na ang tinutungo’y ating hagdanan; oras na piniling ipinagsasaya,
nanaggsisingiti’t ang balsamong ingat ay ipinadadala sa hihip ng hangin; mapalad na
oras na ipinaglilibanga ng kamusmusan at, ipinagpapasiyal sa ating halamanan.
Marahil Urbana’y di mamakailang pagdating sa iyo ng oras na ito, ang alaala mo’t
buong katauhan ay nagsasauli sa ating halamanan, iyong sinasagap ang balsamong
alay ng mga bulaklak na anaki’y pamuti sa parang linalik na

Si Urbana kay Feliza – Maynila

Feliza : Tinanggap ko ang sulat mo nang malaking uwa, nguni’t nang binabasa ko na’y
napintasan kita’t dinggin ko ang kadahilaran. Ang una’y nabanggit mo si ama’t si ina, ay
di mo nasabi kung sila’y may sakit o wala; ngunit’t pinararaan ko ang kakulangan mong
ito, at di katakataka sa gulang mo sa labindalawang taon; ang ikalawa’y hindi ang
buhay ko kung di ang sa labindalawang taon; ang ikalawa’y hindi ang buhay ko kung di
ang buhay mo ang itinatanong ko, ang isinagot mo’y ang pinagdaanan ng kamusmusan
ta, at madlang matataas na puri sa akin, na di mo sinabi na yao’y utang ko sa mabait na

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magulang natin at sa Maestrang nagturo sa akin. Nguni’t pagdating sa sabing
nagkukunot ang noo ko, at sa mga kasunod na talata, ay nangiti ang puso ko, nagpuri’t
nagpapasalamat sa Diyos, at pinagkalooban ka ng masunuring loob. Ngayo’y dinggin
mo nama’t aking sasaysayin yaming hinihingi mo ang magandang aral na tinaggap ko,
kay Donya Prudencia na aking Maestra. Natatanto mo, na ako’y marunong nang
bumasa ng sulat nang taong 185 . . . na kata’y magkhiwalay. Pagdating ko rini, ang
unaunang ipinakilala sa akin, ay ang katungkulan nating kumilala, mamintuho,
maglingkod at umibig sa Diyos; ang ikalawa’y ang kautangan natin sa ganang ating
sarili; at ang ikatlo’y

Si Urbana kay Feliza – Maynila

Feliza : Ngayon ko tutupdin ang kahingan mo, na ipinanagko ko sa iyo sa hulang sulat,
noong ika. . .Sa mga panahong itong Itinira ko sa Siyudad, ay marami ang dumarating
na bata, ipinagkakatiwala ng magulang sa aking maestra, at ipinagbilin na pagpilitang
makatalastas ng tatlong dakilang katungkulan ng bata na sinaysay ko sa iyo. Sa mga
batanga ito, na ang iba’y kasing-gulang mo, at ang iba’y humigitkumulang diyan, ay
napagkilala ang magulang na pinagmulan, sa kanilang kabaitan o kabuhalhaln ng asal.
Sa karunungan kumilala sa Diyos o sa karangalan, ay nahahayag ang kasipagan ng
marunong na magulang na magturo sa anak, o ang kapabayaan. Sa mga batang ito,
ang iba’y hindi marunong ng ano mang dasal na nalalaman sa doktrina kristiyana na
para baga ng Ama naming, sumasampalataya , punong sinasampalatayaan, na sa
kanilang edad disin, ay dapat nangmalaman ng bata, kaya hindi makasagot sa aming
pagdarasal o makasagot man ang iba’y hindi magawing lumuhod, o di matutong
umanyo, ng nauukol bagang gawin sa harapan ng Diyos. Sa pagdarasal naming, ay
naglulupagi, sa pagsimba’y nagpapalinga-linga, sa pagkain ay nagsasalaula, sa
paglalaro’y nanampalasan sa kapwa-bata.

Si Urbana kay Feliza – Maynila

FELIZA : Napatid ang huli kong sulat kong sulat sa pagsasaysay ng tapat na kaasalan,
na sukat sundin sa loob ng simbahan : ngayo’y ipatutuloy ko. Marami ang nakikita, sa
mga babaeng nagsisispasok sa simbahan na lumalakad na di nagdarahan,
nagpapakagaslaw, at kung marikit ang kagayakan, ay nagpapalingap-lingap, na ki’y
tinitingnan kung may nararahuyo sa kaniya. Marami ang namamanyo nang
nanganagninag, nakabingit lamang sa ulo at ang modang ito’y dala hanggang sa
pakikinabang at pagkukumpisal. Oh Felisa! Napasaan kaya ang galang sa santong
lugar: napasan kaya ang kanilang kahinhinan! Diyata’t lilimutin nan g mga babaeng
kristiyano yaong utos ng simbahan, pakundangan sa kapangasahang di nagpipitagang
itanyag ang mukha sa Sacerdote? Maynakikita at makikipag-ngitian sa lalaking
nanasok, ano pa nga’t sampo ng bahay ng Diyos ay gingawangpook ng pagkakasala.
Itong mga biling huli na ukol sa lalaki, ay ipahayag m okay Honesto, na bunso tang
kapatid. Pagbilinan mo siya, na pagpasok sa simbahan, ay huwag makipag-umpukan
sa kapwa-bata nang huwag mabighani sa pagtatawan.

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page21

 Si Urbana kay Feliza – Maynila
FELIZA: sa alas-siete’t kami’y makasimba na, ay kakain kami ng agahan pagkatapos
ay maglilibang-libang o maghuhusay kaya ng kanikaniyang kasangkapan, sapagka’t
ang kalinsan at kahusayan ay hinahanap ng mata ng taong nagising at namulat sa
kahusaya. Alas ocho, gagamit ang isa’t isa ng aklat na pinag-aaralan; ang iba’y
darampot ng pluma, tintero’t ibang kasangkapan ukol sa pagsulat, magdarasal na
sumandal bago umupo sa pag-aaral, hihingingtulong sa Diyos at kay Ginoong Santa
Maria, at nang matutuhan ang pinag-aaralan : mag-aaral hanggang alas-diez, oras
nang pagleleksyon sa amin ng Maestra; pagkatapos, magdarasal nan g Rosario ni
Ginoong Santa Maria. Pag nakadasal nan g Rosario, ako’y nananahi o naglilinis kaya
ng damit, at pag kumain ay iginagayak ko ang serbilyeta, linilinis ko ang tenedor,
kutsara at kutsilyo, na ginagamit sa lamesa. Ang lahat nang ito’y kung Makita ng
Maestrang marumi, kami’y pinarurusahan. Pagtugtog nang a-las-doce, oras nan gaming
pagkain ay pasasa-mesa kami, lalapit ang isa’t-isa sa kani-kaniyang luklukan,
magbebendisyon ang Maestra sa kakanin, kaming mga bata ‘y sumasagot na
nakatindig na lahat, ang katawa’y matuwid at iniaanyo sa lugal. Pagkarinig naming ng
ngalang Jesus at Gloria Patri, ay itinutungo naming ang

Si Feliza kay Urbana- Paumbong

Urbana : Si Honesto’t ako’y nagpapasalamat sa iyo, sa matataas na Makita na
inilalaman mo sa iyong mga sulat. Kung ang batang ito’y Makita ds disin, ay malulugod
kang di-hamak at mawiwika mo, na ang kanyang mahinhing asal ay kabati ng Honesto
niyang pangalan. Masunurin sa ating magulang, mapagtiis sa kapwa-bata, hindi
mabuyosa pakikipag-away, ay mga pangugusap na di-katuwiran. Mawilihin sa pagaaral
sa pananalangin; pagka-umaga’y mananaog sa halamanan, pipitas ng sangang may
mga bulaklak, pinagsasalit-salit ang iba’t-ibang kulay, pinag-aayos, ginagawang
ramilyete, inilalagay sa harap ng larawan ng Ginoong Santa Maria; isang asusena ang
iniuukol sa iyo, isang liryo ang sa akin at paghahayin sa Reyna ng mga Virgenes, ay
linalangkapan ng tatlong Aba Ginoong Maria. Kung makapagkumpisal na at saka
makikinabang ang isip ko’y angelito, na kumakain ng tinapaynng mga angheles, at
nakita ko, na ang pag-ibig at puring sinasambitla ng kanyang inosenteng labi, ay
kinalulugdan ng Diyos ng Sanggol, na hari ng mga inosentes. Ipatuloy mo, Urbana, ang
iyong pagsulat , at nang pakinabangan naming ; Adyos, Urbana-Felisa.

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page22

 Si Urbana kay Feliza – Maynila

FELIZA : Naisulat na sa iyo, ang madlang kahatulang ukol sa paglilingkod sa Diyos,

ngayo’y isusunod ko ang nauukol sa sarili nating katawan. Sabihin m okay Honesto,
nab ago masok sa eskuwela ay maghihilamos muna, suklaying maayos ang buhok at
baro’t salawal na gagamitin ay malinis; ngunit ang kalinisan’y huwah iuukol sa
pagpapalo. Huwah pahabaing lubha ang buhok na parang tulisan, sapagka’t ito ang
kinagagawian ng masasamang-tao. Ang kuko ay huwag pahahabain, sapagka’t kung
mahaba ay pinagkakahiratilang ikamot sa sugat, sa ano mang dumi ng katawan,
nadrumuhan ang kuko at nakaririmarim, lalunglalo na sa pagkain. Bago mag-almusal,
ay magbigay muna ng magandang araw sa magulang, maestro o sa iba kayang pinaka-
matanda sa bahay. Sa pagkain, ay papamihasahin mo sa pagbebendisyon muna, at
pagkatapos, ay magpapasalamat sa Diyos. Kung madurumhan kamay, mukah o damit,
ay naglimis muna bago pasa-eskuwela. Huwag mong pababayaan, na ang plana,
materia, farsilla o regla, papel, aklat at lahat ng gagamitin sa paaralan ay maging ungis-
dungisan. Kung makikipag-usap sa kapwa-tao ay huwag magpapakita ng kadunguan,
ang pangugusap ay tutuwirin, huwag hahaluan ng lamyos o lambing, huwag
kakamutkamota.

Si Urbana kay Feliza- Maynila

FELIZA : Itong mga huling sulat ko sa iyo, na may nauukol sa kalagayan mo at ang
iba’y aral kay Honesto, ay ipinauunawa ko, na di sa sariling isip hinango, kundi may
sinipi sa mga kasulatan, at ang karamihan ay aral na tinanggap kokay Donya
Prudencia, na aking Maestra : at siyang sinusunod sa eskuwela naming aya ibig sabihin
ko disin, na sa ating mga kamag-anak, sa mga paaralan sa bayan at mga barrio, * ay
magkaroon ng mga salin nito at pag-aralan ng mga bata. Ipatutuloy ko ang
pagsasaysay ng mga kahatulan. Bottom of Form. Si Honesto, bago pasa-eskuwela, ay
pabebendisyon muna kay ama’t kay ina; sa lansangan ay huwag makikialam sa mga
pulong at ayaw na madaraanan, matuwid ang lakad, huwag ngingisi-ngisi, manglilibak
sa kapwa-bata, o sa lalapastangan sa matanda, at nang huwag masabi ng tao na
walang pinag-aralan sa mga magulang. Kung magdaraan sa harap ng simbahan, ay
magpupugay, at kung nalalapit sa pintuan ay yuyukid. Pagdating sa bahay ng maestro
ay magpupugay, magbibigay ng magandang araw, o magandang hapon, magdasal na
saglit; sa harap ng mga santong

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 Si Urbana kay Feliza- Maynila
Feliza : Sa malabis na kandungan ng mga bata kung kinakausap mg matanda p mahal
kayang tao, ang marami ay kikimi-kimi at kikiling killing, hindi mabuksan ang bibig,
turuan mo, Felisa, Si honesto, na huwag susundin ang ganong asal, ilagay ang loob sa
kumakausap, sagutin nang mahusay at madali ang tanong, at nang huwag kayamutan.
Kung mangugusap ay tuwirin ang katawan, ayusin ang lagay. Ang pagsasalita naman
ay susukatin, huwag magpapalampas ng sabi, humimpil kung kapanahunan, at nang
huwag magpapalampas ng sabi, humimpil kung kapanahunan, at nang huwag
pagsawaan. Kung nakikipag-usap sa matanda ma’t sa bata, ay huwag magsabi ng hindi
katotohanan, sapagka’t angkabulaanan ay kapit sa taong taksil o mapaglilo. Ang
pagsasalita ay sasayahan, ilagay sa ugali, ituntong sa guhit, huwag hahaluan ng
kahambugan, at baka mapara doon sa isang nagsalitang hambog, na sinagot ng
kausap. Fuu, Fuu, na ang kahulugan ay habagat, habagat. Huwag magpalamapas ng
sabi at baka maparis doon sa isang palalo na sinagot ng kaharap; hintay ka muna,
kukuha ako ng gunting at gugupitin ko ang labis. Sa pakikipagharap, ay nagmamasid sa
kinakausap, at kung makakita ng mabuting asal sa iba, at sa

Si Urbana kay Feliza-Maynila

URBANA :MINAMAHAL KONG KAPATID. Ang isang sulat ay isang pagsasalin sa
papel ng nasa-isip at sa loob ipinagkakatiwala, at nang matanto ng pinagpapadalhan.
Ang sulat ay isang salitaan sa papel, kaya ang titik ay dapat linawin, at ang pangugusap
ay ugali. Kung ang sinusulatan ay kaibigan at kapahayagan ng loob, ay pahintulot na
humaba ang sulat, palibhasa’y marami ang masasaysay. Kung ang ibig sabihin sa
sulat, ay isang bagay lamang, at ang sinusulatan ay di kaibigan, hindi karampatan ang
Magsaysay ng ibang bagay. Ang sulat ay ibabagay sa sinusulatan, at gayon din
ibabagay ang pakikipag-usap. Iba ang sulat ng mataas sa mababang tao, at ng mababa
sa mataas : iba ang sulat ng matanda sa bata, at ng bata sa matanda. Ang galang na
kailanganang gamitin ng bata sa matanda hindi kailangan sa sulat ng matanda sa bata;
maliban na lamang, kung sa bata ay may nakikitang bagay na sukat-igalang.

Si Urbana kay Feliza-Maynila

Urbana : Alinsunod sa sinabi ko sa iyo na ako’y magpapadala ng mga panuto sa
pagsulat, ipababasa m okay Honesto itong mga kasunod. Pupunuan ng mayusculas
ang mga pangalan at apellido ng tao, kaparis ng Francisco Baltazar; ang sa mga
kaharian, siyudad, bayan, lalawigan, bundok, dagat, ilog, batis, para sa Espana,
Maynila, Binyang, Batangas, Arayat Oceano, Pasig, Bumbungan; gayon di ang ngalan
ng karunungan, para ng Teologia, ng Artes, para ng Gramatica, Poesia; gayon din ang
ngalan ng mga katungkulan, para ng General, Papa, Arzobispo. Gayon man kung sa
oracion o isang sabing buo ang mga ngalan ng karunungan, artes, at iba pang sinabi
ko, ay di pinagkapangulo, ay pupunuan ng letrang munti, kaparis nitong halimbawang

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page24

kasunod; si Benito at si Mariano aykapwa nag-aaral sa pandayan. Feliza, turuan mo si
Honesto nang matutong maglagay sa sulat ng mga notas o tanda. Ang mga notas ay ito
: Coma (,): Punta y Coma (;) : Dos Puntos ( : ) : Admiracion ( ! ) : Interrogacion ( ? ) :
Parenthesis ( ) : Puntos suspensiros

Si Urbana kay Feliza- Paumbong

URBANA : Tinanggap ko ang mga sulat mo at ako ako’y napasasalamat sa iyo at kami
ni Honesto ay pinagsasakitan mong matuto. Aking iniutos sa kaniya na pag-aaralan
ang mga panutong padala mo; tinanggap nang buong tuwa at nagsakit mag-aral. Sa
kaniyang pagpipilit ay natuto; at ang wika mo na di lamang siya ang makikinabang ay
pinatutuhanan. Nang matutuhan na, ay itinuturo naman sa iba; at palibhasa’y ang
magaling ay hindi matahimik bottom of Formsa isa kundi sa nagpapakitaan ng
kanikanilang sulat at kung may mabating mali ng kapwa-bata, ay binabago ang sulat.
Ang sulat kong ito ay titik ni Honesto. Adios, Urbana. – Feliza.

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page25

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page26
 Elements of Fiction
Characterizationis a means by which writers present and reveal characters – by direct
description, by showing the character in action, or by the presentation of other
characters who help to define each other.
Characters in fiction can be conveniently classified as major and minor, static and
dynamic. A major character is an important figure at the center of the story’s action or
theme. The major character is sometimes called a protagonist whose conflict with an
antagonist may spark the story’s conflict. Supporting the major character are one or
more secondary or minor characters whose function is partly to illuminate the major
characters. Minor characters are often static or unchanging: they remain the same from
the beginning of a work to the end. Dynamic characters, on the other hand, exhibit
some kind of change – of attitude, purpose, behavior, as the story progresses.
Ironyis not so much an element of fiction as a pervasive quality in it. It may appear in
fiction in three ways: in a work’s language, in its incidents, or in its point of view. But in
whatever form it emerges, irony always involves a contrast or discrepancy between one
thing and another. The contrast may be between what is said and what is meant (verbal
irony), what is expected to happen and what actually happens (situational irony) or
between what a character believes or says and what the reader understands to be true
(dramatic irony).
Plot, the action element in fiction, is the arrangement of events that make up a story.
Many fictional plots turn on a conflict, or struggle between opposing forces, that is
usually resolved by the end of the story. Typical fictional plots begin with an exposition,
that provides background information needed to make sense of the action, describes
the setting, and introduces the major characters; these plots develop a series of
complications or intensifications of the conflict that lead to a crisis or moment of great
tension. The conflict may reach a climax or turning point, a moment of greatest tension
that fixes the outcome; then, the action falls off as the plot’s complications are sorted
out and resolved (the resolution or dénouement). Be aware, however, that much of
twentieth-century fiction does not exhibit such strict formality of design.
Point of viewrefers to who tells the story and how it is told. The possible ways of telling
a story are many, and more than one point of view can be worked into a single story.
However, the various points of view that storytellers draw upon can be grouped into two
broad categories:
Third-Person Narrator (uses pronouns he, she, or they):
1. Omniscient: The narrator is all-knowing and takes the reader inside the characters’
thoughts, feelings, and motives, as well as shows what the characters say and do.
2. Limited omniscient: The narrator takes the reader inside one (or at most very few
characters) but neither the reader nor the character(s) has access to the inner lives of
any of the other characters in the story.

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page27

3. Objective:The narrator does not see into the mind of any character; rather he or she
reports the action and dialogue without telling the reader directly what the characters
feel and think.
First-Person Narrator (uses pronoun I):
The narrator presents the point of view of only one character’s consciousness, which
limits the narrative to what the first-person narrator knows, experiences, infers, or can
find out by talking to other characters.
Settingis the physical and social context in which the action of a story occurs. The
major elements of setting are the time, the place, and the social environment that
frames the characters. These elements establish the world in which the characters act.
Sometimes the setting is lightly sketched, presented only because the story has to take
place somewhere and at some time. Often, however, the setting is more important,
giving the reader the feel of the people who move through it. Setting can be used to
evoke a mood or atmosphere that will prepare the reader for what is to come.
Styleis the way a writer chooses words (diction), arranges them in sentences and
longer units of discourse (syntax) and exploits their significance. Style is the verbal
identity of a writer, as unmistakable as his or her face or voice. Reflecting their
individuality, writers’ styles convey their unique ways of seeing the world.
A symbol is a person, object, image, word, ore vent that evokes a range of additional
meanings beyond and usually more abstract than its literal significance. Symbols are
devices for evoking complex ideas without having to resort to painstaking explanations.
Conventional symbols have meanings that are widely recognized by a society or
culture, i.e., the Christian cross, the Star of David, a swastika, a nation’s flag. A literary
or contextual symbol can be a setting, a character, action, object, name, or anything
else in a specific work that maintains its literal significance while suggesting other
meanings. For example, the white whale in Melville’s Moby Dick takes on multiple
symbolic meanings in the work, but these meanings do not automatically carry over into
other stories about whales.
Themeis the central idea or meaning of a story. Theme in fiction is rarely presented at
all; it is abstracted from the details of character and action that compose the story. It
provides a unifying point around which the plot, characters, setting, point of view,
symbols, and other elements of a story are organized. Be careful to distinguish theme
from plot – the story’s sequence of actions – and from subject – what the story is
generally about.
Toneis the author’s implicit attitude toward the reader, subject, and/or the people,
places, and events in a work as revealed by the elements of the author’s style. Tone
may be characterized as serious or ironic, sad or happy, private of public, angry or

Compilation in Philippine Literature Page28

affectionate, bitter or nostalgic, or any other attitudes and feelings that human beings
experience.

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 Nanking Store by Macariu Tiu ( Region 11 )
I WAS only three years old then, but I have vivid memories of Peter and Linda's
wedding. What I remember most was jumping and romping on their pristine matrimonial
bed after the wedding. I would learn later that it was to ensure that their first-born would
be a boy. I was chosen to do the honors because I was robust and fat.
I also remember that I got violently sick after drinking endless bottles of soft drinks. I
threw up everything that I had eaten, staining Linda's shimmering satin wedding gown.
Practically the entire Chinese community of the city was present. There was so much
food that some Bisayan children from the squatter's area were allowed to enter the
compound to eat in a shed near the kitchen.
During their first year of marriage, Linda often brought me to their house in Bajada. She
and Peter would pick me up after nursery school from our store in their car. She would
tell Mother it was her way of easing her loneliness, as all her relatives and friends were
in Cebu, her hometown. Sometimes I stayed overnight with them.
I liked going there because she pampered me, feeding me fresh fruits as well as
preserved Chinese fruits like dikiam, champoy and kiamoy. Peter was fun too, making
me ride piggyback. He was very strong and did not complain about my weight.
Tua Poy, that's what she fondly called me. It meant Fatso. I called her Achi, and Peter,
Ahiya. They were a happy couple. I would see them chase each other among the
furniture and into the rooms. There was much laughter in the house. It was this happy
image that played in my mind about Peter and Linda for a long time.
I was six years old when I sensed that something had gone wrong with their marriage.
Linda left the Bajada house and moved into the upstairs portions of Nanking Store
which was right across from Father's grocery store in Santa Ana. The Bajada residence
was the wedding gift of Peter's parents to the couple. It was therefore strange that Linda

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would choose to live in Santa Ana while Peter would stay in Bajada, a distance of some
three kilometers.
In Santa Ana where the Chinese stores were concentrated, the buildings used to be
uniformly two storeys high. The first floor was the store; the second floor was the
residence. In time some Chinese grew prosperous and moved out to establish little
enclaves in different parts of the city and in the suburbs. We remained in Santa Ana.
One late afternoon, after school, I caught Linda at home talking with Mother.
"Hoa, Tua Poya. You've grown very tall!" Linda greeted me, ruffling my hair.
At that age, the show of affection made me feel awkward and I sidled up to Mother.
Linda gave me two Mandarin oranges. I stayed at the table in the same room, eating an
orange and pretending not to listen to their conversation.
I noticed that Linda's eyes were sad, not the eyes that I remembered. Her eyes used to
be full of light and laughter. Now her eyes were somber even when her voice sounded
casual and happy.
"I got bored in Bajada," Linda said. "I thought I'd help Peter at the store."
That was how she explained why she had moved to Santa Ana. I wanted to know if she
could not do that by going to the store in the morning and returning home to Bajada at
night like Peter did. I wished Mother would ask the question, but she did not.
However, at the New Canton Barbershop I learned the real reason. One night Mother
told me to fetch Father because it was past eight o'clock and he hadn't had his dinner.
As a family we ate early. Like most Chinese, we would close the store by five and go up
to the second floor to eat supper.
The New Canton Barbershop served as the recreation center of our block. At night the
sidewalk was brightly lighted, serving as the extension of the barbershop's waiting room.
People congregated there to play Chinese chess, to read the Orient News or just talk. It
was a very informal place. Father and the other elderly males would go there in shorts
and sando shirts.
He was playing chess when I got there. He sat on a stool with one leg raised on the
stool.
"Mama says you should go home and eat," I said.
Father looked at me and I immediately noticed that he had had a drink. The focus of his
eyes was not straight.
"I have eaten. Go home. Tell Mother I'll follow in a short while," he said.
I stayed on and watched the game although I did not understand a thing.
"I said go home," Father said, glowering at me.

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I did not budge.
"This is how children behave now. You tell them to do something and they won't obey,"
he complained to his opponent. Turning to me, he said, "Go home."
"Check," his opponent said.
"Hoakonga!" Father cried, "I turn around and you cheat me."
His opponent laughed aloud, showing toothless gums.
Father studied the chessboard. "Hoakonga! You've defeated me four times in a row!"
"Seven times."
"What? You're a big cheat and you know that. Certainly five times, no more!"
It elicited another round of laughter from the toothless man. Several people in the
adjoining tables joined in the laughter. Father reset the chess pieces to start another
game.
"You beat me in chess, but I have six children. All boys. Can you beat that?" he
announced.
Father's laughter was very loud. When he had had a drink he was very talkative.
"See this?" he hooked his arm around my waist and drew me to his side. "This is my
youngest. Can you beat this?"
The men laughed. They laughed very hard. I did not know what was funny, but it must
be because of the incongruous sight of the two of us. He was very thin and I was very
fat.
"Well, I have I seven children!" the toothless man said.
"Ah, four daughters. Not counted," Father said.
"Ah Kong! Ah Kong!" somebody said.
The laughter was deafening. Ah Kong lived several blocks away. He had ten children,
all daughters, and his wife was pregnant again.
They laughed at their communal joke, but the laughter slowly died down until there was
absolute silence. It was a very curious thing. Father saw Peter coming around the
corner and he suddenly stopped laughing. The toothless man turned, saw Peter, and he
stopped laughing, too. Anybody who saw Peter became instantly quiet so that by the
time he was near the barbershop the group was absolutely silent.
It was Peter who broke the silence by greeting Father. He also greeted some people,
and suddenly they were alive again. The chess pieces made scraping noises on the
board, the newspapers rustled, and people began to talk.

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"Hoa, Tua Poya, you've grown very tall!" he said, ruffling my hair.
I smiled shyly at him. He exchanged a few words with Father and then, ruffling my hair
once more, he went away. It struck me that he was not the Peter I knew, vigorous and
alert. This Peter looked tired, and his shoulders sagged.
I followed him with my eyes. Down the road I noted that his car was parked in front of
Nanking Store. But he did not get into his car; instead he went inside the store. It was
one of those nights when he would sleep in the store.
"A bad stock," the toothless man said, shaking his head. "Ah Kong has no bones. But
Peter is a bad stock. A pity. After four years, still no son. Not even a daughter."
"It's the woman, not Peter," said a man from a neighboring table. "I heard they tried
everything. She even had regular massage by a Bisayan medicine woman."
"It's sad. It's very sad," the toothless man said. "His parents want him to junk her, but he
loves her."
When Father and I got home, I went to my First Brother's room.
"Why do they say that Ah Kong has no bones?" I asked my brother.
"Where did you learn that?" my brother asked.
"At the barbershop."
"Don't listen in on adult talk," he said. "It's bad manners."
"Well, what does it mean?"
"It means Ah Kong cannot produce a son."
"And what is a bad stock?"
My brother told me to go to sleep, but I persisted.
"It means you cannot produce any children. It's like a seed, see? It won't grow. Why do
you ask?" he said.
"They say Peter is a bad stock."
"Well, that's what's going to happen to him if he won't produce a child. But it's not really
Peter's problem. It is Linda's problem. She had an appendectomy when she was still
single. It could have affected her."
Somehow I felt responsible for their having no children. I worried that I could be the
cause. I hoped nobody remembered that I jumped on their matrimonial bed to give them
good luck. I failed to give them a son. I failed to give them even a daughter. But nobody
really blamed me for it. Everybody agreed it was Linda's problem.

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That was why Linda had moved in to Santa Ana.
But the problem was more complicated than this. First Brother explained it all to me
patiently. Peter's father was the sole survivor of the Zhin family. He had a brother but he
died when still young. The family name was therefore in danger of dying out. It was the
worst thing that could happen to a Chinese family, for the bloodline to vanish from the
world. Who would pay respects to the ancestors? It was unthinkable. Peter was the
family's only hope to carry on the family name, and he still remained childless.
But while everybody agreed that it was Linda's fault, some people also doubted Peter's
virility. At the New Canton Barbershop it was the subject of drunken bantering. He was
aware that people were talking behind his back. From a very gregarious man, he
became withdrawn and no longer socialized.
Instead he put his energies into Nanking Store. His father had retired and had given him
full authority. Under his management, Nanking Store expanded, eating up two adjacent
doors. It was rumored he had bought a large chunk of Santa Ana and was diversifying
into manufacturing and mining.
Once, I met him in the street and I smiled at him but he did not return my greeting. He
did not ruffle my hair. He had become a very different man. His mouth was set very
hard. He looked like he was angry at something.
The changes in Linda occurred over a period of time. At first, she seemed to be in equal
command with Peter in Nanking Store. She had her own desk and sometimes acted as
cashier. Later she began to serve customers directly as if she were one of the
salesgirls.
Then her personal maid was fired. Gossip blamed this on Peter's parents. She lived
pretty much like the three stay-in salesgirls and the young mestizo driver who cooked
their own meals and washed their own clothes.
Members of the community whose opinions mattered began to sympathize with her
because her in-laws were becoming hostile towards her openly. The mother-in-law
made it known to everybody she was unhappy with her. She began to scold Linda in
public. "That worthless, barren woman," she would spit out. Linda became a very jittery
person. One time, she served tea to her mother-in-law and the cup slid off the saucer. It
gave the mother-in-law a perfect excuse to slap Linda in the face in public.
Peter did not help her when it was a matter between his parents and herself. I think at
that time he still loved Linda, but he always deferred to the wishes of his parents. When
it was that he stopped loving her I would not know. But he had learned to go to night
spots and the talk began that he was dating a Bisayan bar girl. First Brother saw this
woman and had nothing but contempt for her.
"A bad woman," First brother told me one night about this woman. "All make-up. I don't
know what he sees in her."

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It seemed that Peter did not even try to hide his affair because he would occasionally
bring the girl to a very expensive restaurant in Matina. Matina was somewhat far from
Santa Ana, but the rich and mobile young generation Chinese no longer confined
themselves to Santa Ana. Many of them saw Peter with the woman. As if to lend
credence to the rumor, the occasional night visits he made at Nanking Store stopped. I
would not see his car parked there at night again.
One day, Peter brought First Brother to a house in a subdivision in Mandug where he
proudly showed him a baby boy. It was now an open secret that he kept his woman
there and visited her frequently. First Brother told me about it after swearing me to
secrecy, the way Peter had sworn him to secrecy.
"Well, that settles the question. Peter is no bad stock after all. It had been Linda all
along," First Brother said.
It turned out Peter showed his baby boy to several other people and made them swear
to keep it a secret. In no time at all everybody in the community knew he had finally
produced a son. People talked about the scandal in whispers. A son by a Bisayan
woman? And a bad woman at that? But they no longer joked about his being a bad
stock.
All in all people were happy for Peter. Once again his prestige rose. Peter basked in this
renewed respect. He regained his old self; he now walked with his shoulders straight,
and looked openly into people's eyes. He also began to socialize at New Canton
Barbershop. And whenever we met, he would ruffle my hair.
As for his parents, they acted as if nothing had happened. Perhaps they knew about the
scandal, but pretended not to know. They were caught in a dilemma. On one hand, it
should make them happy that Peter finally produced a son. On the other hand, they did
not relish the idea of having a half-breed for a grandson, the old generation Chinese
being conscious of racial purity. What was certain though was that they remained
unkind to Linda.
So there came a time when nobody was paying any attention anymore to Linda, not
even Peter. Our neighbors began to accept her fate. It was natural for her to get scolded
by her mother-in-law in public. It was natural that she should stay with the salesgirls and
the driver. She no longer visited with Mother. She rarely went out, and when she did,
she wore a scarf over her head, as if she were ashamed for people to see her. Once in
the street I greeted her--shto cover her face, and hurriedly walked away.
First Brother had told me once that Linda's degradation was rather a strange case. She
was an educated girl, and although her family was not rich, it was not poor either. Why
she allowed herself to be treated that way was something that baffled people. She was
not that submissive before. Once, I was witness to how she stood her ground. Her
mother-in-law had ordered her to remove a painting of an eagle from a living room wall
of their Bajada house, saying it was bad feng shui. With great courtesy, Linda refused,
saying it was beautiful. But the mother-in-law won in the end. She nagged Peter about
it, and he removed the painting.

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When the Bisayan woman gave Peter a second son, it no longer created a stir in the
community. What created a minor stir was that late one night, when the New Canton
Barbershop was about to close and there were only a few people left, Peter dropped by
with his eldest son whom he carried piggyback. First Brother was there. He said
everybody pretended the boy did not exist.
Then Peter died in a car accident in the Buhangin Diversion Road. He was returning
from Mandug and a truck rammed his car, killing him instantly. I cried when I heard
about it, remembering how he had been good to me.
At the wake, Linda took her place two rows behind her mother-in-law who completely
ignored her. People passed by her and expressed their condolences very quickly, as if
they were afraid of being seen doing so by the mother-in-law. At the burial, Linda stood
stoically throughout the ceremony, and when Peter was finally interred, she swooned.
A few weeks after Peter's burial, we learned that Linda's mother-in-law wanted her out
of Nanking Store. She offered Linda a tempting amount of money. People thought it was
a vicious thing to do, but none could help her. It was a purely family affair. However, a
month or two passed and Linda was still in Nanking Store. In fact, Linda was now taking
over Peter's work.
I was happy to see that she had begun to stir herself to life. It was ironic that she would
do so only after her husband's death. But at the same time, we feared for her. Her
mother-in-law's hostility was implacable. She blamed Linda for everything. She knew
about the scandal all along, and she never forgave Linda for making Peter the laughing
stock of the community, forcing him into the arms of a Bisayan girl of an unsavory
reputation and producing half-breed bastard sons.
We waited keenly for the showdown that was coming. A flurry of emissaries went to
Nanking Store but Linda stood pat on her decision to stay. Then one morning, her
mother-in-law herself came in her flashy Mercedes. We learned about what actually
happened through our domestic helper who got her story from the stay-in salesgirls.
That was how the entire community learned the details of the confrontation.
According to them, Linda ran upstairs to avoid talking to her mother-in-law. But the older
woman followed and started berating her and calling her names. Linda kept her
composure. She did not even retaliate when the older woman slapped her. But when
the mother-in-law grabbed Linda's hair, intending to drag her down the stairs, Linda
kicked her in the shin. The old woman went wild and flayed at Linda. Linda at first fought
back defensively, but as the older woman kept on, she finally slapped her mother-in-law
hard in the face. Stunned, the older woman retreated, shouting threats at her. She
never showed her face in Santa Ana again.
While some conservative parties in the community did not approve of Linda's actions,
many others cheered her secretly. They were sad, though, that the mother-in-law,
otherwise a good woman, would become a cruel woman out of desperation to protect
and perpetuate the family name.

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Since the enmity had become violent, the break was now total and absolute. This family
quarrel provided an interesting diversion in the entire community; we followed each and
every twist of its development like a TV soap opera. When the in-laws hired a lawyer,
Linda also hired her own lawyer. It was going to be an ugly fight over property.
Meanwhile, Linda's transformation fascinated the entire community. She had removed
her scarf and made herself visible in the community again. I was glad that every time I
saw her she was getting back to her old self. Indeed it was only then that I noticed how
beautiful she was. She had well-shaped lips that needed no lipstick. Her eyes sparkled.
Color had returned to her cheeks, accentuating her fine complexion. Blooming, the
women said, seeming to thrive on the fight to remain in Nanking Store. The young men
sat up whenever she passed by. But they would shake their heads, and say "What a
pity, she's barren."
Then without warning the in-laws suddenly moved to Manila, bringing with them the two
bastard sons. They made it known to everybody that it was to show their contempt for
Linda. It was said that the other woman received a handsome amount so she would
never disturb them again.
We all thought that was that. For several months an uneasy peace settled down in
Nanking Store as the struggle shifted to the courts. People pursued other interests.
Then to the utter horror of the community, they realized Linda was pregnant.
Like most people, I thought at first that she was just getting fat. But everyday it was
getting obvious that her body was growing. People had mixed reactions. When she
could not bear a child she was a disgrace. Now that she was pregnant, she was still a
disgrace. But she did not care about what people thought or said about her. Wearing a
pair of elastic pants that highlighted her swollen belly, she walked all over Santa Ana.
She dropped by every store on our block and chatted with the storeowners, as if to
make sure that everybody knew she was pregnant.
There was no other suspect for her condition but the driver. Nobody had ever paid him
any attention before, and now they watched him closely. He was a shy mestizo about
Peter's age. A very dependable fellow, yes. And good-looking, they now grudgingly
admitted.
"Naughty, naughty," the young men teased him, some of whom turned unfriendly.
Unused to attention, the driver went on leave to visit his parents in Iligan City.
One night, I arrived home to find Linda talking with Mother.
"Hoa, Tua Poya! You're so tall!" she greeted me. "Here are some oranges. I know you
like them."
I said my thanks. How heavy with child she was!
"How old are you now?"
"Twelve," I said.

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"Hmm, you're a man already. I should start calling you Napoleon, huh? Well, Napoleon,
I've come here to say goodbye to your mother, and to you, too."
She smiled; it was the smile I remembered when I was still very young, the smile of my
childhood.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to Iligan to fetch Oliver. Then we'll proceed to Cebu to visit my
parents. Would you like to go with me?"
I looked at Mother. She was teary eyed. Linda stood up and ruffled my hair.
"So tall," she said.
That was two years ago. We have not heard from Linda again. Nanking Store remains
closed. The store sign has streaked into pastel colors like a stale wedding cake. First
Brother says it is best for Linda to stay away. As for me, I am happy for her but I keep
wondering if she had given birth to a boy.

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 Wedding Dance by Amador Daguio ( Region 1 )
Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the headhigh
threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across
to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped inside, then pushed the cover back
in place. After some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening
darkness.

"I'm sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it."

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of
falling waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened
had been hearing the gangsas for she did not know how long. There was a sudden rush
of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in
the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to
the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With bare fingers he
stirred the covered smoldering embers, and blew into the stove. When the coals began
to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine on them, then full round logs as his arms. The room
brightened.

"Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the dancing women?" He felt a pang inside
him, because what he said was really not the right thing to say and because the woman
did not stir. "You should join the dancers," he said, "as if--as if nothing had happened."
He looked at the woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. The
stove fire played with strange moving shadows and lights

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upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness was not because of anger or
hate.

"Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't hate me for this separation, go out and
dance. One of the men will see you dance well; he will like your dancing, he will marry
you. Who knows but that, with him, you will be luckier than you were with me."

"I don't want any man," she said sharply. "I don't want any other man."

He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You know very well that I won't want any other
woman either. You know that, don't you? Lumnay, you know it, don't you?"

She did not answer him.

"You know it Lumnay, don't you?" he repeated.

"Yes, I know," she said weakly.

"It is not my fault," he said, feeling relieved. "You cannot blame me; I have been a good
husband to you."

"Neither can you blame me," she said. She seemed about to cry.

"No, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say
against you." He set some of the burning wood in place. "It's only that a man must have
a child. Seven harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have waited too long. We
should have another chance before it is too late for both of us."

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She
wound the blanket more snugly around herself.

"You know that I have done my best," she said. "I have prayed to Kabunyan much. I
have sacrificed many chickens in my prayers."

"Yes, I know."

"You remember how angry you were once when you came home from your work in the
terrace because I butchered one of our pigs without your permission? I did it to appease
Kabunyan, because, like you, I wanted to have a child. But what could I do?"

"Kabunyan does not see fit for us to have a child," he said. He stirred the fire. The spark
rose through the crackles of the flames. The smoke and soot went up the ceiling.

Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started to pull at the rattan that kept the split
bamboo flooring in place. She tugged at the rattan flooring. Each time she did this the
split bamboo went up and came down with a slight rattle. The gong of the dancers

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clamorously called in her care through the walls.

Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat, paused before her, looked at her bronzed
and sturdy face, then turned to where the jars of water stood piled one over the other.
Awiyao took a coconut cup and dipped it in the top jar and drank. Lumnay had filled the
jars from the mountain creek early that evening.

"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find you among the dancers. Of course, I am
not forcing you to come, if you don't want to join my wedding ceremony. I came to tell
you that Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can never become as good as you
are. She is not as strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning water jars, not as
good keeping a house clean. You are one of the best wives in the
whole village."

"That has not done me any good, has it?" She said. She looked at him lovingly. She
almost seemed to smile.

He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and came closer to her. He held her face
between his hands and looked longingly at her beauty. But her eyes looked away.
Never again would he hold her face. The next day she would not be his any more. She
would go back to her parents. He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor again and
looked at her fingers as they tugged softly at the split bamboo floor.

"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you. Make it your own, live in it as long as
you wish. I will build another house for Madulimay."

"I have no need for a house," she said slowly. "I'll go to my own house. My parents are
old. They will need help in the planting of the beans, in the pounding of the rice."

"I will give you the field that I dug out of the mountains during the first year of our
marriage," he said. "You know I did it for you. You helped me to make it for the two of
us."

"I have no use for any field," she said.

He looked at her, then turned away, and became silent. They were silent for a time.

"Go back to the dance," she said finally. "It is not right for you to be here. They will
wonder where you are, and Madulimay will not feel good. Go back to the dance."

"I would feel better if you could come, and dance---for the last time. The gangsas are
playing."

"You know that I cannot."

"Lumnay," he said tenderly. "Lumnay, if I did this it is because of my need for a child.

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You know that life is not worth living without a child. The man have mocked me behind
my back. You know that."

"I know it," he said. "I will pray that Kabunyan will bless you and Madulimay."

She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly, and sobbed.

She thought of the seven harvests that had passed, the high hopes they had in the
beginning of their new life, the day he took her away from her parents across the roaring
river, on the other side of the mountain, the trip up the trail which they had to climb, the
steep canyon which they had to cross. The waters boiled in her mind in forms of white
and jade and roaring silver; the waters tolled and growled,
resounded in thunderous echoes through the walls of the stiff cliffs; they were far away
now from somewhere on the tops of the other ranges, and they had looked carefully at
the buttresses of rocks they had to step on---a slip would have meant death.

They both drank of the water then rested on the other bank before they made the final
climb to the other side of the mountain.

She looked at his face with the fire playing upon his features---hard and strong, and
kind. He had a sense of lightness in his way of saying things which often made her and
the village people laugh. How proud she had been of his humor. The muscles where
taut and firm, bronze and compact in their hold upon his skull---how frank his bright
eyes were. She looked at his body the carved out of the mountains
five fields for her; his wide and supple torso heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were
heaving; his arms and legs flowed down in fluent muscles--he was strong and for that
she had lost him.

She flung herself upon his knees and clung to them. "Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband,"
she cried. "I did everything to have a child," she said passionately in a hoarse whisper.
"Look at me," she cried. "Look at my body. Then it was full of promise. It could dance; it
could work fast in the fields; it could climb the mountains fast. Even now it is firm, full.
But, Awiyao, I am useless. I must die."

"It will not be right to die," he said, gathering her in his arms. Her whole warm naked
naked breast quivered against his own; she clung now to his neck, and her hand lay
upon his right shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of gleaming darkness.

"I don't care about the fields," she said. "I don't care about the house. I don't care for
anything but you. I'll have no other man."

"Then you'll always be fruitless."

"I'll go back to my father, I'll die."

"Then you hate me," he said. "If you die it means you hate me. You do not want me to

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have a child. You do not want my name to live on in our tribe."

She was silent.

"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it means I'll die. Nobody will get the fields I
have carved out of the mountains; nobody will come after me."

"If you fail--if you fail this second time--" she said thoughtfully. The voice was a shudder.
"No--no, I don't want you to fail."

"If I fail," he said, "I'll come back to you. Then both of us will die together. Both of us will
vanish from the life of our tribe."

The gongs thundered through the walls of their house, sonorous and faraway.

"I'll keep my beads," she said. "Awiyao, let me keep my beads," she half-whispered.

"You will keep the beads. They come from far-off times. My grandmother said they
come from up North, from the slant-eyed people across the sea. You keep them,
Lumnay. They are worth twenty fields."

"I'll keep them because they stand for the love you have for me," she said. "I love you. I
love you and have nothing to give."

She took herself away from him, for a voice was calling out to him from outside.
"Awiyao! Awiyao! O Awiyao! They are looking for you at the dance!"

"I am not in hurry."

"The elders will scold you. You had better go."

"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

"It is all right with me."

He clasped her hands. "I do this for the sake of the tribe," he said.

"I know," she said.

He went to the door.

"Awiyao!"

He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain he turned to her. Her face was in
agony. It pained him to leave. She had been wonderful to him. What was it that made a
man wish for a child? What was it in life, in the work in the field, in the planting and

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harvest, in the silence of the night, in the communing with husband and wife, in the
whole life of the tribe itself that made man wish for the laughter and speech of a child?
Suppose he changed his mind? Why did the unwritten law demand, anyway, that a
man, to be a man, must have a child to come after him? And if he was fruitless--but he
loved Lumnay. It was like taking away of his life to leave her like this.

"Awiyao," she said, and her eyes seemed to smile in the light. "The beads!" He turned
back and walked to the farthest corner of their room, to the trunk where they kept their
worldly possession---his battle-ax and his spear points, her betel nut box and her beads.
He dug out from the darkness the beads which had been given to him by his
grandmother to give to Lumnay on the beads on, and tied them in place. The white and
jade and deep orange obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly clung to him, clung
to his neck as if she would never let him go.

"Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard!" She gasped, and she closed her eyes and huried her face
in his neck.

The call for him from the outside repeated; her grip loosened, and he buried out into the
night.

Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then she went to the door and opened it.
The moonlight struck her face; the moonlight spilled itself on the whole village.

She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas coming to her through the caverns of the
other houses. She knew that all the houses were empty that the whole tribe was at the
dance. Only she was absent. And yet was she not the best dancer of the village? Did
she not have the most lightness and grace? Could she not, alone among all women,
dance like a bird tripping for grains on the ground, beautifully
timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the men praise her supple body, and the
women envy the way she stretched her hands like the wings of the mountain eagle now
and then as she danced? How long ago did she dance at her own wedding? Tonight, all
the women who counted, who once danced in her honor, were dancing now in honor of
another whose only claim was that perhaps she could give her
husband a child.

"It is not right. It is not right!" she cried. "How does she know? How can anybody know?
It is not right," she said.

Suddenly she found courage. She would go to the dance. She would go to the chief of
the village, to the elders, to tell them it was not right. Awiyao was hers; nobody could
take him away from her. Let her be the first woman to complain, to denounce the
unwritten rule that a man may take another woman. She would tell Awiyao to come
back to her. He surely would relent. Was not their love as strong as the
river?

She made for the other side of the village where the dancing was. There was a flaming

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glow over the whole place; a great bonfire was burning. The gangsas clamored more
loudly now, and it seemed they were calling to her. She was near at last. She could see
the dancers clearly now. The man leaped lightly with their gangsas as they circled the
dancing women decked in feast garments and beads, tripping on the ground like
graceful birds, following their men. Her heart warmed to the flaming call of the dance;
strange heat in her blood welled up, and she started to run. But the gleaming brightness
of the bonfire commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her approach?
She stopped. What if somebody had seen her coming? The flames of the bonfire leaped
in countless sparks which spread and rose like yellow points and died out in the night.
The blaze reached out to her like a spreading radiance. She did not have the courage to
break into the wedding feast.

Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground, away from the village. She thought of
the new clearing of beans which Awiyao and she had started to make only four moons
before. She followed the trail above the village.

When she came to the mountain stream she crossed it carefully. Nobody held her hand,
and the stream water was very cold. The trail went up again, and she was in the
moonlight shadows among the trees and shrubs. Slowly she climbed the mountain.

When Lumnay reached the clearing, she cold see from where she stood the blazing
bonfire at the edge of the village, where the wedding was. She could hear the far-off
clamor of the gongs, still rich in their sonorousness, echoing from mountain to mountain.
The sound did not mock her; they seemed to call far to her, to speak to her in the
language of unspeaking love. She felt the pull of their gratitude for her
sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound to her like many gangsas.

Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she had known long ago-- a strong, muscular
boy carrying his heavy loads of fuel logs down the mountains to his home. She had met
him one day as she was on her way to fill her clay jars with water. He had stopped at
the spring to drink and rest; and she had made him drink the cool mountain water from
her coconut shell. After that it did not take him long to decide to throw his spear on the
stairs of her father's house in token on his desire to marry her.

The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing moonlight. The wind began to stir the
leaves of the bean plants. Lumnay looked for a big rock on which to sit down. The bean
plants now surrounded her, and she was lost among them.

A few more weeks, a few more months, a few more harvests---what did it matter? She
would be holding the bean flowers, soft in the texture, silken almost, but moist where the
dew got into them, silver to look at, silver on the light blue, blooming whiteness, when
the morning comes. The stretching of the bean pods full length from the hearts of the
wilting petals would go on.

Lumnay's fingers moved a long, long time among the growing bean pods.

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 How My Brother Leon Broght Home a Wife by Manuel
Arguilla ( Region 1 )

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 momently high on her right cheek. "And this is
Labang of whom I have heard so much." She held the wrist of one hand with the 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 insides was like a drum.

I laid a hand on Labang's 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 Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped
chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by she was scratching
his forehead very daintily.

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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 that to us all she would be 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 backward and
it sounded much better that way.

"There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west.

She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said
quietly.

"You love Nagrebcan, don't 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 and
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. Labang's white coat, which I had wshed 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 away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly
in answer.

"Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with him
a big uncertainly, and I saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders.

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"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 sinta across Labang's neck
to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so
full of laughter, and there was the 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
greatly 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 a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so
that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several times. When he was quiet again, my
brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top.

She looked down once at 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
up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience
and it was all I could do to keep him from running away.

"Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold
on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand 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 togther to one side, her skirts
spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes
were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair. When Labang slowed
down, my brother Leon handed to 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 unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down
from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields.
High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires.

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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 Wait 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 with Castano and the calesa."

Without waiting for 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 knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks
of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and
even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets 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 and brighter than it was at Ermita beach."

"The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke."

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"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 Leon's hand and
put it against her face.

I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart
between the wheels.

"Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart
sant.

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 Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home---
Manong."

"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 we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He
must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his
like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a
big rock, her 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

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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, don't 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 drope 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 I'll 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 Leon 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 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. The first words that fell from his lips after he
had kissed Mother's hand were:

"Father... where is he?"

"He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg is
bothering him again."

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I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But
I 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 Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big
armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through 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?" he asked.

"No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night."

He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced 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 of
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 Father's
voice must have been like it when Father 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 was resting yet under the barn.

"It is time you watered him, my son," my father said.

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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.

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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, Dodong’s 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 Dodong’s foot and
crawled clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into

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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.
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 father’s 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.
Dodong’s 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.

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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 self-consciousness. 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.”
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 father’s 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.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“That’s very young to get married at.”
“I… I want to marry… Teang’s a good girl…
“Tell your mother,” his father said.
“You tell her, Tatay.”
“Dodong, you tell your Inay.”
“You tell her.”
“All right, Dodong.”

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“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 father’s
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.
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 mother’s 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 parent’s eyes seemed to pierce
through him so he felt limp. He wanted to hide or even run away from them.

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“Dodong, you come up. You come up,” his mother said.
Dodong did not want to come up. He’d rather stayed in the sun.
“Dodong… Dodong.”
I’ll… 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 parent’s
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.
“She’s 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.
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 Dodong’s 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

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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.
Life did not fulfill all of Youth’s dreams.
Why must be so? Why one was forsaken… after love?
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 youth’s dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after
love?
“Itay..” Blas called softly.
Dodong stirred and asked him what it was.
“I’m going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight.
“Itay, you think its over.”
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?”

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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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 My Brother’s Peculiar Chicken by Alejandro Roces
( NCR )
My brother Kiko once had a very peculiar chicken. It was peculiar because no one could
tell whether it was a rooster or a hen. My brother claimed it was a rooster. I claimed it
was a hen. We almost got whipped because we argued too much.

The whole question began early one morning. Kiko and I were driving the chickens from
the cornfield. The corn had just been planted, and the chickens were scratching the
seeds out for food. Suddenly we heard the rapid flapping of wings. We turned in the
direction of the sound and saw two chickens fighting in the far end of the field. We could
not see the birds clearly as they were lunging at each other in a whirlwind of feathers
and dust.

“Look at that rooster fight!” my brother said, pointing exactly at one of the chickens.
“Why, if I had a rooster like that, I could get rich in the cockpits.”

“Let’s go and catch it,” I suggested.

“No, you stay here. I will go and catch it,” Kiko said.

My brother slowly approached the battling chickens. They were so busy fighting that
they did not notice him. When he got near them, he dived and caught one of them by
the leg. It struggled and squawked. Kiko finally held it by both wings and it became still.
I ran over where he was and took a good look at the chicken.

“Why, it is a hen,” I said.

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“What is the matter with you?” my brother asked. “Is the heat making you sick?”

“No. Look at its face. It has no comb or wattles.”

“No comb and wattles! Who cares about its comb or wattles? Didn’t you see it in fight?”

“Sure, I saw it in fight. But I still say it is a hen.”

“Ahem! Did you ever see a hen with spurs on its legs like these? Or a hen with a tail like
this?”

“I don’t care about its spurs or tail. I tell you it is a hen. Why, look at it.”

The argument went on in the fields the whole morning. At noon we went to eat lunch.
We argued about it on the way home. When we arrived at our house Kiko tied the
chicken to a peg. The chicken flapped its wings and then crowed.

“There! Did you hear that?” my brother exclaimed triumphantly. “I suppose you are
going to tell me now that hens crow and that carabaos fly.”

“I don’t care if it crows or not,” I said. “That chicken is a hen.”

We went into the house, and the discussion continued during lunch.

“It is not a hen,” Kiko said. “It is a rooster.”

“It is a hen,” I said.

“It is not.”

“It is.”

“Now, now,” Mother interrupted, “how many times must Father tell you, boys, not to
argue during lunch? What is the argument about this time?”

We told Mother, and she went out look at the chicken.

“That chicken,” she said, “is a binabae. It is a rooster that looks like a hen.”

That should have ended the argument. But Father also went out to see the chicken, and
he said, “Have you been drinking again?” Mother asked.

“No,” Father answered.

“Then what makes you say that that is a hen? Have you ever seen a hen with feathers

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like that?”

“Listen. I have handled fighting cocks since I was a boy, and you cannot tell me that that
thing is a rooster.”

Before Kiko and I realized what had happened, Father and Mother were arguing about
the chicken by themselves. Soon Mother was crying. She always cried when she
argued with Father.

“You know very well that that is a rooster,” she said. “You are just being mean and
stubborn.”

“I am sorry,” Father said. “But I know a hen when I see one.”

“I know who can settle this question,” my brother said.

“Who?” I asked.

“The teniente del Barrio, chief of the village.”

The chief was the oldest man in the village. That did not mean that he was the wisest,
but anything always carried more weight if it is said by a man with gray hair. So my
brother untied the chicken and we took it to the chief.

“Is this a male or a female chicken?” Kiko asked.

“That is a question that should concern only another chicken,” the chief replied.

“My brother and I happen to have a special interest in this particular chicken. Please
give us an answer. Just say yes or no. Is this a rooster?”

“It does not look like any rooster I have ever seen,” the chief said.

“Is it a hen, then?” I asked.

“It does not look like any hen I have ever seen. No, that could not be a chicken. I have
never seen like that. It must be a bird of some other kind.”

“Oh, what’s the use!” Kiko said, and we walked away.

“Well, what shall we do now?” I said.

“I know that,” my brother said. “Let’s go to town and see Mr. Cruz. He would know.”

Mr. Eduardo Cruz lived in a nearby town of Katubusan. He had studied poultry raising in
the University of the Philippines. He owned and operated the largest poultry business in

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town. We took the chicken to his office.

“Mr. Cruz,” Kiko said, “is this a hen or a rooster?”

Mr. Cruz looked at the bird curiously and then said:

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell in one look. I have never run across a chicken like
this before.”

“Well, is there any way you can tell?”

“Why, sure. Look at the feathers on its back. If the feathers are round, then it’s a hen. If
they are pointed, it’s a rooster.”

The three of us examined the feathers closely. It had both.

“Hmmm. Very peculiar,” said Mr. Cruz.

“Is there any other way you can tell?”

“I could kill it and examined its insides.”

“No. I do not want it killed,” my brother said.

I took the rooster in my arms and we walked back to the barrio.

Kiko was silent most of the way. Then he said:

“I know how I can prove to you that this is a rooster.”

“How?” I asked.

“Would you agree that this is a rooster if I make it fight in the cockpit and it wins?”

“If this hen of yours can beat a gamecock, I will believe anything,” I said.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll take it to the cockpit this Sunday.”

So that Sunday we took the chicken to the cockpit. Kiko looked around for a suitable
opponent. He finally picked a red rooster.

“Don’t match your hen against that red rooster.” I told him. “That red rooster is not a
native chicken. It is from Texas.”

“I don’t care where it came from,” my brother said. “My rooster will kill it.”

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“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “That red rooster is a killer. It has killed more chickens than the
fox. There is no rooster in this town that can stand against it. Pick a lesser rooster.”

My brother would not listen. The match was made and the birds were readied for the
killing. Sharp steel gaffs were tied to their left legs. Everyone wanted to bet on the red
gamecock.

The fight was brief. Both birds were released in the centre of the arena. They circled
around once and then faced each other. I expected our chicken to die of fright. Instead,
a strange thing happened. A lovesick expression came into the red rooster’s eyes. Then
it did a love dance. That was all our chicken needed. It rushed at the red rooster with its
neck feathers flaring. In one lunge, it buried its spurs into its opponent’s chest. The fight
was over.

“Tiope! Tiope! Fixed fight!” the crowd shouted.

Then a riot broke out. People tore bamboo benches apart and used them as clubs. My
brother and I had to leave through the back way. I had the chicken under my arm. We
ran toward the coconut groves and kept running till we lost the mob. As soon as we
were safe, my brother said:

“Do you believe it is a rooster now?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I was glad the whole argument was over.

Just then the chicken began to quiver. It stood up in my arms and cackled with laughter.
Something warm and round dropped into my hand. It was an egg.

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 Red Ang Luha ni Michael by Jimmy Alcantara
(CARAGA)
Michael and I were meant to be together. Tumira sa iisang komunidad sa Butuan,
magkaeskuwela mula prep school hanggang kolehiyo, lumaki na pareho ang barkada,
nagsosyo sa bawat stick ng yosi at sa bawat piraso ng french bread, pan de sal, at pan
de coco, at kung minsan sa bawat bilog, lapad, at cuatro cantos. Kaya walang nagulat
nang isang mahalumigmig at makulimlim na Agosto, magkasama kaming "lumaya" sa
Agusan del Norte. Limang libo, transcript of records at sense of adventure ang bulsa-
bulsa namin papuntang Maynila.

Pagkatapos ng anim na taon ng iba't ibang komedya, trahedya at melodrama,

magkasama pa rin kami. Sa isang sulok ng Quezon City kami umupa ng apartment--
dalawang kuwarto, three-five. Hati na naman kami sa lahat: renta, pagkain, bayad sa
tubig, ilaw, telepono. Akin ang sala set, kanya ang kama; akin ang TV, kanya ang ref;
akin into, kanya 'yun. At pag naghiwalay na kami, siyempre naman, kanya-kanyang hila
ng gamit.

Malabo ang relasyon namin--magkaibigan, mag-asawa, magsyota, magkakilala. Kaya

siguro di kami nagpakasal at di rin kami nag-anak. Pero di kami apektado kung di man
namin ma-define ang relasyon namin.

Yuppy ang gimik ni Mike. Nagtatrabaho siya sa personnel department ng isang ad

agency sa Vito Cruz. Wala akong trabaho. Hindi, nawalan ako ng trabaho. Huwag na
nating pag-usapan ang nangyari sa CCP. Di raw nila kailangan ang 'nahihibang' na
production designer. Masisira daw ang mga dula at musikal nila. Gago raw ang mga
kulay at konsepto ko.

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Isang makulit at mainit na Lunes ng umaga, sa harap ng pinagbuhusan ko ng atensiyon
at pawis na omelet at bagong pigang orange juice, nagpabuntung-hininga si Mike at,
"Sa init ngayon, natutusta ang utak ko at maalala ko, kinakalawang na ang ref, pag may
bisita tayo, gusto kong magtago sa aparador."

Napangiti ako. Ito na ang pagkakataon para sorpresahin si Mike. No, di ako bibili ng
bagong ref. Babaguhin ko lang ang kulay! Marumihin ang puti, vile naman ang brown.
Pula! Tama, scarlet red. Magugustuhan niya.

Madrama ang pula, may landi. Minsan morbid pero kadalasan, romantic. Masisiyahan
siya. Ako na rin ang magpipinta. Gagawin kong isang obra-maestra ang ref.

Sa isang tindahan sa Cubao bumili ako ng malaking lata ng Scarlet Aluminum Paint. Di
ko alam kung puwede 'yun sa ref, pero kinuha ko na rin. At isinama ko na rin ang isang
brush na katamtaman ang laki para kontrolado ang pagpahid.

Kaya pagpasok ni Mike sa trabaho ng Biyernes na iyon, hinarap ko ang ref. Binakbak
ko ang lumang balat nito. Binuksan ko ang lata ng pintura at hinalo ang parang dugong
likido ayon sa direksiyon. At binanatan ko na.

Ang ganda ng kinalabasan. Perfect ang first coating. Bagay na bagay ang kulay. At
natakpan ang dumi at iba pang lumang pinturang di natanggal sa ref.

Naaliw ako ng husto sa ginagawa ko, kaya di ko na nahintay na matuyo ang unang
coating bago pahiran uli. At para makasiguro na di mababakbak ang pintura, pinahiran
ko pa ng isa. At ngayon ko na-realize na dry ang itsura ng kusina, walang dating.
Sinimulan kong pasadahan ang mga cupboards. Kaya lang, natuluan ang lababo,
itinuloy ko na rin ang pagpinta rito. Ilang pahiran lang, bagung-bago na ang mukha ng
kusina--intense.

Di na ako nakapagpigil. Nang mapuno ang sahig ng kusina ng mga pulang polka dots,
napagpasiyahan kong gawing maliliit na puso ang mga ito. To relieve the monotonous
squareness of the tiles, kung baga.

Tutal narumihan na ang kamay ko at bukas na ang lata, naggalugad ako sa loob ng
bahay ng puwede pang mapinturahan. Dali-dali kong hinarap ang nangungupas na
lampshade, ang miniature na model ng Eiffel Tower, ang frame ng isang pekeng Monet,
ang mga paso at dahon ng palmera, airpot, pati na ang tsinelas ni Mike sa loob ng
bahay.

Naa-addict na ako sa ginagawa ko. Pero nang makita ko ang itsura ng pinto ng bahay,
di ko napaglabanan ang tukso. Kulay dilaw na brown na puti ang kulay ng pinto. Ilang
pahiran lang at nawala ang ambiguity nito.

Pagkatapos ng pinto, naisip ko: "Ayoko na, tama na." Pero di siguro magandang

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tingnan na isang picture frame lang ng bahay ang kulay pula, kaya pinintahan ko ang
lahat. Ilang minuto ako sa ceiling fan. Ang dutsa sa kubeta at ang mga gripo, nag-
improve mula sa walang kalatuy-latoy na silver.

Habang pinapasadahan ko ang gilid ng TV, nahulog ang brush sa kaliwang sapatos
kong de-goma. Itinuloy ko na rin ang pagpipinta sa sapatos--sa isang paa lang. Parang
si Tom Hanks sa Man with one red shoe.

Pagkatapos ng konting pahiran sa radyo, determinado na akong huminto--sa sandaling

lagyan ko ng glamour ang mga throw pillows. Kaya lang, natilamsikan ang rug. I'm sure,
masisiyahan kayong malaman na maganda ang pagkaka-absorb ng rug sa pintura. Di
ko lang alam kung iyon ay dahil sa kalidad ng pintura o ng rug.

Pumanhik ako sa kuwarto at hinarap ang mga aparador. Binuksan ko ang isa.
Pinasadahan ko ang mga bag at sinturon ni Mike at ilan sa mga attaché cases ko.
Bumaba ako at lumabas sa garden at pininturahan ko ang mga praso, ang mga dahon
ng san francisco at gumawa ng kauna-unahang pulang sampaguita.

Nasa kalagitnaan ako ng pagpipinta sa telepono nang may kumatok. Si Mike! Binuksan
ko ang pinto. Di si Mike.
"Sulat galing sa Butuan. Sino si Mike Fernan? Galing sa isang Joan." Inabot ko ang
sulat. Maputla ang kulay ng kartero, kulang sa buhay. Pinahiran ko ang mukha niya ng
konting pintura para di naman siya mukhang anemic. Di yata naintindihan ng mama ang
gusto kong palabasin, at nagtakbo itong humihiyaw.

Habang pinipintahan ko ang dingding ng sala para ibagay sa bagong personalidad ng

bahay, bumukas ang pinto at bumulaga si Mike.

"Ipinagpaumanhin ninyo," sabi niya, "nagkamali ako. Akala ko'y ito ang bahay ko at
ikaw ang Ricky ko."

Hinawakan niya ang pulang doorknob at lalabas na sana nang pigilan ko siya.

"Mike, ako ang Ricky mo. Di ka ba nasorpresa, ref mo'y iba na?"

Di lang siya nasorpresa, nagulantang pa siya. Doon na raw muna siya sa kaibigan niya
sa Fairview. Iiwan na raw niya sa akin ang ref niya, ang kama niya, ang ito niya, ang
iyon na. Aalis na raw siya at di siguro kung babalik--pero di pa siya makaalis kasi'y basa
pa ng pintura ang mga maleta niya. Di malaman ang gagawin, bumigay ang tear ducts
niya.

"Totoo ngang nababaliw ka na. Sabi mo'y matino ka na. Ibabalik uli kita sa basement.
Sana'y gumaling ka na. Ayoko kasing mag-isa."

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Wala akong nasabi at sa isang mahinay na unday, pinintahan ko ang mga luha niya ng
pula. Naubos ang laman ng lata.

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 The House on Zapote Street by Nick Joaquin (NCR)
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 high-handedness 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

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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."
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 cliché: the hoity-
toity Philippine split-level suburban style—a 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 thefurniture, 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

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Leonardo almost immediately realized why Lydia had been so reticent and
mysterious about her home life.
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
self-sufficient — 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?
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

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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.
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.

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 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.
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

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"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," Lydiatold 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.)
"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 we’re 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

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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 blow-out! Everybody is invited! This is on me!" So they all
went to Max's in Quezon City and had 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 bywhat 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.

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 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.
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 withyou. 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

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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.
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

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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 hand- it hurts!" She was lying across the legs of her daughter, who lay
on top of her husband's 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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 The Chieftest Mourner by Aida Rivera-Ford
(NCR)
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 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

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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 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

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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 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 uncle’s funeral. There

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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
Malacañang 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 voice was now pitched
up for the benefit of the whole chapel. "Let me ask you. During the war when the poet

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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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 ANCIEN POETRY

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 Darangan ( Maranao)

There was a king in a faraway kingdom in Mindanao who had two sons. The elder was
Prince Madali and the younger one was Prince Bantugan. & at very early age, Prince
Bantugan had shown superior qualities over his elder brother Prince Madali. & their
tutor would always tell their father that Prince Bantugan was very intelligent. & He was a
fast learner, even in the use of sword and bow and arrow.& And he possessed such
great that he could subdue three to five men in a hand-to-hand combat.

The first indication that he would soon be a formidable soldier was seen when he
singlehandedly killed several villagers. & The villagers could not believe their eyes after
the very short struggle.
He is so strong! An old man blurted out upon seeing the dead crocodile.

How could a man so young as he is can kill a killer crocodile? He must be possessed
by the gods! Another villager said in awe.
Come on, lets thank the prince for killing the beast! The Chieftain of the placesaid to all
the villagers.

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As years passed, Prince Bantugan reached his manhood; he became the kingdom’s
number one soldier. & ; He always led their soldierds to the battlefield . &; And he
always triumphed over their kingdom’s enemies. &; his name become a word of the
mouth among the soldiers of the neighboring kingdoms. Soon no kingdom ever dared
to conquer or make war with their kingdom. No one would want to fight him. Peace and
progress reigned in their kingdom because they had gained the respect and recognition
of their neighbors.
When their father died of old age, his elder brother, Prince Madali was named the new
king. There was a silent protestsamong the ranks and their people. They wanted Prince
bantugan to be the new king. Even the ordinary people were one in saying that Prince
Bantugan was the better choice between the two princes.
Prince Bantugan is brave and strong. He can really protect us from oue enemies! An old
woman in the marketplace said to her listeners.
This did not bother Prince Bantugan. He knew that his brother was the legal heir to the
throne because prince Madali was the first sibling. He even vouched his brother.
My brother deserves to be our new king because he had studied how to run the
government, he told his fellow soldier and the ministers of the kingdom. He knows how
to deal with foreign relations. And he has several good ideas on how we can improve
the life of everyone!
The ministers and the soldiers just nodded in agreement. However,a rift ensued
between Prince Bantugan and King Madali.   because Prince Bantugan was not
only brave and strong but very handsome too, several beautiful and young women in
the kingdom fell in love for him, even the women whom hi brother, Kng Madali,
wantedfor himself, surrendered themselves under Prince Bantugan’s charm. Enraged
and envious, King Madali proclaimed an order.
I don’t want anybody talking to my brother’s, Prince Bantugan. Anyone who is seen
talking to him will be put in jail or be punished severely.
Prince Bantugan felt sad at his brothers order. He found himself like a person with
communicable disease. Everyone was staying away from him, even his women. Even
the people he loved. No one wanted to talk to him for fear of being jailed or severely
punished by the king.
Unable to contain his grief, he decided one day to leave the kingdom and settled to a
faraway land where he spent the rest of his life.

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 Biag ni Lam-ang ( Region 1 )

Don Juan and his wif e Namongan lived in Nalbuan, now part of La Union in thenorthern
part of the Phillippines. They had a son named Lam-ang was born, Don Juan went to
the mountains in order to punish a group of their Igorot enemies. While he was away,
his son Lam-ang was born. It took four people to help Namongan give birth. As soon as
the baby boy popped out, he spoke and asked that he be given the name Lam-ang, he
also chose his godparents and asked where his father was.
After nine months of waiting for his father to return. Lam-ang decided he would go look
for him. Namongan thought Lam-ang was up to the challeges but she was sad to let him
go. During his xhausting journey, he decided to rest for awhile. He fell asleep and had a
dream about his fathers head being stuck on a pole by the Igorot. Lam-ang was furious
when he learned what had happened to his father. He rushed to their village and killed
them all, except for one whom he let go so that he could tell other people about Lam-
ang’s greatness.
Upon returning to Nalbuan in triumph, he was bathed by women in Amburayan river. All
the fish died because of the dirt and odor from Lam-ang’s body.
There was a young woman named Ines Kannoyan whom Lam-ang wanted to woo. She
lived in Calanutian and he brought along his white rooster and gray dog to visit her. O
the way, Lam-ang met his enemy Sumarang, another suitor of Ines whom he fought and
readily defeated.
Lam-ang found the house of Ines surrounded by many suitors all of whom were trying to
catch her attention. He had his rooster crow, which caused a nearby house to fall. This
made Ines look out He had his dog bark and in an instant the fallen house rose up
again. The girl’s parent witnessed this and called for him. The rooster expressed the

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loveof Lam-ang. The parents agreed to a marriage with their daughter if Lam-ang would
give them dowryvalued at double their wealth. Lam-ang had no problem fulfilling this
condition and he and Ines were married.
It was a tradition to have a newly married man swim in the river for the raring fish.
Unfortunately, Lam-ang dove straight into the mouth of the water monster Berkakan.
Ines had marcos get his bones, which she cover with a piece of cloth. His rooster
crowed and his dog barked and slowly the bones started to move. Back alive, Lam-ang
and his wife lived happily ever after with his rooster and gray dog.

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 Maragtas ( Region 6 )

Ang epikong Maragtas ay kasaysayanng sampung magigiting, matatapang at

mararangal na datu, Ang kasaysayan ng kanilang paglalakbay mula Borneo patungo sa
pulo ng Panay ay buong kasiyahan at pagmamamalaking isinalaysay ng mga taga-
Panay.
Ayon sailing ulat at pananaliksik na pinagtahi-tahi at pinagdugtung-dugtong, ganito ang
mga pangyayari.

Ang Borneo noon ay nasa pamumuno ng isang malupit at masamang sultan na

si Sultan Makatunao. Kinamkam niya ang lahatng yaman ng nasasakupan. Kanya ring
pinupugayan ng dangal ang mga babae, pati ang mga asawa at anak na dalaga ng mga
datu na nasa ilalim niya.
Isang araw, si Pabulanan, ang asawa ni Datu Paiborong ang nais halayin at angkinin
ng masamang sultan. Nalaman ni datu Paiborong ang tangka ni Sultan Makatunao.
Nagbalak ang magigiting na datu manlaban kay Sultan Makatunao. Nag-usap-usap
silang palihim. Naisipan rin nilang humingi ng tulong kay Datu Sumakwel.
Si Sumakwel ay mabait, magalang at matalino. Alam niya ang kasaysayan ng
maraming bansa at marami siyang alam tungkol sa paglalayag. Dinalaw ni Datu
Paiborong at ni Datu Bangkaya si Sumakwel. Ipinagtapat ng dalawa ang paglaban na
nais nilang gawin. Ayaw ni Sumakwel sa balak na paglaban.
Pinuntahan ni Sumakwel si Datu Puti. Si Datu Puti ay Punong Ministro ni
Makatunao. Sinabi ni Sumakwel ang suliranin ng mga datu at ang balak na paglaban.

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Ipinasya nina Sumakwel at Datu Put ang palihim na pag-alis nilang sampung datu sa
Borneo. Hindi nila magagapi si Makatunao. Maraming dugo ang dadanak at marami
ang mamamatay. Ayaw ni datu Puti na mangyari ang ganoon. Iiwan nila ang kalupitan
ni Sultan Makatunao at hahanap sila ng bagong lupain na maaaring pamuhayan nila
ang Malaya at maunlad. Sila’y mararangal na datu na mapagmahal sa kalayaan.
Nagpulong nang palihim ang sampung datu. Sla’y tatakas sa Borneo. Paglihim silang
naghanda ng sampung malalaking Bangka, na ang tawag ay biniday o barangay.
Naghanda sila ng maraming pagkain na kakailanganin nila sa malayong paglalakbay.
Hindi lamang pagkain ang kanilang dadalhin kundi pati angmga buto at binhi ng
halamang kanilang itatanim sa daratnan nilang lupain. Madalas ang pag-uusap ni
Sumakwel at Datu Puti. Batid ni Sumakwel ang malaking pananagutan niya sa gagawin
nilang paghanap ng bagong lupain. Silang dalawa ni Datu Puti ang itinuturing na puno,
ang mga datung hahanap ng malayang lupain.
Isang hatinggabi, lulan sa kanilang mga biniday o barangay, pumalaot ng dagat ang
sampung datu kasama ang kanilang asawa at buong pamilya pati mga katulong. Sa
sampung matatapang na datu, anim an may asawa at apat ang binata. Si Sumakwel ay
bagong kasal kay Kapinanan, si Datu Bangkaya ay kasal kay Katorong na kapatid
niSumakwel. Ang magasawang si Datu Paiborong at Pabulanan, si Datu Domangsol at
ang asawa ng si Kabiling, ang mag-asawang si Datu Padahinog at Ribongsipaw, Si
Datu Puti at ang kanyang asawang si Pinampangan. Ang apat na binatang datu ay sina
Domingsel, Balensuela, Dumalogdog, at Lubay. Ang mag taga-Borneo ay kilala sa
tawag na Bisya o Bisaya. Malakas ang loob nila na pumalaot sa dagat pagkat batid nila
ang pagiging bihasa ni Datu Puti at ni Sumakwel sa paglalayag. Nakita nang minsan ni
Sumakwel ang isang pulo makalagpas ang pulo ng Palawan. Alam niya na ang
naninirahan ditto ay mga Ati, na pawing mababait at namumuhay nang tahimik. Alam
din niya kung gaano kayaman ang pulo.
Nasa unahan ang barangay ni Datu Puti. Makaraan ang ilang araw at gabi nilang
paglalakbay, narrating nila ang pulo ng Panay. Ang matandang pangalan nito ay
Aninipay. Bumaba si datu Puti at naglakas-lakad. Nakita niyaang isang Ati. Siya ay
katutubosa pulong iyon. Pandak, maitim, kulot ang buhok at sapad ang ilong. Sa tulong
ng kasamani Datu Putin a marunong ng wikain ng katutubo ay itinatanong niya kung
sino ang pinuno sa pulong iyon at kung saan ito nakatira. Ipinabalita ni datu Puti kay
Marikudo na silang mga Bisaya mula sa Borneo ay nais makipagkaibigan.
Si Marikudo ai siyang hari ng Aninipay. Siya ay mabuting pinuno. Ang Lahat sa pulo ay
masaya, masagana at matahimik na namumuhay. Walang magnanakaw. Ang lahat ay
masipag na gumagawa. Kilala rin sila sa pagiging matapat at matulungin sa kapwa.
Dumating ang takdang araw ng pagkikita ng mga Ati sa pamumuno ni Marikudo at ng
mga Bisaya sa pamumuno ni Datu Puti. May isang malaking sapad na bato sa baybay
dagat. Ito ang kalungan ng mga Ati. Ito ang Embidayan. Ditto tinggap ni Marikudo ang
mga panauhin. Nakita niya na mabait at magaling ang mga dumating. Ipinaliwanag ni
Datu Puti ang kanilang layong makipanirahan sa pulo ng Aninipay. Nais nilang bilhin
ang lupain ang lupain. Sinabi ni Marikudo na tatawag siya ng pulong, ang kanyang mga

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tauhan at saka nila pagpapasyahan kung papayagan nilang makipanirahan ang mga
dumating na Bisaya.
Muling nagpulong ang mga Ati at mga Bisaya sa Embidayan. Nagpahanda si Marikudo
ng maraming pagkaing pagsasaluhan ng mga Ati at mga Bisaya. Dumating mula sa
look ng Sinogbuhan ang mga Bisaya lulan ng sampung barangay. Nakaupo na sa
Embidayan si Marikudo kasama ang kanyang mga tauhan. Katabi ni Marikudo ang
kanyang asawa na si Maniwantiwan. Nakita ng mga Ati ang maraming handog ng mga
Bisaya. Ang mga lalaking Ati ay binigyan ng mga Bisaya ng itak, kampit, at insenso.
Ang mga babaeing Ati ay binigyan naman ng kuwintas, panyo at suklay. Ang lahat ay
nasiyahan. Nagpakita ng maraming pagsayaw ang mga Ati. Tumugtog ang Bisaya sa
kanilang solibaw, plota, at tambol habang ang mag lalaki naman ay nagsayaw
pandigma, ang sinurog. Nag-usap sina Marikudo at Datu Puti. Ipinakuha ni Datu Puti
ang isang gintong salakot at gintong batya mula sa kanilang barangay. Ibinigay niya ito
kay Marikudo. Nakita ni Maniwantiwan ang mahabang-mahabang kuwintas ni
Pinampangan. Ito’y kuwintas na lantay na ginto. Ibig ni Maniwantiwan ang ganoon ding
kuwintas. Pinigil ni Maniwantiwan ang bilihan, kung hindi siya magkakaroon ng
kuwintas. Madaling ibinigay ni Pinampangan ang kuwinas niya kay Maniwantiwan.
Itinaning ni Datu Puti kung gaano kalaki ang pulo. Sinabi ni Marikudo, na kung
lalakadsa baybay dagat ng pulo simula sa buwang killing ( Abril o buwan ng
pagtatanim) ay makababalik siya sa dating pook pagsapit ng buwan ng bagyo-
bagyo( oktubre o buwan ng pag-aani).
Ang lupang kapatagan ay ibinigay ng mga Ati sa mga Bisaya. Ibinigay rin nila ang
kanilang mga bahay. Ang mga Ati ay lumipat ng paninirahan sa bundok. Madaling
isinaayos ni Datu Puti ang mga Bisaya. Si Datu Bangkaya kasama ang kanyang asawa
na si Katurong at anak na si Balinganga at kanilang mga tauhan at katulong ay tumira
sa Aklan. Sumusunod na inihatid ni Datu Puti sina Datu Paiborong at asawang si
Pabulanon at ang kanyang dalawang anak na si Ilehay at si Ilohay. May mga tauhan
ding kasama si Datu Paiborong na kakatulunginin niya sa pagtatanim ng mga buto at
binhi na iiwan ni Datu Puti at Sumakwel. Sila ay sa Malandog naman maninirahan.
Nagpaalam si Datu Puti kay Sumakwel. Kanyang pinagbilinan si Sumakwel na
pamunuang mahusay ang mga Bisaya. Nag-aalala si Datu Puti tungkol sa kalagayan ng
iba pang Bisaya sa Borneo sa ilalim ng pamumuno ng malupit na si Makatunao.
Matapos magpaalam kay Sumakwel, umalis na ang tatlong Barangay, kay datu Puti ang
isa, at ang dalawa pa ay sa dalawang binatang datu na sina Datu Domingsel at Datu
Balensuela. Narating nila ang pulo ng Luzon. Dumaong ang tatlong barangay sa Look
ng Balayan. Ipinasya ng dalawang datu na sa Taal manirahan kasama ang mga “ Taga-
ilog”. Isang araw lamang at umalis na sina Datu Puti at Pinampangan upang bumalik sa
Borneo.

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 FOLKSPEECH

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Riddles
A deep well that is full of chisels.
Ans. : Mouth
Two black stones that reach far.
Ans . your eyes
When I tugged on the vine, the monkeys went crazy.
Ans. Large bell

Proverbs
A person who does not remember where he/she came from will never reach his/her
destination
Don't empty the water jar until the rain falls.
He who boasts of his accomplishments will heap ridicule on himself.
He who gives alms to the poor faces heaven.
It is advantageous to follow advice, for you will succeed in life.
The pain of the little finger is felt by the whole body.

SayingS
Huwag kang magtiwala sa 'di mo kakilala.
Never trust someone you don't know. / Never trust a stranger.

Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi makararating sa

paroroonan.
If you don't know how to look back to where you came from, you will not reach your
destination.

Walang mahirap na gawa 'pag dinaan sa tiyaga.

Nothing's hard to do if you pursue it through perseverance.

Ang kaginhawaan ay nasa kasiyahan, at wala sa kasaganaan.

Well-being is in happiness and not in prosperity.

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Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang wika ay mahigit pa sa hayop at malansang isda.
A person who does not love his own language is worse than beast and foul-smelling
fish. (This is a quote attributed to José Rizal.)

Ang tunay na pag-ibig sa bayan ay nasa pawis ng gawa.

Genuine patriotism is in the sweat of action.
(This quote is attributed to Filipino educator Onofre Pagsanghan.)

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 FOLKSONG

Spanish Period-Ladino

Adio, kerida

Tu madre kuando te pario Va, bushkate otro amor,

Y te kito al mundo, Aharva otras puertas,
Korason ella no te dio Aspera otro ardor,
Para amar segundo. Ke para mi sos muerta.

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Korason ella no te dió Aspera otro ardor,
Para amar segundo. Ke para mi sos muerta.

Adio, Adio,
Adio kerida, Adio kerida,
No kero la vida, No kero la vida,
Me l'amargates tu. Me l'amargates tu.
Adio, Adio,
Adio kerida, Adio kerida,
No kero la vida, No kero la vida,
Me l'amargates tu. Me l'amargates tú.

Por una Ninya For a Girl (translation)

Por una ninya tan fermoza For a girl so beautiful
l'alma yo la vo a dar I will give my soul
un kuchilyo de dos kortes a double-edged knife
en el korason entro. pierced my heart.
No me mires ke'stó kantando Don't look at me; I am singing,
es lyorar ke kero yo it is crying that I want,
los mis males son muy grandes my sorrows are so great
no los puedo somportar. I can't bear them.
No te lo kontengas tu, fijika, Don't hold your sorrows, young girl,
ke sos blanka komo'l simit, for you are white like bread,
ay morenas en el mundo there are dark girls in the world
ke kemaron Selanik. who set fire to Thessaloniki.

Quando el Rey
When King Nimrod (translation)
Nimrod (Adaptation)
Quando el Rey Nimrod al campo salía When King Nimrod was going out to the fields
mirava en el cielo y en la estrellería He was looking at heaven and at the stars
vido una luz santa en la djudería He saw a holy light in the Jewish quarter
que havía de nascer Avraham Avinu. [A sign] that Abraham, our father, must have been

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 born.
Avraham Avinu, Padre querido, Abraham Avinu [our Father], dear father
Padre bendicho, luz de Yisrael. Blessed Father, light of Israel.
Luego a las comadres encomendava Then he was telling all the midwives
que toda mujer que prenyada quedara That every pregnant woman
si no pariera al punto, la matara Who did not give birth at once was going to be killed
que havía de nascer Abraham Avinu. because Abraham our father was going to born.
Avraham Avinu, Padre querido, Abraham Avinu, dear father
Padre bendicho, luz de Yisrael. Blessed Father, light of Israel.
La mujer de Terach quedó prenyada Terach's wife was pregnant
y de día en día le preguntava and each day he would ask her
¿De qué teneix la cara tan demudada? Why do you look so distraught?
ella ya sabía el bien que tenía. She already knew very well what she had.
Avraham Avinu, Padre querido, Abraham Avinu, dear father
Padre bendicho, luz de Yisrael. Blessed Father, light of Israel.
En fin de nueve meses parir quería After nine months she wanted to give birth
iva caminando por campos y vinyas, She was walking through the fields and vineyards
a su marido tal ni le descubría Such would not even reach her husband
topó una meara, allí lo pariría She found a manger; there, she would give birth.
Avraham Avinu, Padre querido, Abraham Avinu, dear father
Padre bendicho, luz de Yisrael. Blessed Father, light of Israel.
In that hour the newborn was speaking
En aquella hora el nascido avlava
'Get away of the manger, my mother
"Andavos mi madre, de la meara
I will somebody to take me out
yo ya topó quen me alexara
He will send from the heaven the one that will go with
mandará del cielo quen me accompanyará
me
porque so criado del Dio bendicho."
Because I am a servant of the blessed God.'
Avraham Avinu, Padre querido, Abraham Avinu, dear father
Padre bendicho, luz de Yisrael Blessed Father, light of Israel.

Types of Poetry
When studying poetry, it is useful first of all to consider the theme and the
overalldevelopment of the theme in the poem. Obviously, the sort of development that
takes place depends to a considerable extent on the type of poem one is dealing with. It
is useful to keep two general distinctions in mind (for more detailed definitions consult
Abrams 1999 and Preminger et al 1993): lyric poetry and narrative poetry.
Lyric Poetry

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 A lyric poem is a comparatively short, non-narrative poem in which a single speaker
presents a state of mind or an emotional state. Lyric poetry retains some of the
elements of song which is said to be its origin: For Greek writers the lyric was a song
accompanied by the lyre.
Subcategories of the lyric are, for example elegy, ode, sonnet and dramatic monologue
and most occasional poetry:
In modern usage, elegy is a formal lament for the death of a particular person (for
example Tennyson’s In Memoriam A.H.H.). More broadly defined, the term elegy is also
used for solemn meditations, often on questions of death, such as Gray's Elegy Written
in a Country Churchyard.
An ode is a long lyric poem with a serious subject written in an elevated style. Famous
examples are Wordsworth’s Hymn to Duty or Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn.
The sonnet was originally a love poem which dealt with the lover’s sufferings and
hopes. It originated in Italy and became popular in England in the Renaissance,
whenThomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey translated and imitated the sonnets written
byPetrarch (Petrarchan sonnet). From the seventeenth century onwards the sonnet was
also used for other topics than love, for instance for religious experience (by Donne and
Milton), reflections on art (by Keats or Shelley) or even the war experience (by Brooke
or Owen). The sonnet uses a single stanza of (usually) fourteen lines and an intricate
rhyme pattern (see stanza forms). Many poets wrote a series of sonnets linked by the
same theme, so-called sonnet cycles (for instance Petrarch, Spenser, Shakespeare,
Drayton, Barret-Browning, Meredith) which depict the various stages of a love
relationship.
In a dramatic monologue a speaker, who is explicitly someone other than the author,
makes a speech to a silent auditor in a specific situation and at a critical moment.
Without intending to do so, the speaker reveals aspects of his temperament and
character. In Browning's My Last Duchess for instance, the Duke shows the picture of
his last wife to the emissary from his prospective new wife and reveals his excessive
pride in his position and his jealous temperament.
Occasional poetry is written for a specific occasion: a wedding (then it is called
anepithalamion, for instance Spenser’s Epithalamion), the return of a king from exile (for
instance Dryden’s Annus Mirabilis) or a death (for example Milton’sLycidas), etc.

Narrative Poetry
Narrative poetry gives a verbal representation, in verse, of a sequence of connected
events, it propels characters through a plot. It is always told by a narrator. Narrative
poems might tell of a love story (like Tennyson's Maud), the story of a father and son

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(like Wordsworth's Michael) or the deeds of a hero or heroine (like Walter Scott's Lay of
the Last Minstrel).
Sub-categories of narrative poetry:
Epics usually operate on a large scale, both in length and topic, such as the founding of
a nation (Virgil’s Aeneid) or the beginning of world history (Milton's Paradise Lost), they
tend to use an elevated style of language and supernatural beings take part in the
action.
The mock-epic makes use of epic conventions, like the elevated style and the
assumption that the topic is of great importance, to deal with completely insignificant
occurrences. A famous example is Pope's The Rape of the Lock, which tells the story of
a young beauty whose suitor secretly cuts off a lock of her hair.
A ballad is a song, originally transmitted orally, which tells a story. It is an important
form of folk poetry which was adapted for literary uses from the sixteenth century
onwards. The ballad stanza is usually a four-line stanza, alternating tetrameter and
trimeter.
Descriptive and Didactic Poetry
Both lyric and narrative poetry can contain lengthy and detailed descriptions
(descriptive poetry) or scenes in direct speech (dramatic poetry).
The purpose of a didactic poem is primarily to teach something. This can take the form
of very specific instructions, such as how to catch a fish, as in James Thomson’sThe
Seasons (Spring 379-442) or how to write good poetry as in Alexander Pope’sEssay on
Criticism. But it can also be meant as instructive in a general way. Until the twentieth
century all literature was expected to have a didactic purpose in a general sense, that
is, to impart moral, theoretical or even practical knowledge; Horacefamously demanded
that poetry should combine prodesse (learning) anddelectare (pleasure). The twentieth
century was more reluctant to proclaim literature openly as a teaching tool.

Connotation and Denotation

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Connotation: The emotional associations implied or suggested by a word; they extend
the meaning of a word beyond its literal meaning.

Denotation: The precise, literal meaning of a word.

"Constant Change"

We're on the road

We move from place to place
And oftentimes when I'm about to call it home
We'd have to move along
Life is a constant change...

The friends we know we meet along the way

Too soon the times we share form part of yesterday
'Cause life's a constant change
And nothing stays the same, oh no

Clouds that move across the skies

Are changing form before our very eyes

Why couldn't we keep time from movin' on?

Hold on to all the years before this moment's gone?
Why must we live the days at such a frightening pace?

We're all like clouds that move across the skies

And changing form before our very eyes

Have we outgrown our Peter Pans and wings?

We've simply grown too old for tales of knights and kings
'Cause life's a constant change
And nothing stays the same, oh no

Imagery

Imagery: language that (normally, though not always) evokes the senses.

 Visual: relating to sight. (The most frequent type of imagery.)

 Aural or auditory imagery: relating to sound.

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  Olfactory imagery: relating to smell.
 Gustatory imagery: relating to taste.
 Tactile imagery: relating to touch.
 Kinaesthetic imagery: relating to movement and bodily effort.
 Abstract imagery: appealing to the intellect or a concept.
Images are often not exclusive to one type – they often overlap.

E.g. "The tide of my death came whispering like this

Soiling my body with its tireless voice."

- from Peter Redgrove's “Lazarus and the Sea”

These two lines a clearly auditory, but the use of the word "soiling" may suggest
the tactile; likewise it could suggest the olfactory. A sense of one's own death
could be considered an abstract image

Querida

By : Angela Manalang

The door is closed, the curtains drawn within

One room, a brilliant question mark of light...
Outside her gate an empty limousine
Waits in the brimming emptiness of night.
Old Maid Walking on a City Street* (1950)

She had a way of walking through concupiscence

And past the graces her fingers never twirled:
Because her mind refused the heavy burden,
Her broad feet shovelled up the world

Tone and Diction

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 The Spouse
by Luis Dato

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 sorrow—Life?

She holds no joys beyond the day’s tomorrow,

She finds no worlds beyond her love’s 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 Life’s love forlorn;
The Sphinx beside the river smiles with seeking
The secret answer since the world was born.

Figures of Speech

- Is the use of a word or words diverging from its usual meaning. It can
also be a special repetition, arrangement or omission of words with

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 literal meaning, or a phrase with a specialized meaning not based on
the literal meaning of the words in it.

Picture Show
( Guillermo Castillo) I Vialed the Universe
By God's divine will,

I waken sitting in the dark I vialed the universe

And laughed at theconcentrated Gods.
with my attention set But the Genie escaped with His halo of
riddles.
upon a Screen before me I pondered anew and unslept.
Thoughts were as vast as the unvialed
while God behind me in His closet God.
I could not bottle or battle Him.
with His intricate machines There: I saw Him mark in the matutinal
mist
projects a Moving Picture Show I surrendered

a masterpiece which we call – LIFE

Youth And these will know

(Maximo Ramos) The quiet dimming down of age and the
silent wonder
These have known the tingling freshness Of going back
Of the coming forth from God; To God.
The sweetness of mother’s breast
The ringing sinewiness of growth,
The feel of the loved one’s cheek, the Death
song By : Herminio M. Beltran
Of April suns and showers…

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We are
The branches gently ‘till its leaves
Leaves of Life’s tree
All fall
And death is the wind that shakes

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 Essay

College Uneducation (Jorge Bocobo)

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I wish to speak on “College Uneducation.” Is it possible that our college education may
“uneducate” rather than educate? I answer “Yes.” It is a paradox but nonetheless the
truth—the grim, unmerciful truth. We all believe in higher education; else 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’ 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 quench the soul. These
students are being uneducated in college. I shall briefly discuss three ways in which
many of our students are getting 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?” 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 same
token, may 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 and powerful thinking is
paralyzed. How pathetic to hear them argue and discuss! Because they lack the native
vitality of unhampered reason, their discourse smacks of cant and sophistry rather than
of healthy reasoning and straight thinking.

It is thus that many of our students surrender their individuality to the textbook and lose
their birthright—which is to think for themselves. And when they attempt to form their
own judgment, they become pedantic. Unless a student develops the habit of
independent and sound reasoning, his college education is a solemn sham.

Compare these hair-splitting college students with Juan de la Cruz in the barrios. Now,
Juan de la Cruz has read very little: no undigested mass of learning dulls the edge of
his inborn logic, his mind is free from the overwhelming, stultifying weight of
unassimilated book knowledge. How penetrating his perception, how unerring his
judgment, how solid his common sense! He contemptuously refers to the learned
sophists, thus: ”Lumabis ang karunungan mo,” which means, “Your learning is too
much.”

Professional Philistinism
The second manner of college uneducation 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 lawyers, doctors, engineers, teachers, and
agriculturists. 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

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and excessive specialization. That such a tendency exists is undeniable, but we never
pause 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. Yet how can we expect a; this result from a state of
affairs which reduces a law student to a code, a prospective doctor to a prescription,
and a would-be engineer to a mathematical formula? How many students in our
professional colleges are doing any systematic reading in literature? May we not,
indeed, seriously ask whether this fetish of specialization does not smother the inspiring
sense of beauty and the 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 us 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 commonplace. We rise early and go out
into, but our spirit is responsive to the hopeful quietude and the dew-chastened
sweetness of dawn. At night we behold the myriad stars, but they are just so many
bright specks—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’s
universe. We are 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 though 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 it
is no more than a mere human likeness. Tell me, is such a life worth coming to college
for? Yet, my friends, the overspecialization which many students pursue with zeal and
devotion is bound to result in such an unfeeling, dry-as-dust existence.
I may say in passing that the education of the older generation is in this respect far
superior to ours. Our older countrymen say, 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, beclouds our vision of the broader perspectives 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 wellbeing. 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 individualformulation 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 every 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 de la Cruz as Teacher

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Here, again, many of our students should sit at the feet of meagrely 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 unravelled the mysteries of life. His is the happiness of the man
who knows the whys of human existence. Unassuming Juan de la Cruz cherishes no
“Vaulting ambition which o’erleaps itself.” His simple and hardy virtues put to shame the
studied and complex rules of conduct of highly educated men and women. In adversity,
his stoicism is beyond encomium. His love of home, so guilelessly faithful, is the firm
foundation of our 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 that 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
overspecialization; and (3) neglect of the formulation of a sound philosophy of life as a
result of excessive emphasis on professional training.

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 Drama

Drama is the specific mode of fiction represented in performance.[1] The term comes
from aGreek word meaning "action" (Classical Greek: δρᾶμα, drama), which is derived
from the verb meaning "to do" or "to act" (Classical Greek: δράω, draō). The enactment
of drama in theatre, performed by actors on a stage before an audience,
presupposes collaborative modes of production and a collective form of reception.
The structure of dramatic texts, unlike other forms of literature, is directly influenced by
this collaborative production and collective reception. The early
modern tragedy Hamlet (1601) by Shakespeare and the classical
Athenian tragedy Oedipus the King (c. 429 BC) by Sophocles are among the
masterpieces of the art of drama. A modern example is Long Day's Journey into
Night by Eugene O’Neill (1956).

Different Types of Drama

Comedy
When we talk about comedy, we usually refer to plays that are light in tone, and that
typically have happy endings. The intent of a comedic play is to make the audience
laugh. In modern theater, there are many different styles of comedy, ranging from
realistic stories, where the humor is derived from real-life situations, to outrageous
slapstick humor.

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Tragedy
Tragedy is one of the oldest forms of drama; however, its meaning has changed since
the earliest days of staged plays. In ancient times, a tragedy was often an historical
dramas featuring the downfall of a great man. In modern theater, the definition is a bit
looser. Tragedy usually involves serious subject matter and the death of one or more
main characters. These plays rarely have a happy ending.

Farce
Farce is a sub-category of comedy, characterized by greatly exaggerated characters
and situations. Characters tend to be one-dimensional and often follow stereotypical
behavior. Farces typically involve mistaken identities, lots of physical comedy and
outrageous plot twists.

Melodrama
Melodrama is another type of exaggerated drama. As in farce, the characters tend to be
simplified and one-dimensional. The formulaic storyline of the classic melodrama
typically involves a villain a heroine, and a hero who must rescue the heroine from the
villain.

Musical
In musical theater, the story is told not only through dialogue and acting but through
music and dance. Musicals are often comedic, although many do involve serious
subject matter. Most involve a large cast and lavish sets and costumes.

As a student of drama it is important to be able recognize these different types of

drama. Be aware that in modern theater, the lines between these types of drama are
often quite blurred, with elements of comedy, drama and tragedy residing in the same
play.

Forms of drama

Opera

Western opera is a dramatic art form, which arose during the Renaissance in an attempt
to revive the classical Greek drama tradition in which both music and theatre were
combined. Being strongly intertwined with western classical music, the opera has
undergone enormous changes in the past four centuries and it is an important form of
theatre until this day. Noteworthy is the huge influence of the German 19th-century
composer Richard Wagner on the opera tradition. In his view, there was no proper

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balance between music and theatre in the operas of his time, because the music
seemed to be more important than the dramatic aspects in these works. To restore the
connection with the traditional Greek drama, he entirely renewed the operatic format,
and to emphasize the equal importance of music and drama in these new works, he
called them "music dramas".

Chinese opera has seen a more conservative development over a somewhat longer
period of time.

Pantomime

These stories follow in the tradition of fables and folk tales. Usually there is a lesson
learned, and with some help from the audience, the hero/heroine saves the day. This
kind of play uses stock characters seen in masque and again commedia dell'arte, these
characters include the villain (doctore), the clown/servant (Arlechino/Harlequin/buttons),
the lovers etc. These plays usually have an emphasis on moral dilemmas, and good
always triumphs over evil, this kind of play is also very entertaining making it a very
effective way of reaching many people.

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 NEW YORKER IN TONDO

(Marcelino Agana, Jr.)

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, I’m beginning to feel like a society matron.

(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. It’s I, foolish boy. Who did you think it was

…Carmen Rosales?

TONY : You …you don’t 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

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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 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 that’s 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 didn’t 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?

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MRS. M : (who’s rather engrossed in her own troubles too) --- Who?

TONY : Kikay? Is she at home?

MRS. M : (Snorting) --- Of course she is at home. She’d still sleeping!

TONY : (Glancing at his watch) ---Still sleeping!

MRS. M : She says that in New York people do not wake up before twelve o’clock noon.

TONY : (Glancing at his watch once more) --- It’s only ten o’clock now.

MRS. M : Besides, she has been very, very busy. Uy, the life of that girl since she came
home! Welcome parties here and welcome parties there and visitors all day long. That
girl has been spinning around like a top!

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, you’re 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 don’t bother, Aling Atang. I can come back some other time.

MRS. M : (Moving away) --- You wait right there, Tony. She’ll be simply delighted to see
her old childhood friend. And she’ll want to thank you in person for these flowers. How
beautiful they are, Tony…. How expensive they must be!

TONY : (Sitting down again) --- Oh, they’re nothing at all, Aling Atang.

MRS. M : (Pausing, already at center doorway) --- Oh, Tony …

TONY : Yes, Aling Atang?

MRS. M : You mustn’t call me “Aling Atang.”

TONY : Why not?

MRS. M : Kikay doesn’t like it. She says I must tell people to call me Mrs. Mendoza. She
says it’s 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!

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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 … Fran…CES…ca.

TONY : But why Francesca?

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 Italian…an 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, I’ll 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 other’s bellies.)

TOTO : You old son of your father!

TONY : You big carabao, you!

TOTOY : Mayroon ba tayo diyan?

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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 … It’s you the police are out looking for.

TONY : Impossible! I’m a reformed character!

TOTOY : (Arms around each other’s 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,
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, I’ve been hearing the most frightful things
about that girl.

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 she’s 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? Don’t 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.

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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, it’s Totoy!

TOTOY : (Opening his arms) --- Nena, my own!

NENA : (Brushing him aside as she walks into the room) – and Tony too! What’s

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?

MRS. M : (Appearing in the center doorway) – No, she’s awake already. She’s

changing. Good morning, Nena. Good morning, Totoy.

(Totoy and Nena are staring speechless. Mrs. Mendoza is carrying a vase in which she
has arranged Tony’s flowers. She self-consciously walks into the room and sets the
vase on the table amidst the silence broken only by Totoy’s 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 don’t stop gaping at
me, I’ll pinch you!

NENA : (Laughing) – How you used to pinch and pinch me, Aling Atang, when I was a
little girl.

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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, it’s still out there in our backyard.

TOTOY : (Jumping up) – Come on, Nena…let’s steal their mangoes!

MRS.M : Ah-ah, you just try! I still run as fast as ever. See if I don’t 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.

TOTOY : Why? To pull my pants off?

MRS. M : No, idiot! I want you to help me carry something.

NENA : Aling Atang, don’t prepare anything for us. We’re not visitors. And we’re not
hungry.

MRS. M : It’s 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.

(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 shouldn’t have come today, Nena.

NENA : Oh, why not?

TONY : I haven’t talked to Kikay yet.

NENA : You haven’t talked to Kikay yet..! I thought you were going to come here

and tell her everything last night.

TONY : I lost my nerve. I didn’t come last night.

NENA : Oh, Tony, Tony!

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TONY : (Irritated, imitating her tone) – Oh, Tony, Tony! Use your head, Nena. Whoever
heard of a man breaking off his engagement with a girl! It’s not usual! And … my God …
it’s not easy!

NENA : (Belligerently) – Are you in love with Kikay or with me?

TONY : Of course I’m in love with you. I’m engaged to you.

NENA : (Bitterly) –Yes…and 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 didn’t 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.

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, I’m tired of being secretly engaged to you! What fun is it being engaged if
you can’t 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. I’m getting impatient.

TONY : The trouble is, how can I talk with Kikay now?

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NENA : Why not?

TONY : Well you are here, and Totoy is here. You don’t expect me to jilt Kikay in front of
everybody, do you?

NENA : You want me and Totoy to clear out?

TONY : No…just give me a chance to be alone with Kikay for a moment.

NENA : I’ll take care of Totoy.

TONY : That’s 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…!

(Mrs. Mendoza appears in the doorway, carrying a plate of sandwiches.)

MRS. M : Listen everybody…here comes Kikay…but 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. Kikay’s
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 dear…but how cute you’ve
become! (She kisses Nena)And Tony, my little pal of the valley…how are you? (She
gives her hand to Tony) and Totoy…my, how ravishing you look. (She walks all around
the apprehensive Totoy) goodness, you look like a Tondo super-production in
Technicolor! But sit down everybody…do 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 : What’s the matter now?

KIKAY : How many times must I tell you, mumsy dearest, never, never serve fruit

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juice in water glasses!

MRS. M : I couldn’t find those tall glasses you brought home.

KIKAY : (Approaching and kissing her mother) – Oh, my poor li’l mumsy…she is

so clumsy, no? But never mind, dearest; don’t break your heart about it.

Here sit down.

MRS. M : No, I must be going to the market.

KIKAY : Oh, mumsy, don’t forget my celery. (to her visitors) – I can’t live without

celery. I’m like a rabbit…munch, munch all day.

MRS. M : Well, if you people will excuse me…Tony, remember me to your mother.

(She moves away)

KIKAY : (Gesturing make up) – and remember, mumsy…a 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, mumsy…what am I going to do with you?

MRS. M : (As she exits) – I give up!

KIKAY : (Still laughing) – Poor mumsy, she’s 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?

KIKAY : I said merci. That means thank you… in French.

TOTOY : (As he sits down) – Merci!

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(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 she’s 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 I’m not
there. I’m not in New York… I’m here, here!

KIKAY : (She rises abruptly and goes to window where she stands looking out) I’m
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 exile…yes, 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 don’t think we ought to be here at all, boys.

TONY : Yes, we shouldn’t 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) – Listen…oh listen! Now, in New York, it’s
springtime…it’s 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 York…an 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, it’s an old tree. It’s 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

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symbol for New York…undying immortal, forever growing and forever green! (She
laughs and

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 can’t
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 minute…what is this tree you’re talking about?

NENA : Our mango tree, Kikay. The mango tree out there in your back yard.

KIKAY : (Flatly) – Oh that tree…

TONY : What’s the matter, Kikay? Don’t you feel the same emotion for that tree as you
do for the one in New York?

KIKAY : (Tartly) – Of course not! They…they’re completely different! I don’t feel any
emotion for this silly old mango tree. It doesn’t awaken any memories for me at all!

NENA : (Rising) – Well it does…for me. And such happy, happy memories! I really must
run out to the backyard and say hello to it. (Imitating Kikay’s tone and manner) You
know, Kikay, over here in Tondo, we have a funny custom…an 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) – don’t be silly, Nena.

TONY : Look who’s talking.

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KIKAY : (In amused despair) – Oh, you people can’t understand at all!

TONY : Of course not. We’ve never been to New York.

KIKAY : (Earnestly) –- That’s it exactly! Until you’ve been to New York, you can’t, can’t
understand ever. Oh, believe me…not to have lived in New York is not to have lived at
all! That tree of ours over there… it doesn’t 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 Grant’s 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. Patrick’s Day
Parade down Fifth Avenue and for all (She stops, overcome with her memories) Oh, it’s
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 don’t 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 darling…just 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)

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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) – Kikay…I don’t know just how to begin.

KIKAY : Just call me Francesca... a good beginning.

TONY : There is something I must tell you…something very important.

KIKAY : Oh, Tony, can’t we just forget all about it?

TONY : Forget?

KIKAY : That’s 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 hands…just 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. I’ve 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. I’ve become a
completely different person in just one year. After all, what’s a year, what’s 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 know…I feel as if I’ve 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. It’s my real home. Oh, listen, last summer it was really hot…
one of the hottest summers we ever had. I’d 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 streets…sightseeing, you know…and 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 I’d be
feeling very proud too, because it was my city they were admiring, and I’d feel rather
sorry for them living out in the sticks…

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TONY : Listen, I don’t want to talk about New York…I want to talk about our
engagement.

KIKAY : And that’s what we cannot do. Tony…not anymore.

TONY : Why not?

KIKAY : Tony, you got engaged to a girl named Kikay. Well, that girl doesn’t exist

anymore…she’s dead. The person you see before me is Francesca. Don’t you see,
Tony, I’m a stranger to you…we don’t speak the same language…and I feel so much,
much older than you. I’m a woman of the world, you are only a boy. I hate to hurt you,
Tony…but surely you see that there can between us would be stark miscegenation!
Imagine a New Yorker marrying a Tondo boy!

TONY : (Blazing) – Now look here…

KIKAY : (Very tolerantly) – I’m sorry if I’ve 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) – I’m not going to sit here and be insulted.

KIKAY : Hush, Tony, hush! Don’t shout, don’t lose your temper…it’s so uncivilized.

People in New York don’t lose their temper. Not people of the haute monde anyway!

TONY : (Shouting) – What do you want me to do…smile and say thank you for slapping
my face?

KIKAY : Yes, Tony, be a sport. Let’s smile and shake hands and be just friends, huh?
Be brave, Tony…forget: that’s the New York way. Find another girl. There are other
“goils” in the “esters”, as they say in Brooklyn. You’ll find somebody else…someone
more proper for you.

TONY : (Waving his fist) – If you weren’t a woman, I’d…I’d…

KIKAY : Hold it, Tony…you must never, never hit a woman.

NENA : What’s all this?

KIKAY : Nothing…nothing 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.

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NENA : Tony, is this true?

TONY : (Shouting) –Yes!

NENA : Oh good! Now we can tell them!

KIKAY : Tell us what?

TOTOY : What’s going on here, eh?

NENA : (Taking Tony’s hand) –Tony and I are engaged.

KIKAY : (Rising) – Engaged!

TOTOY : (At the same time) – Engaged!

NENA : Yes! We’ve been secretly engaged for a month.

KIKAY : A month! (Fiercely, to Tony) – Why, you…you…

TONY : (Backing off) – I did try to tell you, Kikay…I was trying to tell you…

KIKAY : You unspeakable cad!

NENA : Hey, careful there…you’re speaking to my fiancé.

KIKAY : He’s not your fiancé!

NENA : Oh no? And why not, ha?

KIKAY : Because he was still engaged to me when he got engaged to you!

NENA : Well, he’s not engaged to you anymore, you just said so yourself.

KIKAY : Ah, but I didn’t 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 who’d let a man jilt her? (Moving towards Tony) Oh, you horrible, horrible monster!

TONY : (Backing off some more) – Now remember Kikay…it’s uncivilized to lose one’s
temper. People in New York don’t lose their temper. Not people of the haute monde
anyway!

KIKAY : I’ve never felt so humiliated in all my life! You beast! I’ll teach you to humiliate
me!

NENA : (Blocking her way) – I told you to leave him alone. He’s my fiancé.

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KIKAY : And I tell you he’s not! He’s engaged to me until I release him …and I haven’t
released him yet.

NENA : You ought to be ashamed of yourself! You’re just being a dog in the manger!

KIKAY : You ought to be ashamed of yourself…stealing 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 I’ll 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

Tony…who’s dragging her away. and pounces on Kikay…whom Totoy is holding. Tony
came running but is too late to prevent Nena from socking Kikay. Kikay sags down in
Totoy’s arms. Tony pulls Nena away.)

TONY : (Furious) – How dare you sock her?

NENA : What? She hit me first!

TONY : Look what you’ve 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 I’ll bash your mouth off!

TOTOY : (Deserting the reviving Kikay) – Hey, don’t you talk to Nena that way.

TONY : You keep out of this!

NENA : He’s more of a gentleman than you are, he defends me!

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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, you’ve saved my life.

(Meanwhile, Kikay has run to Tony’s 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 Rodin’s “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, let’s go.

(He takes her arm and propels her to the door.)

TONY : (As they pass him) – Hey!

NENA : (Pausing) – Don’t you speak to me, you brute!

TONY : (Still sitting on the floor) – I wasn’t talking to you.

TOTOY : Don’t 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) – Well…now you know…

TONY : (Still on the floor) – Congratulations!

NENA : (Coldly) – Let’s go darling…I don’t 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 you’ve ruined my life. I hope you’re satisfied.

KIKAY : (Whirling around) – I... have ruined your life? You…have ruined mine!

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TONY : (Advancing) – What you need is a good spanking.

KIKAY : (Retreating) - Don’t you come near me, you…you Canto Boy!

TONY : (Stopping) - Don’t worry; I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.

KIKAY : And I wouldn’t 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 I’m 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, you’re fickle, fickle!

TONY : What are you crying about? Be brave…forget…that’s the New York way.
Nothing must ever be too serious, nothing must ever drag on too long…

KIKAY : Oh Tony, I’ve been such a fool! I’m so sorry, Tony!

TONY : Well, I’m not! I’m glad I found out what kind of a person you are!

KIKAY : (Alarmed, approaching him) – Oh, Tony, you’re wrong, you’re wrong! I’m not
that kind of a person at all!

TONY : Oh “person” is just a relative term, huh?

KIKAY : Yes, Tony…that 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 : It’s true, Tony. I’m Kikay…remember me? We used to go swimming together,
when we were kids. I’ve come back, Tony.

TONY : If I were right, I was engaged to a girl named Kikay.

KIKAY : Yes, and you’re still engaged to her, Tony.

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TONY : Welcome home, Kikay! How was the trip?

KIKAY : Horrible! I couldn’t wait to get back.

TONY : Liked it in New York?

KIKAY : Uh-uh. Give me Tondo anytime.

TONY : Why didn’t you answer my letters?

KIKAY : (After just a wee pause) – Francesca wouldn’t let me write, Tony.

TONY : That misty girl. I’m glad she’s dead!

(Offstage Mrs. Mendoza is heard calling “ Francesca, Francesca.” Tony and Kikay
listen, then burst into laughter.)

MRS. M : (Appearing in doorway) – Frances…Oh, Tony, are you still here? Francesca,
don’t be angry but I couldn’t 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. I’m not Francesca…I’m 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. It’s playing “Again”
or some such silly song.)

KIKAY : (Subsiding) – Sorry, darling. (She approaches him.) May I have this “jagging-
jagging” with you, partner?

TONY : (Bowing) – Delighted, Madame. (They dance around the room as the CURTAIN
FALLS.)

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 Ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio

Ni Paul Dumol

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa Ikalawang Tagapagtanong) O, sige na.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sige. (Lalakad sila sa harap ng kanilang mesa)

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga manonood) Narito ho kayo upang panoorin ang
isang paglilitis, dahila’y ang krimen ng isang pulubing huling- huli namin. Si Mang
Serapiong pisak at surutin. (Tatakbo sila sa kanilang mesa.) Dalhin dito ang
nasasakdal! Dalhin dito ang nasasakdal! Dalhin dito ang nasasakdal! Dalhin dito agad!

(Hahalakhak, hihiyaw, at papalakpak ang mga Pulubi. Hihilahin ng dalawang bantay si

Mang Serapio sa gitna ng silid at iiwan doon. Katahimikan.)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Magandang gabi, ginoo.

Serapio: Magandang gabi rin ho. (Sandaling titigil) Mga ginoo –

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Silencio!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag kang magsalita habang kami’y nagsasalita.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Bastos ang nagsasalita habang may nagsasalita pa.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga manonood) Patawarin ho ninyo siya. Talagang
ganyan ho ang waLang kapangyarihang tulad niya: mangmang, at yan nga ang
suliranin ng mga may kapangyarihang, tulad namin.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Tumindig ka nang matuwid!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ba’t ka ba galaw nang galaw?

Serapio: Gusto ko lang malaman kung ano ang krimen ko. (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Hindi mo ba alam?

Serapio: Hindi ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: A, problema mo na ‘yon. (Sa mga manonood) Pag-aaruga ng

bata ang krimen niya. (Biglang titindig ang tatlong saksi)

Tatlong saksi: Pag-aaruga, pag-aaruga, pag-aaruga ng bata.

Unang tagapagtanong: (Sa mga manonood) Krimen sapagkat ang pag-aaruga ng bata
ay panunuksong gumasta.Samakatuwid nawawalan ng pera ang federacion. Nahuli
siya ng tatlong kasapi nitong federacion. Narinig siyang nagsasalita sa anak niya at
alam pa nila ang pangalan ng anak niya- Sol. Pormalidad na lamang itong paglilitis.

Hukom: Pormalidad na rin ho ang hatol ko.

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Unang tagapagtanong: Ang parusa niya ay nais panoorin nitong mga pulubi. Siya’y
bubulagin. (Bubungisngis at tatawa ang mga pulubi) Ginoong Serapio, mabuti ba’ng
tulog mo?

Serapio: Oho.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Nakakain ka na ba?

Serapio: Oho.

Unang tagapagtanong: Magaling! Handang-handa ka sa paglilitis mo. Ilang araw mo

nan g suot ‘yang kamisedentro mo?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ikaw ba’y naghilamos na?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Naligo?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Nagpunas man lang?

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa bantay) Na-spray mo na ba siya?

Hukom: (Pupukpukin nang dalawang beses ang kanyang podium) Ituloy ang paglilitis!
(Sa mga manonood) Sa siyam na taon sa federaciong ito bilang hukom, wala pa akong
nakikilalang tagapagtanong na kasindaldal nitong dalawa. (Pupukpukin nang dalawang
beses ang kanyang podium) Ituloy ang paglilitis?

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Bueno! Ginoong Serapio, sabihin mo sa amin- (Babatuhin si
Serapio ng ikalawang tagapagtanong ng yeso o anumang maliit na bagay)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Tumindig ka ng matuwid!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Sabihin mo sa amin ang pangalan mo.

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Pangalan!

Serapio: Serapio, ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa Ikalawang Tagapagtanong) Serapio.

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Serapio?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Serapio?

Serapio: Ho?

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Serapio?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Serapio?

Serapio: Ano ho?

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Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Serapio ano?

Serapio: Serapio.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Serapio Serapio?

Serapio: A, hindi ho, Serapio lang.

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: (Habang sumusulat sa kwaderno) Serapio lang.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ocupacion?

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Ocupacion?

Serapio: Wala. Wala ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ano, wala kang ocupacion?

Serapio: Wala ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Hindi ba isa kang pulubi?

Serapio: Oho.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Ocupacion mo ‘yon. (Susulat ang Ikalawang Tagapagtanong sa
kwaderno) Classificacion.

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Classificacion.

Serapio: Classificacion?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: CLASSIFICACION!

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Ano ang classificacion mo bilang pulubi? Nagmamakaawa o

aliwan?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Pakunwari o karaniwan?

Ikalawang tagapagtanong: Ikaw ba’y nagrerenta?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ng sanggol o bata?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Upang akitin nga…

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ang luha ng madla?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: ‘Yan ang uring nagmamakaawa.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: O tumutugtog ka ban g silindro o gitara, dram, o kahit na

banda, o rondalla?

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Kasama ng sayaw o kundi nama’y kanta nang madla’y maaliw
at bigyan ka ng kwarta?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: ‘Yan ang uring aliwan.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Maaari naman ding nagkukunwari ka, ika’y ipinaglihi sa isang
palaka.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: O kung hindi naman ika’y isang palso, ngunit isang palsong
palsipikado.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Pakunwaring bingi, bulag, pilay, pipi, madla’y madaya man
ikaw nama’y yayaman. ‘yan ang uring pakunwari.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Walang guni-guni ang nasa huling uri.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Mga tunay na pipi, bulag, pilay, bingi.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Walang guni-guni.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Wala ring salapi.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Talagang ganyan ang buhay ng nasa huling uri: ang uring
karaniwan.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Alin ka sa apat? Nagmamakaawa o aliwan?

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Pakunwari o karaniwan? (Sandaling tigil)

Serapio: Ang huli ho. (Susulat ang ikalawang tagapagtanong sa kwaderno)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Hukom, ano ang gagawin namin ngayon?

Hukom: Patibayan na ninyo ang krimen niya. (Biglang tindig ang tatlong saksi)

Tatlong Saksi: (Sa mga manonood) Patibayan na ang krimen niya. Patibayan na ang
krimen niya.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Bueno. Ginoong Serapio, may asawa ka na ba?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Isang kabiyak?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Isang babaing bumahagi sa puso mo? (Sandaling tigil)

Babaing nakasal sa harap ng altar, sa opisina ng gatpuno, o iba pang lugar.
(Katahimikan)

Unang Tagapagtanong: O ano, Ginoong Serapio, sagutin mo ang tanong.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Napakasimple.

Unang Tagapagtanong: May asawa ka ba? (Sandaling tigil)

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Serapio: Wala ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, di ka dapat mahiya.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sabihin mo ang totoo.

Unang Tagapagtanong: May asawa ka ba?

Serapio: Wala ho. (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Iibahin ko ang tanong. May asawa ka ba noon?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Asawa na ngayo’y nagsasaya sa bahay ng Diyos o bahay

ng iba? (Katahimikan)

Unang Tagapagtanong: O ano? Malinaw na malinaw ang tanong ngayon. May asawa
ka ba noon? (Katahimikan) Ginoong Serapio, nakapagtataka ‘yang katahimikan mo.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: May asawa ka ba noon? (Sandaling tigil)

Serapio: Oo.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Ayan!

Serapio: Ngunit siya’y patay na.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: A, wala. Basta’t inamin mong may asawa ka na nga.

Hukom: (Pupukpukin ng Hukom ang podium niya ng dalawang beses) Magaling! (Sa
mga manonood) Napakabilis ng aming mga paglilitis sapagkat lahat ng aming mga
tagapagtanong ay matatalino at magagaling.

Mga Pulubi: (Biglang titindig ang mga pulubi’t papalakpak) Magagaling! Magagaling!
Magagaling! (Yuyuko ang mga tagapagtanong)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, nagkaroon ka ba ng anak?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Buhat sa kasal na yaon?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Buhat sa inyong pagsasama?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Buhat sa inyong pag-aasawa? (Katahimikan)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, tahimik ka na naman.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Wala kang sinasabi.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Wala kang imik.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Pasidhi nang pasidhi ang aming pananabik.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Nagkaroon ka ba ng anak? (Katahimikan)

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Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Payat na payat, tuyung-tuyo pa. Walang alinlangang wala
na siyang katas.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Nagkaroon ka ba ng anak? (Lalapitan si Serapio ng

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong)

Serapio: Ba’t ninyo tinatanong ‘yan?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Aba! Pilosopo!

Serapio: Ano ba ang krimen ko?

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: (Tatakbo ang dalawang tagapagtanong sa likod ng mesa)

Ginoong Serapio!

Serapio: Patawarin ho ninyo ako ngunit -

Unang Tagapagtanong: Wala ka bang utak?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Isip?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Katiting na katalinuhan? Tandaan mo kung sino ka!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Isang pulubi.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Hamak.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Kulisap!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Sagutin mo ang tanong! Nagkaroon ka ba ng anak? (Sandaling

tigil)

Serapio: Oho.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Ayos!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ba’t di mo kaagad inamin na may anak ka nga?

Serapio: Ano ho ba ang krimen ko?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Umupo ka. Malalaman mo rin. (Aakayin siya ng bantay sa

kanyang upuan. Susulat ang Ikalawang tagapagtanong sa kwaderno.) (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ang pangalan ng anak mo ay Sol, hindi ba?

Serapio: Oho. Paano ninyo nalaman?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Marami kaming alam tungkol sa’yo. (Sandaling tigil)

Serapio: (Sa mga manonood) Yaon din ang pangalan ng namatay niyang ina- Sol,
Consuelo. Namatay ang kanyang ina nang siya’y ipanganak. Ang aming unang anak at

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namatay pa ang ina, isang dalagang tahimik na may ngiting nagmumungkahi ng simoy
at tubig ng batis. Ang pagpanaw niya’y pagsapit ng kalungkutan. Dalawang hiyaw ang
tumaginting sa aming silid sa gabing yaon: ang aking hiyaw ng hapis ng pagkamatay ni
Sol, at ang hiyaw ng takot na naisilang na Sol, na naging larawan ng kanyang ina:
maputi, maitim ang mga mata, madalas na nakangiti, lundag nang lundag kapag
inuwian mo ng kendi, matamis, at laruan. Sana’y nakita ninyo siya. At ang kanyang
halakhak, ang kanyang halakhak.-,Sol, Sol.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Ano? Ano? Ano? Ano? Ano?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ano ‘yang sinasabi mo?

Serapio: Wala. Wala ho.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag ka nang umarte-arte pa.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Basta’t inamin mong may anak ka.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Dadrama-drama ka pa riyan.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Nais pang talunin ang radio. (May mga papel na ibinigay
ang Unang Tagapagtanong sa Hukom)

Hukom: Ano? Tapos na ba ang paglilitis? (pPapalakpak nang dalawang beses ang
Ikalawang Tagapagtanong)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Oho. Inamin na niya na anak niya ‘yung “Sol” na ‘yun. (Ibibigay
ng isang bantay sa Ikalawang Tagapagtanongang isang kahon)

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga manonood) Ito ho ang kahon ng mga
instrumentong ginagamit namin sa pagpaparusa sa mga kasapi. (Habang
nagtatalumpati siya, maglalapg siya sa mesa ng martilyo, pait, malaking gunting, tinidor,
bambo, at balarawna kukunin niya mula sa kahon) Kahangahanga itong federacion:
ubod ng karunungan at pag-uunawa, sapagkat sa katotohanan ay pagkakawanggawa
ang mga parusa. Halimbawa, ang pagpipi o ang pagpilay kaya. (Maglalapag siya ng
bareta sa mesa) ipalagay nating bulag ang kriminal at nakikinabang dahil sa
pagkabulag niya, hindi ba tataas pa ang kita niya kung pilay rin siya. Bulag na, pilay pa.
At di lang siya ang makikinabang. Ang federacion din, sapagkat tataas ang kanyang
abuloy sa federacion. ’Yan ang tinatawag kong maunawaing parusa: ang pinarurusahan
at nagpaparusa ay kapwa nakikinabang. (maglalabas siya ngicepick) (Sa Unang
Tagapagtanong): Ito ho ang icepick.

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Kay Serapio) Ano? Handa ka na ba?

Serapio: Para sa ano?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sa pagbulag.

Serapio: Ha?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sa pagbulag. Madali lang. Sanay na itong guwardiya.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Alam niya kung anong parte ng mata ang dapat unang turukin.

Serapio: Pagbulag?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Huwag kang matakot.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Hindi ka matetetano.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sterilized itong icepick.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Dalhin nga ninyo siya rito. (Hihilahin ng mga bantay si Serpio)

Serapio: Ba’t ninyo ako bubulagin?

Unang Tagapagtanong: ‘Yan ang pamantayang parusa. (Tatangayin ng Ikalawang

Tagapagtanong ang mga instrumento ng parusa, ang malaking aklat, at ang kwaderno.
Malalaglag ang mga ito sa sahig.)

Serapio: Para sa ano?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Para sa krimen mo.

Serapio: Krimen?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag kang gumalaw masyado. (Bibigkasin nang sabay-sabay

ang mga sumusunod na talumpati)

Serapio: Bitiwan n’yo ako! Bitiwan n’yo ako! Bitiwan n’yo ako! Nagsisinungaling kayo.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag mo kaming pagbibintangan. (Bubuhatin si Serapio ng

mga Bantay at ihihiga sa mesa. Hahawakan nila ang kanyang paa’t kamay. Sisigaw at

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papalakpak ang mga pulubi.) Hawakan mo ang kamay niya! Hawakan mo ang kamay
niya!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ang ulo niya! Hawakan n’yo ang ulo niya!

Serapio: Ano ba ang krimen ko? (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ang ano?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ano?

Serapio: Ang krimen ko, ano ang krimen ko?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Relaks lang, relaks. (Mananahimik si Serapio) O, ano ang nais
mong malaman?

Serapio: Ano ho ang krimen ko?

Unang Tagpagtanong: Ang krimen mo! ‘Yun lang pala.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Di mo sinabi agad. (Pupulutin niya ang malaking aklat mula
sa sahig)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Sigaw ka lang nang sigaw diyan. (titindig ang dalawang
tagapagtanong sa plataporma, bubuksan ng Unang Tagapagtanong ang malaking aklat,
at hahanap ng pahinang mababasa ang dalawang Tagapagtanong)

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ang krimen ni Mang Serapio.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong:

Ang buhay ng tao’y lansangan ng hirap;

ang mundo’y daigdig ng kirot at dahas.

Pagsasala’y sakit ng ating pagkatao,

Pag-aaruga ng bata ang krimen ni Mang Serapio.

Krimen mo mang Serapio!

Unang Tagapagtanong: At wika pa sa aming aklat:

Dalawang Tagapagtanong:

Bawal mag-aruga ng bata o asawa,

ang taunang kita’y nawawalan ng pera.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginagasta mo ang pera ng federacion para sa isang bata.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Magpabulag ka na nang makauwi na tayo nang maaga.

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Serapio: Ngunit wala naman akong batang inaaruga, a. (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ano?

Serapio: Wala akong batang inaaruga. (Sandaling tigil)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, huwag ka nang magsinungaling.

Serapio: Hindi ako nagsisinungaling.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag mong lokohin itong Hukuman.

Serapio: Wala akong niloloko.

Hukom: Ang parusa sa pagbubulaan sa Hukuman ay pagpipi.

Serapio: Sinasabi ko ang katotohanan. (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Kaaamin mo lang na may anak ka.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Narinig kita. Narinig ka naming lahat.

Unang Tagapagtanong: At itong anak mo’y isang babae.

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ikaw mismo ang nagsabi.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ang pangalan pa nga ay Sol.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Sinabi mo ‘yan! Sinabi mo!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Hindi ba inaaruga mo siya?

Serapio: Si Sol ay patay na. (Sandaling tigil)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ha?

Hukom: Patay na siya? Si Sol, patay na?

Serapio: Tatlong taon nang patay. Sinagasaan ng dyip. Patay na siya. Patay.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Tunay na malungkot ang iyong kuwento. Pinipiga mo ang

aming puso.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Walang alinlangang mahusay ka sa sining ng pangbobola.

Serapio: Patay na siya!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Magsalaysay ka sana ng kuwentong higit na kapani-paniwala

kaysa riyan.

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Serapio: Totoo ang sinasabi ko! (Sandaling tigil)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Totoo ha? May tatlong saksi kami ginoo,tatlong saksi na
nanubok sa’yo, araw, gabi.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Dalawang linggo silang nagbantay.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Mga saksi sila sa krimen mo.

Serapio: Nagsisinungaling sila! Wala akong batang inaaruga.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Titignan natin.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Lalabas din ang katotohanan.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Kung sila ang nagsisinungaling, sila ang paparusahan, ngunit
kung ikaw ang sinungaling – (Sa mga Pulubi) Pumaritosa harap ang tatlong saksi.
(Titindig ang tatlong saksi)

Hukom: (Sa tatlong saksi) Kayo na naman?

Unang Saksi: Oho.

Hukom: Kayo na lang palagi ang nagpapabulag sa iba.

Ikalawang Saksi: Talagang ganyan ho ang buhay.

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Ikatlong Saksi: Manananggol lang ho kami ng kalinisan nitong federacion.

Unang Saksi: Mga taga-patnubay ng kabutihan nitong lipunan.

Hukom: Kayo ba ang unang nagsumbong ng kanyang krimen?

Unang Saksi: Oho.

Hukom: (Sa mga manonood) Pues, ayon ho sa batas ng aming federacion, kung
mapapatunayan nila ang krimen ng nasasakdal, kanila ang lahat ng kasangkapan ni
Ginoong Serapio at diyes porsyento ng kanyang kinikita. (Lalakad ang tatlong saksi sa
plataporma. Dadaluhungin kaagad ni Serapio ang Ikalawang Tagapagtanong)

Serapio: Buwaya!

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga Bantay) hawakan ninyo siya! (Hahawakan ng mga
Bantay si Serapio at hihilahin sa sulok ng acting area sa gawing kaliwa ng lugar ng mga
Pulubi. Titindig ang mga saksi sa plataporma.)Bawal ditto ang kumilos nang ganyan.
Igalang mo itong hukuman ginoo. (Sandling tigil) (Sa Saksi)Ngayon, mga ginoo nitong
marangal na federacion, sabihin ninyo sa amin ang inyong nakita kagabi.

Tatlong Saksi: Nakita namin siya, papauwing may dalang mamantikang supot sa kilikili
niya, at susulyap-sulyap sa kana’t kaliwa, takot wari ko na makita siya.

Dalawang Tagapagtanong: Takot sa waring makita siya.

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Tatlong Saksi: Sinundan naming siya hanggang sa bahay niya, nagsitago kami’t narinig
namin siya. Heto na, Sol, kumain ka na’t isuot mamaya ang damit mong pula.

Dalawang tagapagtanong: Heto na, Sol, kumain ka na’t isuot mamaya ang damit mong
pula.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, pinagbibintangan kita ng krimen ng pag-

aaruga ng bata. Bubulagin ka ngayon din!

Serapio: ‘yan ba ang inyong katibayan?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Oo, masaya na kami.

Serapio: Kulang pa ‘yang katibayan n’yo.

Unang Tagapagtanong: At ano ang kakulangan?

Serapio: Si Sol, ang aking ‘”buhay” na anak. Mga tanga ang espiya ninyo!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Huwag kang magsalita nang ganyan sa harap namin.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Kami’y mga opisyal nitong Hukuman.

Serapio: Akala ninyo ay nahuli na ninyo ako, ano? Akala ninyo! (Sa tatlong saksi) May
isa ba sa inyong nakakita sa “buhay” na anak ko? Wala!

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Wala ba sa inyong nakakita sa anak niya?

Unang saksi: Narinig naman naming siyang nagsalita sa anak niya, gabi-gabi, sa buong
linggong nanubok kami. (Bibigkasin nang sabayang sumusunod na talumpati. Lalapitan
at kakausapin si Serapio isa-isa ang mga manonood.) At kaya namin alam na alam ang
mga sinabi niya ay sapagkat -

Serapio: Nagsisinungaling silang lahat! Nagsisinungaling silang lahat! Nagsisinungaling

silang lahat!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio!

Unang Saksi: Sapagkat gabi-gabi sa isang takdang oras au naririnig namin siyang
paulit-ulit na nagsasabing, “Heto na, Sol, kumain ka na’t isuot mamaya ang damit mong
pula,” at inuulit niya ito gabi-gabi.

Serapio: Nagsisinungaling sila! Nagsisinungaling sila nang maging kanila lahat ang mga
kasangkapan ko!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ngunit nakita ba ninyo ang anak niya?

Tatlong Saksi: Hindi.

Serapio: Ha!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Kung nagsisinungaling kayo mapipipi kayo, mapipipi kayo!

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Unang Saksi: (Kay Serapio) Narinig ka naming nagsalita sa anak mo!

Serapio: Kung talagang buhay ang anak ko, dalhin n’yo siya rito! Dudustain pa ninyo
ang alaala niya. Kailangan ba kayong makialam sa buhay ng may buhay?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Husto na ‘yan, ginoo!

Serapio: Dalhin n’yo rito ang anak ko, kung buhay pa siya! At bulagin n’yo ako.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Kami’y nagpadala na, ginoo, kanina pa, ng dalawang kasapi
nitong federacion sa iyong barung-barong upang agawin ang anak mo sa karaniwang
oras ng pag-uwi mo. Nakabalik na sila. (Sa mga bantay) Nasaan sila? (Titindig ang
dalawang Pilay)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: O ano? Nasaan ang bata?

Unang Pilay: Wala.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Anong wala? Hindi ba kayo pumunta sa bahay niya?

Unang Pilay: Oho.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Hindi ninyo nahuli ang anak?

Ikalawang Pilay: Wala hong bata roon.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: Kung nagsisinungaling ka- (Hahampasin ang dalawang Pilay
ng kanyang baston. Susukot ang mga Pilay)

Unang Pilay: Hindi ho.

Ikalawang Pilay: Wala ho kaming nakita. Wala ho.

Unang Pilay: Kundi isang baul.

Ikalawang Pilay: Itong baul ho, o. (Kakaladkarin nila ang baul sa hilagang gilid ng acting
area.) (Katahimikan)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Saan ninyo ito nakita?

Unang Pilay: Sa barung-barong niya.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Sa barung-barong niya.

Ikalawang Pilay: Sa isang sulok, ho.

Unang Pilay: Nakatago sa ilalim ng mga lumang sako.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Lumang sako. At hindi n’yo pa ito nabubuksan?

Unang Pilay: Hindi pa ho.

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Ikalawang Pilay: Nakakandado ho.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Nakakandado. (Sandaling tigil) Buksan ninyo ang baul.

(Pupukpukin ng Pilay ng martilyo nang dalawang beses ang kandado ng baul)

Serapio: Wala ‘yang laman! Wala ‘yang laman! Isang lumang baul na nakita ko lang sa
basurahan.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Ba’t mo tinatago Ginoong Serapio?

Serapio: Wala. Ginagamit ko sa bahay bilang upuan.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: At bakit nakakandado?

Serapio: nakakandado na ‘yan nang makita ko.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Nagsisinungaling ka, Ginoong Serapio. Bagung-bago ang

kandado. Wala ni isang bakas ng kalawang. Ikaw ang nagkandado nitong baul.

Serapio: Nakakandado na ‘yan nang nakita ko!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Kung ganoon, Ginoong Serapio, hindi mo daramdamin ang

pagbukas naming rito. (Sa Pilay) Buksan ang baul. (Dalawang hampas ng martilyo)

Serapio: Hindi! Huwag.

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Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ginoong Serapio, pinagpapawisan ka.

Serapio: Wala ‘yang laman.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Bakit mo alam, Ginoong Serapio? Nagsinungaling ka kanina.

Nabuksan mo na itong baul.

Serapio: Hindi!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Hala! Buksan mo! (Talong hampas ng martilyo)

Serapio: Huwag!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Bakit, Ginoong Serapio?

Serapio: Akin ‘yang baul.

Unang Tagapagtanong: Inamin mo rin.

Serapio: Huwag ninyong buksan ‘yan.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Bakit? May itinatago ka ba sa amin?

Serapio: Balewala sa inyo ang laman niyan.

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Unang Tagapagtanong: titignan natin. Ituloy ang pagbukas. (Apat na hampas ng
martilyo)

Serapio: Hindi n’yo dapat pakialaman ’yan! Kailangan ba kayong makialam sa buhay ng
may buhay?

Unang Tagapagtanong: Sasabihin ko sa’yo kung ano ang malalahad pagbukas namin
nito! Katibayan ng krimen mo!

Serapio: Wala kayong matutuklasan diyan. (Uulitin niya ang linyang ito
habangnagsasalita ang unamg Tagapagtanong)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Ano ang tinatago mo riyan? Ang mga damit ng anak mo?
Ang mga laruan niya? Ituloy ang pagbukas! (Patuloy ang mga hampas ng martilyo
habang nagsasalita ang Unang Tagapatanong at si Serapio)

Serapio: Huwag!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Wala kang kapangyarihan sa Hukuman ito, ginoo!

Serapio: Ngunit, akin ‘yang baul!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: E, ano? E, ano?

Serapio: Huwag ninyong buksan ‘yan!

Unang Tagapagtanong: Pigilin mo kami! Pigilin mo kami!

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Serapio: Papatayin ko kayo! Papatayin ko kayo!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga Bantay) Hawakan ninyo siya!

Serapio: Ibubunyag ko kayo sa pulis! (Hihinto ang pagmamartilyo) Ibubunyag ko kayo

sa pulis! Ibubunyag ko kayo at ang inyong kalupitan! Ibubunyag ko ang inyong
pandaraya sa madla! Ibubunyag ko ang inyong pagmamalupit sa aming lahat;
ibubunyag ko ang inyong sadyang pagpapabaya sa mga matatandang kasapi!
Ibubunyag ko itong federacion sa pulis! (Katahimikan)

Hukom: (Hahampasin ng Hukom ang kanyang podium) Walang makakatulong sa’yo,

Ginoong Serpio, wala! (Kakaladkarin si Serapio ng mga Bantay sa patimog-silangang
sulok ng acting area. Lumupagi si Serapio.) Ni ang pulis, ang pahayagan, kahit sino
man sa mundong ito. Ang mga hiyaw mo’y di maririnig; ang bawat kilos mo’y mabibigo,
walang papansin sa’yo. Dumaing ka pa, at bukas makalawa, matatagpuan ang iyong
magang katawan sa mga itim na bulaklak ng Pasig. (sa mga pulubi) Tandaan ninyo
‘yan! May kuwarenta pesos kayong dapat ibigay sa federacion araw-araw. At ibibigay
niyo ang perang iyan sa amin. At kapag hindi, kung kayo’y nakakakita, pipitasin namin
ang inyong mga mata; kung kayo’y nakakapagsalita, puputulin namin ang inyong mga
dila; at kung kayo’y nakakalakad, babasagin naming ang inyong mga buto; at kung di
pa rin ninyo susundin ang batas na ito, ang bawat daliri ninyo’y isa-isang tatanggalin.
Malungkot nga ang buhay sa federaciong ito, ngunit kasapi na kayo hanggang
kamatayan. Kamatayan lamang ang makapaliligtas sa’yo kapag sumali ka sa
federciong ito. Buksan ang baul!

(Patuloy na naman ang pagmamartilyo habang nagsasalita si Serapio. Dapat lunurin ng

mga hampas ng martilyo ang karamihan ng mga salita ng talumpati ni Serapio).

Serapio: Bale wala sa inyo ang laman niyan. Bale wala. Huwag na ninyong buksan.
Balewala sa inyo ang laman niyan. (sandaling tigil) Hindi naman ninyo mauunawaan.
Hindi naman ninyo mauunawaan. Kung tangkain kong magpaliwanag, kung tangkain
kong sabihin sa inyo kung bakit, hindi naman ninyo mauunawaan. Pagtatawanan

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lamang ninyo ako. Anong masasabi ko sa inyo? (Sandaling tigil) Nabubulok na kamay,
nabubulok na balat, nabubulok na laman, nabubulok na ugat, nabubulok na buto.
(Masisira ang kandado; Katahimikan.) (Sisilip ang dalawang Tagapagtanong sa baul.
Titindig ang ilang Pulubi. Itataas ng unang tagapagtanong ang isang manika.)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Manika? (tatakbo si Serapio at aagawin at hahagkan ang

manika)

Serapio: Sol! Sol!

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Si Sol! (magtatawanan ang mga pulubi)

(Patuloy ang tawanan ng mga pulubi habang nagsasalita si Serapio. Dapat lunurin ng
tanawin ang mga linya ni Serapio.)

Serapio: Sol! Sol! Anak. Anak. Sol. Anak. Ang buwan. Ang bituin. Ang langit. Sol. Sol.
Anak. Ang bituin. Ang hangin. Sol. Ang langit. Hangin. Sol ko. Anak. Diwa. Imahen.
Kristal at buhay. Buhay. Buhay. Sol. Anak ko. (Hihina ang tawanan ng mga Pulubi.
Titigan ng buong korte si Serapio.) Larawan ni Consuelo. Sol na anak ni Sol. Sol. Kristal
at diwa. (Tahimik ang buong korte.) Diwa. Diwa. Ang buwan. Ang bituin. Ang langit. Ang
hangin. Ang sinag. (Mapapansin ng Unang Tagapagtanong ang mga mukha ng mga
Pulubi.) Ang araw. Sol! Ang araw! Sol! Ang araw! Son na anak ni Sol! Consuelo. Anh
jangin…ang araw…sol(Aagawin ng unang tagapagtanong ang manika.)

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: (Matinis) Tatay ka ng trapo? (Tatawa ng malakas ang mga

Pulubi. Matinis ang tawanan nila.)

Serapio: Bitiwan mo siya. Bitiwan mo siya.

Unang Tagpagtanong: Ginagasta mo ang pera ng federacion para rito?

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Serapio: Pabayaan mo ako! Huwag mo akong pakialaman!

Ikalawang Tagpagtanong: Isang pamahid sa tae ng kabayo! (Matinis na tawanan muli.)

Serapio: Ang anak ko ay maganda! At buhay. Buhay. Ang anak ko ay buhay at ang
kagandahan ng araw.

Unang Tagpagtanong: Kapok! (Hahagutin niya ang manika; katahimikan; Biglang

lulundag si Serapio sa Tagapagtanong.)

Serapio: Bitiwan mo siya! (Tatakbo ang TAGAPAGTANONG sa kanyang mesa’t

ihahagis ang manika sa mga Pulubi.)

Unang Tagapagtanong: Kunin mo siya! (Sisigaw ang mga Pulubi’t sasaluhin ang
manika sa iba’t ibang sulok ng silid habang nagsisigaw at nagsisitawiran. Hahabulin
naman ni Serapio ang manika. Mahahagis ang manika sa sahig, ngunit bago mapulot ni
Serapio ang manika, sisigaw ang Unang Tagapagtanong.)

Bulagin natin siya! Bulagin! (Uulitin ng mga Pulubi ang sigaw…Kakaladkarin nila si
Serapio sa plataporma. Lahat sila’y nagsisigaw at nagtatawanan. Biglang maririnig ng
mga manonood ang hiyaw ng binulag na Serapio. Biglang tatahimik ang mga Pulubi’t
lalayo kay Serapio. Babangon si Serapio.Duguan ang kanyang mukha. Duguan din ang
mga kamay ng ilang mga Pulubi; gayundin ang kanilang mga damit. Walang-imik ang
mga Pulubi’t si Serapio. Susuray-suray na lalakad si Serapio. Mararapa siya’t
gagapang. Aapuhapin niya ang manika. Biglang lalabas ang mga Pulubi maliban sa
tatlo. Papalibutan nila si Serapio kasama ng mga tagapagtanong. Mahihipo ni Serapio
ang manika, ngunit bago niya makuha ito, sisipain ng isang pulubi ang manika sa
Pulubing nasa likod ni Serapio. Uulitin itong laro ng Hipo-Sipa. Biglang titigil ang mga
Pulubi’t Tagapagtanong. Lalabas ang mga Pulubi. Aakapin ni Serapio ang manika.
Wala siyang imik.)

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Guwardiya! Ilabas mo nga siya. (Kakaladkarin ng mga guwardiya si Serapio sa labas ng
silid. Aayusin ng mga Tagapagtanong ang kanilang mga kasangkapan.)

Hukom: Paminsan-minsan na lang itong mga paglilitis.

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Oo nga eh. Di tulad ng dati.

Hukom: Kelan pa ang susunod?

Ikalawang Tagapagtanong: Marso pa.

Hukom: Isa pang buwan. (Lalabas ang Hukom at Ikalawang Tagapagtanong;

Katahmikan.)

Unang Tagapagtanong: (Sa mga manonood) Umaasa kami na nauunawaan ninyo kung
bakit kami napilitang parusahan si G. Serapio. Tinuturuan niya ang mga kasaping
magkaroon ng mga haraya, ng mga pangarap, na di naman matutupad at dadagdag
lamang sa kanilang lumbay. Ang ginawa niya’y nakasisira sa mga kasapi nitong
federacion. Tinutulungan lang naming sila nang parusahan namin si G. Serapio.
Sinusunod lamang naming ang mga batas nitong federacion. Ang ano mang federacion
ay nangangailangan ng kaayusan ng mga batas. Ang maninira nitong kaayusan ay
mapanganib. Ang ginawa ni Mang Serapio’y salungat sa aming mga batas. Ang ginawa
niya’y pulos malisya. Ipinagtanggol lang naming ang aming kapwa tao. Ito’y dapat
ninyong lubos na maunawaan, lubos na maunawaan. (Katahimikan.)

Nakita ninyo sila – isa-isang nagsialisan. Babalik din sila. Babalik.

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Alam niyo, nagkamali si G. Serapio nang sinabi niyang kami’y sadyang pabaya sa mga
matatandang kasapi. Ang mga matatandang kasapi, ang mga matatandang pulubi, ang
siya mismong ayaw mabuhay. Pilitin mo man sila, ayaw nilang kumain, umiinom lang ng
kaunting tubig araw-araw, sapagkat wala silang makita kundi karimlan sa langit at
hinihintay na lang nila ang pagdapo ni Kamatayan sa kanilang durungawan. (Sandaling
tigil.)

Bali-bali na an gaming pakpak. Wala sa amin ang lakas upang liparin ang napakataas
na pader na kongkreto. Marahil ay ibinitin na nga ni Mang Serapio sa harap naming ang
susi sa aming piitan, ngunit napakahirap hiwain ang sarili’t ilahad ang pag-ibig. Ang
balon ay malalim, at sa kailaliman ang nasang lumipad at hanapin ang sinag ng araw,
ngunit ang gula-gulanit na diwa’y mahinang wumawagayway lamang. (Lalabas siya.)

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 DALAWANG AMA

ni Jose Victor Z. Torres

Mga Tauhan

Padre Damaso - 40 anyos. Isang prayleng Pransiskano.

Kapitan Tiago - 35 anyos. Isang mayamang mestizong Instik

Pacing - 45 anyos. Pinsan at katulong sa bahay ni Kapitan

Tiago

Donya Pia - 32 anyos. Asawa ni Kapitan Tiago.

Ang panahon ay ika-19th na dantaon. Sa bayan ng San Diego.

(Madilim ang entablado. Mula sa labas ay maririnig ang malakas na pag-ulan na

may kasamang pagkulog at pagkidlat. Maririnig ang malakas na pagkatok sa

pintuan at ang boses ni Padre Damaso. Mula sa isang kuwarto ay maririnig ang mga

daing at sigaw ni Donya Pia sa kanyang panganganak.)

DAMASO : ANO BA KAYO DIYAN? MAY TAO DITO SA LABAS!

(Magbubukas ang ilaw sa entablado. Gabi. Ang sala ng bahay ni Kapitan Tiago.

Patuloy na maririnig ang malakas na pagkatok. Mula sa kusina ay papasok si Cha

Pacing, ang pinsan ni Kapitan Tiago. Madali siyang pupunta sa pintuan.)

PACING : Sandali lamang! Nariyan na! Nariyan na!

(Lalabas sandali si Cha Pacing. Maririnig ang pagbukas ng pintuan, ang padabog na

pagpasok at ang pagmumura ni Padre Damaso.)

DAMASO : (mula sa labas) Dios mio! Tonta! Napakabingi ng mga tao sa

bahay na ito.

PACING : (mula sa labas) Pasyensya na po, Padre Damaso.

DAMASO : At napakabagal mong kumilos! Alam mo bang ilang minuto na

akong naghihintay sa ulan?

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(Papasok si Pacing na hawak ang isang basing payong. Kasunod niya si Padre

Damaso na medyo basa ang abito.)

PACING : Pagpasyensyahan niyo na ho, Padre. Hindi ko kayo narinig dahil

sa lakas ng bagyo.

DAMASO : Isa ka kasing matandang bingi!

PACING : At inaasikaso namin si Donya Pia. Tumutulong po ako sa

komadrona. Sandali lang po at ikukuha ko kayo ng pamunas.

DAMASO : Ikuha mo na rin ako ng maiinom na mainit. Ako’y pupulmonyahin

sa ginaw. Nasaan ba si Tiago?

PACING : Nasa oratoryo lang po…

DAMASO : (patawag) Tiago! Santiago! Ano ba’t hindi mo na kayang

sumalubong at batiin ang isang alagad ng Diyos?

(Mula sa kuwarto ay maririnig ang sigaw ni Donya Pia.)

DAMASO : Ano ‘yon? Anong nangyayari?

PACING : Ay, si Donya Pia po. Hanggang ngayo’y hindi pa nailuluwal ang

bata.

DAMASO : Ano? Pero bakit? Kaya ako’y nandito ay gusto ko nang makita ang

sanggol…

(Papasok si Kapitan Tiago mula sa oratoryo. Lalabas si Pacing. Lalapit si Tiago at

hahalikan ang kamay ng prayle.)

TIAGO : Buenas noches, Padre Damaso.

DAMASO : Buenas noches. Kumusta na si Pia?

TIAGO : Mahirap ang kanyang pagpapanganak. Nasa loob pa rin ang

komadrona.

DAMASO : Kaya ako naparito’y akala ko ay lumabas na ang sanggol.

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TIAGO : May kumplikasyon daw. Alam niyo naman na hindi gaanong

malakas ang katawan ni Pia.

DAMASO : Baka naman kung sino lamang ‘yang komadrona.

TIAGO : Si Cha Ising ang pinakamahusay na komadrona dito sa San Diego.

Hindi na sana siya lalabas sa panahong ganito. Pero pinakiusapan ko na. Isinagot

naming ni Pia ang paglibing ng kanyang asawa nuong isang taon.

DAMASO : Pinakamahusay pero baka naman hindi ang pinakamagaling.

Dalawang sanggol ang aking binendisyunan sa libing. Si Ising na ‘yan ang

nagpanganak.

TIAGO : Kung mayroon pa po dito sa probinsya ay baka hindi na kakayanin

ng kayamanan ko, Padre.

DAMASO : Bakit hindi mo siya dalhin sa Maynila? Mahusay ang mga duktor

doon. May mga ospital pa…

TIAGO : Maselan ang kalagayan ni Pia. Hindi siya basta puwedeng ibiyahe.

At walang mangangahas ng kutsero o bangkero na tumuloy ng Maynila sa bagyong ito.

DAMASO : Bakit hindi ka magpasundo ng duktor?

TIAGO : Inisip ko na rin ‘yan, Padre. Pero malakas nga ang ulan at

delikado ang daan. Si Cha Ising na lang ang aking nakuha. At wala na tayong
magagawa

kundi siguro magdasal na sana’y magmilagro ang Diyos at tumigil ang ulan na ito!

(Sandaling katahimikan.)

TIAGO : (patlang) Ipagpaumanhin ninyo, Padre Damaso. Ako’y nagaalala

lamang. Panganay ko ang batang ito. At kinakabahan si Cha Ising sa kondisyon

ng maybahay ko.

DAMASO : Ipagpaumanhin mo rin, Tiago. Sa ganitong kalagayan ay minsan

pakiramdam ko’y ako ang ama ng bata.

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TIAGO : Naiitindihan ko. Si Pia ang iyong pinakamamahal na

ikinukumpisal. Naging malapit na kayo sa pamilya ko.

PIA : (mula sa kuwarto) Ay, Diyos na maawain!

(Madaling lalabas sandali si Tiago. Nakatayo lang sandali si Padre Damaso at

nagaalalang

nakatitig sa kuwarto. Maya-maya’y papasok muli si Tiago. Kasunod niya si

Pacing na may dalang tuwalya at isang tasang tsokolate. Iaabot niya ang tuwalya sa

prayle na kukunin naman ni Damaso. Isusunod sanang iaabot ni Pacing ang tasa

nguni’t biglang kikidlat at maririnig ang malakas na pagkulog. Magugulat si Pacing

at mababagsak ang tasa.)

PACING : Santa Barbarang maawain! (kukunin ang tuwalya at sisimulang

punasan ang natapunang abito ni Padre Damaso) Naku! Ipagpaumahin ninyo, Padre!

Hindi ko po sinasadya.

DAMASO : Tonta! Kanina’y iniwan mo ako para mabasa sa ulan. Ngayo’y

paliliguan mo pa ‘ko ng tsokolate!

PACING : Patawad po, Padre! Pasyensya na po!

TIAGO : Pasyensya ka na, Padre. (kay Pacing) Igawa mo na lang uli ng

tsokolate si Padre.

DAMASO : A, kung maari, Tiago. Mas mainam para sa aking ang isang kopita

na lamang ng Madeira kung mayroon. O cerveza. O kahit isang baso ng jerez.

TIAGO : (kay Pacing) Ilabas mo na dito ang bagong bote ng jerez na dinala

kahapon.

PACING : Opo, Kapitan.

(Iaabot ni Pacing ang tuwalya kay Padre Damaso bago lumabas. Pupunasan ni Padre

Damaso ang kanyang abitong nabasa ng ulan at tsokolate.)

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TIAGO : (patlang) Maupo kayo.

(Uupo ang dalawa.)

DAMASO : Hmp. Napakahirap talagang kumuha ng mga magagaling na

criada ngayon.

TIAGO : Pinsan ko si Pacing, Padre.

DAMASO : Ah… (patlang) Bien. Muy bien. Mabuti na kung kamag-anak ang

katulong mo sa bahay. Kilala na niya ang iyong mga ugali at alam nila ang iyong

pangangailangan.

TIAGO : Pinapunta ko lamang siya dito para alagaan si Pia habang ito’y

nagdadalang-tao. Hindi ho siya criada.

DAMASO : (mapapatigil) Ah. Bien. Bien.

(Sandaling katahimikan. Kikidlat. Maririnig ang malakas na pagkulog.)

TIAGO : Napakasungit ng panahon ngayon.

DAMASO : Napakasamang gabi para mabuhay ang isang sanggol.

TIAGO : Hindi kaya ito isang masamang senyales?

DAMASO : Bah. Huwag kang mag-alala. Hindi bahagi ng panahon ang

kondisyon ng pagpapanganak ng isang sanggol.

TIAGO : Kung marinig mo lamang ang mga sinasabi ni Cha Ising at ni

Pacing.

DAMASO : Mga pamahiin, Tiago. Mga pamahiin lamang iyan. Walang talab

ang paganong paniniwala sa harap ng kapangyarihan ng Panginoon.

PIA : (mula sa kuwarto) Ay, Diyos ko! Patawad! Patawad!

(Sandaling katahimikan. Papasok si Pacing na dalang bandeha na may laman na bote

ng alak at dalawang kopita. Kukunin ni Padre Damaso at Kapitan Tiago ang mga

kopita. Ipapatong ni Pacing ang bandeha sa mesita at lalabas. Kukunin ni Kapitan

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Tiago ang bote ng jerez at sasalinan ang kopita ni Padre Damaso.)

DAMASO : (itataas ang kopita) Sa iyong anak, Kapitan Tiago.

(Itataas rin ni Kapitan Tiago ang kanyang kopita nguni’t biglang mapapatigil siya sa

sigaw ni Donya Pia.)

PIA : Ay, sumpa ng Diyos! Patawad, Santiago! Patawarin mo ako!

(Tuluyan nang deretsong iinumin ni Kapitan Tiago ang alak. Mapapatingin lang si

Padre Damaso bago siya iinom. Kukunin ni Kapitan Tiago muli ang bote ng jerez at

magsasalin ng alak.)

DAMASO : Sigurado ka bang nasa mabuting kamay ang iyong asawa?

TIAGO : Opo, Padre. Maytiwala po ako sa komadrona. (patlang) Pero

hindi ko alam kung bakit iyon ang kanyang isinisigaw. Patawad? Patawad para sa ano?

Papatawarin ko siya? Para saan? Bibigyan niya ako ng kaligayahan sa pagsilang ng

isang anak. Aming anak!

(Biglang kikidlat at maririnig ang malakas na kulog.)

PIA : Ay, patawad! Panginoon ko! Sumpa ng Diyos!

(Mapapaiyak si Kapitan Tiago.)

TIAGO : Ay, kung bakit ako pinapahirapan ng ganito?

DAMASO : Lakasan mo ang loob mo. Matatapos rin ang paghihirap niya.

TIAGO : (tutungga ng alak at magsasalin muli) Ano ang naging kasalanan

ko, Padre Damaso?

DAMASO : Ano ang ibig mong sabihin?

TIAGO : Bakit ako pinaparusahan para sa aking kabutihan?

DAMASO : Parusa, Tiyago?

TIAGO : Opo, Padre. Bakit napakalupit sa aking ng Diyos? Ako’y isang

mabuting patron ng mga bahay-ampunan at bahay-limusan. Hindi ako nagkukulang sa

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aking mga obligasyon sa Simbahan. Ako’y isang mabuting Katoliko. Lahat ng santo ko’y

aking pinabendisyunan. Hindi ko tinatanggihan ang bawa’t grasya na mapapasaakin.

Hindi ko tinatalikuran ang bawa’t palad na nakasahod para sa paglimos. Bakit hindi niya

bigyan ng madaling pagpapanganak ang asawa ko?

DAMASO : Binibigyan ng Diyos ng paglilitis ang bawa’t nilalang na kanyang

nilikha.

TIAGO : Kailangan ba ang bawa’t tuwa ko’y tutumbasan ng paghihirap?

Anim na taon na kaming kasal subali’t hindi kami binigyan ng anak. Kundi sa inyong

tulong ay…

(Tutungga muli sana si Padre Damaso nguni’t nang marinig ang sinasabi ni Tiago ay

mabibilaukan at uubo ng matagal.)

DAMASO : (habang pinupunas ang inubong alak sa bibig at damit) Anong

tulong ang sinasabi mo?

TIAGO : (iinom ng alak) Sinabi sa akin ni Pia ang lahat.

DAMASO : (mapapalunok) Ano? (matataranta) Tiyago, intindihin mo.

Malungkot ang iyong asawa’t ako’y…

TIAGO : At ako’y nagpapasalamat sa inyo.

DAMASO : Ha?

TIAGO : Maraming salamat sa naitulong niyo kay Pia.

DAMASO : (patlang) May sakit ka ba, Tiago? (patlang) Matapang ba itong

jerez?

TIAGO : Padre? Bakit? Namumula kayo.

DAMASO : H-hindi ko maintindihan. Kung ang turing mo sa ginawa ko kay

Pia ay tulong… aba’y…

TIAGO : Hindi ba’t kayo ang nagpayo kay Pia na sumayaw siya sa harap ng

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santo ni Santa Clara sa Obando?

DAMASO : (mapapatigil) Ha? Obando? Santa Clara?

TIAGO : Huwag niyo na ho ipagkaila. Nagyaya si Pia na sumayaw sa

Obando noong Mayo. Payo niyo raw na baka magmilagro ang santa kung sayawan niya

ito.

DAMASO : Ha? (patlang) A, oo. Oo. At sa Birhen ng Salambaw at kay San

Pascual Baylon.

TIAGO : At isang milagro nga ang nangyari.

DAMASO : Oo, Tiago. Isang milagro.

TIAGO : Nakalimutan niyo na ba? Kaya’t ako’y nag-alay ng bagong kalis na

ginto at alahas para sa Birhen sa simbahan. (patlang) Subali’t may isa rin akong hiling

na sana’y tuparin ninyo kung iyong mamarapatin.

DAMASO : Sa aking buong magagawa, Tiago.

TIAGO : Gusto ko kayo maging ninong ng aking anak. Ang kanyang

pangalawang ama!

(Maririnig ang daing at pagsigaw ni Donya Pia.)

PIA : Ay, Diyos ko! Diyos ko!

(Madaling papasok si Pacing at pupunta sa kuwarto. Mapapatigil si Padre Damaso at

Kapitan Tiago. Hinihintay nila ang iyak ng bagong silang na sanggol. Maya-maya’y

papasok si Pacing mula sa kuwarto. Titingnan niya si Kapitan Tiago at iiling. Lalabas

si Pacing.)

DAMASO : Wala pa rin.

TIAGO : Wala pa rin.

DAMASO : Manalangin tayo kay Santa Clara.

TIAGO : Kanina pa ako nakaluhod sa harap ng altar sa oratoryo.

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Hinihintay ko na lang na may magsalitang santo o bumaba ang isang Kristo sa kanyang

krus para mayroon akong signos na mapapalagay sa mabuting kalagayan si Pia.

(patlang) Alam niyo ba na madalas gawin ni Pia ito nang siya’y nagdadalang-tao?

Masaya dapat siya nung nalaman niyang buntis siya nguni’t hindi gano’n ang nangyari.

Naging malungkot siya. Parating umiiyak. Parati siyang nakaluhod sa harap ni San

Antonio de Padua.

DAMASO : Mga capricho lang ng nagdadalang-tao, Santiago. Isang

pangkaraniwang dinaramdam ng mga bagong ina.

TIAGO : Sinabi rin ‘yon sa akin ng mga matatanda dito sa San Diego.

Naglilihi lamang si Pia. Pero sa lahat ng paglilihian niya ay bakit pa estatwa ng isang

santo ng mga Pransiskano?

DAMASO : (patlang) Capricho lang, Santiago. Capricho lamang.

TIAGO : Pero nagtatagal ba ang capricho ng siyam na buwan?

DAMASO : Bakit mo naman nasabi ‘yan?

TIAGO : Hindi ko na nakitang masaya si Pia mula siya’y nagsimulang

madalang-tao. Kung hindi siya buntis ay malamang hindi na siya kumain. Nagkasakit na

siya at namatay.

DAMASO : Nahihirapan lamang siya sa kanyang pagbubuntis. Ilang beses ko

nang nakita mangyari ‘yan sa aking mga misyon sa probinsya.

TIAGO : Minsa’y narinig ko siyang nagdarasal sa oratoryo. Naririnig ko na

binabanggit ang pangalan niyo.

DAMASO : Ako?

(Kukulog. Lalapit si Padre Damaso sa mesita at sasalinan ng alak ang kopita niya.

Tititigan siya ni Kapitan Tiago.)

DAMASO : Ako?

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TIAGO : (kikibit ng balikat) Hindi ko alam, Padre. Kayo ang kanyang

kumpesor. Baka mayroon siyang nais sabihin sa inyo. Subali’t ilang beses ko siyang

tinanong kung gusto kayong ipatawag ay tumatanggi siya. Ayaw kayong makita. Ayaw

kayong makausap. Inisip ko tuloy na kayo ang pinaglilihian niya.

DAMASO : Mahirap din siguro paglihian ng isang buntis.

TIAGO : May iniwan siyang mga sulat. Para sa inyo.

DAMASO : Mga sulat? Nasaan?

TIAGO : Pinatabi niya ang mga ito sa akin. Pinasumpa niya sa akin na

hindi ko ito babasahin. Ibigay ko lamang sa inyo at parang ito raw ay isang kumpisal sa

inyo. Sino ba naman ako para tanungin ang mga pag-uusapan sa kumpisal?

DAMASO : Nasaan ang mga sulat?

TIAGO : Pinatabi sa akin. Ibigay ko raw sa inyo sa pagdating ng kanyang

kabuwanan.

DAMASO : Entonces, ito na ang panahon. Ibigay mo na sa akin.

TIAGO : Sandali at kukunin ko.

(Lalabas si Kapitan Tiago. Maririnig ang daing ni Donya Pia. Kikidlat at kukulog.

Mapapaluhod si Padre Damaso at titingala siya.)

DAMASO : Panginoon, tulungan niyo siya. Paggaanin niyo ang kanyang

kahirapan. Iligtas niyo ang ina at anak. Patawarin ninyo ako sa aking mga pagkukulang

at aking mga pagkakamali. Bigyan mo ako ng lakas para makita ang bunga ng aking

kahinaan ng laman. Pinigil niyo ang kamay ng tadhana nang gusto kong patayin ang

bata. Binigay ko ang buhay ko sa inyo sa pagsunod ng aking mga yapak. Huwag ninyo

akong pabayaan. Huwag mo silang pabayaan. Hindi ko itatanggi ang aking

responsibilidad bilang isang ama…

(Hindi nakita ni Padre Damaso na pumasok si Pacing at pinapanood siya. Magugulat

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ang prayle nang makita ang matanda at agad siyang tatayo.)

DAMASO : Ano ang kailangan mo?

PACING : Wala po.

DAMASO : Bakit ka nandito? Kanina ka pa ba nakatayo diyan?

PACING : Ay, hindi po. Pinapatanong kasi ni Kapitan kung gusto niyo ng

galletas para sa inyong jerez.

DAMASO : (patlang) Hindi na. Hindi na.

PACING : Salamat naman at ipinagdarasal niyo si Donya Pia. Sa palagay ko

kasi marami rin siyang pagkukulang kaya’t pinaparusahan siya ng ganito.

DAMASO : Anong ibig mong sabihin?

(Titingin muna si Pacing sa paligid bago kakausapin ang prayle sa isang mahinang

boses.)

PACING : Huwag niyo na lang pong sabihin kay Kapitan. Pero may ilang

mga pangyayari na hindi ko sinasabi.

DAMASO : Tulad ng?

PACING : Madalas ko pong naririnig ni Donya Pia na isinusumpa ang bata sa

kanyang sinapupunan. Nakakapangilabot kung marinig niyo siya na sana’y hindi

matuloy ang kanyang pagdadalang-tao. Hindi naman sa ako’y tsismosa pero naririnig
ko

ang kanyang mga dasal kay San Antonio. Nais niyang mamatay ang bata at hindi

matuloy.

DAMASO : Santissima!

PACING : Hindi ko naman alam kung ano galit niya kay Kapitan. Ilan beses

naman nilang sinabi na gusto na nilang magkaanak. Na matagal na raw nila itong

pinagdarasal. Ikinuwento pa nga sa akin ni Donya Pia ang kanilang pagsayaw sa harap

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ng mga mahal ng santo sa Obando. Pero nang nabuntis siya… hindi ko alam kung bakit

nagbago ang kanyang isip. (tititigan si Padre Damaso) Kung makapagkumpisal po sa

inyo si Donya Pia ay sana po ikumpisal niya na muntik na siyang kumitil ng buhay.

DAMASO : Madre de Dios! Kaninong buhay?

PACING : Nung bata. Gusto niya sana itong nilaglag. Minsan umuwi siya na

may dalang gamot. Sinabi niya na gusto niyang patayin ang bata. Iinumin niya ang

laman ng dalang bote at hihintayin na lamang iluwal ng katawan niya ang sanggol. Pero

humina ang kanyang loob nang subukan niyang inumin ito. (mula sa kanyang blusa ay

may ilalabas na botelya may lamang likido) Itinago ko ang gamot. (patlang) Ayaw ko

pong maging isang makasalanan si Donya Pia, Padre. Bawal ang pumatay, hindi po
ba?

Labag ito sa Sampung Utos. Humingi po kayo ng kapatawaran sa Diyos para sa kanya.

Isa po siyang mabait na tao. At magiging mapagmahal siyang ina.

DAMASO : (lalapit kay Pacing, kukunin ang bote, at itatago sa bulsa)

Salamat naman at pinigilan mo siya. (patlang) Sinabi ba sa iyo kung kanino galing

itong gamot?

PACING : Hindi po, Padre.

DAMASO : Alam ba ito ni Tiago?

PACING : Ay, hindi po. At kailan man ay hindi ko sasabihin ito sa kanya.

DAMASO : Mabuti naman. Itong sinabi mo sa akin ay para na rin kumpisal.

Ako at ako lamang ang siyang may alam nito. Kapag ito’y malaman ng iba ay sa ‘yo

lamang nanggaling ito. Parusa ng apoy ng impiyerno ay mapapasaiyo dahil sa

pagbukas

ng iyong mga labi ng sakramento ng kumpisal.

PACING : Diyos ko po. Opo, Padre. Hindi ko na ito babanggitin sa iba.

DAMASO : Bien. Bien. (bebendisyunan si Pacing) Hala! Labas na.

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PIA : (mula sa kuwarto) Patawad, Diyos ko! Patawad!

DAMASO : Ano na ba ang ginagawa ng komadrona at ganyan na lamang ang

paghihirap ni Pia?

PACING : Hindi kasi lumalabas ang bata. May kasabihan kasi na kapag

ganyan ang pagpapanganak ay baka natatakot ang bata lumabas sa mundo. Baka hindi

siya tanggapin nito. Baka paglaruan siya ng tadhana.

DAMASO : Anong kabalbalan ‘yang iyong sinasabi? Walang sanggol ang hindi

gustong mabuhay.

PACING : Tama po kayo.

DAMASO : At ang bawa’t sanggol ay isang likha ng Panginoon na siya dapat

ikatuwa ng mundo.

PACING : Tama po kayo. Pero…

DAMASO : Pero….? Anong pero?

PACING : Ayaw po ito ng ina.

(Hindi sasagot si Padre Damaso.)

PACING : At kung tama po kayo sa lahat ng iyong sinasabi ay bakit hindi pa

po nailuluwal ang sanggol?

(Mapapatigil si Padre Damaso.)

PACING : Hindi po ba?

DAMASO : (magagalit) Ignoranteng mujer! Hala, ikuha mo ako ng galletas.

Nagutom ako sa walang-kuwentang usapang ito.

PACING : Opo. Opo, Padre.

(Madaling lalabas si Pacing. Maghihintay ng ilang sandali si Padre Damaso bago niya

ilalabas ang botelya at titingnan ito.)

DAMASO : Ay, Pia. Sa lahat ng panahon pang humina ang iyong kalooban.

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Bakit pa sa isang magiging sumpa nating dalawa? (patlang) Ay, napakalupit ng tadhana

nating dalawa.

(Papasok si Kapitan Tiago na may dalang dalawang sulat. Madaling itatago ni Padre

Damaso ang botelya. Iaabot ni Kapitan Tiago ang dalawang sulat sa prayle.)

TIAGO : Ang mga sulat ng aking asawa. (patlang) Hindi niya sinabi sa

akin ang mga nilalaman. Pero sana’y ito’y hiling ng grasya para sa aming anak.

(Mula sa kuwarto ay maririnig ang isang mahabang daing kay Donya Pia. Agad

papasok si Pacing at pupunta sa kuwarto.)

PIA : Santiago! Patawad! Patawad sa aking anak!

(Madaling papasok muli si Pacing.)

PACING : Lumalabas na ulo ng bata!

(Madaling pupunta sana si Kapitan Tiago at si Padre Damaso sa kuwarto nguni’t

pipigilin sila ni Pacing.)

PACING : Sandali na po lamang. Pero hindi po kayo puwedeng pumasok.

DAMASO : Anong pinagsasasabi mo, tonta!

TIAGO : Dito na lang tayo maghintay, Padre.

DAMASO : (kay Tiago) Nanganganib ang buhay ng iyong asawa sa sandaling

ito. Kailangan niya ang tulong ng Diyos. (kay Pacing) Tumabi ka riyan!

(Itutulak ni Padre Damaso si Pacing at pupunta sa kuwarto. Maiiwan si Kapitan Tiago

at si Pacing sa entablado. Mula sa kuwarto ay maririnig ang sigaw ni Donya Pia.)

PIA : Kampon ng kasamaan! Umalis ka! Kunin sana ng kamatayan ang

binhing ito!

(Isang mahabang pagtangis ni Donya Pia pagkatapos sandaling katahimikan.

Maririnig ang pagkulog sa labas. Maya-maya’y maririnig ang iyak ng sanggol.

Papasok si Pacing sa kuwarto. Maiiwan si Kapitan Tiago sa labas. Maya-maya’y

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papasok si Padre Damaso na may dalang sanggol. Makikita ang kasiyahan sa mukha

ng prayle. Sandaling magtitinginan si Kapitan Tiago at si Padre Damaso.)

DAMASO : Babae, Santiago. Babae ang anak ni Pia.

(Aabutin sana ni Kapitan Tiago ang bata nguni’t mula sa kuwarto ay maririnig ang

malakas na sigaw at iyak ni Pacing. Makakalimutan ni Kapitan Tiago ang bata at

madaling papasok sa kuwarto. Patuloy lamang si Padre Damaso sa pagbuhat at

paghela ng bata. Papasok si Kapitan Tiago na umiiyak. Mapapaupo siya.)

TIAGO : Patay na si Pia. Patay na ang ina. (iiyak) Ay! Kay bigat ng

ipinalit ng Panginoon para sa tuwa ng isang magulang.

(Hahagulgol ng iyak si Kapitan Tiago. Nakatingin lamang si Padre Damaso at sa

itsura’y nakikidalamhati sa nangyari. Subali’t mapapabaling ang tingin niya muli sa

sanggol. Tatalikuran ni Padre Damaso si Kapitan Tiago at makikita ang lumalaking

ngiti at tuwa sa mukha ng prayle. Magsisimula siyang ihele ang bata. Mapapatigil

sandali si Kapitan Tiago sa pag-iyak at titingnan ang prayle. Makakahalata si Padre

Damaso na nakatingin sa kanya si Kapitan Tiago at mapapatigil ito sa paghele.

Magtititigan ang dalawang lalaki habang unti-unting mamamatay ang ilaw.)

(Magdidilim ang entablado.)

TABING

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 The Dog Eaters ( Leoncio P. Deriada)

Mariana looked out of the window toward the other side of Artiaga Street. A group of
men had gathered around a low table in front of Sergio's sari-sari store. It was ten
o'clock, Tuesday morning. Yet these men did not find it too early to drink, and worse.
They wanted her husband to be with them. Victor was now reaching for his shirt hooked
on the wall between Nora Aunor and Vilma Santos. Mariana turned to him, her eyes
wild in repulsion and anger.
"Those filthy men!" she snarled. "Whose dog did they slaughter today?"
Victor did not answer. He put on his shirt. Presently, he crawled on the floor and
searched for his slippers under the table. Mariana watched him strain his body toward
the wall, among the rattan tools. He looked like a dog tracking the smell hidden carrion.
"My God, Victor, do you have to join them every time they stew somebody's pet?"
Victor found his slippers. He emerged from under the table, smoothed his pants and
unbutton his shirt. He was sweating. He looked at his wife and smiled faintly, the
expression sarcastic, and in an attempt to be funny, "it's barbecue today."
"I'm not in the mood for jokes!" Mariana raised her voice. "It's time you stop going with
those good-for-nothing scavengers."

Her words stung. For now she noted an angry glint in Victor's eyes. "They are my
friends, Mariana," he said.
"You should have married one of them!" she snapped back. Suddenly, she
straightened. She heard Sergio's raspy voice, calling from his store across the street. It
was an ugly voice, and it pronounced Victor's name in a triumphant imitation of a dog's
bark.
"Victor! Victor! Aw! Aw!" the canine growl floated across Artiaga Street. Mariana glared
at her husband as he brushed her aside on his way to the window. She felt like clawing
his face, biting his arms, ripping the smelly shirt off his back. "I'm coming," Victor
answered, leaning out of the window. Mariana opened her mouth for harsher invectives
but a sharp cry from the bedroom arrested her. It was her baby. She rushed to the table,
pick a cold bottle of milk, and entered.
In his rattan crib that looked like a rat's nest, the baby cried louder. Mariana shook the
crib vehemently. The baby - all mouth and all legs - thrust in awkward arms into the air,
blindly searching for accustomed nipple.
The baby sucked the rubber nipple easily. But Mariana's mind was outside the room as
she watched her husband lean out of the window to answer the invitation of the dog-
eaters of Artiaga Street.
"Aren't you inviting your wife?" she spoke loud, the hostility in her voice unchecked
by the dirty plywood wall. "Perhaps your friends have reserved the best morsel for me.
Which is the most delicious part of a dog, ha, Victor? Its heart? Its liver? Its brain?
Blood? Bone? Ears? Tongue? Tail? I wish to God you'd all die of hydrophobia!"
"Can you feed the baby and talk at the same time?" Victor said. She did not expect him
to answer and now that he had, she felt angrier. The heat from the unceilinged roof had
become terrible and it had all seeped into her head. She was ready for a fight.

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The baby had gone back to sleep. Mariana dashed out of the room, her right hand tight
around the empty bottle. She had to have a weapon. She came upon her husband
opening the door to little porch. The porch was at the top of the stairs that led out into
Artiaga Street.
"Why don't you do something instead of drinking their stinking tuba and eating that filthy
meat? Why don't you decent for a change?"
Victor turned her off. It seemed he was also ready for a fight. The glint in his eyes had
become sinister.
And what's so indecent about eating dog meat?" His voice sounded canine, too, like
Sergio's. "The people of Artiaga Street have been eating dog meat for as long as I can
remember."
"No wonder their manners have gone to the dogs!"
"You married one of them."
"Yes, to lead a dog's life!"
Victor stepped closer, breathing hard. Marina did not move. "What's eating you?" he
demanded.
"What's eating me?" she yelled. "Dog's! I'm ready to say aw-aw, don't you know?"
Victor repaired his face, amused by this type of quarrel. Again, he tried to be funny.
"Come, come, Mariana darling," he said, smiling condescendingly.
Mariana was not amused. She was all set to proceed with the fight. Now she tried to be
acidly ironic.
“Shall I slaughter Ramir for you? That pet of yours does nothing but bark at strangers
and dirty the doorstep. Perhaps you can invite your friends tonight. Let’s celebrate.”
“Leave Ramir alone,” Victor said, seriously.
“That dog is enslaving me!”
Victor turned to the door. It was the final insult, Mariana thought. The bastard! How dare
he turn his back on her?
“Punyeta!” she screeched and flung the bottle at her husband. Instinctively, Victor
turned and parried the object with his arm. The bottle fell to the floor but did not break. It
rolled noisily under the table where Victor moment had hunted for his rubber slippers.
He looked at her, but there was no reaction in his face. Perhaps he thought it was all a
joke. He opened the door and stepped out into the street.
Mariana ran to the door and banged it once, twice, thrice, all the while shrieking, “Go!
Eat and drink until your tongue hangs like a mad dog’s. Then I’ll call a veterinarian.”
Loud after came across the street.
Mariana leaned out of the window and shouted to the men gathered in front of Sergio’s
store.
“Why don’t you leave my husband alone? You dogs!”
The men laughed louder, obscenely. Their voices offended the ears just as the stench
from the garbage dump at the Artiaga-Mabini junction offended the nostrils. There were
five other men aside from the chief drinker, Sergio. Downing a gallon of tuba at ten
o’clock in the morning with of Artiaga’s idle men was his idea of brotherhood. It was
good for his store, he thought, though his wife languish behind the row of glass jars and
open cartons of dried fish – the poor woman deep in notebooks of unpaid bills the
neighbors had accumulated these last two years.
Mariana closed the window. The slight darkening of the room intensified the heat on the

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roof and in her head. She pulled a stool and sat beside the sewing machine under the
huge pictures of Nora Aunor and Vilma Santos, under the altar-like alcove on the wall
where a transistor radio was enshrined like an idol.
She felt tired. Once again, her eyes surveyed the room with repulsion. She had stayed
in this rented house for two years, tried to paste pictures on the wall, hung up classic
curtains that could not completely ward off the stink from the street. Instead of cheering
up the house, they made it sadder, emphasizing the lack of the things she had dreamed
of having when she eloped with Victor two years ago.
Victor was quite attractive. When he was teen-ager, he was a member of the Gregory
Body Building Club on Cortes Street. He dropped out of freshmen year at Harvadian
and instead developed his chest and biceps at the club. His was to be Mr. Philippines,
until one day, Gregory cancelled his membership. Big Boss Gregory - who was not
interested in girls but in club members with the proportions of Mr. Philippines – had
discovered that Victor was dating a manicurist named Fely.
Victor found work as a bouncer at Three Diamonds, a candlelit bar at the end of Artiaga,
near Jacinto Street. All the hostesses there were Fely’s customers. Mariana, who came
from a better neighborhood, was a third year BSE student at Rizal Memorial Colleges.
They eloped during the second semester, the very week Fey drowned in the pool
behind Three Diamonds. Just as Mariana grew heavy with a child, Victor lost his job at
the bar. He quarreled with the manager. An uncle working in a construction company
found him a new job. But he showed up only when the man did not report for work.

These last few days, not one of the carpenters got sick. So Victor had to stay home.
Mariana felt a stirring in her womb. She felt her belly with both hands. Her tight faded
dress could not quite conceal this most unwanted pregnancy. The baby in the crib in the
other room was only eight months, and here she was - carrying another child. She
closed her eyes and pressed her belly hard. She felt the uncomfortable swell, and in a
moment, she had ridiculous thought. What if she bore a pair or a trio of puppies? She
imagined herself as a dog, a spent bitch with hind legs spread out obscenely as her
litter of three, or four, or five, fought for her tits while the mongrel who was responsible
for all this misery flirted with the other dogs of the neighborhood.
A dog barked. Mariana was startled. It was Ramir. His chain clanked and she could
picture the dog going up the stairs, his lethal fangs bared in terrible growl.
“Ay, ay, Mariana!” a familiar, nervous voice rose from the din. “Your dog! He’ll bite me.
Shoo! Shoo!”
It was Aling Elpidia, the fish and vegetable vendor.
“Stay away from the beast, Aling Elpidia!” Mariana shouted. She opened the door. Aling
Elpidia was in the little yard, her hands nervously holding her basket close to her like a
shield. Ramir was at the bottom of the stairs, straining at his chain, barking at the old
woman.
Mariana pulled the chain. The dog resisted. But soon he relaxed and stopped barking.
He ran upstairs, encircled Mariana once, and then sniffed her hands.
“Come on up, Aling Elpidia. Don’t be afraid. I’m holding Ramir’s leash.”

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The old woman rushed upstairs, still shielding herself with her basket of fish and
vegetables.
“Naku, Mariana. Why do you keep that crazy dog at the door? He’ll bite a kilo off every
visitor. The last time I was here I almost had a heart attack.”
“That’s Victor’s idea of a house guard. Come, sit down.”
Aling Elpidia dragged a stool to the window. “Why, I’m still trembling!” she said. “Why
must you close the window, Mariana?”
Mariana opened the window. “Those horrible men across the street, I can’t stand their
noise.”
“Where’s Victor?”
“There!” Mariana said contemptuously. “With them.” The old woman looked out of the
window.
“He is one of them!”
“One of what?”
“The dog-eaters of Artiaga Street!” Mariana spat out the words, her eyes wild in anger.
Aling Elpidia sat down again. “What is so terrible about that?” she asked.
Mariana looked at the old woman. For the first time she noticed that Aling Elpidia had
been dying her hair. But the growth of hair this week had betrayed her.
“Do you eat dog meat, Aling Elpidia?” Mariana asked.
“It’s better than goat’s meat: And a dog is definitely cleaner than a pig. With the price of
pork and beef as high as Mount Apo – one would rather eat dog meat. How’s the
baby?”
“Asleep”
Aling Elpidia picked up her basket from the floor. “Here’s your day’s supply of
vegetables. I also brought some bangus. Cook Victor a pot of sinigang and he’ll forget
the most delicious chunk of aw-aw meat. Go, get a basket.”
Mariana went to the kitchen to get a basket as Aling Elpidia busied herself sorting out
the vegetables.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten the green mangoes and – and that thing you promised
me,” Mariana said, laying her basket on the floor.
“I brought all of them,” assured the old woman. She began transferring the vegetables
and fish into Mariana’s basket. Mariana helped her.
“I haven’t told Victor anything,” Mariana said in a low, confidential tone.
“He does not have to know,” Aling Elpidia said.
The old woman produced from the bottom of the basket a tall bottle filled with a dark
liquid and some leaves and tiny, gnarled roots. She held the bottle against the light.
Mariana regarded it with interest and horror. “I’m afraid, Aling Elpidia,” she whispered.
“Nonsense. Go, take these vegetables to the kitchen.”
Mariana sped to the kitchen. Aling Elpidia moved to the table, pushed the dish rack that
held some five or six tin plates, and set the bottle beside a plastic tumbler that contained
spoon and forks. She pulled a stool from beneath the table and sat down. Soon Mariana
was beside her.
“Is it effective?” Mariana asked nervously.
“Very effective. Come on let me touch you.”
Mariana stood directly in front of the old woman, her belly her belly almost touching the
vendor’s face. Aling Elpidia felt Mariana’s belly with both hands.

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“Three months did you say, Mariana?”
“Three months and two weeks.”
“Are you sure you don’t want this child?” Aling Elpidia asked one hand flat on Mariana’s
belly. “It feels so healthy.”
“I don’t want another child,” Mariana said. And to stress the finality of her decision, she
grabbed the bottle and stepped away from the old woman. The bottle looked like
atrophy in her hand.
“Well, it’s your decision,” Aling Elpidia said airily. “The bottle is yours.”
“Is it bitter?”
“Yes.”
Mariana squirmed. “How shall I take this?”
“A spoonful before you sleeps in the evening and another spoonful after breakfast.”
“May I take it with a glass of milk or a bottle of coke?”
“No. You must take it pure.”
“It’s not dangerous, is it, Aling Elpidia?”
“Don’t you worry. It is bitter but it is harmless. It will appear as an accident. Like falling
down the stairs. Moreover, there will be less pain and blood.”
“Please come everyday. Things might go wrong.”
Aling Elpidia nodded and stood up. “I think I must go now,” she said. Then she lowered
her voice and asked, “Do you have the money?”
“Yes, yes,” Mariana said. She went to the sewing machine and opened a drawer. She
handed Aling Epidia some crumpled bills.
The vendor counted the bills expertly, and then dropped the little bundle into her breast.
She picked up her basket and walked to the door. Suddenly she stopped. “Your dog,
Mariana.” Her voice became nervous again.
Mariana held Ramir’s leash as the old woman hurried down the stairs. “You may start
taking it tonight.” It was her last piece of medical advice. Loud laughter rose from the
store across the street. Mariana stiffened. Her anger returned. Then her baby cried.
She hurried to the bedroom. The tall bottle looked grotesque on the table: tiny, gnarled
roots seemed to twist like worms or miniature umbilical cords. With a shudder, she
glanced at the bottle. The sharp cry became louder. Mariana rushed inside and
discovered that the baby had wetted its clothes.
She heard somebody coming up the stairs. It must be Victor. Ramir did not bark.
“Mariana!” Victor called out. “Mariana!”
“Quiet!” she shouted back. “The baby’s going back to sleep.”
The house had become hotter. Mariana went out of the bedroom, ready to resume the
unfinished quarrel. Victor was now in the room, sweating and red-eyed. He had taken
off his shirt and his muscular body glistened wit animal attractiveness. But now Mariana
was in a different type of heat.
“I met that old witch Elpidia,” Victor said, “What did she bring you today?”
“The same things. Vegetables. Some fish.”
“Fish! Again?”
“You are drunk!”
“I’m not drunk. Come Mariana dear. Let me hold you.”
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. “You stink!”
Victor moved back, offended. “I don’t stink and I’m not drunk.”

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Mariana stepped closer to her husband. He smelled of cheap pomade, onions, and
vinegar.
“Do you have to be like this all the time? Quarreling every day? Why don’t you get a
steady job like any decent husband? You would be out the whole day, and perhaps, I
would miss you.”
“You don’t have to complain,” Victor said roughly. “True, my work is not permanent but I
think we have enough. We are not starving, are we?”
“You call this enough?” her hands gesticulated madly. “You call this rat’s nest, this hell
of a neighborhood – enough? You call these tin plates, this plastic curtains – enough?
This is not the type of life I expect. I should have continued school. You fooled me!”
“I thought you understood. I-“
“No, no I didn’t understand. And still I don’t understand why you – you –“
“Let’s not quarrel,” Victor said abruptly. I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
“But I want to quarrel with you!” Mariana shouted.
“Be reasonable.”
“You are not reasonable. You never tried to please me. You would rather be with your
stinking friends and drink their dirty wine and eat their dirty meat. Oh, how I hate it,
Victor!”
“What do you want me to do – stay here and boil the baby’s milk?”
“I wish you would!”
“That’s your job. You’re a woman.”
“Oh, how are you admire yourself for being a man,” Mariana sneered in utter sarcasm.
“You miserable-“
“Don’t yell. You wake up the baby.”
“To hell with your baby!”
“You are mad, Mariana.”
“And so I’m mad. I’m mad because I don’t eat dog meat. I’m mad because I want my
husband to make a man of himself, I’m mad because – “
“Stop it!”
“Punyeta!”
“Relax, Mariana. You are excited. That’s not good for you. I want my second baby
healthy.”
“There will be no second baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“You met Aling Elpidia on your way.”
“And what did that witch do? Curse my baby? Is a vampire?”
“She came to help me.”
Mariana went to the table and snatched the bottle. She held high in Victor’s face. “See
this, Victor?” she taunted him. Victor was not interested. “You don’t want me to drink
tuba, and here you are with a bottle of sioktong.”
“How dull you are!” her lips twisted in derision. “See those leaves? See those roots?
They are very potent, Victor.”
“I don’t understand.”
“One spoonful in the morning and one spoonful in the evening. It’s bitter, Victor, but I will
bear it.”
Like a retarded, Victor stared at his wife. Then the truth dawned upon him and

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exclaimed in horror, “What? What? My baby!”
Mariana faced her husband squarely. “Yes! And I’m not afraid!” she jeered.
“You won’t do it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Give me that bottle.”
“No!”
“What kind of woman are you?”
“And what kind of man are you?”
“It’s my baby!”
“It’s mine. I have the right to dispose of it, I don’t want another child.”
“Why, Mariana, why?”
“Because you cannot afford it! What would you feed your another child, ha, Victor?
Tuba milk? Dog meat for rice?”
“We shall manage, Mariana. Everything will be all right.”
“Sure, sure, everything will be all right – for you. I don’t believe in that anymore.”
“Give me that bottle!”
“No!”
They grappled for a moment. Mariana fought like an untamed animal. At last Victor took
hold the bottle. He pushed his wife against the wall and ran to the window, his right
hand holding the bottle above his head.
And like a man possessed, he hurled the bottle out f the window. The crash of the glass
against the gravel on the road rendered Mariana speechless. But she recovered. She
dashed to the window and gave out almost inhuman scream at what she saw. The
bottle was broken into countless splinters and the dark liquid stained the dry gravel
street. Bits of leaves and roots stuck to the dust. Presently, a dog came along and
sniffed the wet ground suspiciously, then left with his tail between his legs.
Mariana screamed again in horror and frustration. In the glare of the late morning sun
she had a momentary image of the men – now faceless and voiceless – in front of the
store across the street. This time they did not laugh, but they watched her from certain
blankness. She turned to her husband and flung herself at him, raising her arms, her
fingers poised like claws. She scratched his face and pounded his chest with her fists.
“Damn you! Damn you!” she shrieked in fury.
Victor caught her arms and shook her. “Stop it, Mariana!” he mumbled under his breath.
“Let me go! You are hurting me!”
“Behave you woman!” Victor shook her harder.
Mariana spat on his face. Then she bit on the right arm. She spat again, for she had a
quick taste of salt and dirt.
Victor released her. She moved back, her uncontrollable rage shaking her. “You threw it
away! You destroy it! I paid forty pesos for it and it’s not your money!”
“Forty pesos,” Victor murmured. “That is a lot of milk.”
Mariana caught her breath. She allowed dryly and said, “What do you want me to do
now – cut children’s dresses?”
“You are unnatural. You don’t act like a mother, you want to kill your own child.”
“It’s my own child.”
“It’s murder!”
“Nobody will know.”

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“I will know. You will know. And God – and God – will know!”
“Ahhh!” Mariana sneered sontemptuously. “Now who’s talking? When was the last time
you went to church, ha Victor? That was the time the Legion of Mary brought us to
Fatima Church to be married and you fought with the priest in the confessional. And
now here you are mentioning God’s name to me.”
“Please, please, Mariana,” Victor was begging now. “That’s our child!”
“I told you I didn’t want another child. You broke that bottle but I’ll look for other means.
I’ll starve myself. I’ll jump out of the window. I’ll fall down the stairs.”
“Mariana!”
“You cannot afford to buy pills or hire a doctor.”
“I want a child.”
“You men can talk because you don’t have to bear the children. You coward!”
Victor raised his hand to strike her. Mariana offered her face, daring him to complete his
own humiliation. Victor dropped his hand. He was lost, totally unmanned.
A bit of his male vanity stirred inside him. He raised his hand again, but Mariana was
quick with the nearest weapon. She seized a stool with both hands, and with the
strength all her arms could muster, throws the stool at him. Victor caught the object with
his strong shoulder. The stool dropped to the floor as Mariana made ready with another
weapon, a vase of plastic flowers.
“Go away from me! Get out! Get out!”
Victor went out of the room. Mariana was left panting, giving vent to her anger by pulling
down the plastic curtains and the printed cover of the sewing machine. She stooped to
the table and with a furious sweep of her hand, cleared it of dish rack, tin plates,
spoons, and forks. Then she went to the kitchen and tossed the basket of vegetables
and fish out of the kitchen window. A trio of dogs rushed in from nowhere and fought
over the fish strewn in the muddy space under the sink.
Then Ramir barked.
“Shut up, you miserable dog!”
Ramir continued barking.
Mariana paused. Ramir, she taught. Victor’s dog. A cruel thought crossed her mind and
stayed there. Now she knew exactly what to do. She reached for the big kitchen knife of
a shelf above the sink. Kicking the scattered tin plates on the floor, she crossed the
main room to the porch.
Downstairs, Ramir was barking at some object in the street. Noticing Mariana’s
presence, he stopped barking. Mariana stared at the dog. The dog stared back, and
Mariana noticed the change in the animal’s eyes. They became fiery, dangerous. My
God, Mariana thought. This creature knew! Ramir’s ears stood. The hair on the back of
its neck stood, too. Then he bared his fangs viscously and growled.
Mariana dropped the knife. She did not know how to use it at this moment. She was
beginning to be afraid.
Slowly, she climbed up the stairs. He moved softly but menacingly. Like a hunter sizing
up his quarry. His yellowing fangs dropped with saliva.
Meanwhile, Mariana was untying the chain on the top of the stairs.
And the dog rushed into the roaring attack. Quicker than she thought she was, Mariana
slipped the end of the chain under the makeshift railing of the stairway and pulled the
leash with all her might. As she had expected, the dog hurtled into the space between

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the broken banisters and fell. The weight of the animal pulled her to her knees, but she
was prepared for that, too. She braced herself against the rails of the porch, and now,
the dog was dangling below her. A crowd had now gathered in front of the house to
witness the unexpected execution. But Mariana neither saw their faces nor heard their
voices.
Ramir gave a final yelp and stopped kicking the air.
Mariana laughed deliriously. She watches the hanging animal and addressed it in
triumph: “I’ll slit your throat and drink your blood and cut you to pieces and stew you and
eat you! Damn you Victor. Damn this child. Damn everything. I’ll cook you, Ramir. I’ll
cook you and eat you and eat you and eat you!”
She released the chain and the canine carcass dropped with a thud on the ground
below.
Mariana sat on the topmost step of the stairs; she put her hands between her legs and
stared blankly at the rusty rooftops in front of her. And for the first in all her life on the
Artiaga Street, Mariana cried.

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 WANTED: A CHAPERON

Wilfrido Ma. Guerrero

To the memory of Amalia B. Reyes

First Performance: The Filipino Players, under the author’s direction, at St. Cecilia’s
Hall, November 21, 1940

CHARACTERS:

DON FRANCISCO (the father)

DOÑA PETRA (the mother)

NENA (their daughter)

ROBERTING (their son)

DOÑA DOLORES

FRED (her son)

FRANCISCO (the servant)

PABLO (the mayordomo)

TIME : One Sunday morning, at about eleven.

SCENE: The living-room. Simply furnished. A window on the right. At the rear, a
corridor. A door on the left Sofa, chairs, etc. at the discretion of the director.

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When the curtain rises, DON FRANCISCO, about sixty, is seen sitting on the sofa,
smoking a cigar He wears a nice-looking lounging robe. Presently ROBERTING, his
twenty-year old son, good-looking, well-dressed, enters. He wants to ask some. thing
from his father, but before he gathers enough courage, he maneuvers about the stage
and clears his throat several times before he finally approaches him.

ROBERTING (Clearing his throat). Ehem-ehem-ehem!

FRANCISCO (Looking up briefly). Ehem

ROBERTING. -Father-

FRANCISCO (Without looking at him). What?

ROBERTING. Father-

FRANCISCO. Well?

ROBERTING. Father-

FRANCISCO. Again?

ROBERTING. Well, you see it's like this-

FRANCISCO. Like what?

ROBERTING. It's not easy to explain, Father

FRANCISCO. If it isn't then come back when I'm through with the paper

ROBERTING. Better now, Father. It's about-money.

FRANCISCO. Money! What money?

ROBERTING. Well, you see-

FRANCISCO (imitating his tone). Well, you see-I'm busy!

ROBERTING. I need money.

FRANCISCO (Dropping the paper). Need money! Aren't you working already?

ROBERTING. Yes, but-it isn't enough.

FRANCISCO. How much are you earning?

ROBERTING. Eight hundred, Father.

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FRANCISCO. Eight hundred! Why, you're earning almost as much as your father!

ROBERTING. You don't understand, Father.

FRANCISCO. Humph! I don't understand!

ROBERTING. Don't misunderstand me, Father.

FRANCISCO. Aba! You just said I don't understand-that means I'm not capable of
understanding. Now you say not to misunderstand you-meaning I'm capable of
understanding pala. Make up your mind, Roberting!

ROBERTING. You see, Father, what I'm driving at I~ I want-er -I want-my old
allowance.

FRANCISCO (jumping). Diablos! You want your old allowance! You’re working and
earning eight hundred, you don't pay me a single centavo for your board and lodging in
my house-and now you re asking for your old allowance!

ROBERTING. I have so many expenses, Father.

FRANCISCO. How much have you got saved up in the bank?

ROBERTING. How can I save anything?

FRANCISCO. So you have nothing in the bank! What kind of gifts do you give your girl-
friend?

ROBERTING (Embarrassed). I-I-

FRANCISCO. Flowers? (ROBERTING nods.) Twenty-or thirty-peso flowers?

(ROBERTING nods again.)Que hombre este! When I was courting your mother I used
to give her only mani or balut.

(DONA PETRA, about fifty-five,. enters and catches his last words.)

PETRA. Yes, I remember quite well, If you only knew what my mother used to say after
you used to give me mani or balut. "Ka kuriput naman!" she'd say.

FRANCISCO. Pero, Petra, this son of ours is earning eight hundred. He doesn't give us
a centavo for house expenses, and on top of that he's asking for his old allowance.
Where in the world have you heard such a thing?

PETRA I know a place where the children work and don't give their-parents any money
and still ask for their allowance.

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FRANCISCO. Were?

PETRA. In the Philippines.

FRANCISCO. Aba! How ilustrada you are, Petra!

PETRA. (To ROBERTING). You're not going to get a centavo.

ROBERTING. But, Mother-

PETRA If you've no money to ride in a taxi, take a jeepney.

ROBERTING. Jeepney to visit a girl! Ay!

PETRA.. (imitating him). Ay what? (ROBERTING goes out mumbling.)

PETRA. (Calling). Francisco!

FRANCISCO. Ha?

PETRA. I'm calling the servant!

FRANCISCO. Demontres with that Servant! Having the same name as the owner of the
house!

PETRA. I'm going to kick him out soon. He broke your plate again.

FRANCISCO. Again! I don't know why he always breaks my plates. He never breaks
your plates, or Roberting's, or Nena's. No, he breaks only my plates?

(FRANCISCO, the servant, enters. He is a dark, tall, thin boy. He looks foolish and is.
He has his mouth open all the time.)

SERVANT. Opo, senora.

PETRA. Did you make that sign I told you?

SERVANT. The one you told me to make?

PETRA. (Emphatically). Of course!

SERVANT. The one you told me to write: "Wanted: a Muchacho?"

PETRA. (irritated). Yes, Don Francisco!

FRANCISCO. Ha?

PETRA. I'm talking to the servant. Well, did you do it?

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SERVANT. No, senora. I didn't make it yet.

PETRA. And why not?

SERVANT. I forgot how it should be worded. I suddenly remember now.,

PETRA. Que estupido! Hala, go out and make it immediately! (SERVANT goes out.)

FRANCISCO. Where's Nena?

PETRA. Asleep in her room.

FRANCISCO. At this time? It's eleven o'clock.

PETRA Anyhow it's Sunday.

FRANCISCO. Has she heard Mass?

PETRA. I suppose she did at four

FRANCISCO, And so Nena went to the party last night without a chaperon?

PETRA. It was the first time.

FRANCISCO. I hope nothing happened.

PETRA. What could have happened? We discussed this already yesterday.

FRANCISCO. Yes, I know, but imagine a Filipino girl going to a party without a
chaperon.

PETRA. After all, she didn't go out with Fred alone. She went with her friends, Lolita and
Luding.

FRANCISCO. Yes, those two girls, since they arrived from abroad, they've been trying
to teach our daughter all the wrong things they learned from those places.

PETRA. Wrong things? Ay, you exaggerate, Francisco!

(FRANCISCO, the servant enters with a sign in his hands.)

PETRA. Are you through with that? So soon?

SERVANT. I finished it last night, senora.

PETRA. Last night!

SERVANT. Opo, señora, but I forgot where I placed it.

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PETRA. Estupido itong taong ito! Let me see it. (She takes hold Of the sign, reads
aloud.) Wanted: AMuchacho." All right, hang it out there at the window. (The SERVANT
hangs it out side the window sill but with the sign facing inside.) I said outside-not
inside!

FRANCISCO. Ay, Francisco, he had to be my namesake! (The SERVANT, after placing

the sign, stays by the window, making signs and faces to somebody outside.)

PETRA. As I was saying. Francisco--

FRANCISCO. Were you talking to me, Petra, or to the servant?

PETRA (Addressing the SERVANT). Francisco! What are you still doing here? Go back
to the kitchen!(SERVANT goes out.)

FRANCISCO. You were saying, Petra-

PETRA. As I was saying, I think you're being very unfair to Nena. After all, she's grown
up

FRANCISCO. Petra, my dear, virtue is ageless.

PETRA. I know that, Francisco, but chaperoning is rather old-fashioned.

FRANCISCO. Old-fashioned, maybe, in some other civilized countries.

PETRA. But isn't the Philippines civilized?

FRANCISCO. In many ways, yes,-but in some ways it's uncivilized.

PETRA. Ay. Francisco, if Saturnino Balagtas, our great patriot, should hear you now!

FRANCISCO. Where did you get the idea that Balagtas' first name is Saturnino? You
mean Francisco.

PETRA. Saturnino-Francisco-both end in o.

FRANCISCO. Yes, that's why when you call out my name, Francisco the muchacho
rushes in.

PETRA. Anyhow our women can take care of themselves.,

FRANCISCO. Are you sure?

PETRA. Especially if they've received an education. For instance, our Nena is, in her
senior year in education at the University of Santo Tomas. She's even taking some
courses in home economics.

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FRANCISCO. I suppose that makes her immune from any moral falls.

PETRA. Moral falls, Francisco! Ay, que exagerada naman tu! No,. what I mean is that
Nena is better educated and more enlightened to take care of herself.

FRANCISCO. (Annoyed). This Petra naman! You don't see the point. Education, even a
university education, with all the letters of the alphabet after a graduate's name AB, BSE
LLB, PhD, is not moral education. Training the mind is not training the heart.

PETRA. But if the mind is trained, why, the heart will be ruled by the mind.

FRANCISCO. No, Petra, if a person is intellectual, it doesn't ipso facto make' him moral.

PETRA. Ipso facto. That's very. deep for me naman, Francisco.

FRANCISCO. Very deep! Our daughter Nena will fall in deep water if you don't watch
out!

PETRA (Exaggeratedly, just like a woman). Ay, you're so apprehensive, Francisco,.

(The SERVANT rushes in.)

SERVANT. Did you call me, senora?

FRANCISCO. Hoy- you!

SERVANT. Yes, senorito.

FRANCISCO. I'm married to the senora, therefore I'm not the senorito anymore, but the
senor, understand?

SERVANT. Opo, senorito.

FRANCISCO. I'm going to change your name. From now on you'll be called Francis.

SERVANT. Francis, po?

FRANCISCO. Yes, Francis, understand?

SERVANT. Why not Paquito, senor? Or Paco or Francisquito?

FRANCISCO. Because I don't want it! Now get out!

(SERVANT goes out. ROBERTING comes in.)

ROBERTING. Father, I couldn't get a taxi.

FRANCISCO. Your mother told you to take a jeepney.

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ROBERTING. But I'm visiting my girl-friend.

FRANCISCO. Visiting girls at this time of the day? It's nearly lunch time

ROBERTING. She called me up. She says I must see her, right away. It's very
important.

FRANCISCO. Roberting, you went to the party last night?

ROBERTING. Yes, Father, with Lia.

FRANCISCO. You went to the party unchaperoned?

PETRA. Does Roberting need a chaperon?

FRANCISCO. I'm not talking about Roberting! I'm talking about the girl he took out!

PETRA. Well, if you're going to lose your temper, I might as well be in the kitchen. (She
goes out.)

ROBERTING. Yes, Father.

FRANCISCO. Yes, what?

ROBERTING. I took Lia to the party alone.

FRANCISCO. You young modern people. Do you realize that in my time when I was
courting your mother, her father, her mother, her three sisters, her young brother., her
grandmother, five first cousins and two distant relatives sat in the sala with us?

ROBERTING. But why so many, Father?

FRANCISCO, Because in those days we were more careful about a woman's

reputation.

ROBERTING. But in those days-

FRANCISCO. Don't tell me those days were different. Outward things change, like the
styles of women's dresses and men's ties, but the human heart remains the same.

ROBERTING. But in other countries, Father-

FRANCISCO. There you go, in other countries. The Philippines is different, my son. Our
climate, our traditions, our innate psychology-- all these make our people different from
foreigners.

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ROBERTING. But my girl friend has studied abroad-- Columbia University pa. Filipino
girls who have studied in other countries acquire the outward customs and mannerisms
of people with traditions and temperament different from ours. But a Filipino girl can't
easily change her temperament. It is inborn. (A knock is heard.)

FRANCISCO. Somebody's at the door. Francisc-er-Francis! Francis!

ROBERTING. Who's Francis?

FRANCISCO. The servant. I gave him a new name. (Calling again.) Paquito! (No
answer) Francisquito! (The SERVANT tip pears. FRANCISCO stares at him.)

SERVANT. Yes, senorito.

FRANCISCO. No, no, my son Roberting here is the senorito, but I'm the senor! See who
is knocking. Tell him to sit down.

(SERVANT goes out. ROBERTING and FRANCISCO go to their rooms. Presently

SERVANT comes in, followed by PABLO. He is a fat, dark fellow. He is all dressed up--
wears a tie and everything He smokes a cigar. PABLO and the SERVANT stare at each
other, the SERVANT open-mouthed as usual.)

SERVANT. what do you want?

PABLO What do I want? Haven't you got any manners?

SERVANT. I said whom do you want to we?

PABLO. Why don't you speak more dearly?.

SERVANT. What shall I tell the owner of the hour?

PABLO. Who's the owner of the house?

SERVANT. The senora, of course.

PABLO. Why, is she a widow?

SERVANT. Not yet.

PABLO. Tell your senora I want to see her.

SERVANT. Which senora?

PABLO. How many senoras do you have In this home?

SERVANT. There's senora Petra, senorita Nena-

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PABLO. Gago! Call senora Petra then.

SERVANT. Opo. Sit down. Here are some cigars (SERVANT goes out. PABLO, looking
about, gets one cigar-then a second--when about to get a third, PETRA comes in.)

PETRA. Yes?

PABLO. Good morning.

PETRA. Good morning.

PABLO. I saw that sign at the window.

PETRA. Yes?

PABLO. It says "Wanted: A Muchacho."

PETRA. Why, yes. Are you by any chance a detective?

PABLO. (Giggling). You flatter me, senora! A girl told me mw that I am very good-
looking.

PETRA. Really? That is very interesting.

PABLO Women sometimes tell the sweetest lies.

PETRA. Do you mind if-

PABLO. Of course I don't mind. Go ahead and ask any questions

PETRA. Do you mind if I ask what I can do you –

PABLO (Blushing). I'm applying-

PETRA. Applying for what?

PABLO (After mustering enough courage). I’m applying for the job!

PETRA. What job?

PABLO (Pointing at the sign outside, significantly). That.

PETRA (Looking towards the sign and at PABLO. Incredulous). You mean-

PABLO (Joyfully). Yes, I'm offering my services

PETRA. You mean-you wish to be a muchacho?

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PABLO. I wish you wouldn't be so insulting, senora, but I want to be what they call in
Europe a mayordomo.

PETRA. A what?

PABLO. A mayordomo. You know-

PETRA. Oh. You mean-?

PABLO. Yes, that's what I mean.

PETRA (After giving him a dirty look). Well, for a minute I mistook you for an hacendero
or a movie actor.

PABLO. That's right. I don't look like a muchacho~ er-mayordomo My mother always
used to say I would amount to something. (Cupping his hand towards PETRA's ears.)
Confidentially, my mother wanted me to marry one of the President's daughters.

PETRA. President's daughters? You mean the President of the Philippines?

PABLO. Yes, why not? Is there anything wrong in that?

PETRA. And you wish to work here as a-er-as a mayordomo?

PABLO. That's it!

PETRA. What can you do?

PABLO. I can watch the house when you're out, accompany the children, if you've any,
to the movies or to parties.

PETRA. What else?

PABLO. I can do many other things. I can even sing.

PETRA. Never mind your social accomplishments. What's your name?

PABLO. I was baptized Marcelino, but my mother calls me Pablo because I remind her
of her brother who spent two years jail. But my friends that is, my intimate friends. call
me Paul.

PETRA. I'll pay you eighty pesos. including board and lodging.

PABLO (Jumping). I'll take the job! (PETRA stands up and looks at him frigidly.)

PETRA. Good. You Can start by washing the dishes.

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PABLO. The dishes! But it's time for lunch. Haven't the dishes you used for breakfast
been washed yet?

PETRA. No, because our servant Francisco always breaks the plates. So I told him this
morning after breakfast not to wash them yet.

PABLO. I wish I had come after the dishes had been washed.

PETRA. All right, ask Francisco for instructions.

(PETRA goes out. PABLO lights a cigar and throughout the following scene drops the
ashes everywhere.FRANCISCO enters.)

FRANCISCO. Oh, good morning. Have you been waiting long?

PABLO Staring at him insolently). No, I just talked to the senora.

FRANCISCO. Oh, yes. why don't you sit down?

PABLO. I will. (And PABLO sprawls Cleopatra-like on the sofa.)

FRANCISCO. Did you come on some business?

PABLO. Business? Oh, business of a sort.

FRANCISCO. That's good.

PABLO. That's a nice lounging robe you're wearing.

FRANCISCO. You like it?

PABLO. I certainly am going to buy one exactly like that

FRANCISCO. Thank you. Imitation, they say, is the subtlest form of flattery.

PABLO. Of course mine will be more expensive.

FRANCISCO. Undoubtedly. You must be a man of means.

PABLO. Of means? Well, sort of- Hm, I wonder what's delaying Francisco.

FRANCISCO. Francisco? I am Francisco.

PABLO (Laughing). You are Francisco?

FRANCISCO. Yes.

PABLO. Well, if you're Francisco, the senora told me to ask you for the instructions.

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FRANCISCO. Instructions? What kind of instructions?

PABLO. I suppose she meant the instructions for washing the dishes and all that sort of
thing

FRANCISCO (Puzzled). Dishes-all that sort of thing? What do you mean?

PABLO. Aren't you the servant here?

FRANCISCO (Flabbergasted). Servant! I am the owner of the house!

PABLO (Jumping). Oh-the owner! Excuse me! (Gliding away.) I suppose this is the way
to the kitchen! (He runs out to the kitchen)

FRANCISCO. Petra! Petra! (He exits, PETRA enters and arranges the chairs. NENA
comes in. NENA is about eighteen, and she's wearing a nice-looking Pair of slacks. She
obviously has just risen from bed for she keeps yawning atrociously.)

NENA. Where’s the Sunday paper?

PETRA. Oh, so you're awake. How was the party last night?

NENA. (Sitting on sofa). So-so. Mother, where's the movie page?

PETRA. Probably your brother Roberting is looking at it. -(FRANCISCO enters.)

FRANCISCO. You're awake at last. Have you had breakfast?

PETRA. Breakfast when it's nearly twelve?

FRANCISCO. How was the party?

NENA. So-so. (FRANCISCO looks for some cigars on the table.)

FRANCISCO. Aba! Where are the cigars, Petra?

PETRA. Why, I placed half a dozen there this morning!

FRANCISCO. Half a dozen! I've smoked only one s6 far!

PETRA. I wonder.

FRANCISCO. Hm- I'm wondering, too!

NENA. (Standing and yawning). I'm still sleepy.

FRANCISCO. Wait a minute, Nena. Sit down.

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NENA. What is it, Father?

FRANCISCO. So you went to the party alone last night?

PETRA. This Francisco naman! I told you she was out with Fred.

FRANCISCO. Anyhow I hope that’s the first and last time you go to a party
unchaperoned.

NENA. But there's nothing wrong, Father. After all I’m an educated girl. (NENA yawns
so desperately that she looks like an acrobat. PETRA and FRANCISCO stare at each
other.)

PETRA. Yes, Francisco. She can take care of herself. Can't you see she's educated?
(FRANCISCO gulps and wonders if his wife is crazy. ROBERTING enters.)

ROBERTING. (To NENA.) So you're awake! How was the party last night?

NENA. So-so.

FRANCISCO. Why are you here?

ROBERTING. I couldn't hire a taxi. No money.

PETRA. I told you to take a jeepney.

ROBERTIlNG. Anyhow I can see her this afternoon. Incidentally I met Fred's mother a
short while ago.

NENA. Fred's mother?

ROBERTING. She was near Martini's taxi station.

PETRA. What were you doing at the taxi station?

FRANCISCO. Trying to get a taxi on credit, I suppose.

ROBERTING. Anyhow Fred's mother-

NENA. What about her?

ROBERTING. She said she was coming today.

PETRA. What for?

ROBERTING. She didn't tell me.

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FRANCISCO. Fred's mother? You mean the young fellow Nena went out with last
night?

ROBERTING Yes, Father.

NENA Did she say why she was coming?

ROBERTING. No.. But she seemed sore at me. In fact she seemed sort at you, too,
Father.

FRANCISCO. At me?

ROBERTING (Imitating Dolores' voice) . She said, "Tell your father Kiko I'm going to
see him!"

FRANCISCO. She called me Kiko?

ROBERTING. Yes—

FRANCISCO. Didn't she say Don Kiko at least?

ROBERTING. No. She simply said Kiko.

FRANCISCO. Aba! (PABLO's head is seen sticking out by the door)

PABLO (Shouting at the top of his lungs). Dinner is served!

FRANCISCO. Hay! Don't shout that loud! (PABLO exits.)

ROBERTING. Who's he, Mother?

PETRA. The new mayordomo.

ROBERTING. Mayor what?

PETRA. He's the new servant!

(They all go out. But NENA lingers for a. while, and there's an expression of worry on
her face. Then she exits. PABLO and the SERVANT come in.)

SERVANT. Hoy!

PABLO. What do you mean hay? My name is Pablo. You may call me Paul.

SERVANT. My name is Francisca The senor calls me Francis, but I prefer Paquito. I
once had another amo who used to call me Frankie.

PABLO. What do you. want?

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SERVANT. The senora wants you in the dining room

PABLO. What for?

SERVANT. To serve the dishes.

PABLO. That's your job. I'm not a muchacho! I'm a mayordomo!

SERVANT. Didn't you. answer that sign over there at the window-"Wanted: A
Muchacho"?

PABLO. Yet why?

SERVANT. Then you're a muchacho, like me!

PABLO. (Threatening him with his fist) I want you to understand that I am not a
muchacho!

SERVANT. Hal You look like a common muchacho to me

PABLO. (Threatening him with the cigar he holds) Don't let me catch you using that
word again!

SERVANT. Soplado! (PETRA enters.)

PETRA. What are you two doing here? Don't you know we're already eating? (PABLO
and SERVANT go out. Presently NENA comes in and goes to the window She sees
somebody coming, and runs out. Several knocks are heard. PABLO is seen crossing
the corridor Then PABLO enters first trying to cover his face, followed by DONA
DOLORES, a fat arrogant woman of forty, wearing the Filipina dress and sporting more
jewels than a pawn shop. Her twenty-year-old son FRED follows hen FRED is so dumb
'and as dumb-looking nobody would believe it. PABLO is still trying to hide his face.)

DOLORES (Fanning herself vigorously). Where's Dona Petra?

PABLO. She's eating. Sit down.

DOLORES. Call the senora-and 'mind your own business! (Recognizing him.) Che! So
it's you! You-you! Working here! How much are you earning?

PABLO (Insolently). Why?

DOLORES. After treating you so well at home as a muchacho, now you come to work
here without even leaving me a farewell note. Che!

PABLO (With arms akimbo). I'm not a muchacho! I am a mayordomo!

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DOLORES. Mayordomo! Mayor tonto! Che! i(PABLO, who is now all sprinkled with
DOLORES' saliva, gets his handkerchief. PETRA and FRANCISCO enter)

PETRA. You may go, Paul.

DOLORES. Paul? (PABLO leaves.)

PETRA. Good morning.

FRANCISCO. You wanted to see me?

DOLORES. Yes! You and Petra!

PETRA. Won't you sit down?

DOLORES. I'd rather remain standing! Che?

FRANCISCO. This-this is your son Fred, I imagine.

DOLORES. Don't imagine-He is my son!

PETRA. Ah! So he is your son!

DOLORES. Supposing he is- what's that to you?

FRANCISCO. I was just thinking he doesn't look a bit like you.

DOLORES. Certainly not. He's the spitting image of my third husband!

PETRA. Do sit down.

DOLORES. Are you trying to insult me by implying I've no chairs at home? Che!

FRANCISCO. What can we do for you?

DOLORES (Pointing to FRED). Ask him!

PETRA What is it, Fred?

FRED (Pointing to his mother). Ask her!

FRANCISCO. Speak up; my son!

DOLORES. Your son!. Your son, eh? So you and your daughter Nena have designs on
my son, eh? Well, you won't hook him!

PETRA. What are you. talking about?

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FRANCISCO. Call Nena! (Aloud) Nena! Nena! (ROBERTING appears.) Roberting, call
Nena!(ROBERTING goes out.)

FRANCISCO. If you don't mind, I will sit down.

PETRA I will sit down, too. I'm tired. (FRED tries to sit down too but his mother yanks
him out of the chain.NENA, wearing a sports dress, comes in; followed by
ROBERTING)

FRANCISCO. Nena, this lad? wants to talk to you.

DOLORES (Nudging FRED). Tell her!

FRED Ten: her what?

PETRA What is all the mystery about?

DOLORES (Ominously). My son-and your daughter-.

FRANCISCO. They went to the patty last night, didn't they?.

DOLORES. Of course they went to the party. But how did they go?

FRANCISCO. Has your son a car? Maybe they went in his ear.

DOLORES. My son has a car, and it's all paid for. But that isn't the point!

FRANCISCO. What's the point then?

DOLORES. That's what I came to find out!

PETRA. Nena, what happened?

NENA. Happened?

DOLORES. Yes, last night!

NENA. What happened?

DOLORES. I'm asking you!

PETRA. What happened, Nena?

NENA. Why. nothing, Mother

PETRA. Nothing?

NENA. Nothing, Mother

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DOLORES. Nothing. che! A girl going to a party unchaperoned and nothing happened!

PETRA. What really happened, Nena?

NENA (Approaching DOLORES and practically screaming at her). Nothing happened

and you know it!

DOLORES. Che! How dare you shout at mc!

FRED. Don't talk to my mother like that, Nena!

NENA (Approaching FRED). Bobo! Estupido! Standing there like a statue!

FRED. Statue? What statue?

NENA. The statue of a dumb-bell, dumb bell!

FRED. Gaga!

ROBERTING. (Approaching FRED and holding him by the neck) Hey, you! Don't start
calling my sister names!

FRED. She started it!

PETRA (Approaching DOLORES). Your son took my daughter out to the party last night

DOLORES. Why do you allow your daughter to go out alone?

FRED. Nena insisted there was nothing wrong! But my intuition told me it might be
wrong.

DOLORES. Shut up, Fred!

FRED. Why, mama?

DOLORES. (To PETRA). Why do you allow your daughter to go out alone with my
respectable son?

NENA. What's respectable about him? (DOLORES gives her a poisonous look.)

DOLORES. People saw them come and go unchaperoned. Yes, unchaperoned!

Imagine-imagine a girl going to a party alone!

FRANCISCO. (Advancing). She was with your son, wasn't she?

DOLORES. Unfortunately!

FRANCISCO. Then if my daughter was with your son, what danger was there?

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DOLORES. People are talking about last night-

PETRA. But what happened?

DOLORES. (To FRED). What happened, Fred dear?

FRED (Tearfully). Nothing, mama!

DOLORES. Try to think! Something must have happened!

FRED. Nothing. nothing! (DOLORES notices that the group's hostile eyes are fastened
on her)

DOLORES (Pinching FRED, but hard). Torpe!

FRED. (Twisting with pain). Aruy!

DOLORES. You-you-you son of my third husband! Why didn't you tell me nothing
happened?

FRED. I’ve been trying to tell you since this morning, but you gave me no chance.

(Embarrassed, DOLORES tries hard to regain her dignity.)

FRANCISCO. (Approaching DOLORES). You mean to tell me you came here and
raised all this rumpus when nothing, absolutely nothing, happened?

DOLORES. Well! I wouldn't be too sure about absolutely nothing! Besides, I have to be
careful- yes, very careful-about my beloved son's upbringing.

FRANCISCO. Your son! Your Son is very stupid!

FRED. What!

DOLORES. My son stupid!

PETRA (Shouting). And definitely!

FRANCISCO. As stupid as you are!

DOLORES. As me!

PETRA. And positively!

FRED. (Approaching NENA). It's your fault!

NENA. What do you mean my fault, dumbbell!

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FRED. I'd slap your face if I weren't a gentleman; (ROBERTING flies across the stage
and faces FRED.)

ROBERTING. I'll slap you even if Mother says I'm no gentleman at times!

DOLORES. (To ROBERTING). Don't you dare touch my son! Che!

NENA. (To DOLORES). You can have that human jellyfish! Coming here to say what
might have happened!(NENA grunts so savagely that DOLORES retreats in terror.)

DOLORES. (To FRANCISCO). You should advise your daughter to stop going to
parties unchaperoned! People gossip and include my son!

FRANCISCO. Mind your own business! (Raising his fist to her head) Tell your son to
stop looking dumb!

DOLORES. Che! I never saw such people, che!

FRANCISCO. Get out of here before I call the police!

FRED. The police! Mama, the police!

DOLORES. We're going, che!

PETRA. Paul! Paul!

FRANCISCO. Who's Paul, Petra? (PABLO appears.)

PABLO. Yes, Don Francisco?

PETRA. Paul, kindly escort these-- these people to the door!

FRANCISCO. Roughly, Paul, roughly!

DOLORES. (Facing PABLO). Canalla! (To PETRA.) I suppose you enticed my

muchacho to come here!

PABLO (Touching DOLORES on the shoulder). Hoy, I am no muchacho! I'm a

mayordomo! Furthermore, Dona Petra gives me eighty pesos a month while you used
to give me fifty pesos only!

DOLORES. Eighty a month! Where will they get that much!

PETRA. Dona Dolores! Dolores de cabeza!

DOLORES. Eighty a month! Che! (Going to the door.) Che! (Turning again.) Che! (She
comes back to recover her son who has remained like a statue.)

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PETRA. Can you imagine! The insolence! Che! (Everybody stares at her.)

FRANCISCO. That's what Nena got for going out unchaperoned. I was already telling
you, Petra-

PETRA. How could I, know this Dolores would make all that awful fuss?

ROBERTING. You want me to break Fred's neck?

FRANCISCO. You should -have done that when he was here. Your muscle reflexes are
tardy in working, my son.

ROBERTING (Unconsciously). Che!, (They all look at him. NENA has sat on the so/a
and begins to cry.)

PETRA. Don't cry, Nena. It’s over.

NENA (Between sobs). Making all that fuss for nothing! The truth is that I quarreled with
Fred during the party and left him.

PETRA. Left him! Where did you go?

NENA. I came home with Luding and Lolita. Fred's mother had been trying to interest
me in her son-that's why-he told his mother-and—

FRANCISCO. Ay, hija mia, go in now and let this be a lesson to you.

NENA (As she's near the door-unconsciously) Che! (They all stare at her and at each
other.)

PETRA. Finish eating. Roberting.

FRANCISCO. Incidentally, Roberting, I hope nothing happened with you last night.

ROBERTING. Last night?

FRANCISCO. You went out with Lia, didn't you?

ROBERTJNG. Yes, but nothing happened-- I think.

PETRA. You think! (PABLO comes in, smoking a cigar.)

PABLO. I escorted them out already. senora. What do I do now?

PETRA. You may wash more dishes.

PABLO. Ha? (He is about to go.)

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FRANCISCO. Hoy! Where did you get that cigar?

PABLO. Ha? Er-why, somebody gave it to me.

FRANCISCO. Who?

PABLO. Francis, senor.

FRANCISCO. So! Mayordomo smokes owner's cigars. Owner kicks mayordomo out.
(He makes a gesture of kicking PABLO, but the latter runs outside into the street. The
SERVANT is seen coming in from the corridor. He disappears and comes back with a
coat which he throws out of the window.)

SERVANT. Hoy-- your coat! Mayordomo-mayor yabang!

PETRA. Get back to the kitchen, Francis!

SERVANT. Am I still the servant here, senora?

PETRA. Yes, I suppose we'll have to bear with you for a while.

SERVANT. I won't have to put out the sign anymore-"Wanted A Muchacho"?

FRANCISCO. No! Make another and put "Wanted: A Chaperon"!

PETRA. Wanted a Chaperon?

FRANCISCO. Yes, for our daughter Nena.

PETRA. Que verguenza! I, her mother, will chaperon Nena (She stares out the window.
She sees somebody coming.) Roberting! Roberting! (ROBERTING appears.)

ROBERTING. What is it, Mother?

PETRA (Pointing outside). Isn't that your girl-friend Lia?

ROBERTING. Why, yes?

PETRA. And who is that old man along with her?

ROBERTING (Swallowing). That's-er-that's her father!

PETRA. And he's carrying something!

ROBERTING. Yes-yes! He's Carrying-a gun!! (Running outside.) Tell them I'm out!

FRANCISCO. Ay, Petra! We need two chaperons! Che! (PETRA stares at him.)

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CURTAIN

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