ge OP te me 7 OO «. Song ~a lyric poem i metrical pattern set to music. These have twelve syllables llabic) and slowly sung to the accompaniment of a guitar or banduria. Example: Elorante at Laura by Franciso Balagtas d. Corridos (kuridos) — these have i les (octosyllabi and recited toa material-beat. Example: Ibong Adarna by Jose Dela Cruz (Huseng Sisiw) e. Sonnet—a lyric poem containing fourteen iambic lines, and a complicated thyme. Example: Santang Abad by Alfonso P. Santos LITERARY DEVICES IN POETRY 1. Figures of Speech * Simile — consists of comparing two things using the words like or as. Example: Your face is as big as a seed, But you do not bear fruit... (Lines from A Secret by Carlos Bulosan) * Metaphor - uses direct comparison of two unlike things or ideas. Example: Dear Lord: Let thou be the street-cleaner Whilst I be the read . (Prayer by NVM Gonzales) * Personification — gives human traits to inanimate objects or ideas. Example: The bullet said to the heart: From now on we shall never part (Lines from Communion by Gerson M. Mallillin) * Apostrophe — is a direct address to someone absent, dead, or inanimate. Example: Little sampaguita With the wandering eye Did a tiny fairy Drop you where you lie? (Lines from The Sampaguita by Natividad Marquez) * Metonymy ~ substitutes a word that closely relates to a person or a thing. Examples: 1, The pen is mightier than the sword. 2. He lives through the bottle. 3. Ihave read all of Shakespeare. 4, By the sweat of our brow, you will earn your food.eT ee Oa ee ee 12 Synecdoche - uses a part to represent the whole. Example: No busy hand provoke a tear. wy eoidailus. « i No roving foot shall crush thee here. Hyberbole ~ makes use of exaggeration: ta Example: I know not what to name thy charms, a Thou art half human, half divine; And if I could hold thee in my arms, Lknow both heaven and earth were mine. = (Lines from The Rural Maid r by Fernando M. Maramang) Trony ~ says the opposite of what is meant. Example: [fall these men whose heads are with the stars, Who dream unceasingly of blazing royalty, Will only strive to be like you. A dweller of the sod with the heart of loyalty! (Lines from To A Dog by Florizel Diaz) Allusion - refers to any literary, biblical, historical, mythological, scientific event, character or place. Example: The penduluin Isa thing of thread To nervous persons like me It reminds one of swaying Iseariot- Suspended from a'tree. (Lines from After Palanan by Rene A. Iturralde) Antithesis — involves a contrast of words or ideas. Example: 1, \“Love is so short... Forgetting is so long.” 2. “You miny be through ith the past but the past isn’t through with you.” Man proposes, God disposes. They promised freedom and provided slavery. Paradox — uses a phrase or statement that on surface seems contradictor, but makes some kind of emotional sense. Example: My dear, canst thou resolve for me This paradox of love concerning thee Mine eyes, when opened, with thy beauty fill — But when they're closed they see thee better still (Lines from Paradox By A.E. Litiatco)+ Litotes ~ makes a deliberate understatement used to affirm by negating ils opposite. Example: War is not healthy for children And other living things * Oxymoron — puts together in one statement two contradictory terms. Examples: 1. resident — alien 2. silent scream 3. living dead 4, ‘clearly misunderstood 5. butt head * Onomatopoeia — the formation.or use of words which imitate sounds, but the term is generally expanded to refer to any word whose sound is suggestive of its meaning whether by imitation or through cultural inference. ~ ra + Examples: 1. Whisper Buzz Boom Bang Crackle ARON 20 The Essay Is a prose composition of moderate length usually expository in nature, which aims to explain or clear up an idea, a theory, an expression, or point of view. Is the most popular form of literature. Is any written text that is not a poem, is not a novel and is not a drama. ELEMENTS OF ESSAY A, Theme and Content ~ what is the main point of the essay? * Trivial, common place, unusual, controversial * Appraise, criticize, expand, comment, lament, celebrate * Human nature, social conditions, manners, politics, attitudes, art * Creating a single impression or producing a single effect with the work * Present ideas, describe events, interpret experiences Form and Structure — how are ideas ordered to achieve a single effect? * Unity, of expression, coherence and cohesion * Orderly, systemic, logical manner + Three basic parts: introduction, main body, conclusion © Two major patterns: inductive and deductive * Expository devices: definition, description, narration, analogyLITERARY TEXT 1 FILIPINO FOLK TALE The Great Flood (Tinggians) The Tinggians also known as Itueg, I-tineg, Tinguian, Tinguianea, Itnek, Mandaya and Tingian - these people live near the Tineg fiver, in the provinces of Abra, Ilocos Sur, and Iloilo, with concentrations in the municipalities of Tubo, Manabo, Salapadan, San Quintin, Luba and Boliney; speaks Nokang and differ fro ilippine groups in their taste for dressing in white; the women. are also known for their extensive and eavily beader lower arm ornaments, The Tinggians, a group of pagan people inhabiting the interior hills of Abra, have their own story of the Great Deluge The tragic incident began with the abduction of Humitau, a sea-maiden guard of tau-mari-u, lord of the sea, by Aponi-tolau, One day, Aponi-tolau, god-hero of the Tinggians, went down to the lowlands, He wandered aimlessly through the plains until he reached the seashore. The.calm blue sea, massive and yet helpless beneath the morning sun which flooded it with golden light, fascinated the young man. And unable to resist the beauty of the dancing wavelets, he made a rattan raft and rowed seaward. On and on he rowed until to the edge of the world. There, in a place where the sea and the sky meet, Aponi-tolau saw a towering’ rock, home of Tau-mari-u, lord of the sea. It was guarded by nine beautiful daughters of the seaweeds. The radiance of the ocean light reflecting silver and gold upon the greenish hair of the nine guards as they played around the palace gates, chasing one another in gay laughter, attracted the mountain lord. Gathering his courage, the Tinggian warrior wentnearer the palace gates. However, when he inquired what place it was, the maiden guards laughed at him and lured him further inside the palace walls. This made Aponi-tolau very angry. Taking his magic hook, he lashed at the unsuspecting maidens. The hook hit the youngest and the most beautiful among them, Humitau. The young diata gave a loud and piercing scream and struggled desperately to free herself from Aponi-tolau’s grip. But the magic oil which the mountain lord had placed at the tip of his hook weakened her blood and soon she was helpless, A wild uproar followed as the guards screamed and fled the gates. Aponi-tolau hurriedly picked up the unconscious body of the sea-maiden, loaded it on his rattan raft and rowed shoreward. Shortly after the Tinggian hero had left the bauwvi (native hut) gates, Tau-mari-u went out of his abode to see what the commotion was all about. But he was too late. In his rage, Tau-mari-u summoned the waves and tunas of the sea and ordered them to bring back the intruder. The waves lashed at the raft of the mountain warrior and tunas pushed it back.9. Alarmed, Aponi-tolau cried out to his mother, Lang-an of Kadalayapan, mistress of the wind and rain, for help. The great goddess heard her son’s plea and immediately sent down strong winds to pull Aponi-tolau ashore. Despite the fury of the waves and efforts of the tunas, the Tinggian warrior was able to reach the shore unharmed. 10. But Taru-mari-u was furious. He immediately called a meeting of the gods and demigods of the seas and oceans, who agreed to punish the dwellers of the land for what Aponi-tolu had done. 1 . From the sky, Lang-an knew the plan. She immediately called for the north wind and sent him to wam her son of the impending flood. She instructed the mountain lord to go to the highest peak of the Cordillera mountains for safety. Obediently, Apomi-tolau took the members of his household to the mountain top and waited. The flood came. From his bauwi, Aponi-tolau saw mighty waves sweeping across the plains, filling the valleys and destroying the crops and working animals of the inhabitants. Higher and higher went the water until it covered the mountain top but for the few square meters where aponi-tolau and his household took shelter. 12. Frightened, Humitau gave a desperate cry. She knew thatshe could no longer swim or live in the water after having tasted the mountain food which her husband had given her. The charm removed her sea powers. She implored Tau-maru to save her. 13. Despite his anger, the water lord took pity upon his favourite Humitau. So he called back the water and the waves. But he promised that henceforth he would sink men’s boats and drown passengers until Aponi-tolau and his wife went down to the lowlands and from them came the people of the world. pon tolav = Ged - nero of tht Tinggians Rumitav Sea maiden gua Tau -mari- U ~ lord of +ne sea VANG-an - mother <¢ Kponj telau T MISHESS OF Yhe Wind 3 rain “ the output of this period (pre-colonial) consisted of folklore, epics and practically dramatic ‘forms expressed in spontaneous and instinctive manner...” - Ophelia Alcantara-Dimalanta University of Santo Tomas Manila aLITERARY TEXT 2 FOLK TALE The Monkey and the Turtle (Bilaan) Bilaan are a tribal community of Southern Mindanao, the name of this indigenous group comes from the words Blg and_An, meaning Opponent People, They are renowned hunters and food gatherers, hunted wild animals and were reaping grains, rootcrops, fruits and herbs in the once vast open space of cogonal land, known as Kolon Datal, nowadays Koronadal City. Likewise, they live in Lake Sebu and other municipalities of South Cotabato and are one of the major non-Islamic tribal groups in the Southern Philippines. o aoe 10 1 12 One morning, a monkey and a turtle who were close friends talked about their situation. After a while, the monkey said, “Let's go to the 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 on 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 pigs 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’ trap had a pig, his had 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. “Twent to the river to take a bath,” was the reply. 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, [had.a good dream. Our traps must have surely something in them,” the monkey said The turtle was surprised to find a pig up the tree and 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 itout. 332 22 rs) 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 34 “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 may hit my back but Lam protected by my shell. Can’t you see Lam alive?” The monkey was dismayed but 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 tur to shoot came but the turtle was not afraid. His shell was very thick. The arrows bounced. Each time the turtle released an arrow, ithita 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 is yours.” The monkey 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. Sometime 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 riverbank 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 next visit to their kaingin brought happiness to the 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 a good buyo leaf, his tail was like betel nut, and his brain tasted like superior lime. He chewed the concoction and was pleased with himself.Ey 32 33 37 38 40. On his way home, he meta 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 ina leaf from a wild tree that grew by the roadside. He told the monkeys 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 wonderful nama. After chewing some, many threw up; others felt weak and dropped dead. Those who did not partake of the nama realized that what their companions ate 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 a flat stone. Each monkey beat him with a stone. They saw how the turtle enjoyed it, “Go ahead, continue beating me so Ill tum out wide and flat; then I will be able to lick you all with my tail.” So the monkeys decided to throw him into the river. This seemed to frighten the turtle. Seeing how pale the turtle was, the monkeys were sure they decided on the right thing. So into the water the turtle went with a splash. “Ha-ha!” The monkeys heard the turtle laugh. “Don’t you know that I can live on water?” The monkeys were very mad. Then it happened thata deer was drinking upstream. They asked the deer to drink alll 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 use a com cob to close the orifice. The monkeys waded toward the turtle while the deer drew water from the river. When the monkeys could almost make it to the turtle, tabtuko (a bird) pecked on the corn cob and out-went the water again. Thrice the deer drew the water; thrice did the tabtuko remove the corn cob. Three monkeys drowned. The tabtuko incurred the monkey's wrath because they never succeeded in laying their hands on the turtle, they seized the bird and twisted its neck. The bird writhed in pain and felt its end was near. “You won't kill me that way. Can‘t you see you're 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 my feathers and leave me on that stone near the river. In a week's time you will see worms feasting on my body.” The monkey stripped the fabiuko of all its plume and left it on the stone. After a week, they saw what looked like worms all over the fabtuko’s body. They thought it was rotting. When the monkeys left, the bird stretched its wings and examined what it knew would tum 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 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! Dowr he fell with a large crash. His lizard friend went to him but he was beyond help; his shell was broken into a thousand pieces. And while the sun hid behind the tree, the turtle died. 35LITERARY TEXT 3. Paz Marquez Benitez (1894-1983) only had one more published short story after “Dead Stars.” Nevertheless, she made her mark in Philippine literatures because her work is considered the first modern Philippine short story. Paz Marquez - Benitez was not only a writer, but the teacher of several major Filipino writers, including Manuel E. Arquilla, Bienvinido N. Santos and Jose Garcia Villa. In this classic story can be found the seeds of Philippine short fiction in English. nae hy (a0 at DEAD STARS ge Paz Marquez Benitez Through the open window the air steeped outdoor passed into his room, quietly enveloping him, stealing into his very thought. Esperanza, Julia the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to come even now beginning to weigh down, to crush = they lost concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of conversation issued from the brick-tiled azotea where Don Julian and Carmen were busy puttering away among the rose pots. “Papa when will the long table be set?” “1 don’t know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but I understand Esperanza wants it to be next month.” Carmen sighed impatiently. “Why is he not a bit more decided, I wonder. He is over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must be tired waiting.” “She does notseem to be in much ofa hurry either,” Don Julian nasally commented, while his rose scissors busily snipped away. "How can a woman be ina hurry when the man does not hurry her?” Carmen returned, pinching off a worm with a careful, somewhat absent air. “Papa, do you remember how much in love he was?” “In love? With whom?” “With Esperanza, of course. He has not had another love affair that I know of,” she said with good-natured contempt. “What I mean is that at the beginning he was enthusiastic — flowers, serenades, notes and things like that —” Alfredo remembered that period with a wonder not unmixed with shame. That was less than four years ago. He could not understand those months of a great hunger that was not of the body nor yet of the mind, a craving that had seized on him one quiet night when the moon was abroad and under the dappled shadow of the trees in the plaza, man wooed maid. Was he being cheated by life? Love he seemed to have missed it. Or was the love that others told about a mere fabrication of a fervid imagination, an exaggeration of the common place, a glorification of Al10. a 15. 16. i 42 something is bering insipid ménotonies such as made up his love life? Was love a combination of circumstances, or sheer native capacity of soul? In those days love was, for him, still the eternal puzzle; for love. As he knew it, was a stranger to love as he divined itmight be. Sitting quietly in his room now, he could almost revive the restlessness of those days, the feeling of tumultuous haste, such as he knew so well in his boyhood when something beautiful was going on somewhere and he was trying to get there in time to see, “hurry, hurry, or you will miss it,” someone had seemed to urge in his ears. So he had avidly seized on the shadow of love and deluded himself for a Jong time while in the way of humanity from time immemorial. In the meantime, he became very much engaged to Esperanza. Why would men so mismanage their lives? Greed, he thought, was what ruined so many. Greed — the desire to crowd into a moment all the enjoyment it will hold, to squeeze from the hour all the emotion it will yield. Men commit themselves when but half-meaning to do so, sacrificing possible future fullness of ecstasy to the craving for immediate excitement greed — mortgaging the future — forcing the hand of Time, or of Fate. “What do you think happened?” asked Carmen, pursuing her thought. “I suppose long-engaged people are like that; warm now, cool tomorrow. I think they are often cool than warm. The very fact that an engagement has been allowed to prolong itself argues a certain placidity of temperament — or of an affection — on the part of either, or both.” Don Julian loved to philosophize. He was talking now with an evident relish in words, his tesonant, very nasal voice toned down to monologue pitch. “That phase you were speaking of is natural enough for a beginning. Besides, that, as I see it, was Alfredo’s last race with escaping youth -” Carmen laughed aloud at the thought of her brother's perfect physical repose- almost indolence ~ disturbed in the role suggested by her father’s figurative language. “Klast mn t of hot blood,” finished the old man. Few certainly would credit Alfredo Salazar with hot blood. Even his friends had amusedly diagnosed his blood as cool and thin, citing incontrovertible evidence, Tall and slender, he moved with an indolent ease that verged on grace. Under straight recalcitrant hair, a thin face with a satisfying breadth of forehead, slow, dreamer’s eyes, and astonishing freshness of lips — indeed Alfredo Salazar’ appearance betokened little of exuberant masculinity; rather a poet with wayward humor, a fastidious artist with keen, clear brain. He rose and quietly went out of the house. He lingered a moment in the stone steps; then went down the path shaded by immature acacias, through the little tarred gate he left swinging back and forth, now opening, now closing, on the gravel road bordered along the farther side by madre cacao hedge in tardy lavender bloom.18. 20. ai. 24. 25. 2 27. 28. 29. oy The gravel road narrowed as it slanted up to the house on the hill, whose wide, open porches he could glimpse through the heat-shrivelled tamarinds in’ the Martinez yard. Six weeks ago that house meant nothing to him save that it was the Martinez house, rented and occupied by Judge del Valle and his family. Six weeks ago Julia Sala meant nothing to him; he did not even know her name; but now — He made ita point to avoid all appearance of currying favour with the judge. This particular evening however, he had allowed himself to be persuaded. “A little mental relaxation now and then is beneficial,” the old man had said. “Besides, a judge’s good will, you know,” the rest of the thought ~ “is worth a rising young lawyer's trouble” ~ Don Julian conveyed through a shrug and a smile that derided his own worldly wisdom. A young woman had met themat the door. It was evident from the excitement of the Judge’s children that she was a recent and very welcome arrival. In characteristic Filipino way formal introductions had been omitted — the judge limiting himself to a casual “Alt, ya se conocen?” - With the consequence that Alfredo called her Miss del Valle throughout the evening. He was puzzled that she should smile with evident delight ever time he addressed her thus. Later, Don Julian informed him that she was not the judge's sister, as he had supposed, but his sister-in-law, and that her name was Julia Salas. Very dignified rather austere name, he thought. Still, the young lady should have corrected him. As it was, he was greatly embarrassed, and felt that he should explain. . To his apology, she replied, “Thatis nothing, each time I was asked about to correct you, but I remembered a similar experience I had once before.” “Oh,” he drawled out, vastly relieved. “A man named Manalang - I kept calling him Manalo. After the tenth time or so, the young man rose from his seat and said suddenly, “Pardon me, but my name is Manalang, Manalang. You know, Inever forgave him!” He laughed with her. “The best thing to do under the circumstances, I have found out,” she pursued, “is to pretend not to hear, and to let the other person find out his mistake without help.” ; “As you did this time. Still, you looked amused every time I-” “1 was thinking of Mr. Manalang.” ). Don Julian and his uncommunicative friend, the judge, were absorbed in a game of chess. The young man had tired of playing appreciative spectator and desultory conversationalist, so he and Julia Salas had gone off to chat in the vine-covered porch. The lone piano in the neighbourhood alternately tinkled and banged away 43as the player's moods altered. He listened, and wondered irrelevantly if Miss Salas could sing; she had such a charming speaking voice. 3 . He was mildly surprised to note from her appearance that she was unmistakably a sister of the Judge’s wife, although Dona Adela was of a different type altogether. She was small and plump, with wide brown eyes, clearly defined eyebrows, and delicately modelled hips - a pretty woman with the complexion of a baby and the expression of a likable cow. Julia was taller, not so obviously pretty. She had the same eyebrows and lips, but she was much darker, of a smooth rich brown with underlying tones of crimson which heightened the impression she gave of abounding vitality. 32. On Sunday mornings after mass, father and son would go crunching up the gravel road to the house on the hill. The Judge’s wife invariably offered them beer, which Don Julian enjoyed and Alfredo did not. After a half hour or so, the chessboard would be brought out; then Alfredo and Julia Salas would go out to the porch to chat. She sat in the low hammock and he ina rocking chair and the hours — warm, quiet March hours — sped by. He enjoyed talking with her and it was evident that she liked his company; yet what feeling there was between them was so undisturbed that it seemed a matter of course. Only when Esperanza chanced to ask him indirectly about those visits did some uneasiness creep into his thoughts of the girl next door. 33. Esperanza had wanted to know if he went straight home after mass. Alfredo suddenly realized that for several Sundays now he had not waited for Esperanza to come out of the church as he had been wont to do. He had been eager to go “neighboring.” 34, He answered that he went home to work. And, because he was not habitually untruthful, added, “Sometimes I go with Papa to Judge del Valle’s.” » 35. She dropped the topic. Esperanza was not prone to indulge in unprovoked jealousies. She was a believer in the regenerative virtue of institutions, in their power to regulate feeling as well as conduct. Ifa man were married, why, of course, he loved his wife; if he were engaged, he could not possibly love another woman. 36. That half-lie told him what he had not admitted openly to himself, that he was giving Julia Salas something which he was not free to give. He realized that; yet something that would not be denied beckoned imperiously, and he followed on. 37. It was so easy to forget up there, away from the prying eyes of the world, so easy and so poignantly sweet. The beloved woman, he standing close to her, the shadows around, enfolding. 38. “Up here I find — something -” 39. He and Julia Salas stood looking out into the quiet night. Sensing unwanted intensity, laughed, woman-like, asking, “Amusement?” 40. “No; youth-its spirit—“ 4441. “Are you so old?” 42. "And heart's desire.” 43, Was he becoming a poet, or is there a poet lurking in the heart of every man? 44. “Down there,” he had continued, his voice somewhat indistinct, “the road is too broad, too trodden by feet, too barren of mystery.” 45. “Down there” beyond the ancient tamarinds lay the road, upturned to the stars. In the darkness the fireflies glimmered, while an errant breeze strayed in from somewhere, bringing elusive, faraway sounds as of voices ina dream. 46. “Mystery ~“she answered lightly,” that is so brief —” 47. “Not in some,” quickly. “Not in you.” 48. “You have known me a few weeks; so the mystery.” 49. “I could study you all my life and still not find it.” 50. “So long?” 51. “I should like to.” 52. Those six weeks were now so swift - seeming in the memory, yet had they been so deep in the living, so charged with compelling power and sweetness. Because neither the past nor the future had relevance or meaning, he lived only the present, day by day, lived it intensely, with such a willfull shutting out of fact as astounded him in his calmer moments. 53. Just before Holy Week, Don Julian invited the judge and his family to spend Sunday afternoon at Tanda where he had a coconut plantation and a house on the beach, Carmen also came with her four energetic children. She and Dona Adela spent most of the time indoors directing the preparation of the merienda and discussing the likeable absurdities of their husbands — how Carmen’s Vicente was so absorbed in his farms that he would not even take time off to accompany her on this visit to her father; how Dona Adela’s Dionisio was the most absentminded of men, sometimes going out without his collar, or with unmatched socks. 54. After the merienda, Don Julian sauntered off with the judge to show him what a thriving young coconut looked like - “plenty of leaves, close ser, rich green” — while the children, convoyed by Julia Salas, found unending entertainment in the rippling sand left by the ebbing tide. They were far down, walking at the edge of the water, indistinctly outlines against the gray of the out-curving beach. 55. Alfredo left his perch on the bamboo ladder of the house and followed. Here were her footsteps, narrow, arched. He laughed at himself for his black canvas footwear which he removed forthwith and tossed high up on dry sand. 56. When he came up, she flushed, then smiled with frank pleasure. 57. “Thope you are enjoying this,” he said with a questioning inflection. 4558. “Very much. It looks like home to me, except that we do not have such a lovely beach.” 59. There was a breeze from the water. It blew the hair away from her forehead, and whipped the tucked-up skirt around her straight, slender figure. In the picture was something of eager freedom as of wings poised in flight. The girl had grace, distinction. Her face was not notably pretty; yet she had a tantalizing charm, all the more compelling because it was an inner quality, an achievement of the spirit. The lure was there, of naturalness, of an alert vitality of mind and body, ofa thoughtful, sunny temper, and of a piquant perverseness which is sauce to charm. 60. “The afternoon has seemed very short, hasn't it?” Then, “This, I think, is the last time — we can visit.” 61. “The last? Why? 62. “Oh, you will be too busy perhaps.” 63. He noted an evasive quality in the answer. 64. “Do I seem especially industrious to you?” 65. “If you are, you never look it.” 66. “Not perspiring or breathless, as a busy man ought to be.” 67. “But -" 68. “Always unhurried, too unhurried, and calm. “ She smiled to herself. 69. I wish that were true, “he said after a meditative pause. 7 3 She waited. 71. “A man is happier if he is, as you say, calm and placid.” 72. “Like a carabao in a mud pool,” she retorted perversely 73. “Who? I?” 74, “Oh, no!” 75. "You said | am calm and placid.” 76. "That is what I think.” 77. “used to think so too, Shows how little we know of ourselves.” 78. It was strange to him that he could be wooing thus; with tone and look and covert phrase. 79. “I should like to see your home town.” 80. “There is nothing to see — little crooked streets, bunut roofs with ferns growing on them, and sometimes squashes.” 4681. 82. 83. 85. 86. 8 & 88. 8: 2° a 92. 93. 95. 97. 98. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. That was the background. It made her seem less detached, less unrelated, yet withal more distant, as if that background claimed her and excluded him. “Nothing? There is you.” “Oh, me? But Iam here.” “{ will not go, of course, until you are there.” “Will you come? You will find it dull. There isn’t even one American there!” “Well-- Americans are rather essential to my entertainment.” . She laughed. “We live on Calle Luz, a little street with trees.” “Could I find that?” “If you don’t ask for Miss del Valle,” she smiled teasingly. “11 inquire about~" “What?” “The house of the prettiest girl in the town.” “There is where you will lose your way.” Then she tured serious. “Now, that is not quite sincere.” “It is,” he averred slowly, but emphatically. “| thought you, at least, would not say such things.” “Pretty-~pretty--a foolish word! But there is none other more handy I did not mean that quite” “ Are you withdrawing the compliment?” “Re-enforcing it, maybe. Something is pretty when it pleases the eye -- it is more than that when~” “If it saddens?” she interrupted hastily. “Exactly.” “It must be ugly.” “Always?” Toward the west, the sunlight lay on the dimming waters in a broad, glinting streamer of crimsoned gold. “No, of course you are right.” . “Why did you say this is the last time?” he asked quietly as they turned back. 47107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 413. 114. 116. 117. 118. Tiae 120. 121. 122. LR 48 “1 am going home.” The end of an impossible dream! “When?” after a long silence. “Tomorrow. I received a letter from Father and Mother yesterday. They want me to spend Holy Week at home.” She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “That is why I said this is the last time.” “Can't I come to say good-bye?” “Oh, you don’t need to!” “No, but I want to.” “There is no time.” The golden streamer was withdrawing, shortening, until it looked no more than a pool far away at the rim of the world. Stillness, a vibrant quiet that affects the senses as does solemn harmony; a peace that is not contentment but a cessation of tumult when all violence of feeling tones down to the wistful serenity of regret. She turned and looked into his face, in her dark eyes a ghost of sunset sadness. “Home seems so far from here. This is almost like another life.” “1 know. This is Elsewhere, and yet strange enough, I cannot get rid of the old things.” “Old things?” “Oh, old things, mistakes, encumbrances, old baggage.” He said it lightly, unwilling to mar the hour. He walked close, his hand sometimes touching hers for one whirling second. Don Julian's nasal summons came to them on the wind. Alfredo gripped the soft hand so near his own. At his touch, the girl turned her face away, but he heard her voice say very low, “Good-bye.” -U- ALFREDO Salazar turned to the right where, farther on, the road broadened and entered the heart of the town -- heart of Chinese stores sheltered under low- hung roofs, of indolent drug stores and tailor shops, of dingy shoe-repairing establishments, and a cluttered goldsmith’s cubbyhole where a consumptive bent over a magnifying lens; heart of old brick-roofed houses with quaint hand- and-ball knockers on the door; heart of grass-grown plaza reposeful with trees, of ancient church and convento, now circled by swallows gliding in flight as smooth and soft as the afternoon itself. Into the quickly deepening twilight,125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 134. the voice of the biggest of the church bells kept ringing its insistent summons. Flocking came the devout with their long wax candles, young women in vivid apparel (for this was Holy Thursday and the Lord was still alive), older women in sober black skirts. Came too the young men in droves, elbowing each other under the talisay tree near the church door. The gaily decked rice-paper lanterns were again on display while from the windows of the older houses hung colored glass globes, heirlooms from a day when grasspith wicks floating in coconut oil were the chief lighting device. . Soon a double row of lights emerged from the church and uncoiled down the length of the street like a huge jewelled band studded with glittering clusters where the saints’ platforms were. Above the measured music rose the untutored voices of the choir, steeped in incense and the acrid fumes of burning wax. The sight of Esperanza and her mother sedately pacing behind Our Lady of Sorrows suddenly destroyed the illusion of continuity and broke up those lines of light into component individuals. Esperanza stiffened self-consciously, tried to look unaware, and could not. The line moved on. Suddenly, Alfredo’s slow blood began to beat violently, irregularly. A girl was coming down the line -- a girl that was striking, and vividly alive, the woman that could cause violent commotion in his heart, yet had no place in the completed ordering of his life. Her glance of abstracted devotion fell on him and came to a brief stop. The line kept moving on, wending its circuitous route away from the church and then back again, where, according to the old proverb, all processions end. At last Our Lady of Sorrows entered the church, and with her the priest and the choir, whose voices now echoed from the arched ceiling. The bells rang the close of the procession. A round orange moon, “huge as a winnowing basket,” rose lazily into a clear sky, whitening the iron roofs and dimming the lantems at the windows. Along the still densely shadowed streets the young women with their rear guard of males loitered and, maybe, took the longest way home. . Toward the end of the row of Chinese stores, he caught up with Julia Salas. The crowd had dispersed into the side streets, leaving Calle Real to those who lived farther out. It was past eight, and Esperanza would be expecting him ina little while: yet the thought did not hurry him as he said “Good evening” and fell into step with the girl. “Thad been thinking all this time that you had gone,” he said in a voice that was both excited and troubled. “No, my sister asked me to stay until they are ready to go.” 49135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152, 154. 155. 156. 157. 50 “Oh, is the Judge going?” “Yes.” The provincial docket had been cleared, and Judge del Valle had been assigned elsewhere. As lawyer-- and as lover Alfredo had found that out long before. “Mr. Salazar,” she broke into his silence, “I wish to congratulate you.” Her tone told him that she had learned, at last. That was inevitable. “For what?” “For your approaching wedding.” Some explanation was due her, surely. Yet what could he say that would not offend? “1 should have offered congratulations long before, but you know mere visitors are slow about getting the news,” she continued. . He listened not so much to what she said as to the nuances in her voice. He heard nothing to enlighten him, except that she had reverted to the formal tones of early acquaintance. No revelation there; simply the old voice-- cool, almost detached from personality, flexible and vibrant, suggesting potentialities of song. 5. “Are weddings interesting to you?” he finally brought out quietly 146. 147. “When they are of friends, yes.” “Would you come if I asked you?” “When is it going to be?” “May,” he replied briefly, after a long pause. “May is the month of happiness they say,” she said, with what seemed to him a shade of irony. “They say,” slowly, indifferently. “Would you come?’ “Why not?” “No reason. Tam just asking. Then you will?” “If you will ask me,” she said with disdain. “Then I ask you.” “Then I will be there.” The gravel road lay before them; at the road’s end the lighted windows of the house on the hill. There swept over the spirit of Alfredo Salazar a longing so keen that it was pain, a wish that, that house were his, that all the bewilderments159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166. 167. 168. 169. 170. 171. of the present were not, and that this woman by his side were his long wedded wife, returning with him to the peace of home. “Julita,” he said in his slow, thoughtful manner, “did you ever have to choose between something you wanted to do and something you had to do?” “Nol” “| thought maybe you had had that experience; then you could understand a man who was in such a situation.” “You are fortunate,” he pursued when she did not answer. “Ts- is this man sure of what he should do?” “T don’t know, Julita. Perhaps not. But there is a point where a thing escapes us and rushes downward of its own weight, dragging us along. Then it is foolish to ask whether one will or will not, because it no longer depends on him.” “But then why-- why-~” her muffled voice came. “Oh, what do I know? That is his problem after all.” “Doesn't it-- interest you?” “Why must it? I-- have to say good-bye, Mr. Salazar; we are at the house.” Without lifting her eyes she quickly turned and walked away. Had the final word been said? He wondered. It had. Yet a feeble flutter of hope trembled in his mind though set against that hope were three years of engagement, a very neat wedding, perfect understanding between the parents, his own conscience, and Esperanza herself Esperanza waiting, Esperanza no longer young, Esperanza the efficient, the literal-minded, the intensely acquisitive. He looked attentively at her where she sat on the sofa, appraisingly, and with a Kind of aversion which he tried to control. She was one of those fortunate women who have the gift of uniformly acceptable appearance. She never surprised one with unexpected homeliness nor with startling reserves of beauty. At home, in church, on the street, she was always herself, a woman past first bloom, light and clear of complexion, spare of arms and of breast, with a slight convexity to thin throat; a woman dressed with self- conscious care, even’elegance; a woman distinctly not average. She was pursuing an indignant relation about something or other, something about Calixta, their note-carrier, Alfredo perceived, so he merely half-listened, understanding imperfectly. At a pause he drawled out to fill in the gap: “Well, what of it?” The remark sounded ruder than he had intended. 51172. 173. 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181 182. 183. 184. 185. 186. 187. 188. 2 “She is not married to him,” Esperanza insisted in her thin, nervously pitched voice. “Besides, she should have thought of us. Nanay practically brought her up. We never thought she would tun out bad.” What had Calixta done? Homely, middle-aged Calixta? “You are very positive about her badness,” he commented dryly. Esperanza was always positive. “But do you approve?” “Of what?” “What she did.” “No,” indifferently. “well?” He was suddenly impelled by a desire to disturb the unvexed orthodoxy of her mind. “All I say is that it is not necessarily wicked.” “Why shouldn’t it be? You talked like an-- immoral man. I did not know that your ideas were like that.” “My ideas?” he retorted, goaded by a deep, accumulated exasperation. “The only test I wish to apply to conductis the test of fairness. Am I injuring anybody? No? Then, I am justified in my conscience. I am right. Living with a man to whom she is not married-- is that it? It may be wrong, and again it may not.” “She has injured us, She was ungrateful.” Her voice was tight with resentment. “The trouble with you, Esperanza, is that you are~-” he stopped, appalled by the passion in his voice “Why do you get angry? I do not understand you at all! I think I know why you have been indifferent to me lately. I am not blind, or deaf; I see and hear what perhaps some are trying to keep from me.” The blood surged into his very eyes and his hearing sharpened to points of acute pain. What would she say next? “Why don’t you speak out frankly before it is too late? You need not think of me and of what people will say.” Her voice trembled. Alfredo was suffering as he could not remember ever having suffered before. What people will say-- what will they not say? What will they say when long engagements are broken almost on the eve of the wedding? “Yes,” he said hesitatingly, diffidently, as if merely thinking aloud, “one tries to. be fair-- according to his lights-- but it is hard. One would like to be fair to one’s self first, But that is too easy, one does not dare~”190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. “What do you mean?” she asked with repressed violence. “Whatever my shortcomings, and no doubt they are many in your eyes, I have never gone out of my way, of my place, to find a man.” Did she mean by this irrelevant remark that he it was who had sought her; or was that a covert attack on Julia Salas? “Esperanza” a desperate plea lay in his stumbling words. “If you-- suppose I~” Yet how could a mere man word such a plea? “If you mean you want to take back your word, if you are tired of-- why don’t you tell me you are tired of me?” she burst out in a storm of weeping that left him completely shamed and unnerved. The last word had been said. -Il- As Alfredo Salazar leaned against the boat rail to watch the evening settling over the lake, he wondered if Esperanza would attribute any significance to this trip of his. He was supposed to be in Sta. Cruz whither the case of the People of the Philippine Islands vs. Belina ef al had kept him, and there he would have been if Brigida Samuy had not been so important to the defense. He had to find that elusive old woman. That the search was leading him to that particular lake town which was Julia Salas’ home should not disturb him unduly. Yet he was disturbed to a degree utterly out of proportion to the prosaicalness of his errand. That inner tumult was no surprise to him; in the last eight years he had become used to such occasional storms. He had long realized that he could not forget Julia Salas. Still, he had tried to be content and not to remember too much. The climber of mountains who has known the back-break, the lonegomeness, and the chill, finds a certain restfulness in level paths made easy to his feet. He looks up sometimes from the valley where settles the dusk of evening, but he knows he must not heed the radiant beckoning. Maybe, in time, he would cease even to look up. He was not unhappy in his marriage. He felt no rebellion: only the calm of capitulation to what he recognized as irresistible forces of circumstance and of character. His life had simply ordered itself; no more struggles, no more stirring up of emotions that got a man nowhere. From his capacity of complete detachment he derived a strange solace. The essential himself, had its being in the core of his thought, would, he reflected, always be free and alone. When claims encroached too insistently, as sometimes they did, he retreated into the inner fastness, and from that vantage he saw things and people around him as remote and alien, as incidents that did not matter. At such times did Esperanza feel baffled and helpless; he was gentle, even tender, but immeasurably far away, beyond her reach. Lights were springing into life on the shore. That was the town, a little up-tilted town nestling in the dark greenness of the groves. A snub crested belfry stood beside the ancient church. On the outskirts the evening smudges glowed red 33197. 198. 199, 200. 202. 203. 204. 205. 206. 54 through the sinuous mists of smoke that rose and lost themselves in the purple shadows of the hills. There was a young moon which grew slowly luminous as the coral tints in the sky yielded to the darker blues of evening. The vessel approached the landing quietly, trailing a wake of long golden ripples on the dark water. Peculiar hill inflections came to his ears from the crowd assembled to meet the boat~ slow, singing cadences, characteristic of the Laguna lake-shore speech. From where he stood he could not distinguish faces, so he had no way of knowing whether the presidente was there to meet him or not. Just then a voice shouted. “Is the abogado there? Abogado!” “What abogado?” someone irately asked. That must be the presidente, he thought, and went down to the landing. It was a policeman, a tall pock-marked individual. The presidente had left with Brigida Samuy-Tandang “Binday’-- that noon for Santa Cruz. Sefior Salazar’s second letter had arrived late, but the wife had read it and said, “Go and meet the abogacio and invite him to our house.” Alfredo Salazar courteously declined the invitation. He would sleep on board since the boat would leave at four the next morning anyway. So the presidente had received his first letter? Alfredo did not know because that official had not sent an arfswer. “Yes,” the policeman replied, “but he could not write because we heard that Tandang Binday was in San Antonio so we went there to find her.” San Antonio was up in the hills! Good man, the presidente! He, Alfredo, must do something for him. It was not very every day that one met with such willingness tohelp. Eight o'clock, lugubriously tolled from the bell tower, found the boat settled into asomnolent quiet. A cot had been brought out and spread for him, but it was too bare to be inviting at that hour. It was too early to sleep: he would walk around the town. His heart beat faster as he picked his way to shore over the rafts made fast to sundry piles driven into the water. How peaceful the town was! Here and there a little tienda was still open, its dim light issuing forlonly through the single window which served as counter. An occasional couple sauntered by, the women’s chinelas making scraping sounds. Froma distance the shrill voices of children playing games on the street ~ tubigan perhaps, or “hawk-and-chicken.” The thought of Julia Salas in that quiet place fill him with a pitying sadness. How would life seem now ifhe had married Julia Salas? Had he meant anything to her? That unforgettable red-and-gold afternoon in early April haunted him with asense of incompleteness as restless as other unlaid ghosts. She had not married - why? Faithfulness, he reflected, was not a conscious effort at regretful memory. It was something unvolitional, maybe a recurrent awareness of irreplaceability. Irrelevant trifles — a cool wind on his forehead, far-away sounds as of voices in207. 208. 209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219. 220. a dream- at times moved him to an oddly irresistible impulses to listen as to an insistent, unfinished prayer. A few inquiries led him to a certain little tree-ceilinged street where the young moon wove indistinct filigrees of light and shadow. In the gardens the cotton tree threw its angular shadow athwart the low stone wall; and in the cool, stilly midnight the cock’s first call rose in tall, soaring jets of sound. Calle Luz. Somehow or other, he had known that he would find her house because she would surely be sitting at the window. Where else, before bedtime on a moonlit night? The house was low and the light in the sala behind her threw her head into unmistakable relief. He sensed rather than saw her start of vivid surprise. “Good evening,” he said, raising his hat. “Good evening. Oh! Are you in town?” “On some little business,” he answered with a feeling of painful constraint. “Won't you come up?” He considered. His vague plans had not inchided this. But Julia Salas had left the window, calling to her mother as she did so. After a while, someone came downstairs with a lighted candle to open the door. At last — he was shaking her hand. She had not changed much ~alittle less slender, notso eagerly alive, yetsomething, had gone. He missed it, sitting opposite her, looking thoughtfully into her fine dark eyes. She asked him about the home town, about this and that, in a sober, somewhat meditative tone. He conversed with increasing ease, though with a growing wonder that he should be there at all. He could not take his eyes from her face. What had she lost? Or was the loss his? He felt an impersonal curiosity creeping into his gaze. The girl must have noticed, for her cheek darkened in a blush. Gently — was it experimentally? — he pressed her hand at parting; but his own felt undisturbed and emotionless. Did she still care? The answer to the question hardly interested him. The young moon had set, and from the uninviting cot he could see one half of a star-studded sky. So that was all over. Why had he obstinately clung to that dream? So all these years - since when? — he had been seeing the light of dead stars, long extinguished, yet seemingly still in their appointed places in the heavens. An immense sadness as of loss invaded his spirit, a vast homesickness for some immutable refuge of the heart far away where faded gardens bloom again, and where live on in unchanging freshness, the dear, dead loves of vanished youth 55LITERARY TEXT 5 KERIMA POLOTAN-TUVERA (b-1925) of Sulu published the collection stories (1968). A consistent winner of the Carlos Palanca Memorial Award for Literature, she edited the first four volumes of the Anthology of Carlos Palanca Memorial Winners (1976). In “The Virgin” (Philippines Free Press, 1951), a first prize winner in both the Palanca contest and in the Philippine Free Press. literary contest. wo THE VIRGIN Kerima Polotan -Tuvera He went over to where Miss Mijares sat, a tall, big man, walking with an economy of movement, graceful and light, a man who knew his body and used it well. He sat in the low chair worn decrepit by countless other interviews and laid all ten finger prints carefully on the edge of her desk. She pushed a sheet towards him, rolling a pencil along with it. While he read the questions and wrote down his answers, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten, “I shall be coming back quickly,” she said, speaking distinctly in the dialect you were never sure about these people, on their first visit, if they could speak English, or even write at all; the poor were always proud and to use the dialect with them was an act of charity, you will wait for me.” As she walked to the cafeteria, Miss Mijares thought how she could easily have said. Please wait for me, or will you wait for me? But the ten years of working for the placement section had dulled the edges of her instinct for courtesy. She spoke now peremptorily, with an abruptness she knew annoyed the people about her. When she talked with the jobless across her desk, asking them the damning questions that completely run over dry lips, dirt-crusted and kerchiefs flutter in trembling hands, she was filled with an impatience she could not understand. Sign here, she said a thousand times, pushing the familiar form across, impatience growing at the sight of the man or woman tracing a wavering “x” or laying the impress of a thumb. Invariably, Miss Mijares would turn away to touch the delicate edge of the handkerchief she wore on her breast. Where she sat alone at one of the cafeteria tables, Miss Mijares did look 34. She was slight, almost bony, but she learned early how to dress herself to achieve the illusion of the hips and bosom that really were not there. She likes puffs and shirring and little-girlish pastel colors. On her bodice, astride or lengthwise, there sat an inevitable row of thick, camouflaging rufiles that made her look almost as though she had a bosom, if she bent her shoulders slightly it inconspicuously drew her neckline open to puff some air into her bodice. Her brow was smooth and clear and she was always pushing off it the hair she kept in tight curl at night. She had thin cheeks, small, angular, falling down to 6910. bis 12. what would have been a nondescript, receding chin, but the nature’s hand erred and given her a jaw instead. When displeased, she had a lippy, almost sensual pout, surprising on such a small face. So whilenotexactly an ugly woman, she wasnota beauty. She teetered precariously on the borderline to which belonged countless woman others whom you found, if they were not working in the kitchen of some married sister’s house shushing a brood of devilish little nephews. And yet Miss Mijares did think of love. Secret, short-lived thought fitted through her mind in the jeepneys she took to work when a man pressed down beside her and through her dress she felt the curve of his thigh; when he held a baby in her arms, a married friend’s baby or relative’s holding in her hands the tin, pulsing body, what thoughts did she now think, her eyes straying against her will to the bedroom door and then to her friend’s little wayward coquetries, how went the lines about the mouth and beneath the eyes (Did they close? Did they open?) in the one final, fatal coquetry of all? To finaily, miserably bury her face in the baby’s hair. And in the movies, ah the movies, to sink into a seat as into an embrace, in the darkness with hundred shadowy figures about her and high on the screen a man kissing a woman's mouth while her own fingers stole unconsciously to her unbruished lips, When she was younger, there had been other things to do — college to finish, a niece to put through school, a mother to care for. She had gone through all these with singular patience, for it seemed to her that love stood behind her, biding his time, a quiet hand upon her shoulder (I wait, do not despair) so that if she wished she had but to turn from her mother’s bed to see the man and all her timid, pure dreams would burst into glory. But it had taken her parent many years to die. Towards the end it had become a thankless chore, kneading her mother’s loose flesh, hour after hour, struggling to bring the cold sluggish blood back to her dying body. In the end, she had died — her toothless thin-haired, flabby-fleshed mother - and Miss Mijares had pushed against the bed in grief and also in gratitude. But neither love nor glory stood behind her, only the lurking, empty shadows, and nine years gone, nine years. In the room of her unburied dead, she had held up her hands to the light, noting the thick, durable fingers, thinking in a mixture of shame and bitterness and guilt that they had never touched a man. When she returned to the bleak placement office, the man stood by a window, his back to her, half-bending over something he held in his hands. “Have you signed this?” “Yes,” he replied, facing her. Inhis hands, he held her paperweight, an old gift from long ago, a heavy, wooden block on which stood, as though poised for flight, an undistinguished, badly done bird. It had come apart recently. The screws beneath the block had loosened so that lately it had stood upon her desk with one wing tilted unevenly, miniature eagle or swallow felled by time before it could spread its wings, She had laughed20. 21. 24, and laughed that day it had fallen on her desk, plop! “What happened? What happened? They had asked her, beginning to laugh, and she had said, caught between amusement and sharp despair. “Some shot it!” and she laughed and laughed, too till faces turned and eyebrows rose and she told herself, get a hold, a hold, a hold! He turned it and with a pen-knife, tightened the screws and dusted it. In this man’s hands, cupped like that, it looked suddenly like a dove. . She took it away from him and put it down on the table. Then she picked up his paper and read it. 5. He was a high school graduate. He was also a carpenter. He was not starved, like the rest. His clothes, though old , were pressed and she could see the cuffs of his shirt buttoned and wrapped about big, strong wrists. “{ heard about this place,” he said, “From a friend you got a job for at the pier.” Seated, he towered over her. “I’m not starving yet,” he said with a quick smile, “I still got some money from the last job, but my team broke up after that you don’t stand to get too many jobs if you're working alone. You know carpentering,” he continued, “you can’t finish a job quickly enough if you got to do the planning and sewing and nailing all by your lone self. You get to be on a team.” Perhaps, he was not meaning to be impolite? But for a job-seeker, Miss Mijares thought, he talked too much and without call. He was bursting all over with an obtruding insolence that at once disarmed and annoyed her. . So then she drew a slip and wrote his name on it, “Since you are not starving yet,” she said, speaking in English now, wanting to put him in his place, “you will not mind working in our woodcraft section, three times a week, at two-fifty to four a day, depending on your skill and the foreman’s discretion, for two or three months, after which there might be a call from outside we may hold for you.” “Thank you,” he said. He came on the odd days, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. She was often down to the shanty that housed their bureau’s woodcraft, talking, with Ato, her foreman, going over with him the list of old hands to be released. They hired their men on a rotation basis and three months was the longest one could stay. “The new one there, hey,” Ato said once, “we're breaking him in proper.” And she looked across several shirted backs to where he topped planning what was to become the side of a bookcase. How much was he going to get? Miss Mijares asked Ato on Wednesday. ‘Three,” the old man said chewing away on a cud. She looked at the list in her hands, quickly running a pencil down. “but he's filling a four-peso vacancy,” she said. ‘ 7125. 26. z S 28. 29. 30. 3. 3: 8 Sa 34, om nR a come now,” surprised that she should wheedle so, “give him the extra peso.”Only a half,” the stubborn foreman shook his head, “three-fifty.” “Ato says [have you to thank,” he said, stopping Miss Mijares along the pathway in the compound It was noon, the unhappy hour of the day when she was the oldest, tiredness- when it seemed the sun put forth cruel fingers to search out the signs of age on her thin, pinched face. The crow’s feet shows unmistakably beneath her eyes and she smiled widely to cover them up and squinting a little, said, “Only a half-peso ~ Ato would have given it to you eventually.” “Yes, but you spoke for me,” he said before her. Thank you though I don’t need it as badly as the rest for the look at me, you would know I have no wife — yet.” She looked at him sharply, feeling the malice in his voice. “I'd do it for anyone,” she said and tumed away, angry and also ashamed, as though he had found out suddenly that the ruffles on her dress rested on a flat chest. The following week, something happened to her: she lost her way home. Miss Mijares was quite sure she boarded the right jeepney but the driver hoping to beat traffic, had detoured down the side alley, and then seeing he was low in gas, he took still another short cut to a filling station. After that he rode her through alien country. The houses were low and dark, the people, shadowy, and even the driver, who earlier had been amiable, talkative fellow, now loomed like a sinister stranger over the wheel. Through it all, she sat tightly, feeling oddly that she had dreamed of this, that some night not very long ago, she had taken a ride in her sleep and lost her way. Again and again, in that dream, she had changed direction, losing her way each time, for something huge and bewildering stood blocking the old, familiar road home. But that evening, she was lost only for a while. The driver stopped at a corner that looked like a little known part of the boulevard she passed each day and she alighted and stood on a street island, the passing headlights playing on her, a tired, shaken woman, the ruffles on her dress crumpled, the hemline of her skirt awry. The new hand was absent for a week. Miss Mijares waited on that Tuesday he first failed to report some word from him, sent to Ato and then to her. That was regulation. Briefly though they were held, the bureau jobs were not ones to take chances with. When a man was absent and he sent no word, it upset the system. In the absence of a definite notice, someone else who needed a job badly was kept away from it. “Lwent to the province ma’am,” he said, on his return. “You could have sent someone to tell us,” she said. “It was an emergency, ma’am,” he said.“How so?” “My son died.” ges A slow, embittered anger began to form inside her. “But you said you were not married!” “No, ma’am’” he said, gesturing. “Are you married?” she asked loudly. “No, ma’am,” Bp es “But you have - you had a son!” she said. 44. “Tam not married to his mother,” he said, grinning stupidly, and for the first time she noticed his two front teeth were set widely apart. A flush had climbed to his face suffusing it, and two large throbbing, veins crawled along, his temples. 45. She looked away, sick all at once. 4. “You should have told us everything.” She said and she put forth hands to restrain her anger but it slipped away and she stood shaking, despite herself. “1 did not think,” he said. “Your lives are our business here,” she shouted. It rained that afternoon in one of the city’s fierce, unexpected thunderstorms. Without warning, it ceased to shine outside and the skies were overcast. The rain gave the world outside Miss Mijares window a gray, unhappy look. Tt was past six when Miss Mijares ventured outside of the office. Night had come swiftly and from the dark sky, the thick, black, rainy curtain continued to fall. She stood on the curb, telling herself she must not lose her tonight. When she flagged a jeep and got in, someone jumped in after her. She looked up into the carpenter's family smiling eyes. She nodded her head once in recognition and then turned away. The cold, tight fear of the old dream was upon her. Before she had time to think, the driver had swerved his vehicle and swung into a side street. Perhaps it was different alley this time, but it would itself in the same tortuous manner as before, now by the banks of overflowing esteros, again behind faintly familiar buildings. She bent her tiny, distraught face, conjuring in her heart the lonely safety of the street island she had stood on for an hour that night of her confusion. “Only this far, folks,” the driver spoke, stopping the vehicle. “main street's block, straight ahead.” “But it’s raining?” someone protested. “Sorry, but if I get into that traffic, 1 won't come out of it in a year. Sorry.” B55. 57. 58. 59. 4 One by one the passenger got off, walking swiftly, disappearing in the night. . Miss Mijares stepped down to a sidewalk in front of a boarded store. The wind had begun again and she could hear it whipping in the eaves above her head “Ma'am” the man’s voice sounded at her shoulder, “I’m sorry if you thought I lied....” She gestured, bestowing pardon. Up and down the empty, rain-beaten street she looked. It was as though all at once everyone else had died and they two were alone in the world, in the dark. In her secret heart, Miss Mijares’ young dreams fluttered faintly to life seeming monstrous in the rain, near this man-seeming monstrous but also sweet and overwhelming. I must get away, she thought wildly, but he had moved and brushed against her, and where his touch had fallen her flesh leaped, and she recalled how his hands had looked that first day, lain tenderly on the edge of her desk and about the wooden bird (that looked like moving, shining, dove) and she tured to him; with her ruffles wet and wilted, in the dark she turned to him.