LITERARY SELECTIONS FOR APPRECIATION – CAR REGION

LITERARY SELECTIONS FOR APPRECIATION

CAR REGION

BAGBAGTO
The Ifugaos observe a social ritual where the mettle of the young men of the community isput to test.
Done usually after the camote cuttings have been planted, the ceremony involves a sham battle – using
stones, instead of sharp weapons – between groups of young men. It is believed that the warriors who
suffer the most bruises from such a battle will reap a rich harvest of camotes; the bigger the bumps on
the head they sustain, the bigger the camote. As the fight goes on, the cheerers, composed of women,
children, and older men, chant the following song. Its words do not mean anything at all, but it is used
to taunt the participants.

Bag-bagto, bag-bag-to lambik,

Tulambik, tulambawikan,

Bawikan, bawikalanay,

Kalanay, kalanapunay,

Napunay, napunayagta,

Nayagta, nayagtagumba,

Takumba, takumbaya-aw,

Paya-aw, paya-atimbao,

Atimbao, atigawistan,

Gawistan, gawistanabu,
Tanabti, tanabuga-ay,

Buga-ay, buga-ay madon

THE HUDHUD

The HUDHUD is an ifugao epic that narrates the lives and adventures of their tribal heroes, chief of
whom is Aliguyon of Gonhadan. The epic is handed down by oral tradition from generation to
generation. From the tales that form part of the epic, we learn of the origin of the world of the Ifugaos
and some legends and myths and folk stories depicting the glory and the greatness of the beginnings of
the race. The epic is sang or chanted by a soloist in its principal parts during wedding ceremonies,
religious rites, and special celebrations and minor parts are given in choral response by participants in
the celebration. Thus, a good number of the tribes’ people actually know the poem by heart. The most
popular part of course, are the tales about the deeds and adventures of Aliguyon, son of Amtalaw of
Gonhadan.

Aliguyon was given supernatural qualities, one of which is that of being able to travel great distance over
tall mountains without testing, eating, drinking, or sleeping and arriving at hiss destination as fresh and
strong and well-disposed as when he started the journey. Aliguyon’s overpowering ambition was to kill
all the enemies of his father. Amtalaw, and go on head-hunting expedition for such purpose. But his
father proved to him the non-existence of enemies and prevailed upon his filial obedience to pay court
to the daughter of Pangaiwan of Bilibil and marry her.

LAYAD
Sang by Lourdes Fungki
Nanlayad nanlikhatan, Tet-eway sikhab
Layad ay naensikhafan, Nar-os cha amin.
Refrain 1:
Seg-ang yangkhay nan waday, Sika et achi mampay
Yangag kasin ta angnen, Nar-os chat am-in.
San enta nenfowekhan, Ad-im ngen semken
San enta nen fachangan, Nar-os cha amin

(Repeat refrain 1)
Taken mo nemuwasan, Sumeg-ang ka man
Ta kasiti ta lebnayen, San layad ta ay chuwa
San layad ta’y chachama, Wedwecha’s fangonen ta
Ta et mampay en-among ta, Umapong ta ay chuwa.
Chorus:
Layad ta, chachama

Ento may kasin chichi, Nar-os cha amin

• English translation - Love

LOVE
The love of a lifetime, it’s really full of hardship
The love which has been labored, it’s all in the past.
Refrain 1:
Commitment and care are all that exist now
What else can we do, it’s all in the past
The time when we were together, can’t you reminisce them?
The time when we had helped each other, it’s all in the past.
(Repeat refrain 1)
Take on me
Let’s reflect once more, our love with each other.
Our love so true, let us again awaken
Let’s come together finally and get married
Chorus:
Our love so true
Every hardships that we faced, it’s all in the past

LITERARY SELECTIONS FOR APPRECIATION – CAR REGION

WEDDING DANCE
By Amador Daguio
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 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. Whoknows
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 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, and 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. Shealmost
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 anymore. 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.

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 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 gangsas 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 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 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 herhusband 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 theriver?

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

TANABATA’S WIFE
By Sinai Hamada
FAS-ANG first came to Baguio by way of the Mountain Trail. When at last she emerged from her weary
travel over the mountains, she found herself just above the Trinidad Valley. From there, she overlooked
the city of Baguio itself.
Baguio was her destination. Along with three other women, she had planned to come to work on the
numerous roads that were being built around the city. Native women were given spades to shovel the
earth from the hillsides, and to make way for the roads that were being cut.
They had almost arrived. Yet Fas-ang knew of no place where she could live in the city while waiting to
be taken in as a laborer. Perhaps she would stay in the worker’s camp and be packed with the other
laborers in their smelly quarters. She had heard a lot about tiered beds, the congestion in the long, low-
roofed house for the road work¬ers.
It was mid-afternoon. The four women and three men, new immigrants from Bontoc, walked on the
long straight road on the Trinidad Valley. They had never before in their lives seen a road so long and
straight. After the regular up and down journey over the hills, the level road was tedious and slow to
travel on.
Plodding along, they at last left the valley behind, passed through the narrow gap of the Trinidad River,
and entered Lukban Valley. All along the road, the sight was a succession of cabbage plots, more and
more.
And when they passed Lukban Valley and came to Kisad Valley still there were rows and rows of
cabbage.
But now the sun was sinking low behind the brown hills in the west. And the company thought of their
shelter for the night. For they had one more steep hill to climb before the city laborer’s camp. So they
had been told. And their feet ached painfully. Was there no door open for them among the thatched
homes in the valley?
It was then that they came to the house of Tanabata-san. The Japanese gardener was looking out
through his tiny window as they were about to pass on. He halted them.
“Are you looking for work?” the gardener called in his broken dialect. “Indeed we are, my lord,” one of
the strangers replied.
“If you like, I have work for two women, in my garden,” Tanabata offered. The men looked questioningly
at the women. “Which of you would like to stay?” One man asked. Only Fas-ang was willing to consider
the gardener’s offer. She stepped forward.

“How much would you give me?” she demanded.

“Ten pesos.”

“Ten Pesos?” Fas-ang asked for twelve, but Tanabata would not agree to that. Fas-ang reflected for a
moment, and then confided to her compasions, “Guess I’ll stay. There is but a difference of two pesos
between what I’ll get here and my wage if I become a road worker. Who knows? My lot here may even
be better.
One of the remaining three women was also persuaded to stay after Fas-ang had made her decision.
Tanabata was smiling as he watched the two make up their minds.
The rest of the company were going on their way. “So you two will stay,” the eldest of the group said,
affecting a superior air. “Well, if you think it is better for both of you, then it is alright. You need not
worry over us, for we shall go on and reach the camp early tonight.”
In this way, Fas-ang first lent herself to Tanabata. She was at the height of her womanhood then. Her
cheeks were ruddy, though not as rosy as in her girlhood. She had a buxom breast, the main charm of
her sturdy self. As she walked, her footsteps were heavy. And anyone would admit that she was indeed
pretty.

II

Tanabata had had no wife. For a long time now, he had been looking for one among the native women,
hoping he would find one who might consent to mary him. But none did he ever find, until Fas-ang,
guided by fate, came. He had almost sent for a Japanese wife from his. Homeland. He had her picture.
But it would have cost him much.

Would Fas-ang, perchance, learn to like him and later agree to their marriage? This was only a tiny
thought in the mind of Tanabata as he sat one evening looking wistfullv at Fas-ang. She was washing her
feet by the water ditch in front of the house. Every now and then, she lifted her skirt above her knees,
and Tanabata saw her clear, bright skin, tempting him.
After a time, Fas-ang herself would watch Tanabata. As they sat before their supper she would cast
furtive glances at him across the low, circular table. He was bearded. Sometimes, he let his beard grow
for three days, and his unshaven, hairy face was ugly to look at. Only with a clean countenance, and his
blue suit did Fas-ang like him at all
Well-dressed, Tanabata-san would walk on Sunday to the market fair. Close behind him follow one of his
laborers, carrying two heavy baskets over his shoulder. The baskets overflowed with the minor produce
of the garden: strawberries, celery, tomatoes, spinach, radishes, and “everlasting” flowers. Fas-ang, in
her gayest Sunday dress would trail in the rear. She was to sell garden products at the market.

In the afternoon, the fair would be over. Fas-ang would go home with a heavy handbag. She would
arrive to find Tanabata, usually drunk, with a half-emptied gin bottle before him on the table.

Fas-ang would lay the bag of money on his crossed legs. “That is the amount the vegetables have
brought us,” she would report.

“Good.” And Tanabata would break into a happy smile. He always said gracias after that, showing full
trust in Fas-ang. He would pick out two half-peso pieces and give them to her. “Here, take this. They are
for you. Buy yourself whatever you like with them.” For he was a prosperous, generous gardener.
On weekdays, there was hard and honest work in the garden. The other native woman had gone away
when she saw that she was not favored as Fas-ang was. So, Fas- ang, when she was not cooking, stayed
among the cabbage rows picking worms. All that Tanabata did was to take care of the seedlings in the
shed house. Also, he did most of the transplanting, since he alone had the sensitive fingers that could
feel the animate sense of the soil. He had but little area to superintend, and only three farm hands to
look after.
New life! Fas-ang liked the daily turns that were her lot. Little by little she learned to do the domestic
chores. Early in the morning she rose to cook. Before noon she cooked again: And in the evening
likewise. She washed clothes occasionally, and more when the laundress came irregularly. She swept the
house and, of course, she never forgot to leave a tea kettle steaming over live embers. Anytime,
Tanabata might come in and sip a cup of tea.

III

Immediately after noon on weekdays, when the sun was hot and the leaves were almost wilting,
Tanabata like to stroll and visit his neighbor, Okamoto-san. They were of the same province in Japan,
Hiroshimaken. Okamoto had a Benguet woman for a wife. Kawane was an industrious and amiable
companion. The only fault Okamoto found in Kawane was her ignorance. She had no idea of the world
beyond her small valley. One afternoon, Tanabata as usual paid his friend a visit.
This was a great conse-quence, for he had a mind to ask Okamoto if he thought Fas-ang could be a fit
wife for him. Tanabata was slow in broaching the subject to his friend, but he was direct:
“I think I shall marry that woman,” Tanabata said.
“Which woman — Fas-ang?” Okamoto said.
“Yes”
“She is good woman, I think. She seems to behave well.”

“I have known her only for a short time. Do you think she will behave well al-ways?”
Tanabata asked earnestly. Okamoto was hesitant and would not be explicit, “I cannot tell. But look at my
wife. She’s a peaceful woman,” he answered simply

“There, my good friend,” Tanabata reminded his neighbor, “you forget that your wife is of the Benguet
tribe, while Fas-ang is of the Bontoc tribe.”
“Yet they are good friends — as much as we are,” was Okamoto’s bright rejoinder. And they both
laughed.

IV

Two days later Tanabata proposed to Fas-ang. He had frequently teased her before. But now he was
gravely concerned about what he had to tell. He had great respect for this sturdy native woman.
He called Fas-ang into the big room where she heretofore seldom entered except to clean.
It was dimly lighted. Fas-ang went in, unafraid. It seemed she had anticipated this. She sat close beside
him on a trunk. Tanabata talked carefully, convincingly, and long. He explained to her as best as he could
his intentions. At last, she yielded. Without ceremony and without the law, they were wedded by a
tacitly sworn agree¬ment between themselves.
As before Fas-ang did not find difficult to tend the truck garden. To be sure, it was sometimes dull. Now
and then she would get exasperated with the routine work. But only for a short time. Ordinarily, she was
patient, bending over the plants as she rid them of their worms, or gathering them for the sale in the
market. Her hands had been trained now to handle with care tender seedlings, which had to be prodded
to grow luxuriantly.
When the sunbeams filled the valley, and the dewy leaves were glistening, it was a joy to watch the
fluttering white butterflies that flitted all over the garden. They were pests, for their chrysalids
mercilessly devoured the green vegetables. Still, their advent in the bright morning could stir the
laborers to be up and doing before they, themselves, were outdone by the insects.
In time, Fas-ang was introduced to Japanese customs. Thus she learned to use chop¬sticks after being
prevailed upon by Tanabata; they had a zinc tub outside their hut in which they heated water and took a
bath in the evening; Fas-ang pickled radishes after the Japanese fashion, salting them in a barrel; she
began to use wooden shoes, though of the Filipino variety, and left them outside their bedroom before
she retired; she became used to drinking tea and pouring much toyo sauce in the viands; mattresses too,
and no longer a plain mat, formed her beddings.
A year after they were married they had a child, a boy. The baby was a darling. Tanabata decided to
celebrate. He gave a baptismal party to which were invited his Japanese friends. They drank sake, ate
Japanese seaweeds, pickles, canned fish, etc.
But Fas-ang, in all this revelry, could not understand the chattering of her guests. So, she was very quiet,
holding the baby in her arms.
The men (there wer no women visitors) had brought gifts for the baby and the mother. Fasang was very
much delighted. She repeatedly muttered her gracias to all as gifts were piled before her. Then the men
consulted the Japanese calendar. The child was given the name Kato and the guests shouted banzai
many times, tossing glassfuls of sake to the ceiling they wished the mother and child, good luck.
Tanabata was most solicitous toward Fas-ang as she began to recover from the emaciation caused by
her strenuous childbirth. He would now allow her to go out. She must stay indoors for a month. It was
another Japanese custom.
At length, when August had passed, Fas-ang once more stepped out into the sun shine, warm and free.
The pallor of her cheeks had gone. She was alive and young again. Her usual springy steps came back
and she walked briskly, full of strength and passion, it seemed.

But what news of home? Fas-ang yearned to hear from her people back in Besao Bontoc. Had the
kaingins been planted with camote and corn? Her kinsmen had heard of her delivering a child, and they
sent a boy-cousin to inquire about her. He was told to see if Fas-ang lived happily, and if her Japanese
husband really treated her well. I not, they would do him harm. The Bontocs or busol are fierce.
The cousin came. Tanabata entertained the cousin well. He bought short pant for the Igorot boy and
told him to do away with his G-strings. The boy was much pleased. After a week, the boy said he would
go back. And Tanabata bought some more clothes for him.

Fas-ang saw her cousin off. Tanabata was then in the shed house, cultivating th seedlings. Fas-ang
instructed her cousin well: “Tell Ama and Ina I am happy here they must not worry about me. My
husband is kind, and I’m never in want. Giv them this little money that I have saved for them. You see, I
have a child, so I shall live here long yet. But I do wish to go home sometime and see Ama and Ina. Often
feel homesick.She wept. And when her cousin saw her tears, he wept too. Then they parted.

VI

It was no hidden truth that Tanabata loved his wife dearly. In every way, he tried to show his affection.
Once, he had not allowed her to go to the city to see the movies. But he repented afterwards and sent
her there without her asking.

Fas-ang soon became a cine addict. She went to shows with one of the garden boys sometimes, she took
her baby along. She carried the baby on her back. They had to take kerosene lamp with them to light
their way coming home. They would return near midnight.

Tanabata, alone, would .stay at home. He sat up late reading his books of Japanese novels. When Fas-
ang arrived, she would be garrulous with what she had seen. Tanabata would tuck her under the thick
blankets to warm her cold feet. She would then easily fall asleep, and after she had dozed off, he would
retire himself.
More and more, Fas-ang liked to attend the shows. The city was two miles away. But that did not
matter. The theater was fascinating. Moreover, Fas-ang admitted, she often met several of her relatives
and townmates in the theater. They too, had learned to frequent the cine. Together they had a good
time.
Tabanata asked Okamoto what he thought of Fas-ang’s frequenting the shows. Okamoto, being less
prosperous and more conservative, did not favor it. He advised Tanabata to stop her. But
Tanabata was too indulgent with Fas-ang even to intimate such a thing to her. Though inclined to be
cautious, he loved her too much to deny her any pleasure she desired.
Thus Fas-ang, after the day’s duties, would run off to the show. Tanabata had grown even more lenient.
He could never muster courage to restrain her, much less scold her. She never missed a single change of
program in the theater. Tanabata did not know what to do with her. He could not understand what
drew her to the cine. For his part, he was wholly disinterested in screen shows which he had attended
but once long ago, and with which he had been disgusted. Still Fas-ang continued to attend them as
devotedly as ever.

VII

One night she did not come home. She returned in the morning. Tanabata asked where she had slept,
and she said, “With my cousin at the Campo Filipino,” She had felt too lazy to walk all the way down to
the valley, she said.
That whole day, she remained at home. Tanabata went out to the garden. Fas-ang rummaged among
her things. She tied them into a bundle which she hid in the cor-ner. She dressed her child.
Then, at midnight, when Tanabata as sound asleep, she escaped. She carried her child and ran down the
road where her lover was waiting. They would return to Bontoc, their native place.
The man had been dismissed from the military post at Camp John Hay.
Fas-ang left a note on the table before she left. It had been written by the man who had seduced her. It
read: Do not follow us. We are returning home to Bontoc. If you follow us, you will be killed on the way!

When Tanabata had the letter read to him he dared not pursue the truant lovers. The note was too
positive to mean anything but death if disobeyed. He was grieved. And for three days, he could hardly
eat. He felt bitter, being betrayed and deserted. Helpless, he was full of hatred for the man who had
lured his wife away

Okamoto, faithful indeed, came to comfort his friend. He offered to come with his wife and live with
Tanabata. But Tanabata would not consider their proposition. Nor could he be comforted.
He politely begged his friends to leave him alone. He had suddenly become gloomy. He sat in his hut all
day and drank much liquor. He shot himself in. The truck garden was neglected.
Months passed. The rows of cabbage were rotting. Tanabata was thought to be crazy. He did not care
what happened to the plants. He had dismissed the new help-ers that were left him.

Weed outgrew the seedlings. The rainy season set in, and the field was devastated by a storm.
Tanabata lived on his savings.
The rainy season passed. Sunny, cold November came to the hills. In a month more,
Tanabata would perhaps go home to die in Japan. His despondency had not been lessened. When he
thought of his lost boy, he wept all the more.

VIII

But, one evening, Fas-ang came back. She stood behind the house, scanning the wreck left of what was
formerly a blooming garden. She had heard back home, from wayfarers who had returned, of Tanabata.
The man who had alienated the affections of Fas-ang had left her.

“Your Japanese husband is said to be ruining himself,” some reported.

“He pines for you and his boy,” others brought back.

“It is said he is thinking of going home across the sea, but he must see his little son first,” still others
informed her.
Fas-ang at once decided. “Then I must return to him before it is too late.” And so she came.
In the twilight, she stood, uncertain, hesitant. She heard the low mournful tune arising from the bamboo
flute that Tanabata was playing, what loneliness! Fas-ang wondered if that now seemingly forbidding
house was still open for her. Could she dispense the gloom that had settled upon it? There was a
woman’s yearning in her. But she wavered in her resolve, feeling ashamed.

The music had ceased. She almost turned away when the child, holding her hand, cried aloud. Tanabata
looked out of the window, startled. He saw the mother and child. He rushed outside, exultant. Gently,
he took them by their hands and led them slowly into the house. Then he lighted the big lamp that had
long hung from the ceiling, unused.
REGION 1

PAMULINAWEN
(Iloko)
Pamulinawen, Pusok imdengam man
Adu nga sabsabong,
Toy umas-asug agrayo ita sadiam.
Adu nga rosrosas
Panunoteminan dika pagintultulngan
Ti adda't ditoy,
Toy agayat, agruknoy ita emmam.
Nena, nga mabuybuyak
Ngem awan manlaeng

Ref.

Ti pakaliwliwaan
Issemmo diak kalipatan
No di siksika, ta sudim ken imnac.
Ta nasudi unay a nagan,
Uray sadin ti ayan, disso sadino man,
No malagipka, pusok ti mabang-aran
HOW MY BROTHER LEON BROUGHT HOME A WIFE

By Manuel R. Arguilla
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.
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.
"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 liftedthe 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 holdon 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, and 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.
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 thinkFather should do
that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?" 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 holdon 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, and 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.
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 thinkFather 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."

"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 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."
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. 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

MALINAK LAY LABI

Malinac lay labi oras lay mareen

Mapalpal nay dagem catecep toy linaew

Samit day cogip co binangonan con tampol

Lapud say linggas o sican sica'y amamaywen
Lalo la bilay no sicala'y manengneng
Napunas lan amin so ermenya acbibiten
No nanunutan colay samit day ugalim
Agtaca na lingwanan anggad cauyos la bilay
LATE AT NIGHT
It is late at night, it is already a time of quietude
The wind blows slowly as it carries the evening dew
Deeply slumbering, I woke up suddenly
Because of your beauty, only you I shall worship
I become more excited when I see you
All dejections that I bear fade away
When I reminisce the kindness of your heart
I shall never forget about you until I die

NALPAY NA NAMNAMA
By Leona Florentino

(1)Amangan a ragsac ken talecdadagiti adda caayanayatdataadda piman mangricnacadagiti isuamin a

asugda
(2)Ni Gasatco a nababa aoanen ngatat capadanaTa cunac diac agduadua ta agdama ngarud nga innac
agsagaba

(3)Ta nupay no agayatac iti maysa a imnasaoan lat pangripripiripac nga adda pacaibatugac

(4)Ilunodconto ti horas nga innac pannacayanacTa mamenribo coma a naseseat no natayac idin ta
nayanacac
(5)Gayagayec coma a ipalaoag ngem bumdengmet toy dilac,a tamaquitac met a sibabatad nga ni paay ti
calac-amac
(6)Ngem umanayento a liolioac ti pannacaammon itoy a panagayat ta icaric kenca ket isapatac nga sica
aoan sabali ti pacatayac

BIGONG PAGASA

Salin ni Isagani R. Cruz

(1)

Anong saya at ginhawa kung may nagmamahal

dahil may makikiramay sa lahat ng pagdurusa.

(2)

Ang masama kong kapalaran walang kapantay

wala akong alinlangan – sa dinaranas ng kasalukuyan.

(3)

Kahit na ako ay magmahal sa isang musa

wala namang hinuha na ako’y pahahalagahan.

(4)

Isumpa ko kaya ang panahon nang ako’y ipinanganak

higit na mas masarap na mamatay bilang sanggol.

(5)

Nais ko mang magpaliwanag dila ko’y ayaw gumalaw

nakikita kong malinaw pagtanggi lamang ang matanggap.

(6)

Ligaya ko sana’y walang kapantay sa kaalamang ikaw ay minamahal

isusumpa ko at patutunayan para sa iyo lamang ako mamamatay

EXCEPT THE TRUTH

By Francisco Sionil Jose

In the five days that Luis did not go to work there had piled up on his desk letters, telegrams

and other messages, most of which he would have enjoyed for many of them were congratulatory.

Seeing them now, he felt no sense of fulfilment, no affirmation of his righteousness. They were

merely reminders of a turnoil that had uncoiled. He went over them perfunctorily, then dumped

them all in a side-drawer.

The phone rang and Eddie answered it. "It's the Old Man," he said. "He wants to see you."

The publisher's voice sounded relieved. "Ah, so you have finally come," he said as soon as

Luis was on.

"I wasn't well, sir. I hope I didn't inconvenience you."

"I understand," the publisher said. "If it was a blow to you, Luis, just remember, it was

much, much more to us. Have you written to your wife, or called her up and told her? They were

such good friends, you know."

"No, sir, I haven't," he said, feeling a pang of guilt. He should have told Trining, but then

it was probably just as well that she did not know. Perhaps Marta and Simeon had mentioned the

tragedy to her, but the fact that she had not called him up was indication that she still didn't know.
"I hope you are all right now," Dantes said. "Can you come to my office immediately? There are

officers who will be here in an hour, and they want to clarify a few things about your special issue.”

When he hung up, Eddie was looking at him expectantly. "It's the constabulary," Luis said

simply.

"Patience," Eddie told him as he opened the door.

A few of the men at the desks turned to him. Perhaps they knew what was in store for him

in the publisher's office, perhaps they envied his courage, which they, in their conformity, in their

middle age, no longer had, but he walked on, not wanting to talk even with those who knew him

well. This was his problem, and he must handle it alone.

Miss Vale was waiting for him, and she smiled perfunctorily as he paused before her desk.

She was efficient, not given to office gossip, and she was one of Dantes's most trusted workers. It

was rumored that she was an illegitimate sister of Dantes, but Miss Vale was dark and Ilokano,

while Dantes was fair-skinned and Negrense. "Go right in," she said, smiling at Luis. He was

pleased to fmd that with that single smile she could still look like a young girl.

The publisher was opening his morning mail with a gold letter opener, and on his large

circular desk were copies of the morning papers, including Luis's magazine. "Sit down, Luis," he
said without turning to his editor. "If you want a drink, the bar is over there." Dantes thrust his chin

across the expanse of blue carpet, the conference table, to the cabinet at the far end of the big room.

"It's too early, sir," Luis said.

Dantes stood up, elegant in his cream linen suit, alligator shoes, and green silk tie. He

cracked his knuckles—a sign that he was nervous—and started pacing the floor, his head bowed,

as if in thought. "I have often wondered about you," he finally said, the smoky eyes focused on Luis

for a brief moment. "Why should you feel uncomfortable with your money, Luis? It is not a crime

to be rich, you know."

"No, sir," Luis said. "I have never considered myself a criminal." He found himself

speaking with confidence. "I like my comforts. They are, after all, mine by inheritance, and I am

sure that my father wants me to enjoy them.

“Dante’s walked over to the narra conference table—a huge, glass-topped, rectangular

single piece of wood surrounded by a dozen gilvedged hand•carved chairs. His voice sounded far

away. "Anyone reading you would conclude that you hate the rich and think that all of us are

scoundrels who make money exploiting the working class. Even if we do, please do not forget that

the poor will always be with us and it is not our fault. They will be there because they are stupid,
and they are stupid because they are poor. They are there because they are lazy, they have no capital,

no incentives, no imagination, and no will to work. In any society, however, there are those among

these wretched poor who will rise. History is full of them. Your own Manila elite—and you know

how I despise the new ones—many of them started with nothing but glib tongues and nimble

fingers—"

"But do they need to be always with us?" Luis asked diffidently, as if he were addressing

the question to himself. "If so, I would then admit that society is always exploitative. We go to the

nature of man—his perpetual evil—"

Dantes glanced at Luis, and a small laugh preceded his reply. "Ah, Luis—just like

Philosophy Twenty-four again. Ah, my undergraduate years." He sighed. "Soon we will be going

into theology, then escapism, then nirvana, and all that sort of thing. I continue to read, Luis, though

not much"—he thrust his chin again at the books that lined the huge office. Indeed Dantes was very

erudite, and every historian in the country knew of his extensive collection of rare books on the

Philippines, including one of the first editions of the Doctrina, which was the first printed book in

the country.
"I know, sir," Luis said humbly, "and that is why I consider it a privilege that you should

even seek my views or talk like this with me."

"Enough of the flattery," Dantes said, but he was obviously pleased. "I love the Buddhists—

they seem to have all the answers. I am particularly amused by the Tantric Buddhists. You should

see my collection on Tantric art one of these days —mostly from India and Nepal. Alt, but I am

straying now. What I want to say is that the poor need not be with us always. That is why we have

revolutions—all through history. Don't you believe that the Communists, the Marxists, invented

revolution? They had it in ancient Egypt—in Rome, Spartacus. All through history blood has been

spilled, and it is not a pretty sight, Luis. I don't really think you want revolution. You arc just like

me, living with illusions, too comfortable to go after most of them—but, mind you"—he paused

and pointed a finger at the young man—"I don’t not accusing you of insincerity."

"Thank you, sir," Luis said, feeling relieved. The room had begun to get stuffy, and he

could feel the blood rising to his temples. "I think I understand your motivation," Dantes said. "I

think you are a bit muddled and unclear, even to yourself. The quest for justice is in every man,

even in me. I have vision, too, I like to think. I would like to see this country grow, I would like to

see it laced with prosperous towns, with people who have money to enjoy life, to buy the good
things in the market, the products we make—"

"Just like America," Luis said evenly, but the sarcasm made its mark. "Don't talk like that,"

Dantes said. "You must see progress in economic terms, and its social aspects will follow, since

this is a society where awareness of other people's feeling has always been a part of tradition. Can

you not see, Luis, what I am trying to do? I want my hands not only on industry but also on

communications. Radio and television we have them now – and power, electricity, and shipping

and transport – the whole complex that would make this country surge forward.”

With the Dantesses in the lead, Luis repeated to himself. “I know you have been upset by

how you joined my organization, but I cannot stand persons who do not see it in my way, which by

God, I know is not wrong. Besides, in the end, you must judge me not according to what I say but

what I have done. And what are these? Think of the thousands gainfully employed, enjoying some

of the best privileges anywhere in the country. Of course this is not just what I want to do and it is

for this reason that I want nationalists on my staff. We must modernize and this starts in the mind,

not in the mouth. We must stop being hewers of wood, drawers of water – to use your awful cliché.

Luis turned the thought in his mind. This was the Meijis did, this was the siren call that is

being trumpeted in all the new countries – how to stop being slaves not only to tradition but to the
mother country

“For what are we going to modernize, sir?” He could not resist asking. “For whom shall we

break our backs, miss our meals, and even kill our brothers in order to be modern?”

“You are cynical and you mistrust me,” Dantes said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “How I

wish you did not ask that for it implies that I am working only for myself. Yes, that is true, I love

wealth and the power that goes with it, but I know that I will not live forever – like you, I once had

youth, but look at me now. I am not as healthy as I am supposed to be…”

Luis remembered how Dantes was said to have gone to those Swiss rejuvenation clinics, so

that he could have more virility – monkey glands, all those things which the rich could afford – and

as the rich man droned on, almost like a hypochondriac, about his impending death. Luis only got

a glimpse of Dantes’ weakness but also began to think of all those like Dantes who had everything

but were aware that everything was ephemeral.

“Sic transit,” Dantes was saying. “In my case it could be cancer or heart attack – or just the

usual complications one expects in old age…” He shook his head slowly and his gaze wandered to

the city spread before his picture window – splotches of tin and cement, the tickly green trees and

smoky sky mottled with clouds. His voice sounded remote and suddenly cold. “I have thought a lot
about justice, but let me make this clear – it should be my kind. I make the rules, for I am what I

am – the patron, the hacendero, and the feudal lord – all those sociological clichés that you use. I

like the role. It gives me a feeling of deep satisfaction, almost orgiastic – to use again one of your

fashionable words – of superiority of achievement and of doing well. The justice I dispense with is

mine, for I am the Lord, and this justice will go to the workers, for whom you profess love and

affection, not as a food but as a trickle. If you will pardon the sarcasm, how much do you pay your

driver and your maids? What are the terms of tenancy in your father’s hacienda?”

Luis bristled and raised his hand in protest, but Dantes waved Luis’ protest way imperiously

and continued, his voice now raised almost in a rant. The poor do not know what abundance means.

They will not appreciate it, since they are not conditioned to it. We are Western Men – our wants,

our ambitions are unlimited. They are Asians – primitives with limited wants and equally limited

vision. Those with brains will rice in any society, democratic or totalitarian. Ideology is meaningless

to those who do not know how the difference between caviar and bagoong. Margarine – not Danish

butter.

Dantes paused and his eyes blazed – but only for an instant. Now they were warm again.

“You must forgive my enthusiasm,” he said with quiet laugh. “Sometimes I really sound like soap
boxer or a school teacher and I forget that you are not only an editor but one of the most

distinguished young writers in the country today.”

Luis carefully brushed aside the compliment. “Thank you for regarding me highly, sir,” he

said but I cannot help feeling that you seem to think the lower classes are aspiring for Utopia. I can

assure you – most of the time all they want is three meals a day, education for their children,

medicine when they get sick…” He paused, for he suddenly realized that he was merely repeating

what his brother had said. “These they do not have. Have you ever been to the Philippine General

Hospital, sir?” He knew the question was impertinent, for every year it was to the Mayo Clinic that

Dantes went for a check-up.” Have you seen the charity patients there, sleeping in the halls, dying

because they have no medicine?”

“That’s the government’s responsibility, Luis – not mine. There is no employee in our

companies who does not enjoy the best medical care and pension benefits – much more than what

all those crooked union leaders are demanding. I gave all these benefits to the employees without

their asking for them. No one can lecture to me about the rights or needs of the poor.”

The intercom buzzed. Miss Vales’ voice came clear. “The two offices are here, sir.”

Dantes’ voice changed quickly. “Serve them something and tell them we will be ready in a
few moments.”

Dantes turned to Luis and his voice was grim. “You realized that I have been making a

speech…” The grimness quickly disappeared and he smile wanly. “I do get incoherent sometimes,

but out there are two officers and before they come in what is right or wrong – or what is true or

false. My main interest is that nothing happens to this organization. Let me make this clear – I will

back you all the way but only if you subordinate whatever ideas you have to what I have

mentioned.”

Luis nodded. There was not a single doubt in his mind now that the old man had really

drawn the line, yet he could not but appreciate Dantes and his frankness, his simple illustration or

what he wanted and what he was. Luis should have had no illusions from the very beginning – as

Ester had said, this should have sunk into the depths of his subconscious. If she were here now…

Oh Ester, if you were here now, you would be kind to me, you would comfort me, give me your hand

and say that the world will always be like this and we can do nothing about it except be close to

each other and share as best as we can the agony of our helplessness.

“In a way,” Dantes was saying softly, “we have been lucky – the Army is not so corrupt or

power hungry as it is in Latin America and it is easy to work out things because the officers are just
after promotions…

“But someday, it will be corrupted, sir,” Luis said. “It is already starting. As with all our

institutions, it will decay for the Army will no longer have a vision and its highest castes will be

only after comforts. This will start at the top, not with the privates and the corporals. But it will

spread down and there will be no stopping it for leaders shall have been infected; the colonels will

not believe their generals, the lieutenants will not believe their colonels, and the privates will not

believe the lieutenants. Patriotism becomes a sham, a means toward getting rewards. A dictator will

go masquerading as the man on a white horse. And he will do it easily – for as long as we have an

Army which does not side with the poor…”

Dantes has listened but this was the last word nonetheless: “And what Army in the world,

ever, has been an instrument of the poor? It has always been, will always be, the instrument of the

State – and, therefore, of the powerful!”

The dialogue was over. Dantes strode to his deck and reached for the intercom.

Two officers, a fat building colonel and an ascetic-faced major, came in. They did not

extend their hands when Dantes introduced them to Luis. “Colonel Cruz, Major Guiterrez.” They

looked at the old man’ss beady eyes; which did not soften, even when everybody was seated.
“These gentlemen have gone to your town, Luis,” the publisher said, “and they want to

disabuse your mind about the massacre”.

“There is nothing to talk about. Everything was in the magazine, Mr Dantes, “Luis said.

“There is no point in discussing it – unless they have something new to add to it. If they have

something new to add to it. If they have a reply we will, of course, as a matter of policy, print it.”

The colonel took the bluster from Luis. “Yes, there are still many things we can discuss,”

he said, his voice perceptibly hostile, “Inaccuracies, omissions – all of which have put us in a very

bad light. You should have checked all your facts first before you wrote that trash.”

Dantes acted swiftly, “Please,” he addressed the two officers, “Let us go into the

dispassionately.”

The old hate pulsed in Luis, “There was nothing to check,” he said. I saw the grave where

the victims were buried without decent burial. I’ve talked with some of the villagers who escaped

from your men and my father’s guards. I saw the place where the house stood – a whole barrio,

mind you, levelled. I need no futher proof.”

The colonel was unimpressed. He lighted a cigarette, inhaled casually and turned to Luis

with contemptuous self-confidence. “Since you are so sure, I hope you will consent to hear our side.
These you didn’t mention – that the villagers were active Huk supporters, that one of the leading

Huk commanders in Central Luzon is from the village – and I think you know him well. You did

not mention that there was an encounter – which the villagers fired first…”

“And twenty villagers were killed and not one casualty among the civilian guards or the

troops.”

“Only because they were trained well,” the major laughed, although his ascetic face

remained expressionless. He opened his portfolio and handed Luis a sheaf of papers. “Read it,” he

said. Luis took the sheaf and skimmed through it. The report was obviously repaired by a staff and

was an arid bureaucratic piece.

“This is your side,” Luis said, “but you are big – and who will take the side of the people –

the small people – whose interests, since the government should serve the people, should be your

concern?”

The colonel grinned. “You talk as if you were their anointed spokesman. Why don’t you

be yourself, Mr Asperri?”

Luis could sense the scorn in the “Mr Asperri.” “You know very well you are not small.

You are very big, sir.” The colonel got a fat envelope from the portfolio. Turning to the publisher,
he said, “Perhaps this will prove our point. Read it, sir. This is the handwriting of our editor’s father,

who is the biggest landlord in the province. It seems hardly possible that he has sired someone like

his son. If a father does not believe in his son, who will?”

Dantes read the first page carefully then the second. He stopped reading. “Your father,

Luis,” he said bleakly, “feels you were prejudiced when you wrote that article. There was no

massacre – just an encounter. So many of them taking place in Central Luzon, you know.

Even in the Visayas, in Negros – they have started. Furthermore, your father says that these two

gentlemen know why you are prejudiced. Would you care to tell me why? Here, read it yourself.”

The two officers turned to Luis. “I don’t personally want to talk about your past or your

personal life,” the major said. The ribbon on his chest showed that he was a Bataan veteran. “I can

very well understand why you are bitter, but we will have to break our silence…”

Everyone knows, everyone! It was a time when we should not have cared, when neither

contempt nor praise should have affected him, when nothing should have eroded his belief, but in

this moment of truth he felt clammy and small.

“…and expose you,” the major continued, “Tell the reason for your bias, your prejudice.

Maybe you do not think that this is fair, but what then is the reason for your inability to see it our
way? We should ask you, as an editor, to be impersonal, but this you have not been. Well –

everything is now in your hands. The future…”

The future – did it really mean anything now? His lies – his denials of Sipnget and his

mother – had caught up with him.

“What do you say Luis?” Dantes asked, pointing to the document which Don icente had

written. “Your own father refuses you…”

“We had the whole barrio site examined,” the colonel laughed casually. “There was no

grave at all. Yes, the village was burned. You know these things happen when houses roofed with

thatch are close together. That the whole village was plowed – that is not our doing. It was his

father’s. We do not deny that two villagers were killed – just two – and I think our editor knows

who they are. They were taken away by the villagers themselves when they left. They were buried

decently, according to them. I dare anyone to go there and dig the land inch by inch and show me

the mass grave!”

All is done, Luis gritted his teeth; my own father, he has gouged out my brains and squeezed

the air out my lungs. “Call it what you want,” Luis said. “How do we know from here how you may

have exhumed the bodies and reburied them? How can I now go back and gather the refugees when
I am sure that by now you may have dispersed them? How can I gather testimony from the people

who are afraid? The dead will bear me out if the living won’t.”

The major laughed again in his homerless manner. “I see that you are even superstitious. I

do not think that is good for journalism.

The officers stood up, ramrod-straight, and made ready to leave, their Pershing caps in their

hands. “You have a very interesting story,” the colonel said. “I hope that someday we can have a

really long talk.”

“In the stockade?” Luis asked contemptuously.

“You misunderstand us,” the colonel said, “but perhaps you will be able to explain to me

why Filipinos would kill their own brethren. This, in principle, seems to be what you insinuate. We

are not wealthy like you, Mr Asperri. Without the government in which your father has a very

strong say, we are really nothing – and who made this government, Mr Asperri? It’s the people of

Rosales and Sipnget – and your father and you yourself and Mr Dantes.”

He was beyond the reach of anger and his voice was clear as he echoed his father: “It is the

strong who make the laws and the laws are not for the weak.”

“Your political beliefs,” the colonel said, “seems straight out of medieval times. I am sorry
but we did not come here to talk politics. We merely came here to give you a chance retract before

we start any action. It is but proper that you should know where we stand. You are being given the

choice and in your own language you have a deadline. Mr Dantes knows…”

They tipped their Pershing caps in mock politeness, shook the publisher’s hand then

marched to the door. Luis sat back and stared at the papers on Dantes’ desk, the affidavit that his

father signed, which the officers had left for him to read. Even the phrasing was unmistakably his

father’s, so was the uneven signature.

“I hope that you listened carefully to what was said,” Dantes said scowling. “We are in a

mess. They were here yesterday and told me what they would do. Eddie said you hadn’t been

coming to the office – and I understood. Now, this.”

“It is part of the job, sir. The risks go with it, “Luis said.

Dantes walked to his side and placed an arm on his shoulder. “Luis, let us not make it

difficult. I don’t want my back against a wall. I don’t want to be forced to select the kind of axe my

executioner will use.”

“Isn’t that what they have already done?”

The publisher’s brows knitted and his thin lips compressed into a line across tired aging
face. “What is it that really happened, Luis? What is it you hold against your father? After all, one

reads in the papers every day about encounters like this and one must learn to take them in stride.

It is not the end of the world if one village is burned down and twenty people – like you said – are

dead. You get more killed in traffic accidents in one day on the country.”

We have learned to take murder as an everyday occurrence,” Luis said. When we do this

must just as well stop worrying about whether or not we will ever have law and anger. We die when

we stop being angry.”

“But that’s not the point, Luis,” Dantes said, moving away and facing the young man.

“There is a limit to our capacity. We cannot fight all battles as if they were of the same magnitude.

That is the way things run. In some we use high stakes. Others we just ignore to do – print a

retraction and declare that there was no massacre, unless we are willing to conduct an investigation

ourselves.” He walked slowly to the wide glass window through which the sun streamed in. “You

have to make the decision,” he said softly.

“It is all up to you, sir.” Luis said after a while, “but there will be no retraction from me. It

is not a question of me and my father involving your publication. That is between my father and

me and we will settle it our way. I will have to resign and they can see me as an individual if they
want to.” He had really given the idea much thought, but it came as natural as breathing.

“You have made a most difficult choice, Luis,” Dantes said, still looking out of the window, a touch of
sadness in his voice. “I knew it would be this way, but I hoped that you would see it my way

We really don’t have much choice. We can do what they want us to do or they can come at us in a

big way. I will pull strings to save the magazine, but among my priorities – and I am speaking

frankly to you – the magazine is not the first. You know very well that I have other interests. I had

thought that it would be just some sort of a hobby. Perhaps I am speaking much too candidly,

making a hobby out of your life, your career – but there it is. Never underestimate the power of the

government – not the bureau as such. I have enemies, too. Perhaps you don’t know, but more than

fifty percent of your ads have already been withdrawn from your next issue. The advertising

department will inform you this afternoon on this when they give you the listing. You know that

the government controlled newsprint through the release of foreign exchange. That is just the

beginning.”

“All these simplify matters then, Mr Dantes,” Luis said calmly.

“But we can back up a bit, Luis,” Dantes turned to him. “The world is not really as

coldblooded as you picture it. Look at you – aren’t you yourself a paradox? In between as a broad

meeting ground, so wide we can both rest on it and give no damn to anyone…” Dantes’ eyes were
expectant.

“I am very sorry I have caused you a lot of trouble, sir but you know, if Ester were alive…”

he choked on the words, “…if she were here now and I could discuss this with here – she… would

agree with me.” He stood up, but Dantes held him back.

“We cannot end this way,” he said. “I think we understand each other better now. You

spoke of Ester – she was only daughter and I was very fond of her. I want you to stay, Luis.”

He walked to the door. “It has to be resolved, sir – and I see no other way.”

Dantes went to him and they shook hands. The publisher’s grip was tight and cold. “You

can print the retraction, sir,” Luis said. “Eddie is a very good man and if you decide to close the

magazine I hope you can keep him.”

“You want a final statement of something?”

“No sir,” Luis said. The publisher’s grip relaxed and Luis walked out.

Eddie was pacing the office when Luis went in and sat wearily on the sofa beside his deck.

“Well,” Eddie asked, “what happened.”

“I put in a good word for you,” he said simply, “It’s the most I could do,” He stood up and

started clearing his desk, sorting out the articles that he should have attended to. “I don’t know if
the old man will keep the magazine. If he does you will most certainly be running it. If he decides

to let it go you will be absorbed in his other ventures.”

“How did it come to this? I didn’t think it would come to this. Isn’t it too much for an

expose?”

Luis went to his desk. “That’s the Army for you,” he said. “As for Dantes, we are not tops

in his system of priorities. That’s all.”

“Well, Eddie said grimlyWe really don’t have much choice. We can do what they want us to do or they
can come at us in a

big way. I will pull strings to save the magazine, but among my priorities – and I am speaking

frankly to you – the magazine is not the first. You know very well that I have other interests. I had

thought that it would be just some sort of a hobby. Perhaps I am speaking much too candidly,

making a hobby out of your life, your career – but there it is. Never underestimate the power of the

government – not the bureau as such. I have enemies, too. Perhaps you don’t know, but more than

fifty percent of your ads have already been withdrawn from your next issue. The advertising

department will inform you this afternoon on this when they give you the listing. You know that

the government controlled newsprint through the release of foreign exchange. That is just the
beginning.”

“All these simplify matters then, Mr Dantes,” Luis said calmly.

“But we can back up a bit, Luis,” Dantes turned to him. “The world is not really as

coldblooded as you picture it. Look at you – aren’t you yourself a paradox? In between as a broad

meeting ground, so wide we can both rest on it and give no damn to anyone…” Dantes’ eyes were

expectant.

“I am very sorry I have caused you a lot of trouble, sir but you know, if Ester were alive…”

he choked on the words, “…if she were here now and I could discuss this with here – she… would

agree with me.” He stood up, but Dantes held him back.

“We cannot end this way,” he said. “I think we understand each other better now. You

spoke of Ester – she was only daughter and I was very fond of her. I want you to stay, Luis.”

He walked to the door. “It has to be resolved, sir – and I see no other way.”

Dantes went to him and they shook hands. The publisher’s grip was tight and cold. “You

can print the retraction, sir,” Luis said. “Eddie is a very good man and if you decide to close the

magazine I hope you can keep him.”

“You want a final statement of something?”

“No sir,” Luis said. The publisher’s grip relaxed and Luis walked out.

Eddie was pacing the office when Luis went in and sat wearily on the sofa beside his deck.

“Well,” Eddie asked, “what happened.”

“I put in a good word for you,” he said simply, “It’s the most I could do,” He stood up and

started clearing his desk, sorting out the articles that he should have attended to. “I don’t know if

the old man will keep the magazine. If he does you will most certainly be running it. If he decides

to let it go you will be absorbed in his other ventures.”

“How did it come to this? I didn’t think it would come to this. Isn’t it too much for an

expose?”

Luis went to his desk. “That’s the Army for you,” he said. “As for Dantes, we are not tops

in his system of priorities. That’s all.”

“Well, Eddie said grimly“Well,” Eddie said grimly, “I cannot see what is important and what is not. If he
doesn’t

think twenty dead people important, I cannot work for him. I’m used to the gutter, Luis.” He

stretched himself on the sofa, flipped off his brown slip-ons and wiggled his toes.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Luis said, emptying his drawers of letters, manuscripts. It was like
combing into the past – only, the past could not be dredged from his drawers and dumped like clips

or knick-knacks on his glass top, where he could pick them out one by one and say: This fragment

of my life is important.

Eddie watched him wordlessly. “But in a sense, Dantes is right, Luis. You are bitter, you

know.”

Luis threw a fistful of junk into the wastebasket, and glared. “I knew the village, I could

name everyone in it. They were not just casualty figures – they were people.”

Eddie sat up. “I do not deny that,” he said. “They must mean very much to you. Look at

what you are doing to yourself. Let us not go into the cliché about obligations and righteousness

and justice, but you have obligations to yourself too, and your relatives – your father, most of all.

Why should he disagree with you?”

The trash from Luis’ drawers was now reduced to a small pile of mementoes. It hardly

mattered now. Eddie had given him loyalty, respect and that kind of relationship that could arise

only from mutual trust. “There are things you do not know about me,” he said quietly, “It is not that

the massacre is not true, God knows it is, but I did not tell you why I have been shaken by it to the

very core. My grandfather – he was one of those killed, and my mother – she was betrayed and lost.
You may have heard from me that my mother died long ago – that was a convenient lie.”

“Luis – it cannot be,” Eddie said. “If it is true, then it is not enough that you write about the

massacre.”

Luis smiled wryly, “How I wish that I could really do something – but what, Eddie? As my

father said. It is not the truth that gives us strength. I’m not even half the man that I should be. I am

a God-forsaken bastard. Go to my hometown and ask anyone that you meet on the street. He will

tell you how my mother was a maid in my father’s house. I had to live that lie in this city and I tried

to belong. Everything is a sham and I wish I’d never been born.”

Eddie stood up and embraced him, but Luis pushed him brusquely away. “I don’t need your

sympathy,” Luis said.

“It is not sympathy,” Eddie said. “It is gratitude – for trusting me.”

“I don’t have to be a hypocrite anymore. I can now live the way I like. If I must I will tell

the story all over again. Let us say that I am a mourner and that no one can comfort me except the

truth and the damnation that goes with it.

TANGKOK

By: Dr. Benigno Castro

Nen wala lay diyes y siete lan taon ko, kapangsungpal ko na secondary, tinmundaak ya

manaral lapud irap na bilay. Linmoob ak ya pahinante na sakey ya motor boat ya manangalay

agamang. Say tawag ed saya et tangkok. Say panagatay agamang et samay iket ya abaca ya

gugoyeren na motorboat. Amaa ak labat akapaway ed dayat kanyan naiwet ak tan nanutauta nen

man alas dose la tan unsisibok la so baitan. Dia ed samay kalkalnan itagey na baloto ya singa nasabi

toy tawen tan kalkalnan ileksab to ya singa onlegep agnayarin agka naiwet tan manuta laot la no

aman ka labat ontaew. Kanyan indocol ko ya manpainawa anggad samay oras ya say iket et kasaen

tan itagey la tapian naala may agamang ya apaloob ed iket. Say sakey ya ekasan makala kami na

talora anggad apatira ya tiklis.

Kabebekta timmaboy may piloto mi ya walay awit ton ungot ya nankargay danum ed

bubon. In tutob toy ungot ya manletletaw ed layag to tapian narengel ko so tanol na sira et nibaga

to no iner so pangipelagan na iket. Biglan walay nankablit ed syak tan inkuanto. “Bangon ka ta

nengneng mo so baleg ya sira.” Binmangon ak tan inmusdong ed danum insan ak akaeyag. “Aleg,

aleg!” ta say anengneng ko et sakey ya sira ya doble so dukey to ed samay baloto ya asingsingger

la ed samay piloto ya wala ed danum. Elekkan daak iray kakaibak tan anengneng kon linmakap

may piloto ed samay sira tan pinuyokpuyok to ed ulo.

Aman manaya may tatawagan day malabitewen, balbaleg ya sira pero say kakanen to

agamang. Kabebekta linma ed ebet na baloto may sira tan dinunsoldunso to ed ebet. Inpabalesen to

may amo mi na taluran tiklis ya agamang imay sira. Nen asupsop to lan amin inmarawi lamay sira.

Kuanda ya no makanengneng kay malabitewen siguradon amayamay so agamang ed saman ya

pasen. Tuwa met ya ta duaran guyuran labat napno lay baloto kanyan nayari lay onsempet. Kanyan

binalesan na agamang may sira tapian napesel tan onarawi la tan onpan nadonsol to may propeller

et nasakitan. Oras ya inmalibandos ed sakit et apaspas na ikol to may baloto sigurado yan

nabuybuyak ya singa labat baley na gurabis.

Aliwa labat ya agamang so nanaaka na tangkok. Wala met iray arum ya sira pero daiset

labat. Nasabi panangan nagsipili iray kakaiba na siran siraen da. Siyak mabetbet ya bingalo tan

kabasi so aalaen ko. Ikalot ko labat ya ed samay tambutso na motor insan ko isawsaw la ed danum

na dayt, timplado la na asin. Masamit so pangangan ed taew, pakalicman et mabisbiskeg kan lanang

tan asingsingger ka ed Diyos laot la no anggapolay nanengneng mo no agsay danum. Pakalicnam

singa wadtan labat so Diyos ed petek mo ya manbabantay ed sika.

Makapaligliket so onsigay pero no maminsan peligro met so bilay. No walay akanengneng

na letaw amin ya baloto onla ed saman ya pasen. Diad karakel da mansasaguran laray iket da sikato
ya so panlapuan na sibeg. Matutopakan iray bato o manpapaspasan iray begsay. No maminsan

malinac so dayat no kapapaway pero kasabi ed taew onsiplog la so dagem tan onkabaleg laray

daluyon. No onya agla makasakbit so balco ed kakabaleg na daluyon ed gilig. Karakelan manpaarap

la ra ed Sual ta dunan et keneng anggano walay bagyo. Dakel ed saramay mangipasoot ya onsapbit

pian labi et wala ira ed pamilya da so nateteneb no natneb la so baloto obligado lan tengteng
tatabuytaboyan ka na singa ra abong ya daluyon. No makapoy kan onpeket nepeg mon itaker so laman
mo

ed baloto ta no makaikban ka nabalang ka la. Wala met so pankakasakey da ray sumisigay. No

walay aderalan na makina itagey da may begsay ta pigar-pigaren da tapian nanengneng may kirlap na
danum ed begsay. Ondago lad satan ya ontolong iray walad asingger. No walay aga akasakbit

kagkabuasan onpaway la ra so kakaiba ya mananap.

Agsibok ko la so nacneb. Ngalngalin sanlabi kad betel ya tatabuytabuyan na ang kakabalg

ya daluyon. Diman timerter so loac tan nibagak ya agaylay irap na bilay na mairap tan anggapoy

aral.

Nensaman tinmonda ak ya manaral ta say gabay ko et engineering balet agto nayarian nen

tatay ko. Ontumbok ya taon Nan-enroll ak ed educasyon. No sabado tan domingo mankakarpentero

ak tapian walay nagastos ko ed eskwela. No summer magtratrabaho a ked construction. Inanosan

koy manaral tapian agko la nadalan lamet imay irap ya dinalan ko.
Wala met manaya so inawa ya manaalagar ed sika no marunong kan mansakripisyo tan

walay determinassyon mo. Ag ko nalingwanan so aral ya naasul ko ed inpilak ed tangkok.

Sikayoran kabaleyan sananey ya klasin tangkok siguro so dinalan yo. No sinmuko kayo ed irap

siguradon anggapoy asumpalan yo. No inusar yo yan experencia ya panpasekder ed determinasyon

yon onlaban tapian nagamoran yo ray pirawat yo, mainawa kayo la siguro natan. Amin tayo, walay

sarili tayon tangkok ya angimutektek tan nanpabiskeg so paninisya tayo ya sarag tayon abuten so

anto kaman ya pilalek tayo no sipaparaan tayon iter so biskeg tan kakabatan tayo ed anto kaman ya

gagawaen tayo. Ta anggapo lay inawan mansyansya tan agalay samit no ag samay inawan

nanirapan.