tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20204925469002671362023-11-15T08:33:21.263-08:00Literatures of the WorldSet you spirits FREE. Travel through time and space..Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-5310747357389816342010-11-07T17:08:00.000-08:002010-11-07T17:08:16.625-08:00Di na Ako Gaya ng Dati<div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">By: Marlon C. Alves</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">email: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #343434; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; line-height: 12px;">marlonalvesc@yahoo.com.ph</span></div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #343434; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; line-height: 12px;">---------------------------------------------------------</span></div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Di ko lubusang pansin na iba na pala ako</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">hindi na gaya ng dating ako</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">maraming tao na ang nakakapuna nito</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">pero ano ba ang tanging magagawa ko</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Una hindi ko choice na maging ganito ako</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">naglaho nang di inaasahan ang dating ako</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">kung ako man ay tatanungin mo</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">mas gusto kong manatili ung dating ako na nakilala mo</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Hindi ko lubos maisip na me natatabla na pala ako</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">sa chat, sa text o kahit sang usapang meron tayo</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">siguro ay sadyang di lang ako aware na nakakasakit na ako ng tao</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">pero kung iyon ang napuna niyo salamat sa pagiging totoo</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Hanggang san pa ba ang pagtuklas ko sa sarili ko</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">ilang taong paglalakbay pa ba ang bibilangin ko</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">hanggang ngaun ang isip ko ay gulong gulo</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">pero ang tanging masasabi ko sa mga sandaling ito</div><div style="display: block; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">salamat sa nag iwan at patuloy na nanatiling nasa tabi ko</div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-43061007384171734162010-10-04T01:12:00.000-07:002010-10-04T01:12:42.223-07:00Barang Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz4tY6y27pOD-mvJHBQJ3NOUNOb0C_0TMyrYDXPItL9EBkLa7Dg7JhKoxyQMV8yu_U6lIDcGIWmY1UPHukdQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-87863966382732897622010-10-04T00:25:00.000-07:002010-10-04T00:25:43.664-07:00Barang Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyHkEO1m07HQEEO8VyxAHLYhS49ytxlz6V-LTlAeku8g2BrIa6QV71u00sE68fc0qA8YQxUNUHWY4wosItDJA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-89414170916454761952010-10-03T23:51:00.000-07:002010-10-03T23:51:13.692-07:00Barang Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmy0tblI2-xOvAKkEPKuu1XA49MZTQKQhmlZ-EPlydru--we9F0WFYteF45BSB3YMzAoGS69-dLHRcc-G5Nw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-31861343036900473562010-10-03T23:11:00.000-07:002010-10-03T23:11:20.826-07:00Barang Part 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwkPU1zUDFSktEp4nQ_mTmQHgej7ZhkAstsE796c_AlLj3RKr94uQmfmVj3922v_kXT3ejUm5gZfZf4CmEgtw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-53454052769732067712010-10-03T22:28:00.000-07:002010-10-03T22:28:15.796-07:00Barang Part 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxlv5on2WnSba8Qs-3B2TYqj14p9ZQHF_BeuN3QL_iTJQskvktY-Eg9ZaVQxTfbM4JMh8EX6L1U_YCydgiaLg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-33278792343664814442010-10-03T21:54:00.000-07:002010-10-03T21:54:36.716-07:00Barang Part 6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyWkwqnREO9ZAZ0g_V-SEb2TxHOIWmDSrPpgnUp6f6yPoB7uzjUBX-sPAj0wNhJuTckGuJ49I6uOilxZh4-6w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-50253990227868939402010-10-03T21:07:00.000-07:002010-10-03T21:07:52.334-07:00Barang Part 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwhcwT6i2jrOIkxel5APd_f3A514gK-Kcmkymz-6DX8wipe46fDmtupsKr0TkSNNY60NteP37ctaUjKUGtiVA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-45565432954782867492010-10-03T19:27:00.000-07:002010-10-03T19:27:50.862-07:00Barang Part 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwAykECZNIGxfTSQ3oSaG10xYj9Kw1EU_PLHvCsaieXfGs50vTWyEX384VlwdjXUjVoXhiu-7qLYzdMcY8A9w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-75607902210228874912010-10-03T18:56:00.000-07:002010-10-03T18:56:15.252-07:00Barang Part 9 Ending<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dybMtivpGU_44yms4ChGW7lNn5BcQ16AOKagRPsnzwxqhwiKnmXQUWYvrTgOVxDpUVHkoyjQsuCI9icghGhug' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-4061660975327827382010-09-23T04:16:00.000-07:002010-09-23T04:16:12.860-07:00UNDER THE MANGO TREE by Hugh Aaron<div class="Paragraph1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">ONE would think we were a couple of returning heroes. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Americanos, Americanos,”</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> the naked children shouted, zigzagging like circus clowns in mad circles around us as Billiard Ball and I ambled abreast down the beaten path through the shade of the green canopy. Heavy duffel bags hanging from our shoulders were laden with gifts: bottles of beer, cartons of cigarettes, cans of fruit juice. Repeatedly sweeping past us like zephyrs, each child snatched a bar of sweet chocolate from our extended hands. We were no less boisterous than they, shouting along with them, asking their names, having a good time ourselves, caught up in the infectious joy of their freewheeling abandon. Such was the character of our entry into Lubao time after time.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">As we walked down the village street, people waved from their houses repeating our names, people we didn’t recognize from our earlier visit. “Hullo Beelyard Ball,” and “Al. Hullo. Comusta.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Anita emerged from one of the houses to greet us. “You must both stay with my family,” she said. Then Alejandro appeared and said to Billiard Ball, “I have been waiting all week. Please, if you wouldn’t mind some metaphysical discussion I would be honored to have you as my guest.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“How can I resist metaphysical discussion?” said Billiard Ball with a smile. As the two walked off, I heard Alejandro say, “And I imagine you have read </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Man’s Fate</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> in the original French? How lucky! Malraux is right. For our time the answer lies in courageous action.” Had Billiard Ball found himself a revolutionary?</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I followed Anita up the ladder to her family’s one-room house, similar in its simplicity to Rosalio’s but larger. Both had the same style cooking hearth near one wall, the split bamboo floor, the same immaculateness. Squatting before the hearth, Anita’s mother, looking in her fifties (but only in her thirties, I learned later), was preparing the noon meal. She acknowledged our entrance with a nod and a warm smile. Sitting cross-legged on a floor mat in a corner, Anita’s wispy maternal grandmother, her skin wrinkled like an elephant’s, grinned, showing toothless black gums. She mumbled something incomprehensible to me in Spanish. Shortly Mr. Quiboloy, wearing a wide-brimmed hat woven of jute, came in from the hot fields. We shook hands warmly. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Quiboloy,” I said.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“You may call me Lucio, now that we are old friends,” he responded. We all sat on the floor in a circle and ate brown rice and chicken from clay bowls while Mr. Quiboloy spoke of their lot in Lubao.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I am only a small tenant farmer,” he said—to clarify his role, not to complain. “The family in the hacienda on the Bataan highway owns the land.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“The fancy place we passed on the way?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Yes, the fancy place,” he said, and everyone laughed at my odd description. “I keep fifty percent for myself and fifty percent is for the landowner. The incentive is small, but what choice do we have?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“The Hukbalahaps think we have one, Father,” said Anita.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“How dare you speak of them in our house,” Mr. Quiboloy said in a flash of anger. Turning to me, he explained. “The Huks are radicals, communists; they know only one way: violence.” Then, addressing Anita, he said, “Where do you get such foolish thoughts? Is that what you are learning in school? Is that what Alejandro teaches?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Where are the Huks from?” I asked.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“From everywhere,” Lucio replied. “Some dwell within our own barrio, but since I am not a sympathizer, I cannot be sure which ones they are. You see, I believe in Philippine democracy. I believe we should be like America, where everyone has an opportunity to succeed and live well.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“But that’s not always true. You remember our discussion last weekend?” I said.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Oh, yes, I have not forgotten. Still, you have not had to live through our poverty and pain. You have never had that in America.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">How could I argue? I knew of no pain first-hand. I never saw anyone starving. Through the desperate thirties there was always food on our table and ample clothes to wear and a snug apartment to sleep in. Although my father had lost the wealth gained during his most vigorous years, and he had lost his daring and capacity to dream for the rest of his life, he never lost his belief in America. In its worst times the nation somehow provided opportunity for survival.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When the meal was over, Anita handed me a sleeping mat, which I unrolled on the floor beside those of my hosts. It was too hot to be out in the high sun of the early afternoon. What could be more sensible than to have a cool siesta? In two hours Anita awakened me from a soft sleep. Lucio had returned to the field, her mother was elsewhere, and her grandmother squatted quietly in a corner weaving a mat. “My father has asked me to show you the mango tree,” she said. “Will you come with me, please?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">We walked down the path to the highway, at first side by side, but soon she fell behind. “Am I going too fast for you?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“No, no,” she said, urging me to keep on ahead. She continued to linger behind.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Are you tired?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“No, no,” and she giggled in amusement. “It’s the custom in Lubao that I walk behind.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Since the concrete highway was blistering, we walked along the narrow dirt shoulder, which was less hot but still burned through the soles of my GI boots. Anita, barefoot as usual, didn’t seem to mind. Nor, in her white dress and wide brimmed woven hat, did she seem bothered by the afternoon sun beating down on us, while I perspired heavily and had to stop to rest now and then under a tree. Although several passing ten-wheel army trucks offered us a lift, she refused them. Grudgingly I submitted to her wish. “We have only a few miles,” she said, a promise of small comfort. Soon we passed by the grand white stucco hacienda, a stark contrast to Anita’s house.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“So this is where the rich landowners live,” I said.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Oh, but they are no longer rich, Hal. They have the land, but that is all. The Japanese took all the crops. The land is of little use without seed. And the Japanese removed all their possessions, leaving the house bare. They are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">mestizos</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> and very proud, but the Japanese took that away too. A commander occupied the hacienda and humiliated the family, making them his servants. He hoped that by doing this, the rest of us would be pleased and that we would cooperate with him.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“And weren’t the people happy to see the selfish landowner get what he deserved?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Oh, no, the Santoses are good people; they are always very kind. When we have malaria, they bring us quinine. When a typhoon ruins our crops, they give us rice to eat and new seed for the next planting. The Japanese commander had mistaken how we would feel. We knew he was cruel.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">At last we reached our destination, the small solitary thatched house on stilts beside the sluggish stream that I had observed on our first trip along the highway. We climbed the ladder to the house and entered its cool, dim interior, where I saw a mostly naked old man seated on the floor. “This is my grandfather,” said Anita as she uncovered a basket of fruit, vegetables, and rice that she had brought for him.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He reached for my outstretched right hand with his left; his other arm hung limp by his side. “Comusta ka,” he said in a clear, high voice.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Comusta,” I said, returning the greeting. He then spoke to Anita in dialect, pointing to a small woven box beside his hearth, which she retrieved for him. From it he removed a GI dog tag, which he held suspended for me to see.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“It is an American soldier’s necklace,” said Anita.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“May I look at it closely?” I asked, astonished that he would have such a thing.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The dog tag bore the name Roger B. Anderson and his serial number and blood type. “Where did your grandfather get this, Anita?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“From Lieutenant Anderson,” she replied plainly.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I don’t understand. GIs don’t give away their dog tags.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Let us sit and I shall tell you about Lieutenant Anderson.” She peeled a banana for her grandfather, and handed me one with a dark green skin. “It is quite ripe even though it is green,” she said. It was, and tasted sweeter than any I had ever eaten. “He is there under my grandfather’s mango tree.” I followed her gaze through the doorway. Symmetrical and spreading, a low tree stood between the house and the stream, creating a cool, grassy oasis beneath its graceful branches.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Baffled by her indirection, I tried to deduce her meaning. “Buried? In a grave? Under the tree?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Anita’s grandfather, having sense my sudden comprehension, broke into excited dialect, and struggled to rise. “My grandfather says that you may keep the necklace,” said Anita. She addressed him sternly and he sat down again. “My grandfather’s bones give him much pain. They never healed correctly after the Japanese broke them. He should stay with us in the barrio, but he refuses. My grandfather is a stubborn man.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Later I learned that Anita made the trip to her grandfather’s house several days a week to bring him food and often to stay and cook for him. I could sense an unspoken bond between them, a mutual appreciation. Anita once confessed that she felt much closer to her grandfather than to her own father. The old and young are on common ground: Both are concerned only with the fresh simplicities of life, the very business of being alive.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Anita began her story: “The Japanese marched hundreds of American prisoners through Pampanga from Bataan, giving them no food or water, and whipping them when they fell behind. They made them walk on the hot concrete so that they left bloody footprints from their scorched and wounded feet.” I winced, recalling my recent distress walking under the sun, even along the cooler shoulder of the highway. Anita spoke with a chilling earnestness, as if she were describing a scene in progress, making no comment, stating only facts. “Some were already weakened from wounds in the battle on Bataan and could not keep up. Lieutenant Anderson was one of these. When the men fell and did not rise after being kicked and beaten, they were shot, and their bodies were collected on a wagon pulled by carabao that followed the marchers. Lieutenant Anderson was shot there at the edge of the road.” She stared out at the glaring white concrete. “But my grandfather and grandmother saw him move; he was still alive. So before the wagon passed they dragged him from the road and hid him under the trees by the stream in the field behind the house. They nursed his wounds for many weeks.” She interrupted her account to consult with her grandfather in dialect. “Yes, my grandfather says it was more than a month before the American opened his eyes and spoke.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Did you meet him?” I asked.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Much later in the barrio,” she said, “but I was only a child.” I had failed to realize immediately that she had become a woman in the intervening four years.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“It was very dangerous for my grandparents. The Japanese often warned us not to help the Americanos or we would be shot. When the monsoon came and the land was covered with water, Lieutenant Anderson was moved to Reverend Mr. Corum’s house in Lubao. But soon the Japanese returned to search for the Americano, saying they had heard we were hiding one of the marchers. Someone, maybe from the barrio—we shall never know—had betrayed us. They entered my grandparents’ house and asked my grandfather to give them the Americano, but he would admit nothing. They broke his limbs and he passed out from the pain.” Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of his suffering. “Then they took him and my grandmother to the barrio where all the people were gathered and they showed what they did to my grandfather and they threatened to kill us one by one until we gave them the Americano. My father and Reverend Mr. Corum replied to the Japanese commander that killing us would be useless.” She faltered; the words came hard. “The commander ordered a soldier to stand my Nanay by the wall of the church.” With tear streaked cheeks, she went on. “And he shot her. Oh, I loved my Nanay so very much.” She had to stop, and her grandfather reached for her with his one good arm and took her into it and comforted her with the soft words of his dialect as he, too, cried.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Her story was too appalling. I was speechless. I wanted to take on her pain, to share the suffering of her memory. But regaining her composure, she resumed. “After the commander killed my Nanay, the Americano, Lieutenant Anderson, appeared from Reverend Mr. Corum’s house. He had witnessed the commander’s cruelty and understood that others would also die unless he was found. The soldiers took him and flung him to the ground and beat him with their rifles. And then the commander ordered his soldiers to stand him by the wall of the church where my Nanay had stood. Blood was pouring from his head and they shot him. Then they left us.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“What happened to the bodies of your Nanay and Lieutenant Anderson?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“We took them and prepared them and, after a deep mourning, buried them side by side under the mango tree, as my grandfather wished.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The sun appeared like an enormous orange balloon balanced at the apex of a faraway mountaintop. The heat of its slanting rays was now comfortably diminished in the late afternoon. “We must return to Lubao,” said Anita. Embracing her grandfather, she bid him good-bye and I shook his hand again. “Let me show you the graves.” Together we stood beside them, each marked by a simple boulder, nothing more. “The rounder rock is my Nanay’s grave.” The next few moments we shared in silence. Soon she raised her eyes and asked, “Do you like mangoes?” Taking one from the tree, she gave it to me. It was sweet and moist.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Absolutely delicious,” I said.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“It is by far my favorite fruit,” she replied. “And don’t you think it is a beautiful tree? See how it spreads its branches like the arms of dancers; see how it shades the earth and makes it green.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was in the flash of that instant, transcending all feelings of desire, that I understood I had fallen in love with Anita. It was then I knew I had found someone who surpassed all I could ever hope to be. “Yes, it’s a beautiful and rare tree,” I answered.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">During our walk back to Lubao we hardly spoke, save for one short exchange. “I have never been alone with a man, never with an Americano,” she said. “But my father said I could be with you, for he trusts you. At first I was very frightened, but now I am happy that we have spent this time together.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“What are you afraid of? That I would bite you?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She laughed. “No, no, of course not that.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“What then?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Delaying her reply, she slipped farther behind me as she pondered how best to express her thoughts. I stopped, waiting. “That I am not worthy,” she said. “That you would be ashamed of me. That we are like monkeys.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Oh, my God, Anita. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Americanos are beautiful. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Mestizos</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> are beautiful.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“No, you are.” I gently enclosed her hand in mine. It was the first time we touched.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I hope you will come back often,” she said, hesitatingly withdrawing her hand.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Nothing can stop me,” I promised.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That evening Billiard Ball and I had supper at the reverend’s. Anita, like soft music, was ever-present in the background, assisting Mrs. Corum. Afterwards we retired to the cozy living room, joined by Lucio, Anita’s father, and Hando. The gathering, being more intimate, dealt with both controversial and heartfelt matters, ranging from Shakespearean drama and symphonic music (Bartok no less), extolled by the uncommonly erudite Hando, to local politics and agrarian reform. Lucio, farmer and mayor, was a graduate of an agricultural college, a respected expert. “We must not be impatient and greedy,” he said, referring to a program he was promoting among his fellow farmers. “Rather than harvest all our rice for today’s consumption, we must set aside a portion for seed even if it means we will be hungry a while longer.” But few were paying heed to his recommendation. “It is not easy to believe in the future when the present is still so hard,” he sighed.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Yes,” Hando agreed, “we must take the necessary steps now to become masters of the future. And we must be concerned with more than rice seedlings. Reform, dividing the haciendas and distributing the land, is essential.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Isn’t that what the Huks are striving to do?” I asked.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“But they are trying to do it by violent means,” said Lucio. “That is wrong.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Our people have been exploited for more than three hundred years,” said Hando with vehemence, his smooth, feminine amber skin taut and glistening. “The hacienda system is too firmly implanted. It will never submit to being destroyed peacefully.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“But violence never knows where to stop. The innocent end up being victims,” Lucio countered with equal insistence. “If we expect to be independent, we must also have stability.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Perhaps America should be our model,” said the reverend, addressing Billiard Ball. “Unlike us, you do not kill your politicians over elections. You do not have our corruption. Sadly, we have few patriots and everyone is for himself.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“But Roxas will unite us,” said Lucio, referring to the new presidential candidate in the elections to take place less than a year hence.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Roxas was a collaborator; he betrayed us,” Hando said dourly.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Finding their intensity contagious, I listened, unable to decide who was right. With independence near at hand, at a crossroad in their history, they were contemplating the formation of the new nation and how best to correct ancient, firmly established inequities and injustice. Would their hopes and arguments ultimately be meaningless?</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Would Billiard Ball and I care to attend church in the morning, asked Reverend Mr. Corum. We politely begged off, and he took no offense. “I have never met a Jew before,” he said. “but your religion and the history of your people are a part of my education as a clergyman. Do you attend your church?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Well, the truth is I don’t practice a religion,” I said sheepishly. “But I was born a Jew and I insist on belonging. The Jews have been a scapegoat ever since their exile from Babylonia over two thousand years ago. I can’t escape the past and I feel a duty to accept its consequences.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“That’s very noble of you.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I don’t see it as noble. It is necessary for my self-respect.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“But as a Jew you have nothing to fear in America,” said Hando, who was listening intently.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Probably not. Tolerance is part of the American tradition,” I replied, “but I sometimes worry when I’m singled out and despised by prejudiced Gentiles. When I was a child I was often victimized by my schoolmates.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I see,” said Hando, “then you are a Jew first?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Hando, you are being discourteous to our guest,” said Reverend Mr. Corum.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Please forgive him,” said Lucio. “He often oversteps decent bounds.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Really, I’d like to answer the question,” I said. Having ignored the reverend’s rebuke and Lucio’s apology, Hando kept his clear, penetrating, catlike eyes fastened on mine. “No, Hando, I am first an American.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Ah, what a lucky many you are. If only I could first be a Filipino.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“And you, Billiard Ball, do you have a faith?” asked the reverend.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I suppose I’m an atheist,” he replied, “but I don’t disapprove of religion, although it’s the major cause of war and misery throughout the history of civilized man.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Not religion itself, if you will forgive me for contradicting you,” said the reverend, holding up his finger pedantically, “but man, in the name of religion.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Yes, Reverend,” said Billiard Ball, nodding vigorously. “I stand corrected.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Such were our conversations. They were of a depth and seriousness and range I had never experienced before. We discussed political systems, communism versus democracy, psychology, man’s startling discoveries of his hidden self, his search for meaning in life (There is none according to Billiard Ball), the crisis in physics, the pessimism of contemporary philosophers, the shocking renunciation of tradition in modern art and music, the truth of literature, and on and on. Billiard Ball and I found, in this comparatively primitive village, a gold mine of astounding sophistication. And who was the principal force behind all this magnificent cerebration? Reverend Mr. Corum, of course, supported by two lesser and opposing forces: Lucio and Hando.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The reverend was on an endless voyage in search of life’s truth. In an unobtrusive, self-effacing manner, he subtly enticed us to follow him, to think aloud without fear of criticism or reproof. But attacks on those personalities present or close to us were forbidden. Despite his extraordinary sophistication, there was a deceptive simplicity, a childlike quality, an innocence about him. His gentleness was saintly. I was always eager to be in his presence, to hear his views on any subject, to hear his questions. His quiet power was the source of the barrio’s pride in itself. It was he who made the barrio an enclave against alien influences. Admiring America, he distrusted Americans and their careless style. Loving God, he rarely invoked his name. And not once in conversation during the time I knew him, an all too brief five months, did he mention Lieutenant Anderson’s name, or speak of the cruel Japanese commander or refer to Nanay’s untimely death.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">On a subsequent visit I vividly recall a discussion on the nobility of sacrificing oneself for another. “It is natural to the human spirit,” the reverend stated. “Don’t we place our children and all those we deeply love before ourselves? Hadn’t we practiced this spirit toward the prisoners of the Death March? And didn’t we bear witness to the highest form of sacrifice by the Americano? Yes, I believe that in the end our goodness will prevail, for it is the most universal human trait.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“All of history disputes your thesis,” Billiard Ball retorted.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“May I say, if you wish to call up history, then we shall find support for any view of man’s nature,” replied the reverend.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Checkmate,” I whispered to Billiard Ball.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That night Billiard Ball slept at Hando’s house, and I at Anita’s with three generations in a single room. Being a product of a comfortable urban middle class environment, certain practical questions came to mind. How did one have sex, unless perhaps very quietly; where did one find privacy, and where was the bathroom? I never found the answer to the first; wherever one could, and rarely, was the answer to the second, and to the third the answer was a question: What is a bathroom? One bathed in the local stream and went out in the field to defecate. I found this hard to cope with, but in the nick of time I learned that there was an outhouse behind Reverend Mr. Corum’s.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">In the morning Anita served me the traditional rice, from America, she said, and eggs and some goat’s milk, a menu similar to that at Rosalio’s. On a like occasion during a later visit, to my awkward chagrin, she served me a bottle of Budweiser. Since beer was available only on the black market, it must have cost Lucio a large sum. Thinking back to our prior group discussion comparing the Filipino and American diets, I recalled mentioning that America’s favorite drinks were Coke and beer. But I did not explain that I cared for neither, particularly beer. The magnanimity of these people was unbounded. I could not fail to come to love them.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After church, which Billiard Ball and I did not attend, a volleyball net was set up across the width of the dirt street. One side of the street was bordered by banana trees and the other by the white stucco wall of the church, which still bore the chips and holes of spent bullets when Nanay and Lieutenant Anderson were murdered. The volleyball game, in which Hando, Billiard Ball, and I and other new friends participated, was an exciting, happy event, full of joking and laughter, and watched by everyone in the barrio. The prize for the winning team was a carton of Camels, donated by Billiard Ball. At one crucial stage I accidentally hit the net, costing our side the loss of the ball and, quickly, the game. My mortification at being responsible for the loss was so evident that the winners insisted upon splitting the carton of cigarettes equally with the opposing team. Their sensitivity to the feelings of others was beyond me.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Again, as on the previous weekend but more so, we departed that Sunday afternoon with unbearable sadness. But our hearts were also full of fresh pleasurable memories, and the prospect of more such visits. Tears filled Anita’s eyes as we said good-bye, and Hando embraced Billiard Ball. Reverend Mr. Corum held my hand in both of his, reluctant to let it go.</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">On the ride to Olongapo in back of an army truck, I told Billiard Ball Anita’s story of Lieutenant Anderson. “Poor devil, Anderson,” said Billiard Ball. “It was a heroic act, and it shouldn’t go unacknowledged. As soon as we get back to the base, I’ll report our discovery.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“No, don’t,” I said belligerently. “Don’t you see he’s a symbol to the barrio people? They took an enormous risk in saving his life and keeping him. Christ, it cost them Anita’s grandmother’s life, and they were ready for anything rather than give him up. I’d hate to think what could have happened if Anderson hadn’t surrendered himself. He represents a victory to them. He gave them cause for self-respect while being humiliated by a cruel enemy. Look how Anita’s grandfather watches over and cares for the grave.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Billiard Ball weighed my argument for several minutes. “I understand what you’re saying, Hal. You look upon these people as being like your own, don’t you?”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“It’s true, I’ve never felt so at home, so much a part of them, as if I belonged.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“I can see that, but that isn’t what I mean.” Puzzled, I waited for him to continue. “They are like the Jews against the world. You, your people, and they have suffered and still suffer and refuse to submit. It is, I think, what attracts you to each other; it’s what you have in common.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Confused, surprised, I stammered, “Maybe you’re right. I’m not sure. I have to think.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">“Getting back to Anderson, consider this, Hal,” said Billiard Ball. “Don’t you think Anderson’s family would like to have his remains? Shouldn’t they also know about his meritorious act of heroism, what a special individual he was? Maybe he left a wife or son behind to feel proud of him for the rest of their lives were they to know. And wouldn’t we also deprive our country of a chance to honor its best?” I stared at Billiard Ball in silence. By the time we reached the dock at Olongapo, we were no nearer to a resolution. “Okay, Hal,” he said, “I’m going to follow my own conscience. Like you, I think Anderson was first an American, and should go home. I’m going to report Anita’s story.”</span></div><div class="Paragraph2" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He did, and I didn’t hold it against him. Ω</span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-90032696152304388772010-09-23T04:05:00.000-07:002010-09-23T04:05:53.049-07:00THE LITTLE PEOPLE by Maria Aleah G. Taboclaon<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">THE elves came to stay with us when I was nine. They were noisy creatures and we would hear them stomping on an old crib on the ceiling. We heard them from morning till night. They kept us awake at night.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">One night, when it was particularly unbearable, Papa mustered enough courage and called out. "Excuse me!" he said. "Our family would like to sleep, please? Resume your banging tomorrow!" Of course, we had tried restraining him for we didn't know how the elves would react to such audacity.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">We got the shock of our lives when silence suddenly filled the house--no more banging, no more stomping from the elves. Papa turned to us smugly. Sheepishly, we turned in for the night, thankful for the respite.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When dawn came, the smug look on Papa's face the night before turned into anger for shortly before six, the banging started again, and louder this time! We got up and tried speaking to the elves but got no response. The banging continued all day and into the night, and stopped at the same hour--eleven o'clock. And at exactly six a.m. the next day, it started again.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">What could our poor family do?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Papa tried to call an </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> to get rid of our unwelcome housemates but the woman was booked till the end of the week. Meanwhile, the elves had become our alarm clock. When they start their noise, we would get up and do our errands. Papa would start cooking, I would start setting the table, Mama would sweep. The whole house--my older sister and my cousin would water the plants, and my brother would start coloring his books. (We really didn't expect him to work, he was only four.)</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After a week, we got hold of the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> She spent the night in our house and by morning, she told us to never bother her again. The elves had already made themselves a part of our life, she said. Prax, the leader of the elves, had spoken to her and had told her that his family had no plans of moving out. They liked things as they were.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">We eventually settled down to a comfortable coexistence with the elves. They woke us up at six, they let us sleep at eleven, and in return for the alarm service we would leave food on the table. By morning, the food would be gone and the table cleaned.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">All in all, it was a very good relationship.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After three weeks--the first week of May--I met Prax, the leader and oldest in the clan, and I met him literally by accident. I was climbing the mango tree in our yard when one of its branches broke. I fell and broke my ankle. The pain was so great that I just sat there numb, staring at my ankle which had begun to turn blue. I could not move or cry out. I went to sleep to forget the pain. My last conscious thought was that the ground was too cold to sleep on.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I woke to a hand touching my foot. It belonged to someone--</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">something</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">nonhuman, for his hand radiated warmth that seemed to penetrate to my bones. His hand was small, wrinkled and felt like dried prunes.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Although I was curious, I kept my eyes closed. I imagined a hideously deformed face, with long and sharp teeth. Would he disappear when I open my eyes? Or would he devour me? I pretended to be asleep.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After several minutes, I could pretend no longer; I was too curious to remain still. When I opened my eyes, the horrible sight that I expected was not there. Instead, there was this old, wrinkled creature, even shorter than I was although I was the smallest in my class. He wore overalls unlike any clothing I knew of. Its texture was a mixture of green leaves and earth. It clung to his skin and writhed with a life of its own. Its color continually changed from deep to light green, to dark to light brown, and to green again. It was fascinating to look at. I felt a sense of awe and respect towards the elf.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He was good with his hands. My ankle already felt better. He was massaging it with an ointment that smelled nice. Before I could stop myself, I sniffed deeply, bringing the healing aroma of the ointment deep into my lungs. Detecting my movement, the elf turned to me and smiled kindly. Although I didn't see his mouth moving, I could hear him talking.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Don't be afraid," he said. His voice was so soothing that I had to fight my urge to snuggle and sleep in his small arms.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I shook my head slightly. What was I supposed to say? </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Hello, elf? How are you?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> I could not. I didn't even know if I was supposed to call him that or just say </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Tabi</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> or </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Apo.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">As if knowing what I was thinking, the elf smiled again. "You call our kind</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">dwendes</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> or elves, no?" I nodded. "I actually don't mind if you call me an elf, but please call me Prax."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Seeing my astonished look, Prax laughed. His laugh sounded like the whistling of wind through the trees and a bit like the breaking of the waves on the seashore. I thought it nice and longed to hear more. And I wanted to know more about his kind. Did they have children? Wives? Did they play games like </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">patintero? Habulan?</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">But Prax was not in the mood to chat. He told me that I should have been more careful. I could have been seriously hurt.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I nodded absently, thinking that I liked his clothes, his laugh, and his voice. He reminded me of my grandfather who had died a long time ago.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I closed my eyes, letting Prax's healing massage lull me to sleep. Thirty minutes later when I woke up, the elf was gone. Only the lingering fragrance of his balm remained.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When Mama and Papa arrived, I told them what had happened. It was really frustrating seeing their reactions. They became pale, then collapsed on the sofa. I had to douse them with water before they revived. Why couldn't they be like other people and be glad that I had been befriended by a supernatural being? I had told them about my first encounter with a real elf, and they fainted on the spot! I sulked for the rest of the evening.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Mama told me to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">never, never</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> talk to elves again. Or did I forget the countless tales of elves taking people to their kingdom after killing them? I just shrugged. After all, the elf had saved my life!</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I thought no more of it and, indeed, began to enjoy the banging and stomping on our ceiling. I almost wished to be hurt again just so I could see Prax. But nothing happened and I passed the rest of my summer days dreaming about playing with elves.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I met my second elf in school. I was in Grade 3, a transferee to a new public school that had a haunted classroom. My classmates related tales about </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">dwendes,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> white ladies, and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">kapres</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> in our school. I believed their stories readily.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I tried to tell them about Prax but since they were skeptical, I decided to let them be. As it was, I was excluded from their games.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">In the classroom, I chose the seat I felt was the most haunted, the one farthest away from the teacher's table. Nobody wanted to sit near me. Behind me was a picture of the president. Without the company of my classmates, I expected elves to make their presence felt. So I waited.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">By the third month in class, it happened. We had a very difficult math exam. Our teacher left us and went to gossip outside and all around me my classmates were openly copying each other's work. I looked at their papers from my seat, hoping that their scribbles would mean something to me but the answers to the blasted long divisions eluded me. I looked at the ceiling, trying to see if my brain would work better if my head was tilted a certain angle. It did not. I looked to my right, nothing there. And finally, I looked down and saw this tiny little elf, smaller than Prax by as much as six inches, sitting on the bag in front of me tap-tapping his foot impatiently.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What took you so long to notice? I've been here for hours!" he said.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">What gall! Did he really think that his race would excuse his bad manners? I ignored him and frowned at my test paper. What was 3996 divided by 6?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Immediately, he apologized and told me that his name was Bat. He had seen me play outside and thought that I was beautiful, sensitive, and romantic. Did I want him to help me in my test?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Me beautiful? I enthusiastically agreed to let him answer the test. I showed him my paper, and he snorted. "For us elves, this is elementary!" he said. I wanted to tell him that to us humans, these problems are also elementary, third-grade in fact, but I changed my mind.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Bat and I became friends. He helped me with my homework and gave me little things such as colored pencils and stationery that were the craze in school. He cautioned me strongly against telling my parents of my friendship with him. After all, he said, some people might not understand our relationship. They might forbid us from seeing each other.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I thought nothing of it and kept silent about my friendship with Bat. I enjoyed his company, for he was very thoughtful. He was a good friend and I thought we would be friends forever.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The time came, though, when he declared that he loved me. He wanted me to go with him to his kingdom and be his princess. I refused, of course. For God's sake, I was only nine! I didn't know how to cook or do the laundry or do the other things that wives are expected to do. And he was an elf! Short as I was, he only came up to my knees. What a ridiculous picture we would surely make. He pleaded with me for days but out of spite I told him that I had already confided to my parents, and that they were very angry. It was not true, but Bat didn't know that. He got angry and launched into diatribes about promises being made and broken. Then he vanished.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That night I dreamed that Prax talked to me. He told me that I should have never offended Bat outright. "That elf is a stranger in our town," he said. "We don't know his family. He might be violent."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">But I had already done what I had done and there was no use wishing otherwise. I told Prax I'd never worry. After all, he'd always be there for me and my family, right?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Wrong," he said. His gift was for giving good luck and for healing minor, nonfatal injuries. "What good is that for?" I asked. He couldn't answer, and left me to a dream of falling houses and shrieking elves.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The next day, I got sick and did not get well even after the best doctor in town treated me. My parents had grown desperate so the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> was called once more. She told my parents to roast a whole cow, which they did willingly. The </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> and her family feasted on it. When I was still sick after a few days, she instructed my parents to cut my hair; she told them that elves liked longhaired women. The problem was Bat liked my new look, and in my dreams, he was always there, entreating me to go with him. I got sicker than ever.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> getting an idea from a dream, then tried her last cure--an ointment taken from the bark of seven old trees applied to my hair. It cost more than the cow and nobody could enter my room without gagging. The smell was terrible. That did the trick. Apparently, Bat was disgusted but he would stop at nothing to get me, even if it meant getting my family out of the way. I told him again and again that I didn't love him and would never go with him, but the elf's mind was set. In the end I just ignored him, for who could reason with an elf, and a mad one at that?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He did not turn up in my dreams the next few nights. In a week, I was up and running again and I thought that all was right. My parents decided that I should transfer to another school, this time a sectarian school.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Then something happened. My mother had a miscarriage. People blamed the elves and talked about it for a long time. I remember the sad and fearful looks of my parents every day as they heard the banging on our ceiling. Were they friends or were they responsible for the accident? I had never told them about Bat, who Prax said was the one behind all these incidents.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Years passed, and since nothing untoward had happened since my mother's miscarriage, we began to let go of our fears. The alarm service continued, and our belief that my mother's miscarriage was the elves' doing was discarded. It was simply the fetus's fate to die before it was born.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Bat left town, probably to look for some of his kin to help him," Prax said.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was a chilling thought, and with Bat's words the last time we talked, I was terrified. I laid awake at night thinking of a way to protect my family. I had Prax, but what about them?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When I was twelve, the banging on our ceiling stopped. We were having lunch, feasting on the pork barbecue my mother had bought after her experiment with chicken curry failed. The sudden cessation of the noise we had been living with for years was jarring. The silence grated on our ears. For the first time, we could hear ourselves breathe.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">No one moved. Even my brother, who was now seven, stopped chewing the pork he had just bitten off the stick. Papa stood up and called to the elves. Nobody answered. Gesturing for my cousin to follow him, they got the ladder and prepared to climb to the ceiling. They took with them an old wooden crucifix and a bottle of water from the first rain of May. My cousin brought along a two-by-two and a rope. I didn't know what they wanted to do but we looked on, our barbecue forgotten.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Papa went inside the ceiling and my cousin followed. Moments later, they came back running. My cousin descended the ladder first and I don't know whether it was because of fright or just because he was careless, but a rung broke and he fell to the ground, back first, hitting the two-by-two he had dropped in his haste. He lay there, unmoving except for his ragged breathing, his back bent at an angle we never thought possible.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Mama fainted, Papa stood still, my sister called an ambulance, my brother wailed, and I sat in the ground, laughing. It was not a laugh of gladness, just my nervous reaction to what happened. But they misunderstood and locked me in my room. I cried, shouted, cursed, but remained locked in. From inside my room I could hear them talking, the medical help coming in, and relatives pouring inside our house. I was ignored. I slept and dreamed that an elf was laughing. When I woke up, the whole house was filled by elven laughter. Then my cousin died.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After another year, my little brother followed. He was run over by a postal service van. I can still hear the anguished wail of the driver as he asked for forgiveness. He claimed that a tiny creature had run in front of his van and he had swerved to avoid it. My brother was unfortunately playing by the roadside and the van ran straight into him. Witnesses say they had heard laughter at the exact moment the wheels caught my brother.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The driver was imprisoned, but the deaths did not stop there. Barely six months later, my father drowned while fishing. A freak storm, the fishermen said, but for us who were left alive there was no mistaking that our family would die one by one.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">There were only three of us left: my mother, my sister, and I. We tried to seek help, but the policemen laughed in our faces. We were branded as lunatics. And Prax was gone, defeated by Bat and his family apparently on the day the banging stopped. Even the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> could not help us. What use were her potions and ointments? What the elves needed was a good dose of magic, and the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">albularyo</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> was primarily a healer and an exorcist. She had no training when it came to defending a whole family against vengeful elves.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">And poor Mama! A mere week after my father died she followed. Extreme despair, the doctors said but we knew better.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">My sister and I left home and went to live with our relatives in the city, hundreds of kilometers away. We told them about the elves but they laughed and told us we were being provincial. "It is the 90s," they said. "Belief in the little people died a long time ago." We knew they were wrong, but how could two orphaned teenagers convince the skeptics? Perhaps, we should have insisted on talking more but, as things were, our aunt had already scheduled counseling sessions for the two of us The fear of being sent to a mental institution stopped us from further trying to convince them. In the end, we just hoped that the distance from our old home would keep us safe from the elves.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">But they followed and, one by one, our foster family died. Car accidents, food poisonings, assassinations through mistaken identity--there were logical explanations for their deaths but we knew we had been responsible. We could only look on helplessly, and despaired.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">We traveled again, haphazardly enough to let us think that we could outwit the elves. But they finally caught my sister about a year ago. We were on the bus bound for another town when a tire blew out. The bus crashed into a ditch and although most of the passengers including myself were injured, the only fatality was my sister. I realized then that there was no escaping the fury of the little people.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After my sister's death, there was a period of silence from the elves. I decided to continue studying and enrolled at the local college. I had no problem with finances. I had inherited a large sum from a relative I had unwittingly sent to death.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After I got settled in the school dormitory, Prax appeared in my dreams again. He told me about a chant that he had dug up in the enormous library of a human psychic he had befriended. It was a weapon against any creature--effective against those with malicious intentions, whether towards humans or other creatures. Prax thought it would he better if I could defeat Bat myself. After all, hadn't Bat done me great harm already? I agreed and prepared myself for the battle that would decide my fate.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was not long after my conversation with Prax that Bat tracked me down. It was a weekend and I had the room all to myself. I looked up from my notes and saw him--much older, his once clear complexion now marred with dark, crisscrossing veins. Hate screamed from him, and he stooped and walked with great difficulty. I pitied him.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He gave me an ultimatum: go with him or die on the spot. I pretended to look defeated and worn out. My act was effective and Bat looked pleased. He wanted us to go immediately but I dallied. At the pretext of packing my few valuable possessions, I told him to wait outside and count to a hundred.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When he was gone, I took out the ingredients I had prepared and the mini-stove I had borrowed. I boiled a small amount of sweet milk. I unwrapped Bat's image made in green and brown clay, with strands of his hair given to me by Prax, and started blowing and chanting words that meant nothing to me.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Blow. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Allif, casyl, zaze, hit, mel, meltat.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Blow. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Allif, casyl, zaze, hit, mel, meltat.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Blow. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Allif, casyl, zaze, hit, mel, meltat.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Outside the room, Bat's count reached 70. I put aside the image and into the pan I poured hundreds of brand new pins and needles that had been blessed. The count reached 80. I repeated the chant and immersed the image in the boiling liquid. I waited.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Bat's count reached a hundred but I did not worry for it had become faint and weak, just as Prax had told me. Then Bat dissipated into a mist--shrieking, I might add--to where, only God would ever know.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Prax appeared again in my dreams that night and told me that they--Bat and his family--would never bother me again. He himself would move his family away from humans to avoid similar incidents in the future. It was too bad he didn't discover the old book with the vanquishing spell earlier for I could have saved my family. I could not bring them back, he said, but I could build a good life of my own. With the luck he bestowed on me, I would never be in need for material things the rest of my life.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I kissed the old elf, knowing that we would never see each other again. I watched him fade away, seeing the last of my family go.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When I woke up, I went to my desk and studied math, remembering where it all began. </span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-43776159664723112002010-09-23T04:00:00.000-07:002010-09-23T04:00:09.653-07:00ANY WOMAN SPEAKS by Angela Manalang Gloria<div style="text-align: center;"></div><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Half of the world's true glamour
Is held--you know by whom?
Not by the gilt Four Hundred
Parading in perfume,
Nor by the silvered meteors
That light the celluloid sky--
But by these eyes that called you,
Blind fool who passed me by!</span></pre>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-48377933337553435242010-09-23T03:57:00.000-07:002010-09-23T03:57:10.251-07:00DEAD STARS by Paz Marquez Benitez<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">THROUGH the open window the air-steeped outdoors passed into his room, quietly enveloping him, stealing into his very thought. Esperanza, Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to come even now beginning to weigh down, to crush--they lost concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of conversation issued from the brick-tiled</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">azotea</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">where Don Julian and Carmen were busy puttering away among the rose pots.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Papa, and when will the 'long table' be set?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I don't know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but I understand Esperanza wants it to be next month."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Carmen sighed impatiently. "Why is he not a bit more decided, I wonder. He is over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must be tired waiting."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"She does not seem to be in much of a hurry either," Don Julian nasally commented, while his rose scissors busily snipped away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"How can a woman be in a hurry when the man does not hurry her?" Carmen returned, pinching off a worm with a careful, somewhat absent air. "Papa, do you remember how much in love he was?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"In love? With whom?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"With Esperanza, of course. He has not had another love affair that I know of," she said with good-natured contempt. "What I mean is that at the beginning he was enthusiastic--flowers, serenades, notes, and things like that--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Alfredo remembered that period with a wonder not unmixed with shame. That was less than four years ago. He could not understand those months of a great hunger that was not of the body nor yet of the mind, a craving that had seized on him one quiet night when the moon was abroad and under the dappled shadow of the trees in the plaza, man wooed maid. Was he being cheated by life? Love--he seemed to have missed it. Or was the love that others told about a mere fabrication of perfervid imagination, an exaggeration of the commonplace, a glorification of insipid monotonies such as made up his love life? Was love a combination of circumstances, or sheer native capacity of soul? In those days love was, for him, still the eternal puzzle; for love, as he knew it, was a stranger to love as he divined it might be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Sitting quietly in his room now, he could almost revive the restlessness of those days, the feeling of tumultuous haste, such as he knew so well in his boyhood when something beautiful was going on somewhere and he was trying to get there in time to see. "Hurry, hurry, or you will miss it," someone had seemed to urge in his ears. So he had avidly seized on the shadow of Love and deluded himself for a long while in the way of humanity from time immemorial. In the meantime, he became very much engaged to Esperanza.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Why would men so mismanage their lives? Greed, he thought, was what ruined so many. Greed--the desire to crowd into a moment all the enjoyment it will hold, to squeeze from the hour all the emotion it will yield. Men commit themselves when but half-meaning to do so, sacrificing possible future fullness of ecstasy to the craving for immediate excitement. Greed--mortgaging the future--forcing the hand of Time, or of Fate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What do you think happened?" asked Carmen, pursuing her thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I supposed long-engaged people are like that; warm now, cool tomorrow. I think they are oftener cool than warm. The very fact that an engagement has been allowed to prolong itself argues a certain placidity of temperament--or of affection--on the part of either, or both." Don Julian loved to philosophize. He was talking now with an evident relish in words, his resonant, very nasal voice toned down to monologue pitch. "That phase you were speaking of is natural enough for a beginning. Besides, that, as I see it, was Alfredo's last race with escaping youth--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Carmen laughed aloud at the thought of her brother's perfect physical repose--almost indolence--disturbed in the role suggested by her father's figurative language.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"A last spurt of hot blood," finished the old man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Few certainly would credit Alfredo Salazar with hot blood. Even his friends had amusedly diagnosed his blood as cool and thin, citing incontrovertible evidence. Tall and slender, he moved with an indolent ease that verged on grace. Under straight recalcitrant hair, a thin face with a satisfying breadth of forehead, slow, dreamer's eyes, and astonishing freshness of lips--indeed Alfredo Salazar's appearance betokened little of exuberant masculinity; rather a poet with wayward humor, a fastidious artist with keen, clear brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He rose and quietly went out of the house. He lingered a moment on the stone steps; then went down the path shaded by immature acacias, through the little tarred gate which he left swinging back and forth, now opening, now closing, on the gravel road bordered along the farther side by madre cacao hedge in tardy lavender bloom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The gravel road narrowed as it slanted up to the house on the hill, whose wide, open porches he could glimpse through the heat-shrivelled tamarinds in the Martinez yard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Six weeks ago that house meant nothing to him save that it was the Martinez house, rented and occupied by Judge del Valle and his family. Six weeks ago Julia Salas meant nothing to him; he did not even know her name; but now--<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">One evening he had gone "neighboring" with Don Julian; a rare enough occurrence, since he made it a point to avoid all appearance of currying favor with the Judge. This particular evening however, he had allowed himself to be persuaded. "A little mental relaxation now and then is beneficial," the old man had said. "Besides, a judge's good will, you know;" the rest of the thought--"is worth a rising young lawyer's trouble"--Don Julian conveyed through a shrug and a smile that derided his own worldly wisdom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">A young woman had met them at the door. It was evident from the excitement of the Judge's children that she was a recent and very welcome arrival. In the characteristic Filipino way formal introductions had been omitted--the judge limiting himself to a casual</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Ah, ya se conocen?"</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">--with the consequence that Alfredo called her Miss del Valle throughout the evening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He was puzzled that she should smile with evident delight every time he addressed her thus. Later Don Julian informed him that she was not the Judge's sister, as he had supposed, but his sister-in-law, and that her name was Julia Salas. A very dignified rather austere name, he thought. Still, the young lady should have corrected him. As it was, he was greatly embarrassed, and felt that he should explain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">To his apology, she replied, "That is nothing, Each time I was about to correct you, but I remembered a similar experience I had once before."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh," he drawled out, vastly relieved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"A man named Manalang--I kept calling him Manalo. After the tenth time or so, the young man rose from his seat and said suddenly, 'Pardon me, but my name is Manalang, Manalang.' You know, I never forgave him!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He laughed with her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"The best thing to do under the circumstances, I have found out," she pursued, "is to pretend not to hear, and to let the other person find out his mistake without help."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"As you did this time. Still, you looked amused every time I--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I was thinking of Mr. Manalang."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Don Julian and his uncommunicative friend, the Judge, were absorbed in a game of chess. The young man had tired of playing appreciative spectator and desultory conversationalist, so he and Julia Salas had gone off to chat in the vine-covered porch. The lone piano in the neighborhood alternately tinkled and banged away as the player's moods altered. He listened, and wondered irrelevantly if Miss Salas could sing; she had such a charming speaking voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He was mildly surprised to note from her appearance that she was unmistakably a sister of the Judge's wife, although Doña Adela was of a different type altogether. She was small and plump, with wide brown eyes, clearly defined eyebrows, and delicately modeled hips--a pretty woman with the complexion of a baby and the expression of a likable cow. Julia was taller, not so obviously pretty. She had the same eyebrows and lips, but she was much darker, of a smooth rich brown with underlying tones of crimson which heightened the impression she gave of abounding vitality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">On Sunday mornings after mass, father and son would go crunching up the gravel road to the house on the hill. The Judge's wife invariably offered them beer, which Don Julian enjoyed and Alfredo did not. After a half hour or so, the chessboard would be brought out; then Alfredo and Julia Salas would go out to the porch to chat. She sat in the low hammock and he in a rocking chair and the hours--warm, quiet March hours--sped by. He enjoyed talking with her and it was evident that she liked his company; yet what feeling there was between them was so undisturbed that it seemed a matter of course. Only when Esperanza chanced to ask him indirectly about those visits did some uneasiness creep into his thoughts of the girl next door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Esperanza had wanted to know if he went straight home after mass. Alfredo suddenly realized that for several Sundays now he had not waited for Esperanza to come out of the church as he had been wont to do. He had been eager to go "neighboring."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He answered that he went home to work. And, because he was not habitually untruthful, added, "Sometimes I go with Papa to Judge del Valle's."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She dropped the topic. Esperanza was not prone to indulge in unprovoked jealousies. She was a believer in the regenerative virtue of institutions, in their power to regulate feeling as well as conduct. If a man were married, why, of course, he loved his wife; if he were engaged, he could not possibly love another woman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That half-lie told him what he had not admitted openly to himself, that he was giving Julia Salas something which he was not free to give. He realized that; yet something that would not be denied beckoned imperiously, and he followed on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was so easy to forget up there, away from the prying eyes of the world, so easy and so poignantly sweet. The beloved woman, he standing close to her, the shadows around, enfolding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Up here I find--something--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He and Julia Salas stood looking out into the she quiet night. Sensing unwanted intensity, laughed, woman-like, asking, "Amusement?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No; youth--its spirit--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Are you so old?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"And heart's desire."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Was he becoming a poet, or is there a poet lurking in the heart of every man?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Down there," he had continued, his voice somewhat indistinct, "the road is too broad, too trodden by feet, too barren of mystery."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Down there" beyond the ancient tamarinds lay the road, upturned to the stars. In the darkness the fireflies glimmered, while an errant breeze strayed in from somewhere, bringing elusive, faraway sounds as of voices in a dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Mystery--" she answered lightly, "that is so brief--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Not in some," quickly. "Not in you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"You have known me a few weeks; so the mystery."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I could study you all my life and still not find it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"So long?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I should like to."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Those six weeks were now so swift--seeming in the memory, yet had they been so deep in the living, so charged with compelling power and sweetness. Because neither the past nor the future had relevance or meaning, he lived only the present, day by day, lived it intensely, with such a willful shutting out of fact as astounded him in his calmer moments.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Just before Holy Week, Don Julian invited the judge and his family to spend Sunday afternoon at Tanda where he had a coconut plantation and a house on the beach. Carmen also came with her four energetic children. She and Doña Adela spent most of the time indoors directing the preparation of the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">merienda</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">and discussing the likeable absurdities of their husbands--how Carmen's Vicente was so absorbed in his farms that he would not even take time off to accompany her on this visit to her father; how Doña Adela's Dionisio was the most absentminded of men, sometimes going out without his collar, or with unmatched socks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">merienda,</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Don Julian sauntered off with the judge to show him what a thriving young coconut looked like--"plenty of leaves, close set, rich green"--while the children, convoyed by Julia Salas, found unending entertainment in the rippling sand left by the ebbing tide. They were far down, walking at the edge of the water, indistinctly outlined against the gray of the out-curving beach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Alfredo left his perch on the bamboo ladder of the house and followed. Here were her footsteps, narrow, arched. He laughed at himself for his black canvas footwear which he removed forthwith and tossed high up on dry sand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">When he came up, she flushed, then smiled with frank pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I hope you are enjoying this," he said with a questioning inflection.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Very much. It looks like home to me, except that we do not have such a lovely beach."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">There was a breeze from the water. It blew the hair away from her forehead, and whipped the tucked-up skirt around her straight, slender figure. In the picture was something of eager freedom as of wings poised in flight. The girl had grace, distinction. Her face was not notably pretty; yet she had a tantalizing charm, all the more compelling because it was an inner quality, an achievement of the spirit. The lure was there, of naturalness, of an alert vitality of mind and body, of a thoughtful, sunny temper, and of a piquant perverseness which is sauce to charm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"The afternoon has seemed very short, hasn't it?" Then, "This, I think, is the last time--we can visit."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"The last? Why?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, you will be too busy perhaps."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He noted an evasive quality in the answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Do I seem especially industrious to you?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"If you are, you never look it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Not perspiring or breathless, as a busy man ought to be."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"But--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Always unhurried, too unhurried, and calm." She smiled to herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I wish that were true," he said after a meditative pause.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She waited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"A man is happier if he is, as you say, calm and placid."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Like a carabao in a mud pool," she retorted perversely<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Who? I?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, no!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"You said I am calm and placid."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"That is what I think."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I used to think so too. Shows how little we know ourselves."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was strange to him that he could be wooing thus: with tone and look and covert phrase.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I should like to see your home town."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"There is nothing to see--little crooked streets,</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">bunut</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">roofs with ferns growing on them, and sometimes squashes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That was the background. It made her seem less detached, less unrelated, yet withal more distant, as if that background claimed her and excluded him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Nothing? There is you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, me? But I am here."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I will not go, of course, until you are there."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Will you come? You will find it dull. There isn't even one American there!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Well--Americans are rather essential to my entertainment."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"We live on Calle Luz, a little street with trees."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Could I find that?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"If you don't ask for Miss del Valle," she smiled teasingly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I'll inquire about--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"The house of the prettiest girl in the town."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"There is where you will lose your way." Then she turned serious. "Now, that is not quite sincere."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"It is," he averred slowly, but emphatically.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I thought you, at least, would not say such things."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Pretty--pretty--a foolish word! But there is none other more handy I did not mean that quite--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Are you withdrawing the compliment?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Re-enforcing it, maybe. Something is pretty when it pleases the eye--it is more than that when--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"If it saddens?" she interrupted hastily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Exactly."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"It must be ugly."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Always?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Toward the west, the sunlight lay on the dimming waters in a broad, glinting streamer of crimsoned gold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No, of course you are right."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why did you say this is the last time?" he asked quietly as they turned back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I am going home."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The end of an impossible dream!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"When?" after a long silence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Tomorrow. I received a letter from Father and Mother yesterday. They want me to spend Holy Week at home."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. "That is why I said this is the last time."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Can't I come to say good-bye?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, you don't need to!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No, but I want to."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"There is no time."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The golden streamer was withdrawing, shortening, until it looked no more than a pool far away at the rim of the world. Stillness, a vibrant quiet that affects the senses as does solemn harmony; a peace that is not contentment but a cessation of tumult when all violence of feeling tones down to the wistful serenity of regret. She turned and looked into his face, in her dark eyes a ghost of sunset sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Home seems so far from here. This is almost like another life."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I know. This is Elsewhere, and yet strange enough, I cannot get rid of the old things."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Old things?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, old things, mistakes, encumbrances, old baggage." He said it lightly, unwilling to mar the hour. He walked close, his hand sometimes touching hers for one whirling second.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Don Julian's nasal summons came to them on the wind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Alfredo gripped the soft hand so near his own. At his touch, the girl turned her face away, but he heard her voice say very low, "Good-bye."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">II</span></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">ALFREDO Salazar turned to the right where, farther on, the road broadened and entered the heart of the town--heart of Chinese stores sheltered under low-hung roofs, of indolent drug stores and tailor shops, of dingy shoe-repairing establishments, and a cluttered goldsmith's cubbyhole where a consumptive bent over a magnifying lens; heart of old brick-roofed houses with quaint hand-and-ball knockers on the door; heart of grass-grown plaza reposeful with trees, of ancient church and</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">convento,</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">now circled by swallows gliding in flight as smooth and soft as the afternoon itself. Into the quickly deepening twilight, the voice of the biggest of the church bells kept ringing its insistent summons. Flocking came the devout with their long wax candles, young women in vivid apparel (for this was Holy Thursday and the Lord was still alive), older women in sober black skirts. Came too the young men in droves, elbowing each other under the talisay tree near the church door. The gaily decked rice-paper lanterns were again on display while from the windows of the older houses hung colored glass globes, heirlooms from a day when grasspith wicks floating in coconut oil were the chief lighting device.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Soon a double row of lights emerged from the church and uncoiled down the length of the street like a huge jewelled band studded with glittering clusters where the saints' platforms were. Above the measured music rose the untutored voices of the choir, steeped in incense and the acrid fumes of burning wax.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The sight of Esperanza and her mother sedately pacing behind Our Lady of Sorrows suddenly destroyed the illusion of continuity and broke up those lines of light into component individuals. Esperanza stiffened self-consciously, tried to look unaware, and could not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The line moved on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Suddenly, Alfredo's slow blood began to beat violently, irregularly. A girl was coming down the line--a girl that was striking, and vividly alive, the woman that could cause violent commotion in his heart, yet had no place in the completed ordering of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Her glance of abstracted devotion fell on him and came to a brief stop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The line kept moving on, wending its circuitous route away from the church and then back again, where, according to the old proverb, all processions end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">At last Our Lady of Sorrows entered the church, and with her the priest and the choir, whose voices now echoed from the arched ceiling. The bells rang the close of the procession.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">A round orange moon, "huge as a winnowing basket," rose lazily into a clear sky, whitening the iron roofs and dimming the lanterns at the windows. Along the still densely shadowed streets the young women with their rear guard of males loitered and, maybe, took the longest way home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Toward the end of the row of Chinese stores, he caught up with Julia Salas. The crowd had dispersed into the side streets, leaving Calle Real to those who lived farther out. It was past eight, and Esperanza would be expecting him in a little while: yet the thought did not hurry him as he said "Good evening" and fell into step with the girl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I had been thinking all this time that you had gone," he said in a voice that was both excited and troubled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No, my sister asked me to stay until they are ready to go."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Oh, is the Judge going?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Yes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The provincial docket had been cleared, and Judge del Valle had been assigned elsewhere. As lawyer--and as lover--Alfredo had found that out long before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Mr. Salazar," she broke into his silence, "I wish to congratulate you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Her tone told him that she had learned, at last. That was inevitable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"For what?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"For your approaching wedding."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Some explanation was due her, surely. Yet what could he say that would not offend?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I should have offered congratulations long before, but you know mere visitors are slow about getting the news," she continued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He listened not so much to what she said as to the nuances in her voice. He heard nothing to enlighten him, except that she had reverted to the formal tones of early acquaintance. No revelation there; simply the old voice--cool, almost detached from personality, flexible and vibrant, suggesting potentialities of song.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Are weddings interesting to you?" he finally brought out quietly<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"When they are of friends, yes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Would you come if I asked you?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"When is it going to be?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"May," he replied briefly, after a long pause.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"May is the month of happiness they say," she said, with what seemed to him a shade of irony.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"They say," slowly, indifferently. "Would you come?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why not?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No reason. I am just asking. Then you will?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"If you will ask me," she said with disdain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Then I ask you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Then I will be there."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The gravel road lay before them; at the road's end the lighted windows of the house on the hill. There swept over the spirit of Alfredo Salazar a longing so keen that it was pain, a wish that, that house were his, that all the bewilderments of the present were not, and that this woman by his side were his long wedded wife, returning with him to the peace of home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Julita," he said in his slow, thoughtful manner, "did you ever have to choose between something you wanted to do and something you had to do?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I thought maybe you had had that experience; then you could understand a man who was in such a situation."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"You are fortunate," he pursued when she did not answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Is--is this man sure of what he should do?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"I don't know, Julita. Perhaps not. But there is a point where a thing escapes us and rushes downward of its own weight, dragging us along. Then it is foolish to ask whether one will or will not, because it no longer depends on him."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"But then why--why--" her muffled voice came. "Oh, what do I know? That is his problem after all."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Doesn't it--interest you?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why must it? I--I have to say good-bye, Mr. Salazar; we are at the house."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Without lifting her eyes she quickly turned and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Had the final word been said? He wondered. It had. Yet a feeble flutter of hope trembled in his mind though set against that hope were three years of engagement, a very near wedding, perfect understanding between the parents, his own conscience, and Esperanza herself--Esperanza waiting, Esperanza no longer young, Esperanza the efficient, the literal-minded, the intensely acquisitive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He looked attentively at her where she sat on the sofa, appraisingly, and with a kind of aversion which he tried to control.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She was one of those fortunate women who have the gift of uniformly acceptable appearance. She never surprised one with unexpected homeliness nor with startling reserves of beauty. At home, in church, on the street, she was always herself, a woman past first bloom, light and clear of complexion, spare of arms and of breast, with a slight convexity to thin throat; a woman dressed with self-conscious care, even elegance; a woman distinctly not average.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She was pursuing an indignant relation about something or other, something about Calixta, their note-carrier, Alfredo perceived, so he merely half-listened, understanding imperfectly. At a pause he drawled out to fill in the gap: "Well, what of it?" The remark sounded ruder than he had intended.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"She is not married to him," Esperanza insisted in her thin, nervously pitched voice. "Besides, she should have thought of us. Nanay practically brought her up. We never thought she would turn out bad."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">What had Calixta done? Homely, middle-aged Calixta?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"You are very positive about her badness," he commented dryly. Esperanza was always positive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"But do you approve?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Of what?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What she did."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"No," indifferently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Well?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He was suddenly impelled by a desire to disturb the unvexed orthodoxy of her mind. "All I say is that it is not necessarily wicked."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why shouldn't it be? You talked like an--immoral man. I did not know that your ideas were like that."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"My ideas?" he retorted, goaded by a deep, accumulated exasperation. "The only test I wish to apply to conduct is the test of fairness. Am I injuring anybody? No? Then I am justified in my conscience. I am right. Living with a man to whom she is not married--is that it? It may be wrong, and again it may not."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"She has injured us. She was ungrateful." Her voice was tight with resentment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"The trouble with you, Esperanza, is that you are--" he stopped, appalled by the passion in his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why do you get angry? I do not understand you at all! I think I know why you have been indifferent to me lately. I am not blind, or deaf; I see and hear what perhaps some are trying to keep from me." The blood surged into his very eyes and his hearing sharpened to points of acute pain. What would she say next?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Why don't you speak out frankly before it is too late? You need not think of me and of what people will say." Her voice trembled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Alfredo was suffering as he could not remember ever having suffered before. What people will say--what will they not say? What don't they say when long engagements are broken almost on the eve of the wedding?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Yes," he said hesitatingly, diffidently, as if merely thinking aloud, "one tries to be fair--according to his lights--but it is hard. One would like to be fair to one's self first. But that is too easy, one does not dare--"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What do you mean?" she asked with repressed violence. "Whatever my shortcomings, and no doubt they are many in your eyes, I have never gone out of my way, of my place, to find a man."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Did she mean by this irrelevant remark that he it was who had sought her; or was that a covert attack on Julia Salas?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Esperanza--" a desperate plea lay in his stumbling words. "If you--suppose I--" Yet how could a mere man word such a plea?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"If you mean you want to take back your word, if you are tired of--why don't you tell me you are tired of me?" she burst out in a storm of weeping that left him completely shamed and unnerved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The last word had been said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">III</span></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">AS Alfredo Salazar leaned against the boat rail to watch the evening settling over the lake, he wondered if Esperanza would attribute any significance to this trip of his. He was supposed to be in Sta. Cruz whither the case of the People of the Philippine Islands vs. Belina et al had kept him, and there he would have been if Brigida Samuy had not been so important to the defense. He had to find that elusive old woman. That the search was leading him to that particular lake town which was Julia Salas' home should not disturb him unduly Yet he was disturbed to a degree utterly out of proportion to the prosaicalness of his errand. That inner tumult was no surprise to him; in the last eight years he had become used to such occasional storms. He had long realized that he could not forget Julia Salas. Still, he had tried to be content and not to remember too much. The climber of mountains who has known the back-break, the lonesomeness, and the chill, finds a certain restfulness in level paths made easy to his feet. He looks up sometimes from the valley where settles the dusk of evening, but he knows he must not heed the radiant beckoning. Maybe, in time, he would cease even to look up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He was not unhappy in his marriage. He felt no rebellion: only the calm of capitulation to what he recognized as irresistible forces of circumstance and of character. His life had simply ordered itself; no more struggles, no more stirring up of emotions that got a man nowhere. From his capacity of complete detachment he derived a strange solace. The essential himself, the himself that had its being in the core of his thought, would, he reflected, always be free and alone. When claims encroached too insistently, as sometimes they did, he retreated into the inner fastness, and from that vantage he saw things and people around him as remote and alien, as incidents that did not matter. At such times did Esperanza feel baffled and helpless; he was gentle, even tender, but immeasurably far away, beyond her reach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Lights were springing into life on the shore. That was the town, a little up-tilted town nestling in the dark greenness of the groves. A snubcrested belfry stood beside the ancient church. On the outskirts the evening smudges glowed red through the sinuous mists of smoke that rose and lost themselves in the purple shadows of the hills. There was a young moon which grew slowly luminous as the coral tints in the sky yielded to the darker blues of evening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The vessel approached the landing quietly, trailing a wake of long golden ripples on the dark water. Peculiar hill inflections came to his ears from the crowd assembled to meet the boat--slow, singing cadences, characteristic of the Laguna lake-shore speech. From where he stood he could not distinguish faces, so he had no way of knowing whether the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">presidente</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">was there to meet him or not. Just then a voice shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Is the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">abogado</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">there?</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Abogado!"</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"What</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">abogado?"</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">someone irately asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">That must be the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">presidente,</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">he thought, and went down to the landing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It was a policeman, a tall pock-marked individual. The</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">presidente</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">had left with Brigida Samuy--Tandang "Binday"--that noon for Santa Cruz. Señor Salazar's second letter had arrived late, but the wife had read it and said, "Go and meet the</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">abogado</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">and invite him to our house."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Alfredo Salazar courteously declined the invitation. He would sleep on board since the boat would leave at four the next morning anyway. So the</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">presidente</span></i></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">had received his first letter? Alfredo did not know because that official had not sent an answer. "Yes," the policeman replied, "but he could not write because we heard that Tandang Binday was in San Antonio so we went there to find her."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">San Antonio was up in the hills! Good man, the presidente! He, Alfredo, must do something for him. It was not every day that one met with such willingness to help.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Eight o'clock, lugubriously tolled from the bell tower, found the boat settled into a somnolent quiet. A cot had been brought out and spread for him, but it was too bare to be inviting at that hour. It was too early to sleep: he would walk around the town. His heart beat faster as he picked his way to shore over the rafts made fast to sundry piles driven into the water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">How peaceful the town was! Here and there a little</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">tienda</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">was still open, its dim light issuing forlornly through the single window which served as counter. An occasional couple sauntered by, the women's</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">chinelas</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">making scraping sounds. From a distance came the shrill voices of children playing games on the street--</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">tubigan</span></i></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">perhaps, or "hawk-and-chicken." The thought of Julia Salas in that quiet place filled him with a pitying sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">How would life seem now if he had married Julia Salas? Had he meant anything to her? That unforgettable red-and-gold afternoon in early April haunted him with a sense of incompleteness as restless as other unlaid ghosts. She had not married--why? Faithfulness, he reflected, was not a conscious effort at regretful memory. It was something unvolitional, maybe a recurrent awareness of irreplaceability. Irrelevant trifles--a cool wind on his forehead, far-away sounds as of voices in a dream--at times moved him to an oddly irresistible impulse to listen as to an insistent, unfinished prayer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">A few inquiries led him to a certain little tree-ceilinged street where the young moon wove indistinct filigrees of fight and shadow. In the gardens the cotton tree threw its angular shadow athwart the low stone wall; and in the cool, stilly midnight the cock's first call rose in tall, soaring jets of sound. Calle Luz.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Somehow or other, he had known that he would find her house because she would surely be sitting at the window. Where else, before bedtime on a moonlit night? The house was low and the light in the sala behind her threw her head into unmistakable relief. He sensed rather than saw her start of vivid surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Good evening," he said, raising his hat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Good evening. Oh! Are you in town?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"On some little business," he answered with a feeling of painful constraint.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"Won't you come up?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">He considered. His vague plans had not included this. But Julia Salas had left the window, calling to her mother as she did so. After a while, someone came downstairs with a lighted candle to open the door. At last--he was shaking her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">She had not changed much--a little less slender, not so eagerly alive, yet something had gone. He missed it, sitting opposite her, looking thoughtfully into her fine dark eyes. She asked him about the home town, about this and that, in a sober, somewhat meditative tone. He conversed with increasing ease, though with a growing wonder that he should be there at all. He could not take his eyes from her face. What had she lost? Or was the loss his? He felt an impersonal curiosity creeping into his gaze. The girl must have noticed, for her cheek darkened in a blush.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Gently--was it experimentally?--he pressed her hand at parting; but his own felt undisturbed and emotionless. Did she still care? The answer to the question hardly interested him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The young moon had set, and from the uninviting cot he could see one half of a star-studded sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">So that was all over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Why had he obstinately clung to that dream?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">So all these years--since when?--he had been seeing the light of dead stars, long extinguished, yet seemingly still in their appointed places in the heavens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">An immense sadness as of loss invaded his spirit, a vast homesickness for some immutable refuge of the heart far away where faded gardens bloom again, and where live on in unchanging freshness, the dear, dead loves of vanished youth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></span></span>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-26544263664425713622010-08-29T22:13:00.000-07:002010-08-29T22:13:05.073-07:00Jason and Media by Sophocles<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Greek audiences would have known the story of the ill-fated marriage between</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Jason</span></span></a>, hero of the Golden Fleece, and</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Medea</span></span></a>, barbarian witch and princess of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Colchis. The modern reader, to fully understand the events of Medea, needs to be familiar with the legends and myths on which the play is based.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Medea was of a people at the far edge of the</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Black Sea; for the Greeks of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/authors/about_euripides.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Euripides</span></span></a>' time, this was the edge of the known world. She was a powerful sorceress, princess of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Colchis, and a granddaughter of the sun god Helias. Jason, a great Greek hero and captain of the Argonauts, led his crew to</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Colchis</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">in search of the Golden Fleece. King Aeetes, lord ofColchis</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">and Medea's father, kept the Fleece under guard. A sorcerer himself, he was a formidable opponent. This legend takes place quite early in the chronology of Greek myth. The story is set after the ascent of Zeus, King of the gods, but is still near the beginning of his reign; Helias, the ancient sun god before Apollo's coming, is Medea's grandfather. Jason's voyage with the Argonauts predates the Trojan War, and represents the first naval assault by the Greeks against an Eastern people.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">The traps set by Aeetes made the Golden Fleece all but impossible to obtain. By Medea's aid, Jason overcame these obstacles, and Medea herself killed the giant serpent that guarded the Fleece. Then, to buy time during their escape, Medea killed her own brother and tossed the pieces of his corpse behind the Argo as they sailed for</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Greece. Her father, grief-stricken by his son's death and his daughter's treachery, had to slow his pursuit of the Argo so he could collect the pieces of his son's body for burial.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Medea and Jason returned to his hereditary</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">kingdom</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Iolcus. Jason's father had died, and his uncle Pelias sat, without right, on the throne. Medea, to help Jason, convinced Pelias' daughters that she knew a way to restore the old king's youth. He would have to be killed, cut into pieces, and then put together and restored to youth by Medea's magic. The unwitting daughters did as Medea asked, but the sorceress then explained that she couldn't really bring Pelias back to life. Rather than win Jason his throne, this move forced Jason, Medea, and their children into exile. Finally, they settled in</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Corinth, where Jason eventually took a new bride.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">The action of the play begins here, soon after Medea learns of Jason's treachery.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">A</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Nurse</span></span></a></span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">enters, speaking of the sorrows facing Medea's family. She is joined by the</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Tutor</span></span></a></span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">and the children; they discuss Jason's betrayal of Medea. The Nurse fears for everyone's safety: she knows the violence of Medea's heart. The Tutor brings the children back into the house. The Chorus of Corinthian women enters, full of sympathy for Medea. They ask the Nurse to bring Medea out so that they might comfort her; the unfortunate woman's cries can be heard even outside the house. The Nurse complies. Medea emerges from her home, bewailing the harshness with which Fate handles women. She announces her intention to seek revenge. She asks the Chorus, as follow women, to aid her by keeping silent. The Chorus vows.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Creon</span></span></a></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">(not to be confused with the Creon of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/authors/about_sophocles.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Sophocles</span></span></a>' Theban cycle), king of</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Corinth</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">and Jason's new father-in-law, enters and tells Medea that she is banished. She and her children must leave</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Corinthimmediately. Medea begs for mercy, and she is granted a reprieve of one day. The old king leaves, and Medea tells the Chorus that one day is all she needs to get her revenge.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Jason enters, condescending and smug. He scolds Medea for her loose tongue, telling her that her exile is her own fault. Husband and wife bicker bitterly, Medea accusing Jason of cowardice, reminding him of all that she has done for him, and condemning him for his faithlessness. Jason rationalizes all of his actions, with neatly enumerated arguments. Although he seems to have convinced himself, to most audience members Jason comes off as smug and spineless. He offers Medea money and aid in her exile, but she proudly refuses. Jason exits.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><a href="file:///D:/old%20documents/New%20files/Litrature%20Compilation.doc"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Aegeus</span></span></a>, king of</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">and old friend of Medea's, enters. Aegeus is childless. Medea tells him of her problems, and asks for safe haven inAthens. She offers to help him to have a child; she has thorough knowledge of drugs and medicines. Aegeus eagerly agrees. If Medea can reach</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens, he will protect her. Medea makes the old king vow by all the gods.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">With her security certain, Medea tells the Chorus of her plans. She will kill Jason's new bride and father-in-law by the aid of poisoned gifts. To make her revenge complete, she will kill her children to wound Jason and to protect them from counter-revenge by Creon's allies and friends. Many scholars now believe that the murder of Medea's children was</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/authors/about_euripides.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">Euripides</span></span></a>' addition to the myth; in older versions, the children were killed by Creon's friends in revenge for the death of the king and princess. The Chorus begs Medea to reconsider these plans, but Medea insists that her revenge must be complete.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Jason enters again, and Medea adapts a conciliatory tone. She begs him to allow the children to stay in</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Corinth. She also has the children bring gifts to the Corinthian princess. Jason is pleased by this change of heart.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">The Tutor soon returns with the children, telling Medea that the gifts have been received. Medea then waits anxiously for news from the palace. She speaks lovingly to her children, in a scene that is both moving and chilling, even as she steels herself so that she can kill them. She has a moment of hesitation, but she overcomes it. There is no room for compromise.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">A messenger comes bringing the awaited news. The poisoned dress and diadem have worked: the princess is dead. When Creon saw his daughter's corpse, he embraced her body. The poison then worked against him. The deaths were brutal and terrifying. Both daughter and father died in excruciating pain, and the bodies were barely recognizable.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Medea now prepares to kill her children. She rushes into the house with a shriek. We hear the children's screams from inside the house; the Chorus considers interfering, but in the end does nothing.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Jason re-enters with soldiers. He fears for the children's safety, because he knows Creon's friends will seek revenge; he has come to take the children under guard. The Chorus sorrowfully informs Jason that his children are dead. Jason now orders his guards to break the doors down, so that he can take his revenge against his wife for these atrocities.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Medea appears above the palace, in a chariot drawn by dragons. She has the children's corpses with her. She mocks Jason pitilessly, foretelling an embarrassing death for him; she also refuses to give him the bodies. Jason bickers with his wife one last time, each blaming the other for what has happened. There is nothing Jason can do; with the aid of her chariot, Medea will escape to</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens. The Chorus closes the play, musing on the terrible unpredictability of fate.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Background Study:</span></b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span></b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">The youngest of the three great tragedians, Euripides was probably born between 485 and 480 BCE, although some classicists propose a later date.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">was in its Golden Age during his lifetime. The campaigns of 480-79 BCE saw the Athenians destroy the invading force of the powerful Persian Empire, solidifying</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens' position as the leader of the independent Greek city-states. The decisive victory came at the Battle of Salamis in 480 BCE, in which the Athenian navy routed the Persian fleet. Aeschylus, the first-born of the three great tragedians, served as a hoplite at the great battle. Sophocles, second of the three, danced in the victory celebrations afterward. And a popular legend holds that Euripides was born at</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Salamis, on the very day of the victory. In his own lifetime, he was the least successful of the three men, winning first prize at the Dionysia only four times. Yet more of his plays have survived than those written by Aeschylus and Sophocles combined. As with many brilliant men whose vision is less than comforting, it was only after Euripides' death that his genius was appreciated.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">He was not a consistent or tidy artist. His plays sometimes suffer from weak structure, over packed plots, and a wandering focus. But discomfort with his medium can also be seen as one of Euripides' great strengths. And sometimes, his innovation and uniqueness are mistaken for weaknesses. His Orestes can be seen as a brilliant anti-tragedy, a work that questions the aesthetic assumptions of Greek drama. But for the unimaginative reader who uses pat theories to evaluate Greek tragedy, it is far easier to dismiss the play as simply bad. Like Orestes, many of Euripides' plays have suffered at the hands of critics incapable of understanding his vision.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">He was undoubtedly the bad boy of Greek tragedy, and he is modern in a way that Aeschylus and Sophocles are not. The vision of Aeschylus' Oresteia, though brilliant and beautiful, can seem more like a hopeful dream than a representation of the world we know. And to modern audiences, Sophocles' heroes often seem removed from flesh-and-blood men and women. But Euripides' characters are always immediately recognizable. He is the father of the psychological drama, and he is an acute observer of human nature. Using the myths of</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Greece</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">as his source, he transformed epic heroes into men of flesh and blood. Sophocles supposedly said that while he himself depicted men as they ought to be, Euripides depicted them as they really are.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">He was a great questioner, and Socrates reputedly was among his most ardent admirers. A characteristically Euripidean move is to take a myth and focus on some problematic element, some event or action that calls the rest of the myth's ideology into question. In Alcestis, he takes a story of a wife's goodness and transforms it into an indictment of her husband, and, by extension, an indictment of the patriarchal values the old legend upheld. In Orestes, he gives the characters the happy ending that myth provides for them, but leaves us knowing that they don't deserve it.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Failure unquestionably hurt him; in Medea, the outcast barbarian sorceress speaks of the hatred people have for the clever. Euripides knew he was a great artist, and in the thousands of years since his death, generations of readers, critics and theatergoers have revered him. But the judges of the Dionysia favored others. Most of the men who beat him are now only footnotes in history. Euripides knew that he was better than they, and the endless defeats must have been maddening. But this frustration became part of his art, and his work would not be the same without the sense of loss and injustice.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;">Euripides is arguably the darkest and most disturbing of the Greek playwrights. He questions authority, and he is fascinated by the oppressed: women, barbarians, and slaves are more than just background on the Euripidean stage. He allows them to speak, and speak well. For his complex representations of "bad women," he earned the censure of critics and judges. He depicts the position of the oppressed without romanticizing them, and his plays make war against the gods of</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Olympus. The universe in which Euripides believed was not benevolent, or just. Hardship falls on all, the wicked and the good, and the gods are powerful but often capricious and cruel. He questioned social structures and hollow or hypocritical ideals. Needless to say, these positions made Euripides unpopular. He was the unwanted voice of conscience in his age, a man unafraid to point out the lies with which a civilization comforts itself. Sophocles gives us heroes, and Aeschylus gives us a vision of history and teleology; Euripides gives us real men with all-too human weaknesses, and his visions are often nightmares. In the end, the frenzied descent into chaos so often imagined by Euripides was truest to</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens' fate. Infighting and dirty politics compromisedAthens' good name, and</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">fell to her hated enemy,</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Sparta, just a few years after Euripides' death.</span></span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1; padding: 0in;"> Possibly because he faced danger at home for his ideas, Euripides left</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background1;"> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">in 408 BCE. He went to the court of King Archelaus of Macedon; it was there that he wrote, among other works,</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/bacchae/essays.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">The Bacchae</span></span></a>. This play shows Euripides at the height of his genius.</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/bacchae/essays.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">The Bacchae</span></span></a></span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">is a terrifying, powerful, and complex play, one that leaves its audience with more questions than answers. It is an extremely difficult play to produce well, but when it is performed right, few plays, from any time or place, can hope to match</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/bacchae/essays.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">The Bacchae</span></span></a></span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">in its capacity to instill terror and awe into its audience. It is arguably Euripides' masterpiece, and it has a secure place as one of the greatest plays ever written. But Euripides never lived to see it performed in</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens. He died in 406 BCE, bitter and unsure of his place in history. Shortly afterward, his son brought Euripides' last three plays, including</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/bacchae/essays.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">The Bacchae</span></span></a>, back to</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Athens</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">for production. There, at the same festival where Euripides had lost to now-forgotten playwrights so many times,</span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/bacchae/essays.html"><span style="border: none; color: white; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="border: none;">The Bacchae</span></span></a></span> <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">and its companion pieces won first prize<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-70314984599877120732010-08-29T22:08:00.000-07:002010-08-29T22:08:57.411-07:00French Fiction<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Moonlight<br />
</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by Guy de Maupassant</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Madame Julie Roubere was expecting her elder sister, Madame Henriette Letore, who had just returned from a trip to Switzerland.<br />
<br />
The Letore household had left nearly five weeks before. Madame Henriette had allowed her husband to return alone to their estate in Calvados, where some business required his attention, and had come to spend a few days in Paris with her sister. Night came on. In the quiet parlor Madame Roubere was reading in the twilight in an absent-minded way, raising her eyes whenever she heard a sound.<br />
<br />
At last, she heard a ring at the door, and her sister appeared, wrapped in a travelling cloak. And without any formal greeting, they clasped each other in an affectionate embrace, only desisting for a moment to give each other another hug. Then they talked about their health, about their respective families, and a thousand other things, gossiping, jerking out hurried, broken sentences as they followed each other about, while Madame Henriette was removing her hat and veil.<br />
<br />
It was now quite dark. Madame Roubere rang for a lamp, and as soon as it was brought in, she scanned her sister's face, and was on the point of embracing her once more. But she held back, scared and astonished at the other's appearance.<br />
<br />
On her temples Madame Letore had two large locks of white hair. All the rest of her hair was of a glossy, raven-black hue; but there alone, at each side of her head, ran, as it were, two silvery streams which were immediately lost in the black mass surrounding them. She was, nevertheless, only twenty-four years old, and this change had come on suddenly since her departure forSwitzerland.<br />
<br />
Without moving, Madame Roubere gazed at her in amazement, tears rising to her eyes, as she thought that some mysterious and terrible calamity must have befallen her sister. She asked:<br />
<br />
"What is the matter with you, Henriette?"<br />
<br />
Smiling with a sad face, the smile of one who is heartsick, the other replied:<br />
<br />
"Why, nothing, I assure you. Were you noticing my white hair?"<br />
<br />
But Madame Roubere impetuously seized her by the shoulders, and with a searching glance at her, repeated:<br />
<br />
"What is the matter with you? Tell me what is the matter with you. And if you tell me a falsehood, I'll soon find it out."<br />
<br />
They remained face to face, and Madame Henriette, who looked as if she were about to faint, had two pearly tears in the corners of her drooping eyes.<br />
<br />
Her sister continued:<br />
<br />
"What has happened to you? What is the matter with you? Answer me!"<br />
<br />
Then, in a subdued voice, the other murmured:<br />
<br />
"I have--I have a lover."<br />
<br />
And, hiding her forehead on the shoulder of her younger sister, she sobbed.<br />
<br />
Then, when she had grown a little calmer, when the heaving of her breast had subsided, she commenced to unbosom herself, as if to cast forth this secret from herself, to empty this sorrow of hers into a sympathetic heart.<br />
<br />
Thereupon, holding each other's hands tightly clasped, the two women went over to a sofa in a dark corner of the room, into which they sank, and the younger sister, passing her arm over the elder one's neck, and drawing her close to her heart, listened.<br />
<br />
"Oh! I know that there was no excuse for me; I do not understand myself, and since that day I feel as if I were mad. Be careful, my child, about yourself--be careful! If you only knew how weak we are, how quickly we yield, and fall. It takes so little, so little, so little, a moment of tenderness, one of those sudden fits of melancholy which come over you, one of those longings to open, your arms, to love, to cherish something, which we all have at certain moments.<br />
<br />
"You know my husband, and you know how fond I am of him; but he is mature and sensible, and cannot even comprehend the tender vibrations of a woman's heart. He is always the same, always good, always smiling, always kind, always perfect. Oh! how I sometimes have wished that he would clasp me roughly in his arms, that he would embrace me with those slow, sweet kisses which make two beings intermingle, which are like mute confidences! How I have wished that he were foolish, even weak, so that he should have need of me, of my caresses, of my tears!<br />
<br />
"This all seems very silly; but we women are made like that. How can we help it?<br />
<br />
"And yet the thought of deceiving him never entered my mind. Now it has happened, without love, without reason, without anything, simply because the moon shone one night on the Lake ofLucerne.<br />
<br />
"During the month when we were travelling together, my husband, with his calm indifference, paralyzed my enthusiasm, extinguished my poetic ardor. When we were descending the mountain paths at sunrise, when as the four horses galloped along with the diligence, we saw, in the transparent morning haze, valleys, woods, streams, and villages, I clasped my hands with delight, and said to him: 'How beautiful it is, dear! Give me a kiss! Kiss me now!' He only answered, with a smile of chilling kindliness: 'There is no reason why we should kiss each other because you like the landscape.'<br />
<br />
"And his words froze me to the heart. It seems to me that when people love each other, they ought to feel more moved by love than ever, in the presence of beautiful scenes.<br />
<br />
"In fact, I was brimming over with poetry which he kept me from expressing. I was almost like a boiler filled with steam and <a href="http://www.classicshorts.com/dict.html#hermetically%20sealed" target="0"><b><span style="color: windowtext;">hermetically sealed</span></b></a>.<br />
<br />
"One evening (we had for four days been staying in a hotel at Fluelen) Robert, having one of his sick headaches, went to bed immediately after dinner, and I went to take a walk all alone along the edge of the lake.<br />
<br />
"It was a night such as one reads of in fairy tales. The full moon showed itself in the middle of the sky; the tall mountains, with their snowy crests, seemed to wear silver crowns; the waters of the lake glittered with tiny shining ripples. The air was mild, with that kind of penetrating warmth which enervates us till we are ready to faint, to be deeply affected without any apparent cause. But how sensitive, how vibrating the heart is at such moments! how quickly it beats, and how intense is its emotion!<br />
<br />
"I sat down on the grass, and gazed at that vast, melancholy, and fascinating lake, and a strange feeling arose in me; I was seized with an <a href="http://www.classicshorts.com/dict.html#insatiable" target="0"><b><span style="color: windowtext;">insatiable</span></b></a> need of love, a revolt against the gloomy dullness of my life. What! would it never be my fate to wander, arm in arm, with a man I loved, along a moon-kissed bank like this? Was I never to feel on my lips those kisses so deep, delicious, and intoxicating which lovers exchange on nights that seem to have been made by God for tenderness? Was I never to know ardent, feverish love in the moonlit shadows of a summer's night?<br />
<br />
"And I burst out weeping like a crazy woman. I heard something stirring behind me. A man stood there, gazing at me. When I turned my head round, he recognized me, and, advancing, said:<br />
<br />
"'You are weeping, madame?'<br />
<br />
"It was a young barrister who was travelling with his mother, and whom we had often met. His eyes had frequently followed me.<br />
<br />
"I was so confused that I did not know what answer to give or what to think of the situation. I told him I felt ill.<br />
<br />
"He walked on by my side in a natural and respectful manner, and began talking to me about what we had seen during our trip. All that I had felt he translated into words; everything that made me thrill he understood perfectly, better than I did myself. And all of a sudden he repeated some verses of Alfred de Musset. I felt myself choking, seized with indescribable emotion. It seemed to me that the mountains themselves, the lake, the moonlight, were singing to me about things ineffably sweet.<br />
<br />
"And it happened, I don't know how, I don't know why, in a sort of hallucination.<br />
<br />
"As for him, I did not see him again till the morning of his departure.<br />
<br />
"He gave me his card!"<br />
<br />
And, sinking into her sister's arms, Madame Letore broke into groans-- almost into shrieks.<br />
<br />
Then, Madame Roubere, with a self-contained and serious air, said very gently:<br />
<br />
"You see, sister, very often it is not a man that we love, but love itself. And your real lover that night was the moonlight."</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; letter-spacing: -.95pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Background Information:</span></span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.9pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893), the son of a minor aristocrat was born in Normandy on August 5, 1850. Guy de Maupassant (born Henri Rene Albert), at sixteen was expelled from <span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">a Rouenseminary and finished his education in a public high school. He grew up overshadowed by his parents' unhappy marriage. After </span>serving in the Franco-Prussian War, he was for ten years a <span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">government clerk in Paris.. A protegee of Gustave Flaubert, a family </span>friend who became the writer's mentor and who exerted the most significant influence on his literary career and who read his first efforts and introduced him to important novelists such as Emile Zola and Henry James, De Maupassant is one of the world's most <span style="letter-spacing: -.1pt;">celebrated masters of the short story and the most widely translated </span>French author. It was in Zola's naturalist group that Maupassant made his name with the publicatiqn in 1880 of his first short story, <i><span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">Boule de Suif, </span></i><span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">which was a literary sensation.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.25pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His six novels, three travel books, and about 360 short stories were written in the decade before his untimely death in 1893 due to syphilis. He became wealthy and internationally famous from hiswork making him lead a luxurious but often dissipated life. <span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">Maupassant not only ranks as French's greatest writer of short fiction, </span><span style="letter-spacing: -.1pt;">he is also one of the key inventors of the modern short story. Concise, </span>clear and often ironic, his stories present well-plotted and engaging incidents without imposing moral judgments on the characters. He <span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">has influenced most of the major short story writers of the next two </span>generations after him, notably Anton Chekhov, Henry James, W. <span style="letter-spacing: -.05pt;">Somerset Maugham, and Ernest Hemingway. (Beaty and Hunter, 1998)</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-56538520069903810752010-08-29T22:05:00.000-07:002010-08-29T22:09:29.465-07:00European Fiction: Clarice Lespector<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">Better than to Burn</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Clarice Lispector (1925-1977)</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 She was tall, strong and hairy. Mother Clara had a <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">dark stubble and deep black eyes.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 She had entered the convent at the will of her family: they wished to see her sheltered in the bosom of God. She <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">obeyed.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">3 She fulfilled her obligations without complaint. She had </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">many obligations. And then there were prayers. She prayed <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">with fervor.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">4 And she went to confession everyday. Everyday the <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">white host that crumbled apart in one's mouth.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">5 But she began to get tired of living only among women. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Women, women, women. She chose a friend as a confidante. She told her that she couldn't stand it any more. Her friend counseled her. "Mortify the body."</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">6 So she began to sleep on cold flagstones. And whipped herself with a scourge. It was useless. She just caught<br />
terrible colds and got all covered with welts.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">7 She confessed to the priest. He ordered her to continue to mortify herself. She continued.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">8 But at the moment in which the priest touched her mouth </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">to give her the host, she had to control herself in order not<br />
to bite his hand. He noticed this, but said nothing. There <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">was a silent pact between them. Both mortified themselves.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">9 " She could no longer look at the almost naked body of <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Christ.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">10 Mother Clara was of Portuguese descent, and, in secret, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">she shaved her hairy legs. If they found out, would she get<br />
it! She told the priest. He turned pale. He guessed that her <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">legs were strong, well-shaped.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">11 On day at mealtime she began to cry. She didn't tell <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">anybody why. She herself didn't know why she was crying.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">12 And from then on she lived a life of weeping. In spite<br />
of eating little, she got fat. She had dark shadows under<br />
her eyes. Her voice, when she sang in church, was that of <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">a contralto.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">13 Until finally she said to the priest in the confessional, "I<br />
can't stand it any longer, I swear I can't stand it any longer."</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">14 He said meditatively, "It is better not to marry. But it is better to marry than to burn."</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">15 She asked for an audience with her superior. Her<br />
superior reprimanded her severely. But Mother Clara was <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">firm: she wanted to leave the convent, she wanted to find a </span>man, she wanted to get married. Her superior asked her to wait one year. She answered that she couldn't, that it had <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">to be now.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">16 She packed what little she had and made her get-away. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She went to live in a <i>pension </i>for girls.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">17 Her black hair grew opulent. And she seemed all up in<br />
the air and dreamy. She paid for her room and board with the money her family sent her. The family didn't accept what she had done. But they couldn't let her die of hunger.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">18 She made her own little dresses of cheap material on a sewing machine that a young girl at the <i>pension </i>lent her. <span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Dresses with long sleeves, modestly cut, below the knees.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">19 And nothing happened. She prayed a great deal that<br />
something good would come to her. In the form of a man.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">20 And it really did.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">21 She went to the snack bar to buy a bottle of mineral<br />
water. The owner was a dapper Portuguese who had<br />
become enchanted by Clara's discreet manners. He didn't<br />
want her to pay for the mineral water. She blushed.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">22 But she came back the next day to buy some coconut<br />
sweets. Again she didn't pay. The Portuguese, Antonio by <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">name,</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;"> called forth his courage and invited her to the movies. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She refused.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">23 The next day she returned to have a cup of coffee. Antonio promised her that he wouldn't touch her if they<br />
went to the movies together. She accepted.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">24 They went to see a movie, but they didn't pay any<br />
attention to it. At the end of the movie they were holding <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">hands.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">25 Soon they were meeting for long walks. She with her<br />
black hair. He in a suit and tie.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">26 Then one night he said to her, "I'm rich, the snack bar earns enough for us to get married. Do you want to?"</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">27 "I want to," she answered gravely.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">28 They got married in church and also had a civil ceremony. At the church the priest who had told her it was better to marry than to burn was the one who united them. They went to spend their passionate honeymoon in Lisbon.<br />
Antonio left his snack bar in the care of his brother.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">29 She came back pregnant, satisfied, happy.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">30 They had four children, all of them boys, all of them <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">hairy.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.85pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.7pt;">Background Information:</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30.7pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Clarice Lispector (1925-1977) was born of Russian parents in the Ukraine, but two months after her birth, her family moved to Brazil. As a teenager growing up in Rio de Janeiro, she began to write stories and plays while embarking on an ambitious study of contemporary Brazilian and European literature, particularly the fiction of Katherine Mansfield and Virginia Woolf, with whom she felt a special affinity, and the existentialist philosophy of Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre. In 1944 she graduated from the National Faculty of Law and worked as one of Brazil's first woman journalist. Shortly afterward Lispector married a diplomat and published her first novel, <i><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">Close to the Savage Heart(</span></i><span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">1944).</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30.7pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.9pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Living in Europe and the United States with her husband from 1945 to 1969, Lispector wrote many stories and novels in which she explored her preoccupation with existential themes. Literary critics singled out the stories in <i>Family </i>77es(1960), from this story. Lispector created a world both miraculous and familiar, dramatizing the instinct for survival that directs the thoughts and actions of every living creature. As the critic Giovanni Pontiero has observed, Lispector's stories are " free from psychological conflicts, they show <span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">a greater participation in what is real - the greater space that includes all spaces", (http://www.goggle.com)</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: -0.65pt;">Literary Concepts:</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Existentialism:</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> It is a movement in the 20<sup>th</sup> century emphasizing the active participation of the will, rather than the reason, in confronting the problems of a non-moral or absurd universe.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Conflict:</span></span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> The struggle or encounter within the plot of two opposing </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">forces that serves to create reader interest and suspense. Conflict maybe </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">external, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">between two characters (say, the protagonist and antagonist) or between one character and some aspect of his environment; </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">internal, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">between two opposing ideas, feelings, or </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">tendencies struggling within a single character, or a combination of </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">both</span></span></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-32436021162616066842010-08-24T00:34:00.000-07:002010-08-24T00:34:40.999-07:00Poetry: Psalms<div align="center" class="leading-paragraph" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Psalm 23<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;">The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want:<br />
He maketh me down to lie<br />
In pastures green; he leadeth me<br />
The quiet waters by.<br />
<br />
My soul He doth restore again,<br />
And me to walk doth make<br />
Within the paths of righteousness,<br />
E'en for His own Name's sake.<br />
<br />
Yea, though I walk in Death's dark vale,<br />
Yet will I fear none ill;<br />
For Thou art with me; and Thy rod<br />
And staff me comfort still.<br />
<br />
My table Thou hast furnishèd<br />
In presence of my foes;<br />
My head Thou dost with oil anoint,<br />
And my cup overflows.<br />
<br />
Goodness and mercy all my life<br />
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> Shall surely follow me;<br />
And in God's house for evermore<br />
My dwelling-place shall be.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div><div class="WordSection1"> <div style="margin-left: 63.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">– <cite><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-style: normal;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregorian_chant" title="Gregorian chant"><span style="color: windowtext;">Psalmus 23</span></a></span></cite><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" /> </span> <div style="margin-left: 63.0pt;"><span lang="FR" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: FR;">Dominus pascit me, et nihil mihi deerit;<br />
in pascuis virentibus me collocavit,<br />
super aquas quietis eduxit me.<br />
Animam meam refecit.<br />
Deduxit me super semitas iustitiae propter nomen suum.<br />
Nam et si ambulavero in valle umbrae Mortis,<br />
non timebo mala, quoniam Tu mecum es,<br />
virga Tua et baculus Tuus,<br />
ipsa me consolata sunt.<br />
Parasti in conspectu meo mensam<br />
adversus eos, qui tribulant me;<br />
impinguasti in oleo caput meum,<br />
et calix meus redundat.<br />
Etenim benignitas et misericordia subsequentur me<br />
omnibus diebus vitae meae,<br />
et inhabitabo in domo Domini<br />
in longitudinem dierum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-33480092092358450312010-08-23T03:45:00.000-07:002010-08-23T04:03:52.882-07:00Philippine Literature: Jose Garcia Villa<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><b></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><b><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Footnote to Youth</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">By Jose Garcia Villa<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and let it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant about saying it, but he wanted his father to know. What he had to say was of serious import as it would mark a climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, at a thought came to him his father might refuse to consider it. His father was silent hard-working farmer who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do from his mother, Dodong's grandmother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">I will tell it to him. I will tell it to him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft worms emerged from the furrows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodong's foot and crawled calmly over it. Dodong go tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where it fell, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young any more. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and gave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He placed bundles of grass before it land the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interests. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong started homeward, thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did. He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, the down on his upper lip already was dark--these meant he was no longer a boy. He was growing into a man--he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it although he was by nature low in statue. Thinking himself a man grown, Dodong felt he could do anything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown he thought wild you dreams of himself and Teang. Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight glossy hair. How desirable she was to him. She made him dream even during the day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscles of his arms. Dirty. This field work was healthy, invigorating but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then he marched obliquely to a creek. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray undershirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. The he went into the water, wet his body over, and rubbed at it vigorously. He was not long in bathing, then he marched homeward again. The bath made him feel cool. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling already was lighted and the low unvarnished square table was set for supper. His parents and he sat down on the floor around the table to eat. They had fried fresh-water fish, rice, bananas, and caked sugar. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong ate fish and rice, but did not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held them they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of the cakes sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it. He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parents. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong's mother removed the dishes when they were through and went out to the batalan to wash them. She walked with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes out, but he was tired and now felt lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him again, Dodong knew. Dodong had told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth he would be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his father. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what he had to say, and over which he had done so much thinking. He had said it without any effort at all and without self-consciousness. Dodong felt relieved and looked at his father expectantly. A decrescent moon outside shed its feeble light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father looked old now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I am going to marry Teang," Dodong said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth. The silence became intense and cruel, and Dodong wished his father would suck that troublous tooth again. Dodong was uncomfortable and then became angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I will marry Teang," Dodong repeated. "I will marry Teang." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">His father kept gazing at him in inflexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I asked her last night to marry me and she said...yes. I want your permission. I... want... it...." There was impatient clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at this coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sounds it made broke dully the night stillness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Must you marry, Dodong?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong resented his father's questions; his father himself had married. Dodong made a quick impassioned easy in his mind about selfishness, but later he got confused. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You are very young, Dodong." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I'm... seventeen." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"That's very young to get married at." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I... I want to marry...Teang's a good girl." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Tell your mother," his father said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You tell her, tatay." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Dodong, you tell your inay." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You tell her." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"All right, Dodong." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You will let me marry Teang?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Son, if that is your wish... of course..." There was a strange helpless light in his father's eyes. Dodong did not read it, so absorbed was he in himself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong was immensely glad he had asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father. For a while he even felt sorry for him about the diseased tooth. Then he confined his mind to dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dream.... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 13.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">-------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely, so that his camiseta was damp. He was still as a tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He had wanted to get out of it without clear reason at all. He was afraid, he felt. Afraid of the house. It had seemed to cage him, to compares his thoughts with severe tyranny. Afraid also of Teang. Teang was giving birth in the house; she gave screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that, he seemed to be rebuking him. He began to wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">In a few moments he would be a father. "Father, father," he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He was young, he realized now, contradicting himself of nine months comfortable... "Your son," people would soon be telling him. "Your son, Dodong." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong felt tired standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his callused toes. Suppose he had ten children... What made him think that? What was the matter with him? God!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">He heard his mother's voice from the house:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Come up, Dodong. It is over." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Suddenly he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something no properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust dirt off his kundiman shorts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Dodong," his mother called again. "Dodong." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">He turned to look again and this time saw his father beside his mother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"It is a boy," his father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. What a moment for him. His parents' eyes seemed to pierce him through and he felt limp. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">He wanted to hide from them, to run away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Dodong, you come up. You come up," he mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong did not want to come up and stayed in the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Dodong. Dodong." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I'll... come up." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong traced tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parents eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty and untrue. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">His father thrust his hand in his and gripped it gently. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Son," his father said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">And his mother: "Dodong..." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">How kind were their voices. They flowed into him, making him strong. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Teang?" Dodong said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"She's sleeping. But you go on..." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his girl-wife, asleep on the papag with her black hair soft around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips, but again that feeling of embarrassment came over him and before his parents he did not want to be demonstrative. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The hilot was wrapping the child, Dodong heard it cry. The thin voice pierced him queerly. He could not control the swelling of happiness in him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">“You give him to me. You give him to me," Dodong said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">-------------------------------------------<br />
</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Blas was not Dodong's only child. Many more children came. For six successive years a new child came along. Dodong did not want any more children, but they came. It seemed the coming of children could not be helped. Dodong got angry with himself sometimes.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children told on her. She was shapeless and thin now, even if she was young. There was interminable work to be done. Cooking. Laundering. The house. The children. She cried sometimes, wishing she had not married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet she wished she had not married. Not even Dodong, whom she loved. There has been another suitor, Lucio, older than Dodong by nine years, and that was why she had chosen Dodong. Young Dodong. Seventeen. Lucio had married another after her marriage to Dodong, but he was childless until now. She wondered if she had married Lucio, would she have borne him children. Maybe not, either. That was a better lot. But she loved Dodong... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong whom life had made ugly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">One night, as he lay beside his wife, he rose and went out of the house. He stood in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask questions and somebody to answer him. He w anted to be wise about many things. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">One of them was why life did not fulfill all of Youth's dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was forsaken... after Love. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong would not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth Youth. Youth must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet. Dodong returned to the house humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know a little wisdom but was denied it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">When Blas was eighteen he came home one night very flustered and happy. It was late at night and Teang and the other children were asleep. Dodong heard Blas's steps, for he could not sleep well of nights. He watched Blas undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong called him name and asked why he did not sleep. Blas said he could not sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You better go to sleep. It is late," Dodong said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Blas raised himself on his elbow and muttered something in a low fluttering voice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong did not answer and tried to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Itay ...," Blas called softly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong stirred and asked him what it was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I am going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong lay on the red pillow without moving. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Itay, you think it over." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong lay silent. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I love Tona and... I want her." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard, where everything was still and quiet. The moonlight was cold and white. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You want to marry Tona," Dodong said. He did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The life that would follow marriage would be hard... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Yes." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Must you marry?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Blas's voice stilled with resentment. "I will marry Tona." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong kept silent, hurt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"You have objections, Itay?" Blas asked acridly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Son... n-none..." (But truly, God, I don't want Blas to marry yet... not yet. I don't want Blas to marry yet....) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">But he was helpless. He could not do anything. Youth must triumph... now. Love must triumph... now. Afterwards... it will be life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">As long ago Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong... and then Life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></b></span></div><o:p></o:p>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-76925067943461346542010-08-23T01:06:00.003-07:002010-08-23T03:34:48.176-07:00Philippine Literature: Fable<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The Boastful Turtle </span></span></b><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">( Tagalog )</span></span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=king_welkin&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003C1QZLC&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>There was once a turtle who talked so much that no creature could bear to be near him. He talked about anything and everything, and his favorite topics were flying and himself. How he would love to fly, he said, like the geese when the cold season comes. It must be wonderful to be up so high. Older and wiser creatures advised him to speak less and be more content with his lot, but the turtle would listen to no one.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">He wanted to fly. He called out to a goose in flight, once, as she was flying off to meet her flock.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Teach me how to fly," the turtle said. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I can’t right now," the goose answered. "My flock is migrating for the cold season."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"But I want to fly!" the turtle cried. "And I want to fly NOW!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"We’ll have to ask my flock," the gentle goose said.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">So the goose and the turtle came to the flock, and asked if anyone could help the turtle out.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"He could bite sideways on a thick, strong stick, while two of us would hold either end of the stick in our beaks," someone volunteered. "But he should not speak while biting the stick, or else he will fall and we could do nothing about it."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">In truth, the flock did not like the idea of having the turtle fly with them in such a manner. They knew how boastful he was, and besides that, they thought he belonged better on the ground. But the turtle bullied the geese into taking him along.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Mind you, never open your mouth while we are above ground!" they reminded the turtle, as they started to lift themselves off the ground.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">So, biting a stick held horizontally by two strong geese, the boastful turtle became the very first of his kind to experience flight. Far below him he saw the most wondrous things: trees shrinking until they were the size of mere mushrooms, fields looking like small patches of grass, rivers turning into silver snakes. But, most of all, he saw the other earthbound creatures of the world looking up at him, watching him, and he was deeply affected by their silent awe.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"They must think I am a magnificent creature, to have come so high above," the turtle thought. "Well, I really am so marvelous! I feel like I am the greatest turtle in the world!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The turtle became so caught up in this delusion that, while looking down on his earthbound brothers, he opened his mouth to boast. The poor being’s mindless conceit made him plunge to his untimely death.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-26780807767056671042010-08-23T01:05:00.002-07:002010-08-23T02:03:55.205-07:00Philippine Literature: Tales of Laughter<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Pilandok and the Sumusong-sa-Alongan</span> </span></b><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">( Maranao )</span></span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Pilandok was a prankster. He belonged to a poor family. One morning he left his parents to look for food. He walked and walked until he became tired. He lay down beneath a tree on which hung a huge beehive, closed one eye, and rested.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Soon a prince called Sumusong-sa-Alongan came by, riding on a horse. On his saddle hung many bags of gold and other beautiful things that he had won on his conquests. He asked Pilandok what he was doing under the tree. Without opening his eye, Pilandok answered that he was he servant of a powerful sultan and that he was guarding a royal gong whom no ordinary man may beat. And then he pointed up at where the beehive hung.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"Let me beat the gong, Pilandok," Sumusong-sa-Alongan said.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"No, the sultan will be angry with me if I let just any man beat the royal gong," Pilandok said firmly.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">"I am not an ordinary man. I am the son of a sultan myself. Here – I will give you a whole bag of gold if you will only let me beat the gong." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Pilandok pretended to think. And after a while, he said "I’ll take that bag. But please, beat the gong only when I am far away, for the sultan might come at the sound of it and chop off my head."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Pilandok swept up the bag of gold and ran away as fast as he could. When Sumusong-sa-Alongan could no longer see him, the prince took a big stick from the ground and beat the beehive. Hundreds of angry bees were upon him in an instant, and if a troop of soldiers had not come his way and helped him, he would have died.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Pilandok lived happily with his bag of gold.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-65786169414765200742010-08-23T01:05:00.000-07:002010-08-23T03:36:13.447-07:00Philippine Literature: Tales of Heroism<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Hudhud hi Aliguyon</span> </span></b><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">( Ifugao )<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=king_welkin&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0019TE98K&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>In the mountainous regions of </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Northern Luzon</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">, a hudhud is a long tale sung during special occasions. This particular long tale is sung during harvest. A favorite topic of the hudhud is a folk hero named Aliguyon, a brave warrior.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Once upon a time, in a village called Hannanga, a boy was born to the couple named Amtalao and Dumulao. He was called Aliguyon. He was an intelligent, eager young man who wanted to learn many things, and indeed, he learned many useful things, from the stories and teachings of his father. He learned how to fight well and chant a few magic spells. Even as a child, he was a leader, for the other children of his village looked up to him with awe.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Upon leaving childhood, Aliguyon betook himself to gather forces to fight against his father’s enemy, who was Pangaiwan of the </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">village</span></st1:placetype><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> of </span><st1:placename w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Daligdigan</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">. But his challenge was not answered personally by Pangaiwan. Instead, he faced Pangaiwan’s fierce son, Pumbakhayon. Pumbakhayon was just as skilled in the arts of war and magic as Aliguyon. The two of them battled each other for three years, and neither of them showed signs of defeat.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Their battle was a tedious one, and it has been said that they both used only one spear! Aliguyon had thrown a spear to his opponent at the start of their match, but the fair Pumbakhayon had caught it deftly with one hand. And then Pumbakhayon threw the spear back to Aliguyon, who picked it just as neatly from the air.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">At length Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon came to respect each other, and then eventually they came to admire each other’s talents. Their fighting stopped suddenly. Between the two of them they drafted a peace treaty between Hannanga and Daligdigan, which their peoples readily agreed to. It was fine to behold two majestic warriors finally side by side. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon became good friends, as peace between their villages flourished. When the time came for Aliguyon to choose a mate, he chose Pumbakhayon’s youngest sister, Bugan, who was little more than a baby. He took Bugan into his household and cared for her until she grew to be most beautiful. Pumbakhayon, in his turn, took for his wife Aliguyon’s younger sister, Aginaya. The two couples became wealthy and respected in all of Ifugao.</span></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-3189361408316683992010-08-23T01:04:00.000-07:002010-08-23T02:04:25.337-07:00Philippine Literature: Tales of Super Natural<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The Mariners and the Four Asuangs of Capiz</span></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">( Capiz )</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Once a small boat containing one commandant, a captain and six sailors landed on the </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">island</span></st1:placetype><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> of </span><st1:placename w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Capiz</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">. They sought refuge in a house owned by a widow and her three lovely daughters. These women were very accommodating, and during their meals there was much gay talk and laughter. The meals themselves were of the highest quality. Never had the sailors been extended such hospitality!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">And then one of the sailors noticed that his fork was shaped like a human hand. This observation prompted the mariners to quickly be done with the meal. The mariners began to form suspicions as to the true nature of the women in the house with them. They decided to watch out for strange happenings during their stay in Capiz.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The more curious three of the sailors investigated the lower rooms of the house they were staying in. There, they found the three lower halves of the bodies of women. The upper halves had simply broken away and disappeared. The sailors gave way to temptation and fear and smeared ashes on the top parts of these lower halves and changed their positions, to prevent the upper and lower halves from coming together again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Later in the night the three upper halves returned and found the rest of their bodies defiled. The captain of the mariners heard their despaired weeping and hastened downstairs. He found the three daughters of the widow who owned the house he slept in – in the form of flying night-creatures, or asuangs. The asuangs begged for him to wash the ashes from the lower halves of their bodies, and so moved was the captain by their pleas that he himself washed the ashes off with a piece of cloth and water. The asuangs were able to reunite with their lower halves before daylight, when, they said, they would die a horrible death. They thanked the captain profusely, but were angry at the sailors who had done them wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The captain tried to confront the three sailors who had played the trick on the asuangs, but they had run away. The asuangs pursued them, threatening to kill them unless they atoned for their crime by marriage. At last the three sailors had to submit to fate and return to Capiz as spouses to asuangs.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Anyway, the asuangs made them good wives. The three sailors who were never mean to the asuangs settled with women from Capiz and became happy. The captain and the commandant stayed in Capiz for a long while.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-69043605039168473422010-08-23T01:03:00.000-07:002010-08-23T02:05:16.824-07:00Philippine Legend - Tagalog<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">The Legend of "Landas de Diablo"</span> </span></b><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">( Tagalog )</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: center; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></span></i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><i></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><i></i></span><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">In Malanday, </span><st1:city w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Marikina</span></st1:city><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">, in </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Central Luzon</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">, where rice fields flourish, there is a very straight path of stone leading from the side of the road to the center of a harvest realm. The denizens call it "Landas de Diablo" and regard it with superstitious fear. There is a story behind that marvelous work, they say, which makes it warrant their fear. It is a tale involving two young lovers and the Devil himself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">A long time ago, there was a jewel of a girl named Marikita, who lived in the middle of a rice field. Her home was very far away from the main road, yet flocks of wooers braved the narrow bridges of land marking the rice paddies just to see her and sigh. She was lovely. Every young man in the village was beguiled by her – even Kabanalan, the handsome heir to an enormous fortune.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">After one glance at the fair maid, Kabanalan could say that he regarded her with more worth than any priceless trinket in his father’s home. He never wanted to have anything in his possession as badly as he did Marikita. He was gentle and kind, and he won Marikita’s attention instantly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">He promised Marikita that if she would only agree to marry him, he would give her anything she wanted – anything at all!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">In truth Marikita liked the young man Kabanalan, and she felt it safe to jest with him. She said, "If you would give me anything, I have this simple boon of you: make me a stone path that would span the length of the rice paddies that separate my father’s humble hut from the main road. I tire of the land bridges. But make me this path before the night is done, for tomorrow is Sunday and I would not want to make my feet hurt one more time, before they reach the church!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"Make me that bridge by tomorrow, and tomorrow we shall wed."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Dazzled by her charm, Kabanalan promised her this. He would build her this impossibility, even if he would do it with his own two hands! Marikita only laughed. She liked the young man Kabanalan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">But Kabanalan took her boon for earnest. When he and Marikita parted, a shadow fell across his face. "I know that even with all my wealth I could not fulfill her wish," he thought sadly. "I would rather kill myself than disappoint her, all the same!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Despaired, he stumbled into a grove where a solitary mango tree stood, and from the deep shade a handsome stranger emerged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"I see how heavy your heart weighs by the look in your eyes," the stranger said mysteriously. "Tell me what is wrong, perhaps I can help." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Kabanalan shook his head. "No. No one can help." He sighed forlornly. "I had promised the most beautiful woman in the world an impossible wish."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"What is that wish?" the stranger asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Kabanalan told him of the stone path above the rice paddies that Marikita had asked for, and to his surprise, the stranger laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"Is that all!" he cried heartily. "I can do it. I can build that stone road for you overnight." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"Do not jest, I beg of you," Kabanalan said stonily. "She will marry me if I will only grant her this one wish."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"I have no doubt of it," said the wry stranger. "I can build that stone road for you overnight."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Kabanalan was somehow convinced. "If you would be so kind as to do this for me, I shall give you anything you ask for."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"Will you give me your soul?" the stranger demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Kabanalan did not give it a second thought. "Yes, I will," he declared. "If only to please the fair Marikita."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">The stranger brought out a piece of paper on which they scrawled their pact. Afterward Kabanalan signed his name at the bottom of the page with his own blood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">The very next morning, Marikita was no less than shocked! She was stepping out, when she saw this sturdy stone path leading from her doorstep to the main road, where a carriage and a handsome young man waited, ready to take her to church. The young man was Kabanalan. Upon seeing his love’s blank bewilderment shift into an astonished smile, his own features brightened. Marikita rushed across the stone path toward him, arms outstretched. He was the happiest man on Earth!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">But as Marikita drew near, the mysterious stranger from the shadows of the lone grove appeared in a whirl of dust between her and her bridegroom. Everyone who saw him knew him at once. It was the Devil!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"I come to claim my wage!" he cried, and seized Kabanalan. With this prize in tow, the Devil disappeared. Marikita was left alone, staring after the void the builder of the stone path had left behind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">There were some witnesses, who had risen early for Mass, and had gathered on the main road near the end of the long stone path which they knew had not been there the night before. They saw Marikita turn deathly pale as she came to realize what her lover had done for her sake. She stood still for a long time. Then when her friends from town tried to approach her, she turned and ran back into her house, and slammed the door shut. She let no one speak to her, and even her own parents could not come near her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">Marikita was found dead soon after that, floating in the river by which she and Kabanalan used to take long walks. It was said that she had killed herself, but no one was quite so sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">"Landas de Diablo", the Devil’s Road, still stands proof of this ancient story of a doomed love</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;">.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></i>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2020492546900267136.post-20978304165038028662010-08-23T01:00:00.000-07:002010-08-23T02:04:59.238-07:00Philippine Mythology - Creation Stories - Tausog Version<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The Creation</span></span></u></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">(Tausug)</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">One day, in </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Paradise</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">, God decided that He would make the ruler of the Earth strong and steadfast. So he said to the angels, "Let us mold Man out of earth." The angels immediately went down to fetch some soil, but the devils, which were close to the soil, did not allow them to take it, for they were jealous of the angels. So the angels came rushing back to God. God saw that the devils could be placated by giving them something that He also gave His angels, and so He agreed to also give the devils revelation of everything He would do. Thus appeased, the devils helped the angels gather soil to create </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Man.</span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </st1:state></st1:place></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">But Man made out of pure earth crumbled. So God mixed water with the soil, and the water held the scattering fragments together somewhat, but then the mixture would not dry. God therefore summoned the wind to dry the </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Man.</span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> And when the Man was dried, God saw that the Man was stiff, that he could not move. God thus placed fire inside </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Man.</span></st1:state></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"> It was so that Man, in the end, was composed of the four elements of the Earth: earth, water, air and fire. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">There were some problems with this marvelous creature, though. When Man sneezed, his neck stretched out. God told his angels (and the devils, too) that such a malady would be countered if the Man would say "God bless me" whenever he sneezed. The devils saw that they could play tricks on Man, and so, after having the simple fault of neck-stretching fixed, they created another one. The made it so that Man’s jaw dropped so far down that it touched his chest whenever he yawned. Presently, God revealed that this prank would be countered if Man would say "God preserve me from the devils" whenever he yawned. Thus the devils’ joke was stifled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">But Man was lonely. So God put him to sleep and took a piece of his rib, and created Woman. He blessed them and what would be the fruits of their beautiful union. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">The first children Man and Woman had were a white boy and a white girl. Then they had a black boy and a black girl. The white boy and the white girl married and left </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Paradise</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">, to live on the Earth on their own. The black boy and the black girl also married and lived on the Earth on their own. So the Earth became populated with whites and blacks first. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: justify; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Life was well for Man and Woman in </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Paradise</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">. But one day a stranger there came to Woman, offering her a fruit. But Woman was already full. She took the fruit anyway and ate it. When Man came along, she urged him to eat it, too. And because the two of them had been full to start with, their stomachs rebelled and they started urinating and defecating in </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">Paradise</span></st1:place><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fff2cc;">. This caused God to throw them out, and to curse their entire line from ever coming back. It has thus been established that the real source of all our suffering is Woman’s gluttony. Until now our two immortal forebears have not been found. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Jaysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528363016895910289noreply@blogger.com0