Footnote to Youth

by: Jose Garcia Villa

The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when he got
home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and led it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant about saying it, he wanted his
father to know what he had to say was of serious importance as it would mark a climacteric in his life.Dodong finally decided to tell it, but
a thought came to him that his father might refuse to consider it. His father was a silent hardworking farmer, who chewed areca nut, which
he had learned to do from his mother, Dodongs grandmother.
He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework.
I will tell him. I will tell it to him.
The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft worm
emerged from the further rows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodongs foot and
crawled clammilu over it. Dodong got tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where into
the air, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to himself he was not young anymore.
Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and fave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look at him with
dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He placed bundles of grass before it and
the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interest.
Dodong started homeward thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong did. He was
seventeen, he had pimples on his face, then down on his upper lip was dark-these meant he was no longer a boy. He was growing into a
man he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it, although he was by nature low in stature.
Thinking himself man grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.
He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it cursorily. He
lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown, he thought wild young dreams of himself and
Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight glossy hair. How desirable she was to him. She made him
want to touch her, to hold her. She made him dream even during the day.
Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscle of his arms. Dirty. This fieldwork was healthy invigorating, but it
begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come, then marched obliquely to a creek.
Must you marry, Dodong?
Dodong resented his fathers question; his father himself had married early.
Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray under shirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. Then he went into the water, wet
his body over and rubbed at it vigorously. He was not long in bathing, then he marched homeward again. The bath made him feel cool.
It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling was already lighted and the low unvarnished square
table was set for supper. He and his parents sat down on the floor around the table to eat. They had fried freshwater fish, and rice, but did
not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held the,, they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of
caked sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it.He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder
for his parent.
Dodongs mother removed the dishes when they were through, and went with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help
her carry the dishes out. But he was tired and now, feld lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother
in the housework. He pitied her, doing all the housework alone.
His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him, again. Dodong knew, Dodong had told him
often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to Dodong, but Dodong guessed
it. Afterward, Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth, he would be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder
than his father.
Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what we had to say, and over
which he head said it without any effort at all and without self-consciousness. Dodong felt relived and looked at his father expectantly. A
decresent moon outside shed its feebled light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father look old now.
I am going to marry Teang, Dodong said.
His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth, The silenece became intense and cruel, and Dodong
was uncomfortable and then became very angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anything.
I will marry Teang, Dodong repeated. I will marry Teang.
His father kept gazing at him in flexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat.
I asked her last night to marry me and she said Yes. I want your permission I want it There was an impatient
clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at his coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He cracked his knuckles one
by one, and the little sound it made broke dully the night stillness.
Must you marry, Dodong?
Dodong resented his fathers question; his father himself had married early. Dodong made a quick impassioned essay in his
mind about selfishness, but later, he got confused.
You are very young, Dodong.
Im seventeen.
Thats very young to get married at.
I I want to marry Teangs a good girl
Tell your mother, his father said.
You tell her, Tatay.
Dodong, you tell your Inay.
You tell her.
All right, Dodong.
All right, Dodong.
You will let me marry Teang?
Son, if that is your wish of course There was a strange helpless light in his fathers eyes. Dodong did not read it. Too
absorbed was he in himself.
Dodong was immensely glad he has asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father, for a while, he even felt sorry for
him about the pain I his tooth. Then he confined his mind dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet young dreams
***
Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely so that his camisetawas damp. He was still like a tree and his
thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He wanted to get out of it without clear reason at
all. He was afraid, he felt afraid of the house. It had seemingly caged him, to compress his thoughts with severe tyranny. He was also afraid
of Teang who was giving birth in the house; she face screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that. He began to
wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry.

In a few moments he would be a father. Father, father, he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He was young,
he realized now contradicting himself of nine months ago. He was very young He felt queer, troubled, uncomfortable.
Dodong felt tired of standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his calloused toes. Then
he thought, supposed he had ten children
The journey of thought came to a halt when he heard his mothers voice from the house.
Some how, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something not
properly his.
Come up, Dodong. It is over.
Suddenly, he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow, he was ashamed to his mother of his youthful
paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he has taken something not properly his. He dropped his eyes and pretended to dust off
his kundimanshorts.
Dodong, his mother called again. Dodong.
He turned to look again and this time, he saw his father beside his mother.
It is a boy. His father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up.
Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. His parents eyes seemed to pierce through him so he felt limp. He wanted
to hide or even run away from them.
Dodong, you come up. You come up, his mother said.
Dodong did not want to come up. Hed rather stayed in the sun.
Dodong Dodong.
Ill come up.
Dodong traced the tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart pounded
mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parents eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not see his face. He felt guilty and
untru. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted
somebody to punish him.
Son, his father said.
And his mother: Dodong..
How kind their voices were. They flowed into him, making him strong.
Teanf? Dodong said.
Shes sleeping. But you go in
His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his wife, asleep on the paper with her soft black hair
around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.
Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips. But again that feeling of
embarrassment came over him, and before his parent, he did not want to be demonstrative.
The hilot was wrapping the child Dodong heard him cry. The thin voice touched his heart. He could not control the swelling
of happiness in him.
You give him to me. You give him to me, Dodong said.
***
Blas was not Dodongs only child. Many more children came. For six successive years, a new child came along. Dodong did
not want any more children. But they came. It seemed that the coming of children could not helped. Dodong got angry with himself
sometimes.
Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children tolled on her. She was shapeless and thin even if she was young. There
was interminable work that kept her tied up. Cooking, laundering. The house. The children. She cried sometimes, wishing she had no
married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet, she wished she had not married.Not even Dodong whom she
loved. There had neen another suitor, Lucio older than Dodong by nine years and that wasw why she had chosen Dodong. Young Dodong
who was only seventeen. Lucio had married another. Lucio, she wondered, would she have born him children? Maybe not, either. That was
a better lot. But she loved Dodong in the moonlight, tired and querulous. He wanted to ask questions and somebody to answer him. He
wanted to be wise about many thins.
Life did not fulfill all of Youths dreams.
Why must be so? Why one was forsaken after love?
One of them was why life did not fulfill all of the youth dreams. Why it must be so.Why one was forsaken after love.
Dodong could not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth. Youth must be
dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet.
Dodong returned to the house, humiliated by himself. He had wanted to know little wisdom but was denied it.
When Blas was eighteen, he came home one night, very flustered and happy. Dodong heard Blas steps for he could not sleep
well at night. He watched Blass undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong called
his name and asked why he did not sleep.
You better go to sleep. It is late, Dodong said.
Life did not fulfill all of youths dreams. Why it must be so? Why one was forsaken after love?
Itay.. Blas called softly.
Dodong stirred and asked him what it was.
Im going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight.
Itay, you think its over.
Dodong lay silent.
I loved Tona and I want her.
Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard where everything was still and quiet.
The moonlight was cold and white.
You want to marry Tona, Dodong said, although he did not want Blas to marry yet.Blas was very young. The life that would
follow marriage would be hard
Yes.
Must you marry?
Blas voice was steeled with resentment. I will mary Tona.
You have objection, Itay? Blas asked acridly.
Son non But for Dodong, he do anything. Youth must triumph now. Afterward It will be life.
As long ago, Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong and then life.
Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.

saw the balete tree across the creek from Minggays hut, I could hardly see the trail before me. The balete was called Minggays tree, for she
was known to sit on one of the numerous twisting vines that formed its grotesque trunk to wait for a belated passer-by. The balete was a
towering monstrous shadow; a firefly that flitted among the vines was an evil eye plucked out searching for its socket. I wanted to run back,
but the medicine had to get to Tio Sabelos wife that night. I wanted to push through the thick underbrush to the dry part of the creek to
avoid the balete, but I was afraid of snakes. I had discarded the idea of a coconut frond torch because the light would catch the attention of
the witch, and when she saw it was only a little boy... Steeling myself I tried to whistle as I passed in the shadow of the balete, its
overhanging vines like hairy arms ready to hoist and strangle me among the branches.
Emerging into the stony bed of the creek, I saw Minggays hut. The screen in the window waved in the faint light of the room and I thought I
saw the witch peering behind it. As I started going up the trail by the hut, each moving clump and shadow was a crouching old woman. I
had heard stories of Minggays attempts to waylay travelers in the dark and suck their blood. Closing my eyes twenty yards from the hut of
the witch, I ran up the hill. A few meters past the hut I stumbled on a low stump. I got up at once and ran again. When I reached Tio
Sabelos house I was very tired and badly shaken.
Somehow after the terror of the balete and the hut of the witch had lessened, although I always had the goose flesh whenever I passed by
them after dusk. One moonlight night going home to town I heard a splashing of the water below Minggays house. I thought the sound was
made by the witch, for she was seen to bathe on moonlit nights in the creek, her loose hair falling on her face. It was not Minggay I saw. It
was a huge animal. I was about to run thinking it was the sigbin of the witch, but when I looked at it again, I saw that it was a carabao

The Witch
by: Edilberto Tiempo

wallowing in the creek.

One morning I thought of bringing home shrimps to my mother, and so I went to a creek a hundred yards from Tio Sabelos house. I had
with me my cousins pana, made of a long steel rod pointed at one end and cleft at the other and shot through the hollow of a bamboo joint

When I was twelve years old, I used to go to Libas, about nine kilometers from the town, to visit my favorite uncle, Tio Sabelo, the head
teacher of the barrio school there. I like going to Libas because of the many things to eat at my uncles house: cane sugar syrup, candied
meat of young coconut, corn and rice cakes, ripe jackfruit, guavas from trees growing wild on a hill not far from Tio Sabelos
house. It was through these visits that I heard many strange stories about Minggay Awok. Awok is the word for witch in southern Leyte.
Minggay was known as a witch even beyond Libas, in five outlying sitios, and considering that not uncommonly a mans nearest neighbor
was two or three hills away, her notoriety was wide. Minggay lived in a small, low hut as the back of the creek separating the barrios of
Libas and Sinit-an. It squatted like a soaked hen on a steep incline and below it, six or seven meters away, two trails forked, one going to
Libas and the other to Mahangin, a mountain sitio. The hut leaned dangerously to the side where the creek water ate away large chunks of
earth during the rainy season. It had two small openings, a small door through which Minggay probably had to stoop to pass, and a
window about two feet square facing the creek. The window was screened by a frayed jute sacking which fluttered eerily even in the

the size of a finger by means of a rubber band attached to one end of the joint. After wading for two hours in the creek which meandered
around bamboo groves and banban and ipil clumps with only three small shrimps strung on a coconut midrib dangling from my belt, I
came upon an old woman taking a bath in the shade of a catmon tree. A brown tapis was wound around her to three fingers width above
her thin chest. The bank of her left was a foot-wide ledge of unbroken boulder on which she had set a wooden basin half full of wet but still
unwashed clothes.
In front of her was a submerged stone pile topped by a platter size rock; on it were a heap of shredded coconut meat, a small discolored tin
basin, a few lemon rinds, and bits of pounded gogo bark. The woman was soaking her sparse gray hair with the gogo suds. She must have
seen me coming because she did not look surprised.

daytime.

Seeing the three small shrimps hanging at my side she said, You have a poor catch.

What she had in the hut nobody seemed to know definitely. One daring fellow who boasted of having gone inside it when Minggay was out

She looked kind. She was probably as old as my grandmother; smaller, for this old woman was two or three inches below five feet. Her eyes

in her clearing on a hill nearby said he had seen dirty stoppered bottles hanging from the bamboo slats of the cogon thatch. Some of the
bottles contained scorpions, centipedes, beetles, bumble bees, and other insects; others were filled with ash-colored powder and dark
liquids. These bottles contained the paraphernalia of her witchcraft. Two or three small bottles she always had with her hanging on her
waistband with a bunch of iron keys, whether she went to her clearing or to the creek to catch shrimps or gather fresh-water shells, or even
when she slept.
It was said that those who had done her wrong never escaped her vengeance, in the form of festering carbuncles, chronic fevers that caused
withering of the skin, or a certain disease of the nose that eventually ate the nose out. Using an incantation known only to her, Minggay
would take out one insect from a bottle, soak it in colored liquid or roll it in powder, and with a curse let it go to the body of her victim; the

looked surprisingly young, but her mouth, just a thin line above the little chin, seemed to have tasted many bitter years.
Why dont you bait them out of their hiding? Take some of this. She gave me a handful of shredded coconut meat whose milk she had
squeezed out and with the gogo suds used on her hair.
She exuded a sweet wood fragrance of gogo bark and the rind of lemons. Beyond the first bend, she said pointing, the water is still.
Scatter the shreds there. Thats where I get my shrimps. You will see some traps. If you find shrimps in them they are yours.
I mumbled my thanks and waded to the bend she had indicated. That part of the creek was like a small lake. One bank was lined by huge

insect might be removed and the disease cured only rarely through intricate rituals of an expensive tambalan.

boulders showing long, deep fissures where the roots of gnarled dapdap trees had penetrated. The other bank was sandy, with bamboo and

Thus Minggay was feared in Libas and the surrounding barrios. There had been attempts to murder her, but in some mysterious way she

shallow except on the rocky side, which was deep and murky.

always came out unscathed. A man set fire to her hut one night, thinking to burn her with it. The hut quickly burned down, but Minggay
was unharmed. On another occasion a man openly declared that he had killed her, showing the blood-stained bolo with which he had
stabbed her; a week later she was seen hobbling to her clearing. This man believed Minggay was the cause of the rash that his only child
had been carrying for over a year. One day, so the story went, meeting his wife, Minggay asked to hold her child. She didnt want to offend
Minggay. As the witch gave the child back she said, He has a very smooth skin. A few days later the boy had skin eruptions all over his

catmon trees leaning over, their roots sticking out in the water. There was good shade and the air had a twilight chilliness. The water was

I scattered the coconut shreds around, and not long after they had settled down shrimps crawled from boles under the bamboo and catmon
roots and from crevices of the boulders. It did not take me an hour to catch a midribful, some hairy with age, some heavy with eggs,
moulters, dark magus, leaf-green shrimps, speckled.

body that never left him.

I saw three traps of woven bamboo strips, round-bellied and about two feet long, two hidden behind a catmon root. I did not disturb them

Minggays only companions were a lean, barren sow and a few chickens, all of them charcoal black. The sow and the chickens were allowed

No, no, iti. Your mother will need them. You dont have enough. Besides I have freshwater crabs at home. She looked up at me with her

to wander in the fields, and even if the sow dug up sweet potatoes and the chickens pecked rice or corn grain drying in the sun, they were

because I had enough shrimps for myself.

strange young eyes and asked, Do you still have a mother?

not driven away by the neighbors because they were afraid to arouse Minggays wrath.

I told her I had, and a grandmother, too.

Besides the sow and the chickens, Minggay was known to have a wakwak and a sigbin. Those who claimed to have seen the sigbin

I said I was from the town and my uncle was the head teacher of the Libas barrio school.

described it as a queer animal resembling a kangaroo: the forelegs were shorter than the hind ones: its fanlike ears made a flapping sound
when it walked. The wakwak was a nocturnal bird, as big and black as a crow. It gave out raucous cries when a person in the neighborhood
had just died. The bird was supposed to be Minggays messenger, and the sigbin caried her to the grave; then the witch dug up the corpse
and feasted on it. The times when I passed by the hut and saw her lean sow and her black chickens, I wondered if they transformed
themselves into fantastic creatures at night. Even in the daytime I dreaded the possibility of meeting her; she might accost me on the trail
near her hut, say something about my face or any part of it, and then I might live the rest of my life with a harelip, a sunken nose, or
crossed eyes. But I never saw Minggay in her house or near the premises. There were times when I thought she was only a legend, a name
to frighten children from doing mischief. But then I almost always saw her sow digging banana roots or wallowing near the trail and the

You are not from Libas, I think. This is the first time I have seen you.
You remind me of my son when he was your age. He had bright eyes like you, and his voice was soft like yours. I think you are a good boy.
Where is your son now?
I have not heard from him since he left. He went away when he was seventeen. He left in anger, because I didnt want him to marry so
young. I dont know where he went, where he is.
She spread the length of a kimona on the water for a last rinsing. The flesh hanging from her skinny arms was loose and flabby.
If hes still living, she went on, hed be as old as your father maybe. Many times I feel in my bones he is alive, and will come back before I
die.

black chickens scratching for worms or pecking grains in her yard, and the witch became very real indeed.

Your husband is still living?

Once I was told to go to Libas with a bottle of medicine for Tio Sabelos sick wife. I started from the town at half past five and by the time I

He died a long time ago, when my boy was eleven.

And then, too, even AlingSebia, the other woman, a child-less widow, asked inoffensively, What are you doing, AlingBiang?
She twisted the kimona like a rope to wring out the water.
Im glad he died early. He was very cruel.
I looked at her, at the thin mouth, wondering about her husbands cruelty, disturbed by the manner she spoke about it.
Do you have other children?
I wish I had. Then I wouldnt be living alone.
A woman her age, I thought, should be a grandmother and live among many children.
Where do you live?
She did not speak, but her strange young eyes were probing and looked grotesque in the old womans face. Not far from here--the house on
the high bank, across the balete.
She must have seen the fright that suddenly leaped into my face, for I thought she smiled at me queerly.
Im going now, I said.
I felt her following me with her eyes; indeed they seemed to bore a hot hole between my shoulder blades. I did not look back. Dont run, I
told myself. But at the first bend of the creek, when I knew she couldnt see me, I ran. After a while I stopped, feeling a little foolish. Such a
helpless-looking little old woman couldnt be Minggay, couldnt be the witch. I remembered her kind voice and the woodfragrance. She could

I am building a fence.
What for?
I need a fence, AlingSebia. Please do not talk to me again.
And with that AlingSebia had felt hurt. Out of spite she too had gone to the bamboo clumps to fell canes. After she had split them, tried
though she was, she began to thrust them into the ground, on the same straight line as AlingBiangs but from the opposite end. The
building of the fence progressed from the opposite end. The building of the fence progresses from the ends centerward. AlingBiang drove in
the last split. And the fence completed, oily perspiration wetting the brows of the two young women, they gazed pridefully at the majestic
wall of green that now sperated them.
Not long after the completion of the fence AlingBiangs husband disappeared and never came back. AlingBiang took the matter passively,
and made no effort to find him. She had become a hardened woman.
The fence hid all the happenings in each house from those who lived in the other. The other side was to each a beyond, dark in elemental
prejudice, and no one dared encroach on it. So the months passed, and each woman lived as though the other were nonexistent.
But early one night, from beyond the fence, AlingBiang heard cries from AlingSebia. Unwilling to pay any heed to them, she extinguished
the light of the petrol kinke and laid herself down beside her child. But, in spite of all, the cries of the other woman made her uneasy. She
stood up, went to the window that faced the fence, and cried from there: What is the matter with you, AlingSebang?
Faintly from the other side came: AlingBiang, please go the town and get me a hilot (midwife).
What do you need a hilot for? asked AlingBiang.

be my own grandmother.

I am going to deliever a child, AlingBiang, and I am alone. Please go, fetch a hilot.

As I walked the string of shrimps kept brushing against the side of my leg. I detached it from my belt and looked at the shrimps. Except for

AlingBiang stood there by the window a long time. She knew when child it was that was coming as the child of AlingSebia. She stood
motionless, the wind brushing her face coldly. What did she care of AlingSebia was to undergo childbirth? The wind blew colder and
pierced the thinness of her shirt. She decided to lie down and sleep. Her body struck against her childs as she did so, and the child
moaned:

the three small ones, all of them belonged to the old woman. Her coconut shreds had coaxed them as by magic out of their hiding. The
protruding eyes of the biggest, which was still alive, seemed to glare at me---and then they became the eyes of the witch. Angrily, I hurled
the shrimps back into the creek.

Ummm
The other child, too, could be moaning like that. Like her child. Ummm.From the womb of AlingSebiathe wrong womb.

The Fence

Hastily AlingBiang stood up, wound her tapiz round her waist, covered her shoulders with a cheap shawl.

by: Jose Garcia Villa

Ummm.Ummm.The cry that called her.Ummm. The cry of a life

They should have stood apart, away from each other, those two nipa houses. There should have been a lofty impenetrable wall between
them, so that they should not stare so coldly, so starkly, at each otherjust staring, not saying a word, not even a cruel word. Only a yard
of parched soil separated them, a yard of brittle-crusted earth with only a stray weed or two to show there was life still in its bosom.

She descended the bamboo steps. They creaked in the night.

They stood there on the roadside, they two alone, neighborless but for themselves, and they were like two stealthy shadows, each avid to
betray the other. Queer old houses. So brown were the nipa leaves that walled and roofed them that they looked musty, gloomy. One higher
than the other, pyramid-roofed, it tried to assume the air of mastery, but in vain. For though the other was low, wind-bent, supported
without by luteous bamboo poles against the aggressiveness of the weather, it had its eyes to stare back as haughtily as the other
windows as desolate as the souls of the occupants of the house, as sharply angular as the intensity of their hatred.
From the road these houses feared no enemyno enemy from the length, from the dust, of the road; they were unfenced. But of each other
they were afraid: there ran a green, house high, bamboo fence through the narrow ribbon of thirsty earth between them, proclaiming that
one side belonged to one house, to it alone; the other side to the other, and to it alone.
Formerly there had been no bamboo fence; there had been no weeds. There had been two rows of vegetables, one to each house, and the
soil was not parched but soft and rich. But something had happened and the fence came to be built, and the vegetables that were so green
began to turn pale, then paler and yellow and brown. Those of each house would not water their plants, for if they did, would not water
their water spread to the other side and quench too the thirst of pechays and mustards not theirs? Little by little the plants had died, the
soil had cracked with neglect, on both sides of the fence.
Two women had built that fence. Two tanned country-women. One of them had caught her husband with the other one night, and the next
morning she had gone to the bamboo clumps near the river Pasig and felled canes with her woman strength. She left her baby son at home,
heeded not the little cries. And one by one that hot afternoon she shouldered the canes to her home. She was tired, very tired, yet that
night she could not sleep. When morning dawned she rose and went back t the back of the house and began to split the bamboos. Her
husband noticed her, but said nothing. By noon, AlingBiang was driving tall bamboo splits into the narrow ribbon of yard.
Pok, Pok, Pok, sounded her crude hammer. Pok, Pok, Pok-Pok, Pok, Pok.
When her husband asked her what she was doing, she answered, I am building a fence.
What for? he asked.
I need a fence.

The fence grew moldy and inclined to one side, the child of AlingBianggrew up into sickly boy with hollow dark eyes and shaggy hair, and
the child that was born to AlingSebia grew up into a girl, a girl with rugged features , a simian face, and a very narrow brow. But not a word
had passed across the fence since that night.
The boy Iking was not allowed to play by the roadside; for if he did, would he not know were on the other side of the fence? For his realm he
had only his home and the little backyard. Sometimes, he would loiter along the narrow strip of yard beside the fence, and peep
surreptitiously through the slits. And he could catch glimpses of a girl, dark-complex-ioned, flat-nosed on the other side. She was an ugly
girl, even uglier than he was, but she was full-muscled, healthy. As he peeped, his body, like a thin reed pressed against the fungused
canes, would be breathless. The flat-nosed girl intoxicated him, his loose architecture of a body, so that it pulsed, vibrated cruelly with the
leap in his blood. The least sound of the wind against the nipa wall of their house would startle him, as though he had been caught,
surprised, in his clandestine passion; a wave of frigid coldness would start in his chest and expand, expand, expand until he was all cold
and shivering. Watching that girl only intensified his lonelinesswatching that girl of whom he knew nothing except that form them it was
not right to know each other.
When his mother caught him peeping, she would scold him, and he would turn quickly about, his convex back pressed painfully against
the fence.
Did I not tell you never to peep through that fence? Go up.
And he would go up without answering a word, because the moment he tried to reason out things, prolonged coughs would seize him and
shake his thin body unmercifully.
At night, as he lay on the bamboo floor, notes of a guitar would reach his ears. The notes were metallic, clanking, and at the middle of the
nocturne they stopped abruptly. Who played the raucous notes? Who played the only music he had ever heard in his life? And why did the
player never finish his music? And lying beside his mother, he felt he wanted to rise and go down the bamboo steps to the old forbidden?
fence and see who it was that was playing. But AlingBiang would stir and ask, Are you feeling cold, Iking? Here is the blanket. Poor
mother she did not know that it was she who was making the soul of this boy so cold, so barren, so desolate.
And one night, after AlingBiang had prepared his bedding beside her, Iking approached her and said: I will sleep by the door, nanay. I want
to sleep alone. I am grownup. I am fifteen. He folded his mat and tucked it under an arm carrying a kundiman-cased pillow in one thin
hand, and marched stoically to the place he mentioned.

When the playing came, he stood up and went down the stairs and moved towards the bamboo fence. He leaned against it and listened,
enthralled, to the music. When it ceased he wanted to scream in protest, but a strangling cough seized him. He choked, yet his neck craned
and his eye strained to see who had been the player.
His lips did not move, but his soul wept, It is she!
And he wanted to hurl himself against fence to break it down. But he knew that even that old, mildewed fence was stronger than he.
Strongerstronger than the loneliness of his soul, stronger than his soul itself.
Pok, Pok, PokPok, Pok, Pok.
The boy Iking, pallid, tubercular, watched his mother with sunken, hating eyes from the window. She was mending the fence, because now
it leaned to their side and many of the old stakes had decayed. She substituted fresh ones for these, until finally, among the weather-beaten
ones, rose bold green splits like stout corporals among squads of unhealthy soldiers. From the window, the boy Iking asked nervously:
Why do you do that, mother? Whywhy

Tata Selo
By: Rogelio Sikat
Maliit lamang sa simula ang kulumpon ng taong nasa bakuran ng munisipyo, ngunit nang tumaas ang araw, at kumalat na ang balitang
tinaga at napatay si Kabesang Tano, ay napuno na ang bakuran ng bahay-pamahalaan.

It needs reinforcing replied his mother. Pok, Pok, Pok

Why-why! he exclaimed in protest.
His mother stopped hammering. She stared at him cruelly.
I need it, she declared forcefully, the veins on her forehead rising out clearly. Your mother needs it. You need it too.

Naggitgitan ang mga tao, nagsiksikan, nagtutulakan, bawat isay naghahangad makalapit sa istaked.
Totoo ba, Tata Selo?
Binabawi niya ang aking saka kaya tinaga ko siya.

Iking cowered from the window. He heard again: Pok, Pok, PokPok, Pok, Pok.
That night no playing came from beyond the fence. And Iking knew why.
PhthisicalIking.Eighteen-year-old bony Iking.Lying ghastly pale on the mat all the time.Waiting for the music from the other side of the
fence that had stopped three years ago.
And tonight was Christmas Eve. Ikings Christmas Eve. He must be happy tonighthe must be made happy tonight
At one corner of the room his mother crooned to herself. A Biblia was on the table, but no one read it; they did not know how to read.
But they knew it was Christmas Eve. AlingBiang said, The Lord will be born tonight.

Nasa loob ng istaked si Tata Selo. Mahigpit na nakahawak sa rehas. May nakaalsang putok sa noo. Nakasungaw ang luha sa malabo at tila
lagi nang may inaaninaw na mata. Kupas ang gris niyang suot, may mga tagpi na ang siko at paypay. Ang kutod niyang yari sa matibay na
supot ng asin ay may bahid ng natuyong putik. Nasa harap niya at kausap ang isang magbubukid, ang kanyang kahangga, na isa sa
nakalusot sa mga pulis na sumasawata sa nagkakaguluhang tao.
Hindi ko ho mapaniwalaan, Tata Selo, umiling na wika ng kanyang kahangga, talagang hindi ko mapaniwalaan.
Hinaplus-haplos ni Tata Selo ang ga-dali at natuyuan na ng dugong putok sa noo. Sa kanyang harapan, di-kalayuan sa istaked,
ipinagtutulakan ng mga pulis ang mga taong ibig makakita sa kanya. Mainit ang sikat ng araw na tumatama sa mga ito, walang humihihip
na hangin at sa kanilang ulunan ay nakalutang ang nasasalisod na alikabok.

The Lord will be born tonight, echoed her son.

Let us pray, Iking.

Bakit niya babawiin ang aking saka? tanong ni Tata Selo. Dinaya ko na ba siya sa partihan? Tinuso ko na ba siya? Siya ang may-ari ng
lupa at kasama lang niya ako. Hindi bat kaya maraming nagagalit sa akin ay dahil sa ayaw kong magpamigay ng kahit isang pinangko
kung anihan?

Iking stood up. His emaciated form looked so pitiful that his mother said, Better lie down again, Iking. I will pray alone.
But Iking did not lie down. He move slowly to the door and descended into the backyard His mother would pray. Could she pray? his
soul asked He stood motionless. And then he saw the fencethe fence that his mother had built and strengthenedto crush his soul. He
ran weakly, groggily, to itallured by its forbidding, crushing sterness. He peeped hungrily between the splitssaw her
His dry lips mumbled, tried to make her hear his word, Play for me tonight!
He saw that she heard. Her ugly faced turned sharply to the fence that separated him and her. He wept. He had spoken to herthe first
timethe first time
He laid himself down as soon as he was back in the house. He turned his face toward the window to wait for her music. He drew his
blanket closer round him so that he should not feel cold. The moonlight that poured into the room pointed at his face, livid, anxious,
hoping, and at a little, wet, red smudge on the blanket where it touched his lips.
Cicadas sang and leaves of trees rustled. A gorgeous moon sailed westward across the sky. Dark-skinned bats occasionally lost their way
into the room. A pale silken moth flew in to flirt with the flame of kerosene kinke.
And then the cicadas had tired of singing. The moon was far above at its zenith now. The bats had found their way out of the room. The
moth now lay signed on the table, beside he realized now that the fence between their houses extended into the heart of this girl.
The Lord is born, announced AlingBiang, for it was midnight.
He is born, said her son, his ears still ready for her music because the fence did not run through his soul.

Hindi pa rin umaalis sa harap ng istaked si Tata Selo. Nakahawak pa rin siya sa rehas. Nakatingin siya sa labas ngunit wala siyang sino
mang tinitingnan.
Hindi mo na sana tinaga si kabesa, anang binatang anak ng pinakamayamang propitaryo sa San Roque, na tila isang magilas na
pinunong-bayang malayang nakalalakad sa pagitan ng maraming tao at ng istaked. Mataas ito, maputi, nakasalaming may kulay at
nakapamaywang habang naninigarilyo.
Binabawi po niya ang aking saka, sumbong ni Tata Selo. Saan pa po ako pupunta kung wala na akong saka?
Kumumpas ang binatang mayaman. Hindi katwiran iyan para tagain mo ang kabesa. Ari niya ang lupang sinasaka mo. Kung gusto ka
niyang paalisin, mapaaalis ka niya anumang oras.
Halos lumabas ang mukha ni Tata Selo sa rehas.
Ako poy hindi ninyo nauunawaan, nakatingala at nagpipilit ngumiting wika niya sa binatang nagtapon ng sigarilyo at mariing tinakpan
pagkatapos. Alam po ba ninyong dating amin ang lupang iyon? Naisangla lamang po nang magkasakit ang aking asawa, naembargo
lamang po ng kabesa. Pangarap ko pong bawiin ang lupang iyon, kaya nga po hindi nagbibigay ng kahit isang pinangko kung anihan. Kung
hindi ko na naman po mababawi, masaka ko man lamang po. Nakikiusap po ako sa kabesa kangina, Kung maari akong paalisin. Kaya ko
pa pong magsaka, Besa. Totoo pong akoy matanda na, ngunit ako po namay malakas pa. Ngunit... Ay! tinungkod po niya ako nang
tinungkod, tingnan po nyong putok sa aking noo, tingnan po nyo.

The moon descended descended..

At two a.m. Ikings eyes were closed and his hands were cold. His mother wept. His heart beat no more.
Two-three a.m.only a few minutes afterand from beyond the fence came the notes of a guitar.
The notes of a guitar.Metallic.Clanking.Raucous.Notes of the same guitar. And she who played it finished her nocturne that mourn.
AlingBiang stood up from beside her son, approached the window, stared accusingly outside, and said in a low resentful voice, They are
mocking. Who would play at such a time of morn as this? Because my son is dead.
But she saw only the fence she had built and strengthened, stately white in the matutinal moonlight.

Dumukot ng sigarilyo ang binata. Nagsindi ito at pagkaraay tinalikuran si Tata Selo at lumapit sa isang pulis.
Pano po bang nangyari, Tata Selo?
Sa pagkakahawak sa rehas, napabaling si Tata Selo. Nakita niya ang isang batang magbubukid na na nakalapit sa istaked. Nangiti si Tata
Selo. Narito ang isang magbubukid, o anak-magbubukid, na maniniwala sa kanya. Nakataas ang malapad na sumbrerong balanggot ng
bata. Nangungulintab ito, ang mga bisig at binti ay may halas. May sukbit itong lilik.

Pinutahan niya ako sa aking saka, amang, paliwanag ni Tata Selo. Doon ba sa may sangka. Pinaalis sa aking saka, ang wikay tinungkod
ako, amang. Nakikiusap ako, sapagkat kung mawawalan ako ng saka ay saan pa ako pupunta?

Nasa may sangka po ako nang dumating ang kabesa. Nagtatapal po ako ng pitas sa pilapil. Alam ko pong pinanood ako ng kabesa, kung
kaya po naman pinagbuti ko ang paggawa, para malaman niyang ako poy talagang malakas pa, na kaya ko pa pong magsaka. Walang anuano po, tinawag niya ako at ako poy lumapit, sinabi niyang makaalis na ako sa aking saka sapagkat iba na ang magsasaka.

Wala na nga kayong mapupuntahan, Tata Selo.

Gumapang ang luha sa pisngi ni Tata Selo. Tahimik na nakatingin sa kanya ang bata.

Bakit po naman, Besa? tanong ko po. Ang wikay umalis na lang daw po ako. Bakit po naman, Besa? tanong ko po uli, malakas pa po
naman ako, a. Nilapitan po niya ako nang tinungkod.
Tinaga mo na non, anang nakamatyag na hepe.

Patay po ba?
Namuti ang mga kamao ni Tata Selo sa pagkakahawak sa rehas. Napadukmo siya sa balikat.
Pano pa niyan si Saling? muling tanong ng bata. Tinutukoy nito ang maglalabimpitong taong anak ni Tata Selo na ulila na sa ina.
Katulong ito kina Kabesang Tano at kamakalawa lamang umuwi kay Tata Selo. Ginagawang reyna sa pista ng mga magbubukid si Saling
nang nakaraang taon, hindi lamang pumayag si Tata Selo. Pano po niyan si Saling?
Lalong humigpit ang pagkakahawak ni Tata Selo sa rehas.

Tahimik sa tanggapan ng alkalde. Lahat ng tingin may mga eskribiyente pang nakapasok doon ay nakatuon kay Tata Selo. Nakauyko si
Tata Selo at gagalaw-galaw ang tila mamad na daliri sa ibabaw ng maruming kutod. Sa pagkakatapak sa makintab na sahig, hindi
mapalagay ang kanyang may putik, maalikabok at luyang paa.
Ang inyong anak, na kina Kasesa raw? usisa ng alkalde.
Hindi sumagot si Tata Selo.
Tinatanong ka, anang hepe.

Hindi pa nakakausap ng alkalde si Tata Selo. Mag-aalas-onse na nang dumating ito, kasama ang hepe ng mga pulis. Galing sila sa bahay
ng kabesa. Abut-abot ang busina ng diyip na kinasasakyan ng dalawa upang mahawi ang hanggang nooy di pa nag-aalisang tao.

Lumunok si Tata Selo.

Tumigil ang diyip sa di-kalayaun sa istaked.

Umuwi na po si Saling, Presidente.

Patay po ba? Saan po ang taga?

Kailan?

Naggitgitan at nagsiksikan ang mga pinagpapawisang tao. Itinaas ng may-katabang alkalde ang dalawang kamay upang payapain ang
pagkakaingay. Nanulak ang malaking hepe.

Kamakalawa po ng umaga.
Di bat kinatatulong siya ron?

Saan po tinamaan?
Tatlong buwan na po.
Sa bibig. Ipinasok ng alkalde ang kanang palad sa bibig, hinugot iyon at mariing inihagod hanggang sa kanang punong tainga. Lagas
ang ngipin.

Bakit siya umuwi?

Lintik na matanda!

Dahan-dahang umangat ang mukha ni Tata Selo. Naiyak na napayuko siya.

Nagkagulo ang mga tao. Nagsigawan, nagsiksikan, naggitgitan, nagtulakan. Nanghataw na ng batuta ang mga pulis. Ipinasiya ng alkalde
na ipalabas ng istaked si Tata Selo at dalhin sa kanyang tanggapan. Dalawang pulis ang kumuha kay Tata Selo sa istaked.

May sakit po siya?

Mabibilanggo ka niyan, anang alkalde pagpasok ni Tata Selo sa kanyang tanggapan.

Nang sumapit ang alas-dose inihudyat iyon ng sunud-sunod na pagtugtog ng kampana sa simbahan na katapat lamang ng munisipyo
ay umalis ang alkalde upang manghalian. Naiwan si Tata Selo, kasama ang hepe at dalawang pulis.

Pinaupo ng alkalde ang namumutlang si Tata Selo. Umupo si Tata Selo sa silyang nasa harap ng mesa. Nanginginig ang kamay ni Tata Selo
nang ipatong niya iyon sa nasasalaminang mesa.\

Napatay mo pala ang kabesa, anang malaking lalaking hepe. Lumapit ito kay Tata Selo na nakayuko at din pa tumitinag sa upuan.

Pano nga bang nangyari? kunot-noo at galit na tanong ng alkalde.

Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo.
Binabawi po niya ang aking saka, Presidente, wika ni Tata Selo. Ayaw ko pong umalis doon. Dati pong amin ang lupang iyon, amin po,
naisangla lamang po at naembargo.
Alam ko na iyan, kumukumpas at umiiling na putol ng nagbubugnot na alkalde.
Lumunok si Tata Selo. Nang muli siyang tumingin sa presidente, may nakasungaw na luha sa kanyang malalabo at tila lagi nang may
inaaninaw na mata.

Binabawi po niya ang aking saka, katwiran ni Tata Selo.

Sinapok ng hepe si Tata Selo. Sa lapag, halos mangudngod si Tata Selo.
Tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod, nakatingala, umiiyak at kumikinig ang labing katwiran ni Tata Selo.
Itinayo ng hepe si Tata Selo. Kinadyot ng hepe si Tata Selo sa sikmura. Sa sahig, napaluhod si Tata Selo, nakakapit sa umipormeng kaki ng
hepe.
Tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod...Ay! tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod...
Sa may pinto ng tanggapan, naaawang nakatingin ang dalawang pulis.

Ako po naman, Presidente, ay malakas pa, wika ni Tata Selo. Kaya ko pa pong magsaka. Makatwiran po bang paalisin ako? Malakas pa
po naman ako, Presidente, malakas pa po.

Si Kabesa kasi ang nagrekomenda kat Tsip, e, sinasabi ng isa nang si Tata Selo ay tila damit na nalaglag sa pagkakasabit nang muling
pagmalupitan ng hepe.

Saan mo tinaga ang kabesa?

Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo.

Mapula ang sumikat na araw kinabukasan. Sa bakuran ng munisipyo, nagkalat ang papel na naiwan nang nagdaang araw. Hindi pa
namamatay ang alikabok, gayong sa pagdating ng uwang iyoy dapat nang nag-uulan. Kung may humihihip na hangin, may mumunting
ipu-ipong nagkakalat ng mga papel sa itaas.

Dadalhin ka siguro sa kabesera, anang bagong paligo at bagong bihis na alkalde sa matandang nasa loob ng istaked. Doon ka siguro
ikukulong.

Habang nakakapit sa rehas at nakatingin sa labas, sinasabi niyang lahat ay kinuha na sa kanila, lahat, ay! ang lahat ay kihuan na sa
kanila...

Wala ni papag sa loob ng istaked at sa maruing sementadong lapag nakasalampak si Tata Selo. Sa paligid niyay may natutuyong tamaktamak na tubig. Nakaunat ang kanyang maiitim at hinahalas na paa at nakatukod ang kanyang tila walang butong mga kamay.
Nakakiling, nakasandal siya sa steel matting na siyang panlikurang dingding ng istaked. Sa malapit sa kanyang kamay, hindi nagagalaw
ang sartin ng maiitim na kape at isang losang kanin. Nilalangaw iyon.

Nanking Store

Habang-buhay siguro ang ibibigay sa iyo, patuloy ng alkalde. Nagsindi ng tabako at lumapit sa istaked. Makintab ang sapatos ng alkalde.
Patayon na rin ninyo ako, Presidente. Paos at bahagya nang marinig ang rehas ngunit pinagkiskis niya ang mga palad at tiningnan kung
may alikabok iyon. Nang tingnan niya si Tata Selo, nakita niyang lalo nang nakiling ito.
May mga tao na namang dumarating sa munisipyo. Kakaunti iyon kaysa kahapon. Nakapasok ang mga iyon sa bakuran ng munisipyo,
ngunit may kasunod na pulis. Kakaunti ang magbubukid sabagong langkay na dumating at titingin kay Tata Selo. Karamihan ay mga
taga-poblacion. Hanggang noon, bawat isay nagtataka, hindi makapaniwala, gayong kalat na ang balitang ililibing kinahapunan ang
kabesa. Nagtataka at hindi nakapaniwalang nakatingin sila kay Tata Selo na tila isang di pangkaraniwang hayop na itinatanghal.
Ang araw, katulad kahapon, ay mainit na naman. Nang magdakong alas-dos, dumating ang anak ni Tata Selo. Pagkakita sa lugmok na
ama, mahigpit itong napahawak sa rehas at malakas na humagulgol.
Nalaman ng alkalde na dumating si Saling at itoy ipinatawag sa kanyang tanggapan. Di nagtagal at si Tata Selo naman ang ipinakaon.
Dalawang pulis ang umaalalay kay Tata Selo. Nabubuwal sa paglakad si Tata Selo. Nakita niya ang babaing nakaupo sa harap ng mesa ng
presidente.
Nagyakap ang mag-ama pagkakita.
Hindi ka na sana naparito, Saling wika ni Tata Selo na napaluhod. May sakit ka Saling, may sakit ka!?
Tila tulala ang anak ni Tata Selo habang kalong ang ama. Nakalugay ang walang kintab niyang buhok, ang damit na suot ay tila yaong
suot pa nang nagdaang dalawang araw. Matigas ang kanyang namumutlang mukha. Pinaglilipat-lipat niya ang tingin mula sa nakaupong
alkalde hanggang sa mga nakatinging pulis.
Umuwi ka na, Saling, hiling ni Tata Selo. Bayaan mo na...bayaan mo na. Umuwi ka na, anak. Huwag ka nang magsasabi...
Kinabog kagabi, wika ng isang magbubukid. Binalutan ng basang sako, hindi nga halata.
Ang anak, dumating daw?
Naki-mayor.
Sa isang sulok ng istaked iniupo ng dalawang pulis si Tata Selo. Napasubsob si Tata Selo pagakaraang siyay maiupo. Ngunit nang marinig
niyang muling ipinapakaw ang pintong bakal ng istaked, humihilahod na ginapang niya ang rehas, mahigpit na humawak doon at habang
nakadapay ilang sandali ring iyoy tila huhutukin. Tinawag niya ang mga pulis ngunit paos siya at malayo na ang mga pulis. Nakalabas
ang kanang kamay sa rehas, bumagsak ang kanyang mukha sa sementadong lapah. Matagal siyang nakadapa bago niya narinig na may
tila gumigisang sa kanya.
Tata Selo...Tata Selo...

by: Macario Tiu

I WAS only three years old then, but I have vivid memories of Peter and Linda's wedding. What I remember most was jumping and romping
on their pristine matrimonial bed after the wedding. I would learn later that it was to ensure that their first-born would be a boy. I was
chosen to do the honors because I was robust and fat.
I also remember that I got violently sick after drinking endless bottles of soft drinks. I threw up everything that I had eaten, staining
Linda's shimmering satin wedding gown. Practically the entire Chinese community of the city was present. There was so much food that
some Bisayan children from the squatter's area were allowed to enter the compound to eat in a shed near the kitchen.
During their first year of marriage, Linda often brought me to their house in Bajada. She and Peter would pick me up after nursery school
from our store in their car. She would tell Mother it was her way of easing her loneliness, as all her relatives and friends were in Cebu, her
hometown. Sometimes I stayed overnight with them.
I liked going there because she pampered me, feeding me fresh fruits as well as preserved Chinese fruits like dikiam, champoy and kiamoy.
Peter was fun too, making me ride piggyback. He was very strong and did not complain about my weight.
Tua Poy, that's what she fondly called me. It meant Fatso. I called her Achi, and Peter, Ahiya. They were a happy couple. I would see them
chase each other among the furniture and into the rooms. There was much laughter in the house. It was this happy image that played in
my mind about Peter and Linda for a long time.
I was six years old when I sensed that something had gone wrong with their marriage. Linda left the Bajada house and moved into the
upstairs portions of Nanking Store which was right across from Father's grocery store in Santa Ana. The Bajada residence was the wedding
gift of Peter's parents to the couple. It was therefore strange that Linda would choose to live in Santa Ana while Peter would stay in Bajada,
a distance of some three kilometers.
In Santa Ana where the Chinese stores were concentrated, the buildings used to be uniformly two storeys high. The first floor was the store;
the second floor was the residence. In time some Chinese grew prosperous and moved out to establish little enclaves in different parts of
the city and in the suburbs. We remained in Santa Ana.
One late afternoon, after school, I caught Linda at home talking with Mother.
"Hoa, Tua Poya. You've grown very tall!" Linda greeted me, ruffling my hair.
At that age, the show of affection made me feel awkward and I sidled up to Mother. Linda gave me two Mandarin oranges. I stayed at the
table in the same room, eating an orange and pretending not to listen to their conversation.
I noticed that Linda's eyes were sad, not the eyes that I remembered. Her eyes used to be full of light and laughter. Now her eyes were
somber even when her voice sounded casual and happy.
"I got bored in Bajada," Linda said. "I thought I'd help Peter at the store."
That was how she explained why she had moved to Santa Ana. I wanted to know if she could not do that by going to the store in the
morning and returning home to Bajada at night like Peter did. I wished Mother would ask the question, but she did not.

Umangat ang mukha ni Tata Selo. Inaninaw ng may luha niyang mata ang tumatawag sa kanya.
Iyon ang batang dumalaw sa kanya kahapon.
Hinawakan ng bata ang kamay ni Tata Selo na umaabot sa kanya.
Nandon, amang, si Saling sa Presidente, wika ni Tata Selo. Yayain mo nang umuwi, umuwi na kayo. Puntahan mo siya, amang. Umuwi
na kayo. Muling bumagsak ang kanyang mukha sa lapag. Ang batay saglit na nagpaulik-ulik, pagkaraay takot na bantulot na sumunod...

However, at the New Canton Barbershop I learned the real reason. One night Mother told me to fetch Father because it was past eight
o'clock and he hadn't had his dinner. As a family we ate early. Like most Chinese, we would close the store by five and go up to the second
floor to eat supper.
The New Canton Barbershop served as the recreation center of our block. At night the sidewalk was brightly lighted, serving as the
extension of the barbershop's waiting room. People congregated there to play Chinese chess, to read the Orient News or just talk. It was a
very informal place. Father and the other elderly males would go there in shorts and sando shirts.
He was playing chess when I got there. He sat on a stool with one leg raised on the stool.

Mag-iikapat na ng hapon. Padahilig na ang sikat ng araw, ngunit mainit pa rin iyon. May kapiraso nang lilim sa istaked, sa may dingding
sa steel matting, ngunit si Tata Seloy wala roon. Nasa init siya, nakakapit sa rehas sa dakong harapan ng istaked. Nakatingin sitya sa
labas, sa kanyang malalabo at tila lagi nang nag-aaninaw na matay tumatama ang mapulang sikat ng araw. Sa labas ng istaked,
nakasandig sa rehas ang batang inutusan niya kangina. Sinasabi ng bata na ayaw siyang papasukin sa tanggapan ng alkalde ngunit hindi
siya pinakikinggan ni Tata Selo, na ngayoy hindi na pagbawi ng saka ang sinasabi.

"Mama says you should go home and eat," I said.

Father looked at me and I immediately noticed that he had had a drink. The focus of his eyes was not straight.
"I have eaten. Go home. Tell Mother I'll follow in a short while," he said.

I stayed on and watched the game although I did not understand a thing.

"It's the woman, not Peter," said a man from a neighboring table. "I heard they tried everything. She even had regular massage by a Bisayan
medicine woman."

"I said go home," Father said, glowering at me.

"It's sad. It's very sad," the toothless man said. "His parents want him to junk her, but he loves her."

I did not budge.

When Father and I got home, I went to my First Brother's room.

"This is how children behave now. You tell them to do something and they won't obey," he complained to his opponent. Turning to me, he
said, "Go home."

"Why do they say that Ah Kong has no bones?" I asked my brother.

"Where did you learn that?" my brother asked.

"Check," his opponent said.

"At the barbershop."
"Hoakonga!" Father cried, "I turn around and you cheat me."
"Don't listen in on adult talk," he said. "It's bad manners."
His opponent laughed aloud, showing toothless gums.
"Well, what does it mean?"
Father studied the chessboard. "Hoakonga! You've defeated me four times in a row!"
"It means Ah Kong cannot produce a son."
"Seven times."
"And what is a bad stock?"
"What? You're a big cheat and you know that. Certainly five times, no more!"
My brother told me to go to sleep, but I persisted.
It elicited another round of laughter from the toothless man. Several people in the adjoining tables joined in the laughter. Father reset the
chess pieces to start another game.

"It means you cannot produce any children. It's like a seed, see? It won't grow. Why do you ask?" he said.

"You beat me in chess, but I have six children. All boys. Can you beat that?" he announced.

"They say Peter is a bad stock."

Father's laughter was very loud. When he had had a drink he was very talkative.

"Well, that's what's going to happen to him if he won't produce a child. But it's not really Peter's problem. It is Linda's problem. She had an
appendectomy when she was still single. It could have affected her."

"See this?" he hooked his arm around my waist and drew me to his side. "This is my youngest. Can you beat this?"
The men laughed. They laughed very hard. I did not know what was funny, but it must be because of the incongruous sight of the two of
us. He was very thin and I was very fat.

Somehow I felt responsible for their having no children. I worried that I could be the cause. I hoped nobody remembered that I jumped on
their matrimonial bed to give them good luck. I failed to give them a son. I failed to give them even a daughter. But nobody really blamed
me for it. Everybody agreed it was Linda's problem.

"Well, I have I seven children!" the toothless man said.

That was why Linda had moved in to Santa Ana.

"Ah, four daughters. Not counted," Father said.

But the problem was more complicated than this. First Brother explained it all to me patiently. Peter's father was the sole survivor of the
Zhin family. He had a brother but he died when still young. The family name was therefore in danger of dying out. It was the worst thing
that could happen to a Chinese family, for the bloodline to vanish from the world. Who would pay respects to the ancestors? It was
unthinkable. Peter was the family's only hope to carry on the family name, and he still remained childless.

"Ah Kong! Ah Kong!" somebody said.

The laughter was deafening. Ah Kong lived several blocks away. He had ten children, all daughters, and his wife was pregnant again.
They laughed at their communal joke, but the laughter slowly died down until there was absolute silence. It was a very curious thing.
Father saw Peter coming around the corner and he suddenly stopped laughing. The toothless man turned, saw Peter, and he stopped
laughing, too. Anybody who saw Peter became instantly quiet so that by the time he was near the barbershop the group was absolutely
silent.
It was Peter who broke the silence by greeting Father. He also greeted some people, and suddenly they were alive again. The chess pieces
made scraping noises on the board, the newspapers rustled, and people began to talk.
"Hoa, Tua Poya, you've grown very tall!" he said, ruffling my hair.
I smiled shyly at him. He exchanged a few words with Father and then, ruffling my hair once more, he went away. It struck me that he was
not the Peter I knew, vigorous and alert. This Peter looked tired, and his shoulders sagged.
I followed him with my eyes. Down the road I noted that his car was parked in front of Nanking Store. But he did not get into his car;
instead he went inside the store. It was one of those nights when he would sleep in the store.
"A bad stock," the toothless man said, shaking his head. "Ah Kong has no bones. But Peter is a bad stock. A pity. After four years, still no
son. Not even a daughter."

But while everybody agreed that it was Linda's fault, some people also doubted Peter's virility. At the New Canton Barbershop it was the
subject of drunken bantering. He was aware that people were talking behind his back. From a very gregarious man, he became withdrawn
and no longer socialized.
Instead he put his energies into Nanking Store. His father had retired and had given him full authority. Under his management, Nanking
Store expanded, eating up two adjacent doors. It was rumored he had bought a large chunk of Santa Ana and was diversifying into
manufacturing and mining.
Once, I met him in the street and I smiled at him but he did not return my greeting. He did not ruffle my hair. He had become a very
different man. His mouth was set very hard. He looked like he was angry at something.
The changes in Linda occurred over a period of time. At first, she seemed to be in equal command with Peter in Nanking Store. She had her
own desk and sometimes acted as cashier. Later she began to serve customers directly as if she were one of the salesgirls.
Then her personal maid was fired. Gossip blamed this on Peter's parents. She lived pretty much like the three stay-in salesgirls and the
young mestizo driver who cooked their own meals and washed their own clothes.
Members of the community whose opinions mattered began to sympathize with her because her in-laws were becoming hostile towards her
openly. The mother-in-law made it known to everybody she was unhappy with her. She began to scold Linda in public. "That worthless,
barren woman," she would spit out. Linda became a very jittery person. One time, she served tea to her mother-in-law and the cup slid off
the saucer. It gave the mother-in-law a perfect excuse to slap Linda in the face in public.

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

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

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

"How old are you now?"

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

The Bread of Salt

by: NVM Gonzales
Usually I was in bed by ten and up by five and thus was ready for one more day of my fourteenth year. Unless Grandmother had forgotten,
the fifteen centavos for the baker down Progreso Street and how l enjoyed jingling those coins in my pocket!- would be in the empty fruit
jar in the cupboard. I would remember then that rolls were what Grandmother wanted because recently she had lost three molars. For
young people like my cousins and myself, she had always said that the kind called pan de sal ought to be quite all right.
The bread of salt! How did it get that name? From where did its flavor come, through what secret action of flour and yeast? At the risk of
being jostled from the counter by early buyers. I would push my way into the shop so that I might watch the men who, stripped to the waist
worked their long flat wooden spades in and out of the glowing maw of the oven. Why did the bread come nut-brown and the size of my
little fist? And why did it have a pair of lips convulsed into a painful frown? In the half light of the street and hurrying, the paper bag
pressed to my chest I felt my curiosity a little gratified by the oven-fresh warmth of the bread I was proudly bringing home for breakfast.
Well l knew how Grandmother would not mind if I nibbled away at one piece; perhaps, l might even eat two, to be charged later against my
share at the table. But that would be betraying a trust and so, indeed, I kept my purchase intact. To guard it from harm, I watched my
steps and avoided the dark street comers.
For my reward, I had only to look in the direction of the sea wall and the fifty yards or so of riverbed beyond it, where an old Spaniards
house stood. At low tide, when the bed was dry and the rocks glinted with broken bottles, the stone fence of the Spaniards compound set
off the house as if it were a castle. Sunrise brought a wash of silver upon the roofs of the laundry and garden sheds which had been built
low and close to the fence. On dull mornings the light dripped from the bamboo screen which covered the veranda and hung some four or
five yards from the ground. Unless it was August when the damp, northeast monsoon had to be kept away from the rooms, three servants
raised the screen promptly at six-thirty until it was completely hidden under the veranda eaves. From the sound of the pulleys, l knew it
was time to set out for school.
It was in his service, as a coconut plantation overseer, that Grandfather had spent the last thirty years of his life. Grandmother had been
widowed three years now. I often wondered whether I was being depended upon to spend the years ahead in the service of this great house.
One day I learned that Aida, a classmate in high school, was the old Spaniards niece. All my doubts disappeared. It was as if, before his
death. Grandfather had spoken to me about her. concealing the seriousness of the matter by putting it over as a joke, if now l kept true to
the virtues, she would step out of her bedroom ostensibly to say Good Morning to her uncle. Her real purpose. I knew, was to reveal thus
her assent to my desire.
On quiet mornings I imagined the patter of her shoes upon the wooden veranda floor as a further sign, and I would hurry off to school,
taking the route she had fixed for me past the post office, the town plaza and the church, the health center east of the plaza, and at last the
school grounds. I asked myself whether I would try to walk with her and decided it would be the height of rudeness. Enough that in her
blue skirt and white middy she would be half a block ahead and, from that distance, perhaps throw a glance in my direction, to bestow
upon my heart a deserved and abundant blessing. I believed it was but right that, in some such way as this, her mission in my life was
disguised.
Her name, I was to learn many years later, was a convenient mnemonic for the qualities to which argument might aspire. But in those days
it was a living voice. Oh that you might be worthy of uttering me, it said. And how l endeavored to build my body so that l might live long
to honor her. With every victory at singles at the handball court the game was then the craze at school -I could feel my body glow in the
sun as though it had instantly been cast in bronze. I guarded my mind and did not let my wits go astray. In class I would not allow a lesson
to pass unmastered. Our English teacher could put no question before us that did not have a ready answer in my head. One day he read
Robert Louis Stevensons The Sire de Maletroits Door, and we were so enthralled that our breaths trembled. I knew then that somewhere,
sometime in the not too improbable future, a benign old man with a lantern in his hand would also detain me in a secret room, and there
daybreak would find me thrilled by the sudden certainty that I had won Aidas hand.
It was perhaps on my violin that her name wrought such a tender spell. Maestro Antonino remarked the dexterity of my stubby fingers.
Quickly l raced through Alard-until l had all but committed two thirds of the book to memory. My short, brown arm learned at last to draw
the bow with grace. Sometimes, when practising my scales in the early evening. I wondered if the sea wind carrying the straggling notes
across the pebbled river did not transform them into Schuberts Serenade.

That night l dreamed l had returned from a tour of the worlds music centers; the newspapers of Manila had been generous with praise. I
saw my picture on the cover of a magazine. A writer had described how, many years ago, I used to trudge the streets of Buenavista with my
violin in a battered black cardboard case. In New York, he reported, a millionaire had offered me a Stradivarius violin, with a card that bore
the inscription: In admiration of a genius your own people must surely be proud of. I dreamed l spent a weekend at the millionaires
country house by the Hudson. A young girl in a blue skirt and white middy clapped her lily-white hands and, her voice trembling, cried
Bravo!
What people now observed at home was the diligence with which l attended to my violin lessons. My aunt, who had come from the farm to
join her children for the holidays, brought with her a maidservant, and to the poor girl was given the chore of taking the money to the
bakers for rolls and pan de sal. I realized at once that it would be no longer becoming on my part to make these morning trips to the
bakers. I could not thank my aunt enough.
I began to chafe on being given other errands. Suspecting my violin to be the excuse, my aunt remarked:
What do you want to be a musician for? At parties, musicians always eat last.
Perhaps, I said to myself, she was thinking of a pack of dogs scrambling for scraps tossed over the fence by some careless kitchen maid.
She was the sort you could depend on to say such vulgar things. For that reason, I thought she ought not to be taken seriously at all.
But the remark hurt me. Although Grandmother had counseled me kindly to mind my work at school, l went again and again to Pete Saezs
house for rehearsals.
She had demanded that l deposit with her my earnings; I had felt too weak to refuse. Secretly, I counted the money and decided not to ask
for it until l had enough with which to buy a brooch. Why this time I wanted to give Aida a brooch, I didnt know. But I had set my heart on
it. I searched the downtown shops. The Chinese clerks, seeing me so young, were annoyed when I inquired about prices.
At last the Christmas season began. I had not counted on Aidas leaving home, and remembering that her parents lived in Badajoz, my
torment was almost unbearable. Not once had l tried to tell her of my love. My letters had remained unwritten, and the algebra book
unborrowed. There was still the brooch to find, but I could not decide on the sort of brooch l really wanted. And the money, in any case,
was in Grandmothers purse, which smelled of Tiger Balm. I grew somewhat feverish as our class Christmas program drew near. Finally it
came; it was a warm December afternoon. I decided to leave the room when our English teacher announced that members of the class
might exchange gifts. I felt fortunate; Pete was at the door, beckoning to me. We walked out to the porch where, Pete said, he would tell me
a secret.
It was about an asalto the next Sunday which the Buenavista Womens Club wished to give Don Estebans daughters, Josefina and Alicia,
who were arriving on the morning steamer from Manila. The spinsters were much loved by the ladies. Years ago, when they were younger,
these ladies studied solfeggio with Josefina and the piano and harp with Alicia. As Pete told me all this, his lips ash-gray from practising all
morning on his trombone, I saw in my mind the sisters in their silk dresses, shuffling off to church for the evening benediction. They were
very devout, and the Buenavista ladies admired that. I had almost forgotten that they were twins and, despite their age, often dressed alike.
In low-bosomed voile bodices and white summer hats, l remembered, the pair had attended Grandfathers funeral, at old Don Estebans
behest I wondered how successful they had been in Manila during the past three years in the matter of finding suitable husbands.
This party will be a complete surprise, Pete said, looking around the porch as if to swear me to secrecy. Theyve hired our band.
I joined my classmates in the room, greeting everyone with a Merry Christmas jollier than that of the others. When I saw Aida in one comer
unwrapping something two girls had given her. I found the boldness to greet her also.
Merry Christmas, I said in English, as a hairbrush and a powder case emerged from the fancy wrapping, it seemed to me rather apt that
such gifts went to her. Already several girls were gathered around Aida. Their eyes glowed with envy, it seemed to me, for those fair cheeks
and the bobbed dark-brown hair which lineage had denied them.
I was too dumbstruck by my own meanness to hear exactly what Aida said in answer to my greeting. But I recovered shortly and asked:
Will you be away during the vacation?

At last Mr. Custodio, who was in charge of our school orchestra, became aware of my progress. He moved me from second to first violin.
During the Thanksgiving Day program he bade me render a number, complete with pizzicati and harmonics.

No, Ill be staying here, she said. When she added that her cousins were arriving and that a big party in their honor was being planned, l
remarked:

Another Vallejo! Our own Albert Spalding! I heard from the front row.

So you know all about it? I felt I had to explain that the party was meant to be a surprise, an asalto.

Aida, I thought, would be in the audience. I looked around quickly but could not see her. As I retired to my place in the orchestra I heard
Pete Saez, the trombone player, call my name.

And now it would be nothing of the kind, really. The womens club matrons would hustle about, disguising their scurrying around for cakes
and candies as for some baptismal party or other. In the end, the Rivas sisters would outdo them. Boxes of meringues, bonbons,
ladyfingers, and cinnamon buns that only the Swiss bakers in Manila could make were perhaps coming on the boat with them. I imagined
a table glimmering with long-stemmed punch glasses; enthroned in that array would be a huge brick-red bowl of gleaming china with
golden flowers around the brim. The local matrons, however hard they tried, however sincere their efforts, were bound to fail in their
aspiration to rise to the level of Don Estebans daughters. Perhaps, l thought, Aida knew all this. And that I should share in a
foreknowledge of the matrons hopes was a matter beyond love. Aida and l could laugh together with the gods.

You must join my band, he said. Look, well have many engagements soon, itll be vacation time.
Pete pressed my arm. He had for some time now been asking me to join the Minviluz Orchestra, his private band. All I had been able to tell
him was that l had my schoolwork to mind. He was twenty-two. I was perhaps too young to be going around with him. He earned his school
fees and supported his mother hiring out his band at least three or four times a month. He now said:
Tomorrow we play at the funeral of a Chinese-four to six in the afternoon; in the evening, judge Roldans silver wedding anniversary;
Sunday, the municipal dance.
My head began to whirl. On the stage, in front of us, the principal had begun a speech about America. Nothing he could say about the
Pilgrim Fathers and the American custom of feasting on turkey seemed interesting. I thought of the money I would earn. For several days
now l had but one wish, to buy a box of linen stationery. At night when the house was quiet I would fill the sheets with words that would
tell Aida how much l adored her. One of these mornings, perhaps before school closed for the holidays, I would borrow her algebra book and
there, upon a good pageful of equations, there l would slip my message, tenderly pressing the leaves of the book. She would perhaps never
write back. Neither by post nor by hand would a reply reach me. But no matter, it would be a silence full of voices.

At seven, on the appointed evening, our small band gathered quietly at the gate of Don Estebans house, and when the ladies arrived in
their heavy shawls and trim panuelo, twittering with excitement, we were commanded to play the Poet and Peasant overture. As Pete
directed the band, his eyes glowed with pride for his having been part of the big event. The multicolored lights that the old Spaniards
gardeners had strung along the vine-covered fence were switched on, and the women remarked that Don Estebans daughters might have
made some preparations after all. Pete hid his face from the glare. If the women felt let down, they did not show it.
The overture snuffled along to its climax while five men in white shirts bore huge boxes of goods into the house. I recognized one of the
bakers in spite of the uniform. A chorus of confused greetings, and the women trooped into the house; and before we had settled in the sala
to play A Basket of Roses, the heavy damask curtains at the far end of the room were drawn and a long table richly spread was revealed
under the chandeliers. I remembered that, in our haste to be on hand for the asalto, Pete and I had discouraged the members of the band
from taking their suppers.

Youve done us a great honor! Josefina, the more buxom of the twins, greeted the ladies.
Have you eaten?
Oh, but you have not allowed us to take you by surprise! the ladies demurred in a chorus.
I turned around. It was Aida. My bow tie seemed to tighten around my collar. I mumbled something, l did not know what.
There were sighs and further protestations amid a rustle of skirts and the glitter of earrings. I saw Aida in a long, flowing white gown and
wearing an arch of sampaguita flowers on her hair. At her command, two servants brought out a gleaming harp from the music room. Only
the slightest scraping could be heard because the servants were barefoot As Aida directed them to place the instrument near the seats we
occupied, my heart leaped to my throat. Soon she was lost among the guests, and we played The Dance of the Glowworms. I kept my eyes
closed and held for as long as l could her radiant figure before me.
Alicia played on the harp and then, in answer to the deafening applause, she offered an encore. Josefina sang afterward. Her voice, though
a little husky, fetched enormous sighs. For her encore, she gave The Last Rose of Summer; and the song brought back snatches of the
years gone by. Memories of solfeggio lessons eddied about us, as if there were rustling leaves scattered all over the hall. Don Esteban
appeared. Earlier, he had greeted the crowd handsomely, twisting his mustache to hide a natural shyness before talkative women. He
stayed long enough to listen to the harp again, whispering in his rapture: Heavenly. Heavenly
By midnight, the merrymaking lagged. We played while the party gathered around the great table at the end of the sala. My mind traveled
across the seas to the distant cities l had dreamed about. The sisters sailed among the ladies like two great white liners amid a fleet of
tugboats in a bay. Someone had thoughtfully remembered-and at last Pete Saez signaled to us to put our instruments away. We walked in
single file across the hall, led by one of the barefoot servants.
Behind us a couple of hoarse sopranos sang La Paloma to the accompaniment of the harp, but I did not care to find out who they were.
The sight of so much silver and china confused me. There was more food before us than I had ever imagined. I searched in my mind for the
names of the dishes; but my ignorance appalled me. I wondered what had happened to the boxes of food that the Buenavista ladies had
sent up earlier. In a silver bowl was something, I discovered, that appeared like whole egg yolks that had been dipped in honey and
peppermint The seven of us in the orchestra were all of one mind about the feast; and so. confident that I was with friends, l allowed my
covetousness to have its sway and not only stuffed my mouth with this and that confection but also wrapped up a quantity of those eggyolk things in several sheets of napkin paper. None of my companions had thought of doing the same, and it was with some pride that I
slipped the packet under my shirt. There. I knew, it would not bulge.

If you wait a little while till theyve gone, Ill wrap up a big package for you, she added.
I brought a handkerchief to my mouth. I might have honored her solicitude adequately and even relieved myself of any embarrassment; I
could not quite believe that she had seen me, and yet l was sure that she knew what I had done, and I felt all ardor for her gone from me
entirely.
I walked away to the nearest door, praying that the damask curtains might hide me in my shame. The door gave on to the veranda, where
once my love had trod on sunbeams. Outside it was dark, and a faint wind was singing in the harbor.
With the napkin balled up in my hand. I flung out my arm to scatter the egg-yolk things in the dark. I waited for the soft sound of their fall
on the garden-shed roof. Instead, I heard a spatter in the rising night-tide beyond the stone fence. Farther away glimmered the light from
Grandmothers window, calling me home.
But the party broke up at one or thereabouts. We walked away with our instruments after the matrons were done with their interminable
good-byes. Then, to the tune of Joy to the World. we pulled the Progreso Street shopkeepers out of their beds. The Chinese merchants
were especially generous. When Pete divided our collection under a street lamp, there was already a little glow of daybreak.
He walked with me part of the way home. We stopped at the bakers when l told him that I wanted to buy with my own money some bread
to eat on the way to Grandmothers house at the edge of the sea wall. He laughed, thinking it strange that I should be hungry. We found
ourselves alone at the counter; and we watched the bakery assistants at work until our bodies grew warm from the oven across the door, it
was not quite five, and the bread was not yet ready.